About Me

My photo

I am a mystic madman, a wandering wildman, scholar of esoterica, dilettante sadhu, dready-headed hippie (only have a few jata on the back of my head right now, though more be forming of this third set of knotted hair), gentle yogi, fierce foe of falsity. I was a preacher, but I renounced that. I was married, but she renounced me. I was a grad student at one of the top universities in the world on my way to becoming a professor, but I realized they taught lies there too. I am protector of souls, lover of mountains, smoker of herb, fond of hot springs, oceans and lakes and rivers and rain and sunshine, devotee of Devi.

Hindu Gods and Goddesses

Wednesday, December 28, 2011

Lonesome Devotions . . .

Makin' some headway in the return to stasis, tumult and torment of confusion and collusion waning, deeper devotional transformational bhakti in relation to Devi, Durga Kali Parvati Tridevi I see in the movement of things.  A bit more hurt than before when my love for Devi was manifest mostly in subtleties of MahaMaya showing Herself in little lila and lovers lovely and sublime, women whose veils removed (and clothes dropped to the floor) granted me glimpses of the Great Goddess in Her Eternal Beauty and Graceful Eminations and Expressions of Love.  Indeed She is Sexy, though by no means unclean in Her Lovemaking.  Indeed the Scriptures do tell She ain't exactly always monogamous--OMG!!!--and indeed sometimes a Seductress Extraordinaire . . .

Of late's been a very long refractory period that's been, perhaps, time to reflect and transform from the Places of Mind and Love and Dark and Light She's shown me, this humble sadhu sorta seeking to settle somewhat down sorta into some semblance of the pursuit of Artha, too.  Ain't no Sexy Sadie, mind you, I'm about consensuality and tantra true, if not perfection and utmost purity in the timing and place and righteous dance of hot steamy transcendental lovemaking, recognizing Siva-Shakti as Ideal to be met in such powerful things as joining of linga and yoni, yogi and yogini (if "American-styles" ya know?!) and relationship generally.  And btw, Purity in Sexuality don't gotta mean lawfully wed; consensual and appropriately matched man and woman with right mind and means and mode and maturity is what doth truly matter, yo!!  (Dunno about gay or lesbian tantra, as that ain't my field, though abiding by the same appropriateness and consensuality the main things need be met, I suppose . . . Vishnu and Siva got it on and made a Baby even this one time when Vishnu was a Woman named Mohini, and Ardhanarishwara is true hermaphrodite).

Tantra doth indeed manifest as expression of and practice as Siva-Shakti, and that Divine Marriage maintains manifold lila, multiplicities of modes of playing out of Loveplay Eternal, lotsa love stories and positions to choose, many dances from subtle to hot and wild and animalistic passion performed.  And sometimes that Love is lived as fighting for the Good that keeps the Flame of Divine Passion of said sort Pure and the field of Love Secure from taint or tarnish, though is by no means Puritanical (except maybe for fun . . . role-playing styles, hee hee).


Anyhow . . .

Namo Namah Devi Shakti!!!! Namo Namah Devi Durga!!!! Namo Namah Devi Mahamaya!!!!

Sunday, December 18, 2011

DEFENSE OF THIS LAND? MORE LIKE A CALL FOR REVOLUTION!!!!!

This disturbs me nigh as much as the destruction and desecration of our world by polluters like big oil companies and coalbed methane and mountaintop removal.  Both the House and Senate passed the Defense Authorization bill which includes provisions for military detainment of Americans merely "suspected of terrorism."   WHAT THE HELL HAS HAPPENED TO THIS LAND'S CIVIL LIBERTIES!!!!!  THE DEFENSE AUTHORIZATION BILL IS AN OBVIOUS VIOLENT AFFRONT TO THE FIRST AMENDMENT!!!!!!!  

WHAT THE FFFFUUUUUUUUCCCCCKKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

AMERICA LAND OF THE FREE WAKE THE FUCK UP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Monday, October 3, 2011

When Does All This Become a Good Ol' Fashioned Protest Against Unjust War, And for Better Living Conditions for the Poor

I missed the so called "Battle For Seattle," though have comrades were present.  Was at a May Day March in Portland, Oregon one year when we marched around town peacefully, no altercations with the cops, and gathered at a May Pole.  Marched against war with a large contingent in Santa Fe several years back, though was a peaceful procession so far as I observed and for my part.  Once watched a very mild altercation between forest cops and Rainbow Tribe hippies, shanti-sena styles.  Dunno that I would handle well being peaceful when seeing injustices enacted upon peaceful protestors, and also I have yet to discern the precise point of the protests--though I should note I find a resonance with much I hear quoted.  If there is proceeding a somewhat concise statement of what this protest is precisely protesting and meets with my wish to see this prolonged war to cease and green jobs and other help for the poor, justice brought regarding social inequities and corruption in government and big business, then I might have to catch the commuter train to Manhattan.  Then again, don't want to see and likely feel obliged to respond to police abuses of the people they s'pose to protect.  Good to recognize where one's presence is more beneficial to the cause.  700 arrests thus reported sure as hell indicates to me a breach of Constitutional rights, regardless of the protests purport.  Plan to hold a sign against the wars goin' on on tenth anniversary of Afghanistan invasion if in a town and not on the riverways hereabouts.  Blessings on those who still choose to stand up and make their voices heard, and blessings on democracy, liberty and justice.  Hoping fully this populist uprising brings home a good point and this moves across the country in such unlikely places as OKC.  Long live liberty and justice!!!

namaste

Navaratri Nights and Days Awaiting the Weather



She is Nine and More, Beautiful and Terrible, Mama Destroyer, yo!!!!  She knows how to rock da' house, chill the vibe, She is Perfect Yogini, Divine Dancer, Slayer of demons, Beloved of Nilakantaka, Golden and also Black as night, Pure and Great Mother, Daughter of the Great Mountains and Mother of the Universe . . .


I am Hers to do with as She wills, laying myself before Her unabashedly devoted to Devi Durga.

Namaste

Sunday, August 14, 2011

Brahma's Boy Abe and Tube Steak Tips . . .

History is important.  To forget the past, though not ensuring its repetition as the adage contends, does mean lessons which should have been learned will be lost, that wisdoms of past generations or ages will not be available to help solve problems of today.  To intentionally obscure or alter the historical record proves even more potentially disastrous, and lies, institutional and otherwise, foment dysfunction whether immediate of deferred.

So here’s the gist of the truth of one extremely current and pertinent issue which has been quite intentionally obscured and hidden and striken from the historical record and especially from the curriculum taught in schools from grade school through graduate school, a tale twistedly told in history books and Sunday school classes which has been edited to no small degree to hide certain very pertinent truths:

So there was this dude called Abram, later known as Abraham.  He and his crew came out of a place called Ur of the Chaldese sometime around 1900 bce, according to his descendants record of it.  This is about the time archaeologist contend was about the end of that very advanced early civilization known as Indus Valley Civilization and Harrapan Culture (3500bce-1900bce).  The land he came from was largely Hindu (though that particular term didn’t come about till much later), and he was seemingly named after the Creator aspect of God in that land, who was and is called Brahma, or some derivation of said Deity’s name.  Abraham married this chick named Sarai, who is clearly analogous to Saraswati, Consort to Brahma.  Brahma and Saraswati, Abraham and Sarai, get it?!  Sarai had a handmaiden named Haggar who Abraham fucked and made pregnant ‘cuz Sarai seemingly couldn’t get pregnant.  The Arab people claim descent from Haggar’s son Ishmael.  There is a river named after Saraswati, and an intermittent tributary to this river is called the Ghaggar River.  Ghaggar, Haggar, get it?!  The records regarding Brahma and Saraswati and Ghaggar most definitely predate the time of Abraham and Sarai and Haggar.  In other words, the founding family of Judaism and of the Arab people, Abraham and Sarai and Haggar, were Hindus, practitioners of sanAtana dharma as “Hinduism” is more properly known.

According to the Old Testament/Torah, Abraham finally knocked up Sarai when she was ninety years old.  After his son was born, Abraham’s god told him to take his kid out into the desert and kill him, according to this tale told.  Upon preparing to kill his son Isaac, as this tale’s told, Abraham’s god provided a ram to take the place of his son to be slain, and then Abraham was told by his god to cut of the end of his dick (i.e., circumcision) and to  do the same to his kid and to all the men and boys of his tribe, and supposedly this constituted a covenant between Abraham’s crew and their god.  Kinda a weird story.

The likely true mythological origin of the rite of circumcision:  Brahma, Creator aspect of the Hindu Trimurti, Himself a created Being, got kinda bored one day after workin’ hard at the manifestation of creation and decided to create this really hot chick.  Brahma then proceeded to lust after her, chasin’ her around and tryin’ to get it on with her.  Brahma even grew a fifth head to continue to gaze upon her as she sought to evade his lustful gaze.  Well, Siva then shows up, who is the Destroyer person of the Trimurti and is not a created Being, i.e., is the always has been and always shall be eternal Divine.  He sees what ol’ Brahma’d done and he says to Brahma, “Yo!!  Wassup Brahma?!  Listen here boy:  that pretty mama you so skillfully created, since you made her, she be your daughter, DUDE!!!  That means you can neither fuck her nor lust after her, yo!!”  and with a swift motion cut off Brahma’s “fifth head”  with the fingernail of his pinky finger (think of the “Freudian” connotations).  In other words, Siva cut off the foreskin of Brahma’s cock.  In anthropological terms, the rite mimicking this mythic act would be called an incest taboo rite, a reminder, at least in the inception of the practice if not in the later mythic explanation, that you don’t fuck your own daughter.  The aforementioned myth is given as one of a few myths tells why Brahma, the Creator of what us humans call “creation,” the earth, etc., is not much worshipped in India and has only few temples built to Him.  My rendering of the Hebrew version, writ down hundreds of years after Abraham’s days:  some Jewish mother got ahold of the myth and said, “Oh god!!  We can’t tell our little boys that’s why they get the end of their pee pees cut off!!  We have to think of something nicer!!”

Tuesday, August 9, 2011

Ramblin' And Readin' The Road, Ridin' the Tides and Flows As I Go, Survivin' Storms . . . And Stayin' Fed to Boot!!

New Paltz is one of those havens from environs less kind to kind travellers, long hairs, freaks tattooed and/or wearing jata in their hair, sistas wearin' paisley and tie died, india print skirts--and some brothers wearin' the same, grungy crews rollin' through with sometimes spontaneous gypsy concerts hap'nin' on the corner, and you can get a breakfast special for $2 that'll fill your belly full. 

The Main Street Bistro's breakfast special's been a staple for many a would-be starving student/artist/musician/mendicant wandering hippie or gutterpunk, young or old transient soul finding themselves lingering in this lovely hamlet gazes up at the heights of Shawgunk Ridge.  Two eggs or tofu ($1 extra for the vegan/no ovo-veggie version), home fries fried just right:  a tricolor of white, brown and just the proper proportion of blackened potato peels subtly seasoned a 'la diner-style perfection, and two slices of toast slathered with butter and jam, $1.95+ tax.  Plenty of $2 NY style pizza-by-the-slice for dinner (didn't they used to be bigger, though?  or was I smaller then?), but the real treasure for the impoverished soujourner or passers through is the Bistro Breakfast special. 

Coffeehouses, generally more vital to the vitality of a community--leastwise of the sort I'm talkin', are more plentiful here than before, or seems to me at least.  The Bakery was host to me many mornings and afternoons when last I was through this town.  Cheap but tasty bagels as well as other baked pastry delights, and a pleasant courtyard with ample seating make for a good start to the day.  What was the Coop (kinda a Green Party Coop) which served only drip coffee, became ___something else___ and is now "/root," a computer repair biz'/coffeehouse with pay-what-you-may styles.  CafeTeria ("T" capitalized for disambiguation, and not as reads on the sign) coffeehouse is a big open space with high-ceilings and a loft, burnt sienna embossed metal ceilings reminding of the antiquity of this building, black trim and a rather dreary mauve prevail where bare brick's absent, and eclectic 70's vintage furnishings from couches to easy chairs and artwork that bespeaks of corroded metal, whether literally crafted in a metalic medium or paint on canvas or cardboard.  The nigh gloom and nigh gothic ambiance of the place is quite comfy for burying one's face in a good book or crouched over an illuminated screen and keyboard in the corner, typing a term paper or existentially anxious novel.

The street here is lined with iconic shops and restaurants reminiscent of the still hippie ways prevail here years after the days when Janis or the Grateful Dead would play impromptu shows for the throngs of mostly education students hangin' out at SUNY New Paltz hoping to change the world through rock and roll, peace, and the right teachin', plus some share or other of the weed and wildness and sometimes psychedelic education techniques of sixties counter culture.  The Groovy Blueberry and various more or less head shops, hippie boutiques, tattoo parlors and bars, restaurants of varied fare and stoops aplenty to accommodate New York stoop sitting culture complete the picture of life on Main in New Paltz.  Not some retrospective, mind you, nor wistful reveries, the hopes and ideals became prominent in the days of the first big concert at Woodstock still animate activity, art, music, organisations and activisms here next to the far northern reaches of the Appalachians Mountains where meets the edge of the Hudson Valley region.

Despite my appreciation for my location here and now, am intent still upon sailboat dreams and shelter from the weather found on the seas, else a return to where I've most known as home this lifetime around, Rocky Mountains high and Wyoming bound.  Good to know, though, and be reassured there's yet enclaves and bastions maintain the groovy chillin' vibes of hippie, punk and other alternate flows to the officially sanctified culture of capitalist consumerisms gone amuck, and said consciousness most often even holding official reigns, as the Green Party showings at the polls here display.

namaste

   

Tuesday, August 2, 2011

New Paltz Respite



New coffeehouse in New Paltz since last I was here, nigh six years ago.  Other than that, much the same as when last I was here, even some faces I recognize, also seemingly unchanged.  Definitely one of if not my favorite town in New York.  Ithaca's got its charm and its gorges, Rhinebeck's quint, Poughkeepsie's got a cool name and a nice riverfront; ain't been to Woodstock or those other upstate hippie towns, and of course NYC is in a category nigh all by itself.  New Paltz is still holdin' on to its hippie past and keeps things fresh, punks and other freaks, too, mind you.

I am indeed a counter-culture-phile, largely 'cuz they are generally composed of individuals, despite the stereotyping.  Not that a businessman or woman can't be a deep, self-expressive and interesting person, is just that those are fewer and farther between and not so easy to pick out in a crowd.  Freaks can hang out without the sense they are missing the boat, generally love music and dancing, whether whirling about in a hazy daze or moshing in a pit of roughhousing mohawks and pierced noses, cheeks, and every other conceivable part.  Don't have anything particular against other subcultural genres, whatever the current ones might be, hipster, emo, or whatever, just endeared to the clear responses to the system's ills expressed so eloquently by flowers stuck in the barrel of a gun, grafiti on the wall proclaiming no rulers o'er the people, both well thought out peaceful and raucous replies to the ills of capitalism, neocolonialism and the war machine.  New Paltz gots plenty o'that, and a steady supply of college kids comin' in to maintain. 

New Paltz also had a Green Party mayor and city council last time I was in town.  Haven't checked the current local political scene, but I am inclined to believe the people's still representin'.  Healthy food and lifestyles (even if sometimes including indulgent drinkin' on some fronts), good live music and fair trade wares abound in the downtown, nearly all locally owned and operated.  Happy to be in a pace like this, if but for a week or two.  Reminds me there are indeed plenty plan for a progressive future and a world where people and environment find harmony, self-expressive and beautiful.

namaste


Saturday, July 30, 2011

NYC Today . . . Contemplating Towers Fallen and Other Unnecessary Sufferings




Hangin' out in NYC today, after Charleston's mosquito plague was too much, and the lila continues.  Rolled in last night, a brief layover in DC.  Ridin' the rails all gentile styles, tickets instead of hoppers or container cars still.  Wandered from Penn Station through West Village, though missed the right part and ended up all the way down by the WTC.  Sat and contemplated those events, weighing in words spoken to no one in particular the particulars of events transpired nigh ten years ago, balances of deaths and lives impacted.  Must state, I ain't no terrorist, though sometimes a subversive and not averse to destruction due, and have compassion for those who hurt for losses of loved ones and who suffer pains physical and psychic.  That much said, gotta note, two towers fell were emblematic to no small number, and not just those of Islamic disposition, of economic and cultural exploitation of much of the world for the sake of few.  Though I more than tend to believe t'was an inside job, regardless, and designed for further gains of those already benefiting from the economic arrangements fomented by those institutions emblemized by the WTC, if were not such an act of seeming intentioned self-sabotage, intrigues and espionage, smoke and mirrors and such treacheries, is a statement of the ill nature of the way world trade's been done, either way. 

Whether scheming neo-cons or foreign nations felt their culture, economy and lifeways been unjustly overtaken, is telling emblem that the balance's has been off-kilter, wealthy nations using their power and wealth to gain more without regard to indigenous peoples' lifeways and functional traditional economies, cultural integrity and wellbeing generally, gone to a degree of injustice somethin' had to break on this side of the U.S. borders.  What of course makes it the more unfortunate is that this fall of tons of steel and concrete and glass, structures overtly upholding the status quo of neo-colonialist exploitaiton and policies of greed bringing undue and unnecessary suffering to literally billions of poor people, workers, and peasants in the so-called Third World, was then used to excuse further exploitations and violences, not to mention the erosion of those liberties and that justice made this nation great and worth defending in the first place.

Ain't sayin' nothin' ain't been said already, just noting contemplations I was pressed to make by being misguided past the coffeehouse search and to the site of a terrible occurance, an occasion nigh ten years ago that regardless of purport and intentions of its planners points to more terrible things indeed:  mothers told Coca Cola's good to feed their babies instead of milk or formula, farmers land usurped to raise Burger King beef, healthy families and cultures torn if not shreded by consumer desires and capitalist culture's means and modes, ghettos where once were villages, pavement or polluted wastelands where once grew fruit and locally raised food and forests, millions and millions living in disfunction and poverty who once lived well enough in community and in concert with the environment, "poor" but well nourished and integrous.

In light of such things, and insofar as not interconnected therewith, my personal malaise and twisted scenarios surrounding my own path seem slight--though hard to remember that when extreme pains being inflicted, mind assaulted and faculties of memory, motor function and volition been similarly colonized and exploited.  Anyhow, may it be that said injustices, both macro and micro, be mended, and without the need for further destructions, pollutions, and violently delivered "wake-up calls."

namaste




Wednesday, July 13, 2011

Charas and Charleston, Cannabis and South Carolina . . .

Let loose a little lately, found some sacred zakrazana otherwise known as mAlyapuSpa, plant sacrament to millions of nagababa and others of tantric yoga and other means devoted to Destroyer and Destroyerette. Met some local hippie kids at the Mellow Mushroom (yes, name of a regional chain restaurant/bar/pizza place in the Southeast, and yes the psychedelic theme's quite intentional) and shared smoke and drink on a dock on the Stono River, one of the ubiquitous flows round these luscious alluvial lowlands. Must note, I suppose, and express gratitude for the continued presence of said subcultural milieu did not at all disappear after the sixties and seventies. Tour kids and Rainbow Tribesfolk, especially, have always shown the sort of hospitality and kindness, friendliness and familiarity to indeed warrant the term "family." Couches and loaded bongs, good tunes and connectedness manifest beautifully through such characters, a perennial sort, a bit too wild to be kept locked in offices or classrooms or other normative and normalizing institutions (at least not all the time) and whose secret signs or handshakes are well known peace signs, tie dies, herbs (not just Cannabis, mind you) and organics, drum circles and often particular musical tastes include long jams or riddim', psychedelics and such things.

I am given to wonder what precisely happened to get rid of the malaria hereabouts, as I recall from a class covering colonial U.S. history even s'far north as D.C. were once malarial swamps. Not complaining, mind you, just curious, as they's still plenty o' swampland hereabouts, yet purportedly no malaria. I bet before expansive pavement, canoes were the best way to see and wander about these lowlands, despite the malaria . . .

Sitting at my seeming post here, corner of the courtyard at Kudu Coffeehouse, fountain to the fore and an ivy wall gots my back covered. Seems somehow "sultry" is the keyword, descriptive if not an imperative. Some breeze blows, time to time, sometimes comin' in off the ocean cool, or accompanying thunderstorms roll in. Haze and lazy days, summertime and the livin' is easy, that sorta thing . . . though still gotta wonder of certain anomalies, despite a seeming ease in the vibratory manifestation of sense experience, a more mellow flow fo' su're.



Perhaps of note, smokin' grass in a state where not medicalized, clinicalized and commodified in a taxable state:  seems more like the buzz I first knew when becoming (re-)acquainted with said sacramental smoke, more like than the highs in Colorado and California now that those states enacted medical use laws. Please don't mistake, don't want Cannabis to be "criminal" by their statutes, nor kept from people needs specific cures said certain medicine doth provide.  Just sayin' by being somehow incorporated into the sphere of legislative as well as already general social acceptability (with certain caveats), the weed thereabouts, though often higher in THC, has perhaps lost some of its potency and urgency as no longer upholding the status of a significant separate economy.   I'm sayin' that part of the point of puffin' down and the kind-trade is indeed to maintain the largest cash crop economy in the country as something separate from government legitimacy and official sanction, and as common means of exchange sits squarely outside the authority da' man, see?! Think of perhaps as an unacknowledged part of this nation's system of checks and balances, a potent "third party" already in power to a significant degree (though no substitute for what could be were Green Party in the Presidency and majority in Senate and House).  The autonomized economy of not quite legal marijuana serves to solidify a significant arrayal of groups and peoples who question the status quo of law and order and oft as not dislike the war machine, have a distaste for economic hording, and almost by consensus despise arbitrary and unnecessary rule of federal authorities and wrongful restraints on just and good and due liberty.

Indeed, as I sit in this Old South city, soaking in the sultry (not disagreeably, despite my preference for high country summertime) and contemplating how Cannabis has proven a much better way to be a rebel in the modern day than to identify with past wrongfully reasoned secessions, South versus North and such less than healthy anachronisms.  Indeed, to maintain resistance to the official seems quite necessary still when our Obama hopes fall rather flat, and war goes on despite what we told them in the early part da' hippie era when their war was Vietnam, and been repeated over and over again with intermittent volume before and since. 

Viva la Revolution !!!! 

Victory 420 !!!! 

TAKE A FRICKIN' HIT OF THIS BONG AND GIVE PEACE A FRICKIN' CHANCE, MAN!!!!

namaste from the Old South, Charleston, South Carolina !!!!

Tuesday, June 21, 2011

Change Your Dirty Motor Oil: Veggie-Based Motor Oils, Transmission Fluids, and Hydraulics . . .

I used to travel around the country, or rather the western half of the United States, in a 1963 Dodge Power Wagon.  Four-wheel-drive, PTO winch on the front and a camper on the back, and nicknamed "The Miraculous Beast Shanti Mama" (originally given the name "the Beast Mama" by a sister named Katy who was along for the truck's maiden voyage with me as driver, though went through a series of name changes until arriving at the aforementioned), this incredible truck served to convey myself and numerous other wandering hippies, punks, anarchists, slackers, and others from high mountains to ocean shore, to hot springs and Rainbow Gatherings, music festivals and Hindu temples.  Many fond memories were made in this vehicle and at the places said ride conveyed many bohemian free-spirits, young and old and in-between.  Then came the onset of the seeming ceaseless wars fought largely to acquire the commodity required to fuel said gasoline consuming beast, and despite so many wonderful times rolling around the west through desertscapes, rolling hills and mountain country, and so much love shared via this magical ride, I decided the right thing to do was to quit my dependance on such an unethical fuel.

Now mind you, I understand that not everybody is at liberty to drop their gas-driven rides at a moments notice, but I felt this was one of those causes for which I ought to take a stand.  Though mostly a vegetarian (unless I kill the animal myself or similar conditions) I do still consume cheese and other dairy products that come to the consumer at the cost of cows suffering inhumane conditions.  I haven't protested the ongoing unjust wars lately by carrying signs or attending marches.  I have not done a tree sit, nor have I lent more than blogging lipservice to many of those causes I believe in in recent years.  Conscientious folks gotta choose their causes, I suppose, and for numerous reasons I felt compelled to give up gasoline. 

At first I intended to quickly make the switch into a biodiesel bus conversion.  Without going into to much detail, suffice it to say a notion to take the cash I had for said endeavor to fund a trip to India to do a yatra around Mount Kailash, buy some tapestries and murti and other items and then resell them upon returning to the States fell through, and I didn't get the bus.  Designed a biodiesel amphibious sailbus, but have yet to get the funding.  And now I'm seeking to get into a saiboat, a vehicle which utilizes about the environmentally friendliest means of conveyance you can get, clean as a fresh ocean breeze:  wind.  Only issue is, to get in and out of harbors, unless a master sailor, one must use a motor.  A good portion of sailboats with inboard engines are diesel powered, which can of course be fueled by biodiesel.  The motor oil was still an issue I had with the idea, as a leak of such directly into the water is obviously a pollution issue.  Did a bit of research, however, and discovered that in fact their are at least two companies in the Unites States now making environmentally friendly vegetable-based motor oils which can be used not only in diesel engines, but in gasoline powered vehicles as well.

Point I'd like to make and information I'd like to share with those of you haven't chosen or haven't the financial means to switch to an electric car or biodiesel ride is that you can lessen the impact of your current gas-powered ride by changing out the old petroleum-based, highly polluting motor oil and even transmission fluid with high performance alternatives which if inadventantly lost onto the ground won't pollute the water or the earth, and will not reduce the functionality of your automobile.  Check out the links provided below, and help make a difference.  Lets help stop things like the decimation of the Gulf of Mexico from happening and take away the motive for wars over resources by changing consumption habits, as well as by those many other modes of letting it be known, we love Mother Earth, clean water and air, and want to give these precious things to future generations, too!!!!

http://www.renewablelube.com/motor.html

http://getg.com/

environmentally clean vegetable based hydraulic fluids:

http://www.hydrosafe.com/

Monday, June 6, 2011

Snorkeling . . .

Sitting by water's edge after first full on swim into the ocean's swells, to over my head at times, snorkeling (and sputtering) and gazing through goggles intermittently filling with briny effluence, tiny tiger-striped flat bodied fish, barracuda and one funky fish I believe was a parrot, schools of tiny darting dancing fingerling sized swimmers, several spotted schooling species, and not a single shark nor stingray in sight to cause a fright.

Waves lifting my scarcely buoyant body, then down again, blowing hard to clear the airway and standing tiptoe to empty goggles blurred by leaks around beard hairs, rubbing saltiness out my eyes, then down again to gaze at the wonder of what just a few boulders draw in from the depths.  And whilst enjoying these new experiencings, hoping the waves will wash away sorrows and ills of the world have sullied me lately, that perhaps they'll sink to the ocean floor as I'm elevated with each swell of the surf, floating back to freedom.

Friday, May 6, 2011

Devi Three, Tridevi, Lovely Love Indeed . . .

She show Herself in so many faces, feminine forms, lovely woman women wonderous She.  Devi Durga, "inaccessible" yet present in so many faces, beautiful women and terrible, for She is their true person when they find that expression of Self each of these expression of, Tridevi and other manifestations, Parvati, Laksmi, Saraswati, not necessarily in that order in a given instant or instance, and most primally as I conceive, 'tis relationship Siva-Sakti, Universal andd forever, though not without those others, too, see?


Perspective's not everything, but explains much of what differentiates, culture of romance, devotions variegated like fractiles of symmetries, Deva-Devi in so many manifestations are not not all and each of us, multi-faceted, wild, instinctual and transcendant.  And we are playing, lila lovely lila.  Beloved and lover, and inversely, and sometimes played as even oppositional roles, hero or heroine, villain villainess, interchangably to a degree and in means well explored and known, but played as anew, adventure with only those bounds ensures the dramas play out pure and towards perfection (already always present throughout, of course) without puritanical (except perhaps playfully, roles writ to make for a good story, hee hee), and in fact exhuberant and passionate and sometimes appropriately naughty, hee hee.  Tantra yoga bhakti yoga karma yoga, kama as servant and not master in this life lived dharmika.

Monday, May 2, 2011

Cranes in the median, and truly green buildings . . .

Saw a pair of sandhill cranes grazing next to a stripmall and in the midst of stripmalls, fast food and box stores along the highway. Not to by any means justify the proliferation of such centers of consumer decadence, but to note the resiiance of nature, which will continue if and after human "civilization" falters and falls into decay . . .





If they gonna build a mall, make 'em put the forest they cut down on the rooftop, with a ramp for wildlife to climb to the forest's new elevation !!! If they gonna build a high-rise, make the architect design terraces spiralling around and up the building with gardens and a graywater retreival system including a creek flowing down the spiralling terraces around the outside of offices and condos, providing habitat for birds and small mammals, and maybe some reptiles and fish, too, as well as a healthier environment for workers and city-dwellers. A green roof park on top, too, of course. A this would also clean the air, absorb CO2 and other pollution, and absorb the heat pockets cities create, as well as providing natural insulation for these buildings, cooling them in summer and holding in heat in the winter. Perhaps to some extent glassing in the terraces in winter in colder northern climates, with pathways for widlife to enter and exit, carefully engineering the airflow to allow said means for keeping nature and humanity in touch and connected. Healthier for environment, healthier for humans.

Thursday, April 14, 2011

Hollywood, Los Angeles, California . . .


Hanging out at the Bourgeouise Pig in Hollywood. Dark blue walls and blue and red globes hang from the ceilings, mirrored disco ball embellishing and sending little dots of light spinning 'round, over the floor and across tables and chairs, bodies and faces. One room in the back, so dark a couple could get away with sex in the corner without much ado. Not terrifically seedy, mind you, just contingents and contingencies of hipsters (I keep waiting for that word to lose it currency, hoping I don't miss said moment and thus become out of fashion, or whatever . . .), an occasional person fitting some other category, maybe a few emos (still correct usage?), and me sitting here, hopeessly out of fashion as I wear only half-dreaded hair, currently in a knot atop my head, wearing a leather jacket that was hip (a womens jacket on which I reversed the buttons--pretty hipster . . . metrossexual, even) til the armpits started to rip, and thus poorly mended only to tear again. Alas, I'm still a hippie in a world again allowing this perennial mode to fall a bit out of fashion.

Subtle plays of consciousness and travel in time seem to rule these cycles (mind you, I am not claiming any expertise in the realm of fashion, nor even in current modes of subcultural nuances, just a not-so-old hippie observing what is I sees). Still hear some reggae in such venues, but the white kids fashion consciouness is perhaps too race conscious to allow that style to fall by the wayside--not that that's a bad thing, i.e., consideration for peoples long oppressed, I'm just sayin' . . .

Probably heading back to the beach, Venice or Santa Monica or something, before the end of the night, as squatting in Hollywood don't sound particulary appealing. Ain't never been to Skid Row, and haven't intentions too, as they might try to keep me and get me to move into my own cardboard box condo. I do believe I am starting to understand a bit of the phenomenon that is L.A., if but as an outsider, a mountainman in the big city--a status I do intend to maintain, all due respect.

Last time I visited L.A. previous to this was with a girlfriend I was traveling with in my '63 Dodge Power Wagon complete with camper on the back, rather appropriately named "The Miraculous Beast Shanti Mama." Meghan (said girlfriend) and I stopped in North Hollywood on a grand circle cycle round the western U.S. in order to visit my friends Pete and Melissa, a pair I knew from Laramie. The night before our scheduled departure, as Meghan and I lay in bed in the camper, we proceeded to proclaim our mutual distaste for big cities (something I have since repented and relented, despite my definite preference for wilderness and small towns). Next day as Pete and Melissa saw us to truck, a rather mysterious woman appeared and approached. I'd seen her walk past a time or two over the course of the previous few days, but hadn't payed much attention. Said person stopped and asked us what we thought of L.A., to which we both replied with the expected nicities. Said inquisitive passerbye was wearing a pair of eightiesish large lensed glasses and a somewhat librarianish dress, but did not carry herself like a librarian. Years later I happened to view the movie My X-Girlfriend the Superhero, and noted a rather startling resemblance between said passerbye and Uma Thurman, which seems to make a bit of sense, as Uma Himavati is consort to Siva, a figure I understand as, well, my archetypal self, so to speak. Whether was Uma Thurman for reals, or Uma Himavati playing as Uma Thurman, or some other magica being, I can't say, but whoever the woman was, she repeated nigh verbatim the words Meghan and I had exchanged the night previous, speaking less than favorably of L.A..  Meghan and I looked at each other, both aware of the irony or oddity of said repetition.

As Meghan and I pulled away and onto the highway, the engine started to sputter, flutter and fail, and we scarcely made it off the highway and luckily happened onto a mechanic nearbye. We ended up stuck in L.A. for somewhere around another week. Did pull a toddler who fell into a shallow pond just over his head in depth out of the drink in a park during that week, and learned to appreciate the people of L.A., who supported us by buying sage smudges and bead-work jewelry Meghan made, and keeping us in smoke whilst we waited for the mechanics to fix the Miraculous Beast Shanti Mama, so I s'pose multiple goods accomplished, eh?

Anyhow, namaste to the peeps of L.A. (and the rest of ya' too, no doubt). Not my idea of a long term haunt, ya know, but I gots my appreciation, for sure.

Monday, April 4, 2011

Hummingbirds, Hawks, Seagulls and Pelicans

Hummingbirds, hawks, seagulls and pelicans buzz and whir and soar above. Crows and ravens too, scan the scene for a meal, doing work unseen in the meantime in their caw-caw-caw, and watchful eyes observing, preserving as they peruse and dine on dead things, carion and refuse. Poe's angst perhaps well founded as these black birds betray traitors and tell of things unseen by other eyes, treacheries done in the shadows.

Hummingbirds humm as they visit my hippie-cum-hobo campsite, licking the sandstone escarpment above my bed for the salient substances therein, salts and other minerals, I suppose. Don't much mindtheir shit and piss falling on my head as they hover. Some cultures say tis a blessing to be sprinked with bird's tinkle and poop. Seagull's droppings are of course another story.

The hawks have appeared just recently, and remind me of my neighbors above when camped by Spring Creek in Laramie, a pair oft seen in amourous endeavors on electric line poles whilst I sat in meditation in or near my tent in a circle grove of trees down by the tracks.

[apAvr AviskR droha apAvr AviskR dambha; Rta dharma]

Gulls by the thousands sometimes gather near here, where a creek meets the ocean. They seems smaller than ones I've seen in Laramie, dining on trash or floating on LaBonte Lake, often and not necesarily called 'Stink Lake.' Pelicans seem less abundant here than up north around Malibu, where they'd sometimes soar in formation with seagulls following in their wings' wake at Point Dume. And of course sparrows are here, ubiquitous and sweet little things (hawk sings as I wrote), as well as some smaler still have visited my seaside berth.

Used to dream more than lately of flying high, and certainly levitation's a siddhi I'd like to master. In the meantime and for dearth of monarch butterflies supposed to frequent here, I'm grateful for the birds, sightings and song, as I suffer harsh days here near the beach and by the harbor, Dana Point, California.

namaste

Friday, March 25, 2011

What would it take to run this entire country on clean energy from the sun?

TRANSPORTATION



Answer: About 12.5% of the Sonora Desert, or 15,000 square mile/9.5 million acres. Compare this to the 450 million acres currently used as crop land (the majority of which is irresponsibly and inefficiently used for animal feed--more on the gross inefficiency of meat production compared to vegetable/grain production for human comsumption in a later post) and 500 million acres used as grazing land!! I already posted this statistic, but found a link that explains the calculations . . .

Link to the calculations and statistics:

http://www.energybulletin.net/node/2364

In response to any concerns about the potential environmental impact of these algae farms, consider that the apparatuses necessary to produce the algae could be built where little to no foliage is currently existing, and would actually provide shade to create habitat for many desert dwelling species. And also consider that the toxicity of biodiesel (b100) is negligible, whereas diesel and gasoline are both highly toxic and pose long term hazards to plant, animal and human life.

ELECTRICITY



The magic of mirrors . . . most of us gaze into these reflective surfaces every day to do hair, brush teeth, and get presentable for a day at work or school. They allow astronomers to gaze deep into space, give drivers a rear-view, and now with centuries-old technology, with some new innovations, mirrors could generate enough electricity to power the whole country by utilizing a combined area of only 92 miles by 92 miles!!! That's only twice the size of the county I currently abide in (Albany County, Wyoming)!!! This is also similar to the area that is currently being heavily disturbed and significantly impacted by coal mines in this country.

Obviously these fields of mirrors would be spread across the country, minimizing any environmental impact, but this would entirely do away with the need for the excessively destructive practices of coal mining, natural gas production, etc., etc., to meet the current electricity needs of the United States!!!! Not to mention that this process would absord some degree of the sun's radiation, thus aleviating some degree of the greenhouse effect!!

WOW!!!!

The only potential environmental hazard would be birds running into the mirrors, though with some ingenuity and research there should be some means of preventing the inadvertant avian kamakazes from mistaking the mirrors for open sky, else the warped reflection would be deterant enough.

Check out this article, which gives a breakdown of this land area, and some other facts regarding this amazing energy technology:
http://gristmill.grist.org/story/2008/6/20/143633/019

YEAH, BUT WHAT ABOUT CARS AND TRUCKS AND TRAINS?



Insofar as liquid fuel for automobiles and trains, Biodiesel produced from algae could supply the nations need for diesel fuel with only 125 miles by 125 miles of Southwestern desert with current technology (12.5% of the Sonoran Desert's landmass).



Healthy and sustainable answers for our world and environment are there!! Now let's make it happen!!!

Tuesday, March 22, 2011

Hidden Origins of the West (repost)





Hidden Origins of the West

As an undergrad,I was required to take a general Western Civilization course over two semesters. A History and a Literature professor teamed up to teach each section, and we were required to read assorted of the so called classics, and were also assigned history readings from the Western Civ. textbook. A pretty typical survey of so called "Western" history and literature over the expanse of a few thousand years.

As a student at a sectarian Christian institution, we were required to enroll in a semester each of Old and New Testament History. Though some of our professors indeed stimulated us to critically question the traditional receptions of both Western Civilization in general, and to a lesser degree, the conventional reception of the Bible, I have since realized the virtual conspiracy of European and American scholars--and not just the religious ones--to conceal the true origins of "Western" civilization and religions (Judaism, Christianity and Islam, to be specific): India.

Abraham and Sarai and Hagar, progenitors of the Hebrew tradition through Sarai, and of the Arab peoples and later Islam through Hagar, were preceded in India by Brahma and his consort Saraswati and Ghaggar (a tributary to the Saraswati river once thought merely mythical by western scholars). According to the Torah, Abraham and his tribe came from Ur of the Chaldese, an area that was unquestionably the site of much activity by Brahmin priests.

Jeshua ben Joseph, who posthumously became known as "Jesus Christ" was preceded historically by Krishna. Krishna's followers are Gopis, his ten-thousand milkmaid lovers. Christ's followers are called the "Bride of Christ," an obvious analogy to "lovers." Stories of Krishna having been crucified upon a tree and rising from the dead purportedly predate Jeshua ben Joseph's time on the cross and purported resurrection (though I have yet to fully research this one).

Several of the primary tenets of Islam are directly analogous to the third person of the Hindu Trimurti (trinity) of Brahma, Vishnu (Krishna), and Siva. Siva wears a crescent moon in his hair. Islam has become represented by the crescent moon. The primary confession of Islam is one of the "kalimas." Kalima is the wrathful form of Siva's co-equal consort. Ummah, or "community" is among the primary tenets of Islam. Uma is the most motherly form of Siva's consort. The Kaaba, once a center of Hindu devotion, still contains a Siva Linga (phallic stone). And I recently discovered that "Alla" is a name applied to Durga, another form of Devi (goddess) that is Siva's consort, yet again predating Islam. And Mecca, the holy city of Islam, is named after the moon god Al Makkah--and mAkali is . . . you guessed it, Sanskrit for moon or the chariot driver for Indra.

Cologne Online Sanskrit Lexicon entry:
461 mAkali m. the moon L. ; N. of the charioteer of Indra L. (cf. %{mAtali})


These versions of the divine in the Hindu Trimurti predate all three of these major and contentious world religions whose origin is supposedly in "the West." The Trimurti represents these three aspect of God (Creator, Maintainer, and Destroyer), as three faces on one head. Perhaps if scholarship and the general constituencies of the rather troublesome trio of Western religions were to recognize their various representations of God as but three faces of One Divinity, facets of a balanced understanding of that which is beyond mortal which predates and presages or emanates their own various versions, they might learn to get along, and to be humble in their presumptions of inventing civilization.

Also of note is that the Aryan invasion theory, i.e., that the dark-skinned peoples of India must have been invaded by blond-haired blue-eyed people from the north in order to have developed such a sophisticated civilization, has been largely disproven by recent evidences. Such racist notions from "Orientalist" scholarship, as well as suppression of the clear origins of the three aforementioned "Abrahamic" religions in India seems to convey that in their insecurities, scholars and theologians and historians of the "Western" world have been either systematically hiding something, or have been blind to the obvious. I recently came across a source which tells that one particularly noted Orientalist who lived towards the end of the nineteenth century, Max Muller (touted as the "father of comparative religion"), stated in a letter to his wife that he intentionally gave a late dating to the sacred texts of India and to the dates of Indian civilization in general, as he realized a threat to the underlying myths of Western civilization were he to tell the truth.

I wish to make these things known not to shame the heritage of Europe and America and the Middle East, nor the three religions of the "Western Tradition," from which have sprung much compassionate action and many good works in spite of sometimes violent interactions and whatever injustices sometimes fomented. Rather I would wish to inspire truly free inquiries and criticisms of traditions that, while noble on some fronts, indeed have been hiding no small degree of dishonest scholarship and lies maintained to prop up religious dogma and civic myths. It is my hope not to thus promote some other set of myths to replace these debunked, but to inspire a fearless examination of the past in order to learn how to live better in the present, and to dispense with false mythological constructs that unnecessarily divide peoples, East and West and North and South. Critical introspection and honest assessments of our origins and our common and unique heritages alike might help usher in an era of understanding and healing. This is my reason and want to rock the boat.

ॐ the sacred AUM (the usual English scrpt phonetic spelling, though missing some of the substance of said sound), is the direct source of the mispronounced and derivative "Amen" of the Hebrew and Christian traditions, and somewhat more accurately pronounced "amin" of the Islamic tradition--though I ought to note, even most of the "Hindu" kirtan (call and response chant) leaders I have heard mispronounce ॐ . . .

Saturday, March 12, 2011

Tsunami At Dana Point: Is This A Movie, A Dream, California on Such A Winter's Day?

Waking, sun showing mid-morning height: Scenes projected with people or spirit like or of ones I recognize and have known as the actors and actresses, as if a TV show or movie filmed in those varied locations I happen to abide at whatever given time, the dialogue and voice-over narratives not quite audibly presenting the purported plot and scheme and themes of this absurd dreamscape production. Certainly tied to Hollywood themes and memes, maya on and off the big screen and flat-screen boob-tube. X-wife's name's Holly Wood last I heard, and Uma Thurman shares first name with (or is to whatever degree) Uma Himavati, Daughter of the highest mountains, and I think I met her (Her?) once in North Hollywood. Stars and their likes, figures of fame and recognized players of thespian sorts, are at play in some cases as those Stars Divine play across the expanse of the globe and universe, to whatever degree. Woven plots not necessarily all prewrit, though some previewed in a dream rather epic in scope, and in scenes cut from the final show, or varied takes or rehearsals filmed, so to speak, perhaps memories transplanted from some other dimension paralleling plot and scheme of this dream-like experiencing of a story surreal and strange as any sci-fi episode on TV, Twighlight Zone bizarre and beyond that beyond, at the least.



____________________

Waiting, now, for supposed tsunami rippling across the Pacific: Channeled sources say, in a dimension a few steps away, t'was no small event, in the prescient practice place of mind or minds prepped for this playing of the production presented, rehearsed for multiple endings seems . . . just in case!! Scenario in which a wall o' water rolls o'er the shore to stories tall happened already, in some mind or dimension to which I've been made privy.


_____________________

And the torrent comes: Saw the tsunami waves roll through the harbor here at Dana Point, whalewatching mecca and dot-com dollar built-up town, Orange County crazy!! Harbor resembled a river raging with one tidal wave swell nearly capsizing a motor cruiser and nigh colliding with another 25-30 foot boat. A floating dock was tossed about in this pinnacle of the tzunami's terror, too, here at Dana Point. Certainly not the havok wreaked up the coast and over the ocean. May compassion and healing follow in these waves' wake, and hidden blessings therein flow!!!!



And indeed, stories interweaving time-space, people and place, odd and intricate geometries, confluences and collisions and straight-up crashes even, as energies and personalities find unity to be a rather absurd drama at times, yoga writ and practiced large and kinda crazy, wherein word event meet with an average life lived displaying synchronicities and meanings overt and sublime. Tidal waves and other wonders, relating to mind and minds of others, and seeming some I've known, or like spirits of facades thereof; masquerade meets with my tirade as the milieu grows multifarious and at times seeming nefarious, yet mosty this plays out pleasingly enough (if the span of my travels since first embarked as a mendicant wanderer, November 1997, at least). Gives me cause to chuckle when a playful and well writ skit is revealed. Hee hee, haa haa!!!! May transformation of and through this terrible tragedy teach and heal and bring us appropriately closer to samadhi, hee hee !!!!

Monday, February 28, 2011

Life As a Big Crazy Dot-to-Dot Yantra

Seems as I journey round, zigzagging and going high and low, visiting municipalities and communities of this land, place takes significances and signification that surpass expectations of what means connections of names and memes and geographical geometries. In faces and mostly fond memories of people from places across the countryside and cityscape, I see means of Divine Mind revealing patterns of eternity, mostly playful revelations of how indeed we are al and each important parts to a puzzle intricate and sublime. Wordplays and cues proffer clues as to just what might mean this relationship or that, archetypally, geometrically writ and emplotted in geography both natural and of human artifice, synchronistically woven into rich tapestries making sense at scale both grand and diminutive.

As I ponder people and places where I chanced be blessed to make their respective acquaintance, seems emergent patterns of beauty have sometimes a dark-side reflection, too, is want to be acknowledged. Not necessarily something intrinsically evil nor need be a vision of malevolence. Rather better the tension of feigned opposition, like blows, scratches and pinching partner's flesh proscribed by kama sutra texts. More a veiled love dressed in ghoulish rags, dear friends feigning foe, more a negative space exploration than battle with demons.

Both in beauty and terrible form these plays play on, people portraying persons archetypal and eternal, showing thus at moments their own person true as is behind veils of convention and consensual pretense and so called consensus reality, past the self-imposed amnesia as to who and what we are, most true, gods and goddesses at play, and on a stage well set across the span of land and sea and sky, a quite epic story portrayed and to be read by those with open eye . . . something we all see, bye-and-bye, when the curtain call is made (long, long time from now, I ought to note).

namaste

Tuesday, February 22, 2011

Thank Bhairavi For the Under the Breath Death Metal Gutteral Growl !!!!!!!!!!!!!

Recently I have come to understand something of the energy of death metal. As I growl at phantom foes who seem to maintain some degree of real and verifiable external effect, and at those foes of healthy life and living, enemies of purity (not puritany, mind you), enemies of Rta shanti, I have found this growl, gutteral and terrible, surfacing in my already deep vocalizations. Angry as Hara, Rudra surfacing, no less, Bhairava ragin' to scare 'em straight or shatter their ill intentions and pretensions and impetus with sound vibration manifestation. Bhairav's Lord of the crematory grounds--pretty fuckin' death metal, no doubt. This growl's rather handy too, so I don't gotta shout whilst in public places as I sense ills and wrongs, nor randomly lash out at vile energies come at me, barrages of bullshit begging a response. I ain't no GD Buddha, I am one to fight when need be, blades and blood and beastly, yet I do have my dignity. Yes, the under my breath death metal growl channeling ancient or extra-terrestrail tongues as well as the usual Sanskrit mantras, manuevers of mind and suchlikes, allow me to be leastwise somewhat dignified as I deal with said foes. Didn't really intend to be playin' sadhu with blades flyin' on this intended business trip to sell rare fossils, world's smallest triceratops skull and all. Oh well, guess I gots the tools. Thank Bharavi for the under the breath death metal gutteral growl and all that

SHHHHHIIIIIIITTTTTTTTTT !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

RRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Monday, February 7, 2011

The Truly Noble Lie: Playing As If We're Not Already One With the Divine


Theatrical spectacular, mundane life coming alive, a Grand Show writ and played both great and small, on stages of renoun and of neighborhood everyday just the same. These archetypal cycles, natural patterns of playing life manifest time and again and both subtly and bold, as naturally we portray same old stories in so many variegated and nuanced ways. Heroes and villains, maidens distressin', nations stressin' over land and treasure and power, yet might often be the scarce noticed stories be the ones direct the flow of the broader production.

Drums and trumpets boom and blare, but generals and kings and rulers generally rarely know those battles fought which of truth determine the fate of nations, and which decide the state of things human and Divine. Might be a love story and its outcome tell whether life's a dream or living hell. Could be some series of events seem of no account counts as the balance against disaster, straw that breaks the camels back or thread holds it all together. The gods and goddesses (and even with big "G's") are like that, see, 'cuz they like a good show, and want for entertainment, just like you and me. This is lila, and that's what's it's really all about, so sit back and enjoy the show, or enjoy the part you play as best you might, resting assured that once the smoke clears and the dust settles, the curtains drawn and all, we are eternal, true and good, and One, Atman, brahman, human, and other critters too.

Saturday, January 29, 2011

Santa Monica Sunset Wonder






At 24 hour coffeehouse in Santa Monica tonight; today, late morning to sundown, was spent on Venice Beach. Waves washed mind’s musings and channeled chaff away for a while. Seems the noisy spirits went down to play in the surf for a few, then returned to their improper station, pokin’ my brain and tryin’ to make me insane, goddamn little fuckers. Nice don’t cover the sunset’s extraordinary show. Blues beyond azure and reds neon as the lights on Sunset Boulevard (not that I’ve been on Sunset Blvd after dark, but prob’ly seen on TV). I must say, perhaps the most extraordinary sunset I’ve seen o’er the ocean. Culminations of crazy yoga manifesting beautiful scenes, though the fire I’ve worked up and through to see such sunsets . . . the absurdities to muck through to gain such blessed visions been taxing no doubt. Meditation to the crash of waves is a nice respite from the mad and crazy dance and lila seems mostly unspoken whilst manifesting nigh ubiquitously, least when I’m in the public scene and observing. A figure passes or sits near reminds of a friend or lover or other from elsewhere, and even plays out corresponding scenarios or speaks telling indices in the course of dialogue overheard. An energetic arrayal or exchange or other motion passes before my mind’s eye, and perhaps as I respond, people pass by in synchrony to the movements seen, figures considered or conditions represented in my thoughts; a dance inside and out of me, relationship and transformations manifesting, and in concert and consort with Her, as She’s always workin’ in and behind the scenes, playing and blessing and healing.

Friday, January 7, 2011

Taos Temple Time, Sub-Zero Sleepin' and Hot Springs Soakin' in the Rio Grande Gorge

So I took a little trip up to Taos over the holidays. Seein' as how the publishers, literary agents, and dinosaur bone dealers are either on hiatus or too busy sellin' to be buyin', I thought I'd take the chance to visit the Hanuman Temple and spend some time at Stagecoach Hot Springs soaking in the steaming flow on the banks of the Rio Grande's rather chillier waters. Seemed like a good idea, as the weather forecast before I left Santa Fe called for naught but balmy 40's and 50's during the day, and still double digit Fahrenheit at night.

Stayed in the dharmasala at the Hanuman Temple/Neem Karoli Baba Ashram one night after a pleasant round of chantin' for the twice-daily aarti ceremony, and awoke early to attend another sesh in the a.m. led by a young bearded Afghani convert (hope nobodies issued a fatwa on him for his devotions). This sacred space is a wonderful mix of Hindu ritual and hippie culture, holding space for the faithful in the high country of the New Mexico mountains. Affiliated with Ram Das, author of Be Here Now and former Harvard psychology professor (then known as Richard Alpert--yeah, the dude the character on Lost was named after) who co-taught with Timothy Leary during the licit and officially sanctioned LSD experiments there, this ashram's guru use to do the multiplying food trick (yeah, just like Jesus wit' the loaves and fishes, yo!) when devotees would bring him an orange or some such, then hand out oranges to others all day. Though not my guru, Neem Karoli's alright in my book, and I definitely appreciated the hospitality on a snowy night in Taos.



After a few days in Taos, I caught a ride down Tune Road to the parking lot at the rim of the Gorge with a pair of travellers I met at Caffe Tazza, then hiked the trail into the depths of the chasm. Stagecoach Hot Springs is one of the gems of the Taos area, bubbling up just above the banks of the Rio Grande. Featured in the hippie cult classic "Easy Rider," the hot springs was at one time a crossing for stagecoaches, long before the breathtaking Gorge Bridge was built [as an aside, a former girlfriend o' mine and her brother got struck by lightning on said bridge one time. Lesson: don't touch metal railings in a thunderstorm on such a structure]. The ruins of the inn still stand in places, granting an interesting ambiance to a soak in said steaming geothermal pools adjacent to the bone-chilling flow, though the walled-in pool shown in "Easy Rider" is no longer full, and the current soaking pools are little more than rocks arranged to divide the hot water and the cold rushing by in the riverbed.

(springs not pictured)

I set up my camp a bit downriver from the springs, converting my bedroll into a semblance of a tent, a shelter that served just fine for the snow, though fell rather short during the sub-zero cold which followed. Guess forecasting the weather's still a far from exact science.




Though I've a pretty toasty down-filled sleeping bag, a Walmart mummy bag I gutted and refilled with the stuffing of old coats, seems I coulda gone for another thriftstore parka-full as the temperature dipped to double digit sub-zero frigidness. Even with layers of my clothing pulled out of my frame-pack and strewn across my mummy-bag encapsulated form, concern for frostbite forced me to cup my toes in hands at moments to warm said extremities and get the circulation goin'. My soaks the following days in the earth-warmed waters took on new meaning, to say the least.

After three or four nights in these nigh unbearable conditions, as the sun shone warm one afternoon I broke camp, then made it out of the Gorge just in time to catch the last beams of the setting sun. As all the other hot springs soakers had already departed, I had to hike to the highway, and then as far as a little RV park and convenience store a few miles yet from Taos, where I squatted on the front porch, too exhausted and fatigued to continue. Next morning I caught a ride the rest of the way into town, and I don't think I've ever been happier to return to so-called civilization from a beautiful place in nature--let alone from a geothermal hot spring!! Coldest camping I've ever known, and I'm from Wyoming, even!!!!

If you do get the chance to visit Taos, do consider checking out this natural wonder, just don't count on the extended forecast . . .