Tuesday, July 21, 2009

Rob Base and DJ E Z Rock


What, pray tell, does Rob Base have to do with any of this? I'm so glad you asked!
They created the ever-prescient song Joy and Pain, the gist of which is, not a big surprise, the omnipresent duality in life...."sunshine, and rain" as is sung. And so it is with not a little unclarity that we commemorate the passing of my mother on this day, two years ago. We had a strange relationship that felt to me often that just calling on the phone was to stick my hand blindly into a basket of rattlesnakes. Perhaps not the most pleasant of images, but apt nonetheless. She had baggage that predated my birth, baggage that weighed so very heavily on her daily, baggage that I somehow managed to get packed into apparently from the moment of birth. I have not unwound the ball of emotional yarn even nearly yet, what with all the knots and snarls.
At our worst, I feared her more than any human on the earth, and her proclivity for emotionally filleting me was second to none. I was the bag she beat on, the dog she kicked at the end of a bad day. I never reached the apogee of hatred, per se, but rather remained bewildered and groping in a haze of constant surprise (naïveté on my part, to be sure).
Nor do I think, presently, she necessarily hated me, which offers some comfort. My mother was a devestatingly sad and injured soul wandering this earth, and I was merely a reminder of many sad and injurious years of her life, and it has taken many years just to understand this part, and now to begin to unravel the truth that that was not my fault. Powerful stuff on those days I can remain in that vibration.
I look back with some genuine fondness nowadays. She was, after all is said and done, my mother; I was of her flesh and blood and bone. Being a parent, I understand that there are profound implications of love that run deeper and broader than any human spectrum can comprehend between a child and its parent, and she most certainly posessed that love as well. And perhaps now that I am a modicum wiser, a bit more sure of myself, I even miss her. I loved her profoundly always on earth, and I love her even more now.
To my mother: we never had it easy, and we did the very best we could with the strengths and weaknesses we had. I hope you look as fondly on me and my family as we look to you. It was an honor and a real blessing to be with you at the time of your passing, and I thank you for allowing us to be there. I love you so very much, and I am working diligently on genuine forgiveness. I hope you're well and learning all you need in the loving hands of God, in tender Mercy and infinite Grace.
Joy and pain, sunshine and rain.

Monday, July 20, 2009

Hard time with this ship.

Okay, here we go. The seas are rough, brothers and sisters, have no doubt. Why must this world be like this, you may find yourself asking, to which I've come to respond, "It's not the world, it's society" that shapes the crests and deep-bellied troughs. Staring out over an ocean of mediocrity and expenditure of energy to increase capital for wealthy capitalists, and the ebb of economic tides sends us plebian crabs skittering for any ort of paying labor we can manage to grasp in our atrophying claws. The neap of available workforce delights the hungry gulls on the shoreline, a workforce wide-eyed, scared, and lost in the twilight of confusion and fear that has obscured the warm sunlight of security like pollution being pumped from the factory stacks inland.
I don't like the idea that now we work for medical benefits, job security, and lowered wages in exchange for a bonded family and joyous life. "Are you willing to work 60 hours per week?", "Are you willing to work nights, weekends, and holidays?" These ubiquitous queries are, and with full intention, emotional tenderizers preparing the unfortunate candidate for the fires of the oven.
Wanna jump on the big American cruise ship of capitalism? Get ready for a harsh dose of spiritual scurvy, mateys.