City of Legends

The world, this world, our world, is not anywhere near what it should be.  But there is always hope.

Maybe we can get our acts together…maybe…I promise I won’t stop.  If a perfect God can find it in their heart to sacrifice for and excuse us for our screw ups, who are we to be anymore arrogant?

Happy Easter, to all my friends and readers.

My brain aches.  Not like a headache, but in that pulled-muscle way that I experience when I am pushing hard to discover a new truth, integrate great epiphanies or figure out what a lover wants for Christmas.

If poetry is my religion, that is to say the means by which I worship the Almighty, then what role do the muses play in the belief system?  Yeah, to most that’s right up there with angels doing the hokey-pokey on the head of a pin, or some pinhead of some sort, but to me that’s a serious question, a tough nut to crack and a source of great distraction.

Could it be said that all muses are revelations, even prophets, sometimes even unaware of their influence, but that the one true muse would be the equivalent of a Messiah?  Yes.  Hold it.  Have to think about this. 

The partial revelations that were Alabaster.  Psyche.  Valkyrie.  Arachne.  Dawn.  Panther.  The Goldenheart.  Selke.  Brigit.  Angel.  The Mad Gypsy.  Leopard.  Nightblooming.  Aubergine.  And all the fits and sparks of light in night skies that often only I alone can see.  The debris of a mystery built on a history worn to the bone.  Unatoned atonality.  The finality of beginnings.  The start of a heart that, for now, has no sign of life, no spark of purpose.

See?  I told you it gets crazy in there.  In here.  Somewhere…over the rainbow.  Hmmph.

I have been called to task by friends both within and without the faith of Islam for my recent work "more than five pillars".  I should like to address that criticism.

The poem is not an attack on Islam or those who hold to that Abrahamic faith.  It is a statement that there are those who use it as a facade for their own political and social agendae, just as there are people of the Jewish, Christian and other religious spheres who abuse their theological labels and hypocritically draw to points and purposes outside of or contrary to the faith they claim to adhere to.

It just so happens that, in light of the cruel and self-serving violence fomented by the rulers in Iran, in the name of Allah and the prophet, they have blasphemed mightily, turning their back of the principles of their faith in the name of political expediency to hold onto power.

Don’t worry, they aren’t the only ones who are getting taken to the woodshed out behind the Sapphire Palace.  A similar work involving the Ten Commandments is on the boards, as is a series of works built on almost every other major world religion.

Let’s be clear on this:  I am not anti-religion, an agnotic or an atheist.  I am Quaker, and as such feel a certain disdain for the onion layers of social courtesies and etiquettes that have often over-written the faiths people think they are following.  Christians are not supposed to take up arms to kill, for instance, even in the name of king and country. 

The point is that so many people are alienated from honest questing for truth because of all the hypocrisy they see, everyday, in people who trumpet their religions.  I have my failings, not half as bad as some people believe, but I am far from sainthood.  I do not pass lies as truth, I do not arm people and tell them to kill in the name of God and I do not think you can place a price of a person’s life, integrity or virtue.

In the next few days, and perhaps for the rest of my life and beyond, there will be people criticizing me for what I have written and will write.  I can live with that, as the alternatives are to accept the status quo or to give up, neither of which seems particularly tasty.

Besides, I am in no hurry to die.  I know at least 4 different women who have sworn they will be waiting for me on the other side, to be with me throughout eternity.  I don’t want to be in the room when those four cross paths.  And who says we’re following the same paths?  But that’s a different poetic zone, to be considered later.

There’s an old psychological test called the “I am” test, where you write the words “I am” down a piece of paper, then finish the sentences (I have heard it given in 10, 20 and even 100 sentence versions). Sometimes they ask you to prioritize the sentences, sometimes they ask you to pick the one or two most important. There is great variance to the way it is administered.

I remember the first time I heard about it, in the book “We Seven“, which was ghostwritten to be by the original seven Mercury astronauts. I didn’t pay much attention to the passage at the time, although I recall one of the astronauts saying that when he took the test during selection process, his last entry was “I am a prospective Mercury astronaut”. He thought that may have given him a bump.

I took the test for the first time, as I recall, in high school. I remember being surprised by some of my answers, particularly when it came down to selecting which were the most important to me. I remember son and brother, Christian and poet were all on the list. I don’t recall what else I wrote at that time.

But I recently asked myself the question as to what would be my answers if I gave myself the test today. I thought for a moment, trying to separate myself from pre-conceived notions of self, and let ‘er rip. The list came out like this:

1. I am a poet
2. I am a man
3. I am a father
4. I am a deist
5. I am a brother
6. I am a son
7. I am a born-again romantic
8. I am a writer
9. I am middle-aged
10. I am alone

That wasn’t the priority, just the order they came in. Some would quibble that 1 and 8 are repetitive. I say those people can blow it out their asses. A writer is a statement of something you do, I am a writer, I write. A poet is something you are. You can write poetry and not be a poet. The poets reading this will understand, the others will either scratch their heads or accuse me of arrogance, egotism or wordplay.

Some will have issue with my describing myself as a deist rather than a Christian. Sorry, although I believe quite firmly in the divinity and message of Jesus Christ, I also believe that God made many paths to the truth. We can’t tell God what box to sit in.

The alone one will make some friends squirm. I am not saying I do not have friends and even those who mean more to me than that. I just feel that I am in a space of solitude, of isolation, put there by my own vows and actions, and it may be a place I reside for the rest of my life. I am uncomfortable with that, but resolved to it. Screaming under torture is not the same as surrender.

The middle-aged is aggravating. I hate the limits my body is trying to place on me. I plan to punish it horribly for its lack of cooperation. Hint: I wore my running shoes to work today. My knees and ankles will be cursing me in German before the day is out.

I am a man, last time I looked (let me check. yep). And I am proud to be father to three wonderful kids who drive me nuts but love me nonetheless (why is it my course in life to love difficult people?) I am content as son to my parents, who are good people who raised me well and just this past weekend celebrated their 56th wedding anniversary.

I swiped the phrase “born again romantic” from someone who used it and credited the rebirth to me, once upon a time. It wasn’t until I saw those words that I realized that I had lost faith in love, and it had been restored. If asked to prioritize these ten definitions, that one would place second or third.

Because “poet” would place first.

It defines me. It’s the label that stuck because it’s what I got handed as I came through the door into this life. I’ve tried to dodge, dislodge and disavow the label more than once, but it is who I am and it is, I believe, who I was made to believe, it is part of my path. Jan Innes’ ex-husband remarked upon reading the Panther cycles that I didn’t write poetry, I lived it.

He was right. And it is in that fantastic sphere that most of my greatest triumphs and most horrific heartbreaks are seated. But in the end, it is more than what I do. It is who I am.

And I live my life, what is left of it, secure in knowing who I am. Which makes me perhaps the most fortunate man I have ever known.

So to the God who slipped me the ticket, to the teachers who gave me the tools, to the lovers whose kisses and corruption have hammered this molten heart to make it into shapes and functions never before seen, I thank you all. It is with extreme gratitude (although the occasional wish for a kiss, a hug and perhaps saner sojourners on the trail) that I admit that once that sentence, that “I am…” is completed, the other nine become superfluous. My love for my family flows through my work, my romantic streak is born in it and is fed from it, my love of God is a part of my talent which I use as a form of my own strange liturgy to the Creator.

I am poet.

I’ve always looked for the path.

Not the path to perfection, or spiritual enlightenment or wealth or fame or glory. Or even love.

Just the path.

My prayers are usually very simple. One line: "God, show me the path I am to follow."

It occurs to me that a lot of people don’t understand that. I don’t care, usually. Sometimes it bothers me, as no one likes to feel cut off from their own humanity and the fellowship of others. But that’s the way it is. The way I am.

It occurs to me that I have, of late, been walking the path without always knowing where it was leading and whether it was for my benefit or that of others, and what those benefits might be. Very confusing.

But, over the last year, I have written and recorded some of the best work of my life, had the opportunity to become close with some remarkable people who have enriched my life, and I theirs, I believe.

If everyone is happy, healthy, safe and strong, I am content.

From my tone, can you tell I am in LA? Yes, I am jacked back in to the core of my existence. In the end this is where I most probably belong, where I feel at home, and where the strength to walk the path derives from.

I was happy to find that I still have substantial time on account at PlaNet Cyber on Topanga, which is where I am writing this from.

And responding to some interesting emails.

Over the next few days, expect some interesting things to be discovered, uncovered and recovered.

I am on the path.

I have heard it said, more than a few times, that I say too much in my poetry (although sometimes a bit cryptically even to the individual or individual targeted (several specific cases immediately leap to mind)). But I would like to be clear that I never say anything publicly I wouldn’t say privately.

Human communication is too precious to me. I am a semi-adequate listener, still working on that, and my propensity for running off at the mouth has more to do with the desire to make sure what I am saying is understood than the desire to take center stage (truth be told I have always and will always suffer from stage fright, I don’t know anyone who doesn’t). As a writer I do not just want to be heard, I want to be understood.

Creative catharsis is fine, I do my share of projectile-vomit writing, where the purpose is to get the toxins out before they overwhelm me. But when I want people or person to understand, I try to say what I mean, if sometimes a bit (a bit?) orthographically.

Being a Quaker, I have no issue with silence. Our meetings are silent, with everyone to the purpose of trying to sense the presence of God in a room full of fellow seekers. But silence in and of itself, unframed and unflagged, is like creative catharsis, open to misinterpretation. Place the noblest of souls in a pitch-dark room for two weeks, without warning they are going to be placed there, and I wonder what sort of wretched thing will crawl back into the light.

That having been said, I enjoy seeing people interpret and misinterpret what I write, in my poetry, and here on my blog, and in private correspondences (of course, without feedback you never know if the poem or letter or posting was ever even seen, and I have volumes I could tell of major life events fueled by words never heard or read. Volumes.)

My poetry, my words, are what expresses what I am, and what I am thinking, feeling and experiencing. And because language, even at its most expressive, has limits, sometimes they are as Rorschach ink-blots, saying more about the reader than about the writer.

Next weekend I will be releasing the newest CD from my band, Amomancer, comprised of music-enhanced poetry:  Evangelist

But it will be a virtual release only.  You will be able to download individual tracks, as well as the entire CD at www.peacat.com.

The key theme to the entire release is a revival, a revival in the belief of love and poetry as expressions of God and life.  Be prepared for some things you have never heard me say before, none of you.  Be prepared for some sonic experimentation that will make the multivox of Love Gods of a Forgotten Religion seem pale and contrived.

It is all new material, although some of the poems may seem familiar.

I won’t bore you with a lot of the prenatal details.  It has been a rough delivery.  Some tracks I wanted to include will not be available, but punishing my listeners and readers for that would be unmannerly (and I have been schooled in South African manners over the last few months, seems we Americans are insufferably rude(grin)).

I think this will be the best we have done, so far.  I may release it also as a physical CD, I haven’t decided yet (decision making is not my strong suit at the position I hold in the universe right now, but I am learning to find it charming).

I will also promote tracks of it as part of an overall reworking of my Live365 internet radio station.

I would like to say this will be it from me for a while, as I am burnt out and burnt down and just plain burnt.  But you and I both know that would be a hollow promise.  As the channel I have no control over the rate or intensity of flow, I am merely swept along and filled or drained by the fates.  I visualized my soul, my life, this morning…these are exciting times.

Evangelist will help frame things for everyone.

I said in a comment on Candy’s blog (Inside Candy) that:

My connection to Candy is my religion, by any and all textbook and philosophy class definitions. Those outside of it may not quite understand it, but it meets the test, and we are comfortable with our internal definition.

Some may find these words strange, some hyperbolic, some disturbing. I am here to defend them.

To me a religion is a system of observances that brings one into direct communion with one’s concept of the Almighty. I say this, not as someone who has read volumes on theology and philosophy, which I have, but someone who was raised in the church and was, for a time, considered to be a prime candidate to become a minister. I understand the essence of theology, of belief and of spirituality. Merely dogmatically insisting that one call a religion "spirituality" as one has a beef with organized religion does not change what it is and what God is.

I find, in Candy, my revelation of God. My proof. My water of life.

The common sense of the way the world works is revealed to me. A sense of belonging. A desire to make better of myself, to do what is right and good and best. To find and express truth and to blossom my talents. The purpose in my life. I told her, just the other day, with no doubt in my heart, that I have been dying for 52 years, and now I am alive.

To the seed, rain is evidence of God.

You can (and some will) pick holes in this, and that’s your problem, even as an atheist can produce all sorts of "proof" of the non-existence of God . But just recall what I said years ago in an oft-quoted interview:

The existence of a single Atheist does not disprove the existence of God.

I am comfortable with my God and with the Lady S/He reveals the universe and my life to me through.

Those without sin, go look in a mirror.

Yesterday through this morning has had its share of strangeness, pleasant strangeness.

I had a rare moment of quiet.

I reconnected with my muse "The Faerie". She is well and things are going good in her life. She is the kind of person who could fall through Hell and come out the other side with just a nice tan. She is currently pregnant with her first child and really embracing the experience.

A reader took up my call for a Church of Poetry, which I have always been just waiting for others to hear the call to.

Jazz was communicative, which is sometimes a rare thing. There is such beauty in her darkness, a beauty that she, immersed in it, cannot appreciate. I try to help her to get her arms around that. Even though she has clearly indicated there is no interest on her part in me, I still would like to see her grow as an artist and writer and find her way in this world, which is not always kind to truly creative and sensitive people.

I had a very good engineering session on the new CD.

All in all, a good day.

I’ve gotten a few comments from people who’ve noticed that I’m packing an EXPLICIT label on my iTunes podcasts. They want to know why.

Yeah, for a guy whose raciest works might be on a plane with a book in the Holy Bible (Song of Solomon) it’s tough accepting the notion that there are people who consider my stuff unfit for the kiddies. I recall a few years back when an invitation to speak to a Christian Writers group was withdrawn because I was hosting the Romantic and Erotic Poetry Group on AOL. It seems Christians don’t ever have sex or make love. Ever. Yeah, and they don’t go to war, execute prisoners or cheat on their tax forms (let’s not even start on that whole "Should a Christian own a radar detector" issue, shall we?)

Truth us, within the bond of marriage, Chrstians are completely free to express themselves sexually, and that means that compared to the other topics I just mentioned, it’s the only clean zone.

Yeah, I’m a Christian…there are those around me, even friends and family, who do not approve of or accept my decision to join the Society of Friends (Quakers)…but that’s because the level of awareness in modern society of what this group stands for is roughly akin to those 1st Century groups who thought that Christians were a sect of cannibalistic Jews (because they ate the flesh and drank the blood of their Messiah as part of their rituals…) I’m with the Quakers because I believe that Jesus did teach about non-violence and telling the truth, more succinctly than abortion, adultery, or whether or not to place the Ten Commandments on public property.

So, I placed the EXPLICIT label to make sure that anyone who wants to indulge their whim for outraged hypocrisy has a moving target in me.

Now, go play in traffic. I’m busy.

I sleep in one flippin’ morning and E.J. takes over…remind me to lock the doors when I leave.

Although a little on the brutally sarcastic side, you make your point…yes, I seek goddesses, and if I find someone I have feelings for who is not already so transfigured, I supply the divine energy. Sort of a BYOT (bring your own transfiguration).

I should make a list of all my muses and what goddesses from mythology I find parallels in…then seek the rest, I suppose…hhhmmm…

Alabaster: Vesta
Psyche: Psyche
Valkyrie: Hera
The Panther: Bast
Brigit: Brigit
Alisha: Althia (the goddess of truth)
The Mad Gypsy: Ananke (the goddess of necessity)
The Leopard: Kaki (the goddess of vice)

wow, that leaves me about 6 million more goddesses to choose from…help!