Stuck? Your consumer likes it that way. Give him a vacation!

It's been a minute since I've written anything here. Things are good in my life, growing and expanding. It's 11 days to Christmas, those days are short, less light and plenty of anxiety about what to buy for presents and even less pleasant, the thought of throwing myself into fits of shopping around stressed out and sometimes mean shoppers is pretty gross.

I heard a phrase a couple of weeks back that said "If you want to be successful at something you need to stop being such a consumer". Usually when I hear something like that I don't want to hear it and it upsets me a bit but this time I felt relief and a bit of joy right away.

I can see it in myself. That consumer is the ultimate procrastinator. He's slick. He's the lying, cheating addict embedded deep inside of me. He loves to distract me, keep me feeling inferior, keep me feeling competitive and keep me from actually doing anything about it. Shopping whether it be going to a department store, buying a bunch of stuff and returning it, or sitting online on Ebay, forums, Amazon, shopping consumes time before it consumes your savings account you worked so hard to create.

It is quite possible you already have everything you actually need to get your job done. It is quite possible you are already happy too. I can speak from experience, I am happy and getting my work done. I want things but overall, I want a real vacation and to maybe go on more dates. I have more than enough material things in my life, they also consume time and energy.

My consumer is a time bandit. He loves to rob me of time. I track my expenses and income every day, that has helped. It's really illuminating to see that I've spent $100 on fast food in a month. WHat did I learn from that? I'm running around too much (fast part of the phrase) not smelling the roses, not enjoying my life and perhaps living too much to please others and the expense is my soul and a future series of heart disease. Since summer of 2013 I've maybe spent $60 on fast food. That's about 18 months. I'm cooking more at home, taking my time, doing a better job of taking care of me. I'm not living as compulsively as I can and really, fast food places don't suit me. They are depressing so it says to me I'm putting a higher value on myself. I like that. And I feel better cooking.

We live in a country where we are rewarded for being passive consumers. We are bombarded with information daily, we are raised to compete with our neighbors and we live in the myth that if we made less money this year than last then our happiness is completely doomed. Can you see how absurd that is? I love earning money and having it around but I only started to do better when I saw there is no actual connection between money and happiness. Best to cultivate your garden of joy today rather than put it off for the day you are a fantasy millionaire. Stop putting your joy off right now. Go bowling with a friend or whatever you enjoy doing.

My favorite phrase when I was in retail was "I have to do more research". I would put a persons dream guitar in their hands, they would smile and be blown away then say "I have to do more research". Why? What does that mean? So you are going to read more forums full of blow hard experts and come back to me with some minute details about a tiny part that might make it harder to sell? You've killed the connection. You've killed your valuable time. Money is one thing, you can always make more, but time? This is all we got honey. One day it's over. Best to start that band right now or get that novel started or actually practice taking photos on your phone rather than spend a year researching the differences between a Nikon and a Canon. Like the Nike ad says, JUST F%*%&* DO IT!

I hear this phrase many times when something positive is right in front of our faces. It's the coolest manifestation of the fear of making a decision. Granted I know how difficult that can be and in this world full of unnecessary products, it's overwhelming. True story: I walked into Fred Meyer on Interstate Avenue in Portland needing dish soap, a road atlas and some paper towels. I hadn't fed myself properly so between the depressing fluorescent lighting, the bad state of attitude and health amongst the employees, the awful musak playing and the worst: 20 different dish detergents to choose from, 32 different types of paper towels and road atlas season being over, I got overwhelmed. I started shaking so I went home hands empty. I had a consumer mini meltdown! That's an hour I want back. But I'm not going to research paper towels, that may be 5 hours I want back. Instead I went to a smaller place with better vibes and made my purchases there. Somewhere where I could make a decision. Somewhere relatively sane.

So why was I happy to read hear the phrase mentioned above about being successful? I by no means have this problem licked in myself. I'm an Ebay addict. But I have come a long way in changing those old, bad habits. And I like to earn what I really want to buy, it feels good to not use a credit card and give Visa 2-3 times the original purchase price over time. My inner consumer doesn't like that. He doesn't want me to accept myself where I am in the present moment. He's mad at me for not participating in the holiday madness. He's mad at me for saving money and investing. He wants me to spend all of that so I can remain stuck and addicted to the idea that shopping for more stuff will improve my life. He's mad at me every time I work on my music. Let him be mad! I happen to love making music and I have all I need to get that done. I happen to love going on long walks or writing stories. I happen to love cooking at home and I happen to make better coffee than any coffee shop and I love to share it with friends.

Mr. Consumer, take a long deserved break. You earned it. You work so hard. Just for today your services are not required. I'll give you a call when I want to switch brands of dish detergent. Thank you for trying to help, NOW GIT!

J

What do I really want?

  "This is America, no one is here to help you. You are on your own! America isn't even a country any more, it's a business. Now where's my fucking money?!" - Brad Pitts character in a mediocre gangster film I saw on Netflix today.

  That was the last line in the film. Nothing else was worth anything. No character development, some good acting but I don't even know what the story was cause, well, I simply didn't care about the characters. They gave me no reason to care. You know, it's Netflix. A lotta movies you sorta want to see.

  But that last line was brilliant. And maybe the point was made in this film. I don't care, where's my money? I don't care about my neighbor, the government, the world, the economy, where's my money? Money money money money money money money? Where is it?

  Dude, where is my community?

  Americans like to play the victim. It's really strange. There was a study I heard about. It was an examination of chimpanzee life. When we say chimpanzee we tend to think of them as creatures not too unlike us. Patriarchal, they make war amongst tribes etc. Very human. A few genes away from us. In reality before human stupidity intervened in their idyllic world, they were very matriarchal, egalitarian and they shared resources to insure the survival of the species. Then along came some scientist.... "Well, we can study chimps closer if we put out stores of food for them!" What happened next is after being introduced to abundance, or having too much, the became rapidly patriarchal, stopped sharing and started hoarding and became more warlike. In short, they went insane. It begs the question, have we gone mad? Yes, I think we have a long time ago.

  We love to bitch and moan about taxes here. I wonder if we would complain about investing in our own country if we saw any tangible value for our hard earned dollars? We have this outstanding military fighting in lands we don't really care about and that cost us billions of dollars. We have a sorry health care system that forces us to buy insurance from shady corporations (I got insured this year for the first time since I was 19. Within 3 months I got a notice saying they were going to have to raise my premium cause the rising cost of medicines. There is no real reason for the cost of medicines to rise is there? I feel scammed. I feel this stupid system was put into place cause any healthcare system that actually cared about health would be deemed "socialist", like our outstanding military, and the powers that be are failure junkies, nihilist.), our roads are sub-par, public transportation in a non major city sucks and our education system ain't exactly rocking. Not to mention the criminals who nearly destroyed the world economy were given our tax dollars to save it and run the show again. Yes, I'm just as cynical as most Americans about paying taxes though for me it's not about getting more stuff, it's about taking care of one another. I see nothing wrong with that. I want that. I love to help.

  I've talked about this before but will again. When I was a child community was important. We all knew each other on my little street. Then 1979 happened. Cable TV. Goodbye neighbors. Hello new levels of dullness and dis-connection. "Hey you wanna go look for turtles?" "Na, I would but this one cool episode of Gilligans Island is on again...." Heartbreaking. My family got cable 3 years after the fact. By that point I had so much useful resentment towards television I could resist. Plus we didn't have HBO, which guaranteed 2 boob shots per R rated film. And, this was pre-Sopranos. TV sucked. Bad writing, bad outfits, bad ideas, bad acting. It was easy to avoid. Not so easy now. The writing is better, I'm hooked. Community? What's that? Hmmm. Where did we go?

 And speaking of money and my complaining fellow countrymen. The average American watches 4 hours of television a day. In an average American lifetime that adds up to about 13 YEARS OF YOUR LIFE. For a middle class individual that's about a million dollars income. Invested? Double that. No, we are not lazy and we work hard earning for other people, but imagine. 13 years of time when one can be doing something really fulfilling. This week I tracked some of my time. Yes, 2 Netflix movies a day. There's my 4 hours plus whatever else on the interwebs I'm killing time with. It's the ultimate drug. Hmmm. 13 years times 300 million people. That is a lot of time. We can make a better country with all that time. We have no reason or excuse to complain about anything. If we have 13 years of numbing our minds, blowing off our feelings, coping, we have too much. Any of us can use that time wisely to realize our own dreams. And best part? In front of a screen we don't even need to interact with one another!

  Yes, this is a cynical post. And I'm writing it from my own relationship to wasting life. I'm not happy with this. I cannot change the world let alone save it, but I must change my own ways. This isn't the dream I grew up with. The one where I knew my whole block. The one full of hope for a super cool future. I don't like how self centered I am and we are. See, I want to change. I want to help genuinely and I want to feel good about this marvelous piece of land I occupy. And I really don't know what to do. I know I get a good vibe from my neighbors in this building but I don't know any of their names. That's got to change. I need to change that. It's a start. I know that a positive vibe is as infectious as a negative vibe. I want community. Genuine connection. My band gets gigs through meeting people and enjoying a good vibe. Any thing that is really good in my life has come to me that way. Meeting others and saying "I like your shoes, music, vibe".

  I like business. But I do not care to live in one. I'd rather live in a world.

J

Some photographs from beyond....

When I moved from Portland to Los Angeles I threw out roughly 1000 photos. I simply didn't wish to carry them around in boxes. But, I did save some. I'll be posting them here for you to enjoy! J1

                                                 Daphna Kohn, Portland Oregon 2004

                                                      Brooke Crouser, Vancouver BC 2002

                                                   Self Portrait, 1999, Portland Oregon

                                                  Jesse Carrot, 1999, Portland Oregon

                                                 Djin Teeth (Fangs!), Portland Oregon 2005

                                         Charles Street, Baltimore

                                         Charles Street, Baltimore

                                          ???? America, possibly North Dakota.

                                         front porch, Portland Oregon

                                           Douglas Berman, The Baseball Astologer, Portland 2000

                                               The Angel of the North, Newcastle England 2002

                                                Tampere, Finland 2002

                                                  Baltimore Maryland

                                                  Charles Street, Baltimore Md.

                                                        WW1 Memorial, Maryhill Washington

                                                 Los Angeles.

                                          Charles Street, Baltimore Md.

                                          ? Oregon. I call this one cavalry.

                                          France....

                                         Salt.....

                                         Music for all.

                                          Hashish for some.

                                                 John Fleming.

                                                  Steven Wray Lobdel

                                                   Josh Stevenson, Vancouver Washington

                                                  Charles before Dr Seuss Lawsuit

                                                   Lucia Harold, Portland Oregon 2003

                                         Old Man with cane, Brixton England 2002

                                         Michelle, Portland Oregon

                                         Les Petit Rats rehearsal

                                         Les Petit Rats rehearsal

                                         David Parks, Portland Oregon

                                          Jyvaskyla, Finland 2002

                                          Haunted house

                                                  Daniel Higgs, Lungfish, Portland Oregon

                                                  Jocelyn and Brooke. Jomf sessions.

                                                  Angel of the dishes, Colmar France 2002

                                                Sanna Natunen, jyväskylä Finland

                                               Daphna Kohn, Margery Fairchild

                                                   Kyla Czech

                                                   Daphna Kohn

Michael Henrickson

Pedestals are lonely places.

  I've recently been told by a friend that I'm "The Truth", something to do with the music I create and such. I don't find it nice to project such an image onto me or anyone else. There will be that incident some day where I will let you down and you'll see me as I really am, a petty, shallow and greedy being who sometimes makes poor choices, just like the rest of the human beings thank goodness.

  Yes, I have my peculiar spiritual practice, I'm making honest music and I'm generally in a positive place these days and I work hard at creating that space for myself. Taking care of me I can create a better vibe for my friends, associates, students and family to be around. And I am a pretty cool dude, I do my best and that's all I can do.

  I was 20 years old standing on the edge of a rooftop contemplating jumping off cause the girl I was obsessed with rejected me. In other words taking life way too seriously! I only have one memory of her now and that is something she said: "Dude you put me on a pedestal, it's lonely up there and someday you will knock me down". Words of wisdom. I'm grateful for that.

  What did she mean? Well, in my insecurity I flooded her with compliments and praise. Really kinda manipulative, I wanted her to myself and wanted her near me. I was in a state of denial. She was just a human trying to find her way in this mad world and I wanted a companion so badly I was willing to throw myself off a building to prove it. Wow. Glad that's out of my system! Life rocks today!

  So why do we do this? Form images of others and add to those images rather than just accept them? I've watched marriages fall apart after 30, 40, 10, 5 years with both people saying they feel like they don't know their partner. Is that such a bad thing? Isn't it better to be honest and admit you don't really know anyone especially your spouse? You know their patterns, habits, some stuff they say but you don't live in any ones head but your own. And me? I don't even know myself yet. Why would I pretend to know anything about you if I don't even know me? Why not start fresh and admit it every day and see those we love as fresh and alive, ever changing though maybe stuck in some old habits.    
  It's possible so why the "I know you and you are this" whether that is above or below or equal in your mind? Why not let all that go? If you do what happens? You may find you have more energy than you think you do. More energy to create a happy existence. Be greedy for joy, I see no problem with that. And those you disappoint, say sorry and move on. Can't say sorry for ever. Climb on down from that lonely pedestal you were placed upon and live your life the way you want to. You may find it weird and lonely getting off that platform, the comment I spoke of in the first paragraph gave my ego a little boost, I felt a bit of that sense of power. And I regret not saying "please don't do that, it's not nice what you said". In fact I'm waiting for the consequences now. So feel that loneliness and do your work. The one giving the compliment will find their way and you'll find yours.

JB

Happiness....

It takes work to be happy. Maybe not hard work, or maybe for some it is hard work. But what else is there to do really. Maybe joy is found in giving? Giving is receiving and receiving is giving. It's the same action. I give and then I receive satisfaction for giving. I see no problem with this. I wonder why we divide that so much into 2 petty little categories rather than just see it for what it is: just a natural state of being alive and awake.

I was on the subway platform the other day, just finished teaching and was tired but happy. My last lesson was really rewarding. A lady with a nice smile and a heavy Jamaican accent approached me and asked if I spoke English. I knew exactly what she was going to do next, she was going to ask if I've accepted Jesus as my lord and savior. I said no, I haven't and I won't but I'll be happy to pray with you. I liked her vibe so why not. She asked me if I have ever told a lie and I replied "of course I have! Probably every day!" She said some prayer about forgiveness and moved on. I was happy to receive that little prayer and move on myself.

Honesty takes work. I was glad to just be honest in that moment. I've been approached by Christians, Buddhist, Krishnas and other religious folks and I usually get defensive and snarky. I don't like the vibe, but I liked hers. I could be honest about that, pray and move on home. It was the end of a good day.

There's a passage in the gnostic Jesus book, I think it's in the book of Thomas. That's right: doubting Thomas. Though in this book he's simply Thomas, the one who keeps it real cause he answers a question with a question which is what a responsible human needs to be doing (why are children so much better at this than us adults?). 

Anyway, the apostles go to the Jesus and ask him "How does one get to the Kingdom of Heaven? What alms do we give? What prayers do we offer? How do we fast?" The reply was quite simple and I wish I heard this as a child rather than the rules I had been given. The reply? "Do not tell lies and do not do that which you hate for the Kingdom is within plain sight." 

That's something to reach for, or something to be. I'd rather be honest with myself and with everyone else and create heaven on earth than abide by rules someone else laid out. Do what you love and be honest about it, don't worry, be happy and by some mysterious way, you'll be okay. Yes, it's work. It's not being an a-hole your whole life then repenting on your dying day. Some days I fail miserably at this but I'm having better days now that I used to. It's work to forgive myself and others, let go, be honest and present but..... what else is there to do?

J1

We lost?

  Yesterday was election day. I did what I usually do on election day: work, try to eat well, then work some more on music and finish the night off with a good pulp movie. Last nights Netflix feature was about a girls reformatory school in 1950 with some people running it who believed in punishment only and one dude who was a shrink who believed in rewarding people for good behavior and compassion for the one suffering in her force fed patterns. Good prevailed: 2 of the "worst" girls stood up for the rest and refused to be beaten down, they told the truth to the state. Then evil by some miracle of 1950 America was out of a job. Good flick. I enjoyed it. I'd love to see more endings like this in real life. We all need compassion and a break.

  I woke up this morning to see that the Republicans made some major gains. The mood on Facebook seems a bit grim. I can't own a television, that will be the death of me as a recovering news junky, so I get my news through social media.

  You know, of course they won. Our people have no patience. It's a pendulum right? Our president didn't fix our massive problems in 6 years so we the people have spoken. In 6 more years amnesia will rule again and we'll speak again and vote the elephant out again (poor elephant! Why don't they choose a chicken or something else as a mascot, ooh, a mosquito!!!)

  I've lived just long enough to see this pattern again and again but rather than preach about useless politics, I'll just share some of this life.

  For me, the last president I liked was Clinton. 8 years of economic prosperity yadda yadda. He had a positive vibe. I liked that he was upbeat. Me? In those days I was negative central. "$40,000 for that house? That's absurd! Stupid people!!!" Oh I was good at raining on my own parade and raining on other peoples parade then too. I watched the news like a cult follower watches Ernest Angely or one of those creeps. I got off on all the suffering in the world. That was my topic of conversation: people suck, life sucks, all these bands suck, stupidity and greed rule the world.... And this was the Clinton years. The good times! I was young and had a lot of good going on I could not appreciate.

  Then Bush was elected. Then 9/11. Then Iraq. I watched my boss turn more right wing, fearful of gay people, fearful of Muslims, fearful of change, fearful of....me. And I became more righteous. I had a person to blame. I could be angry at him. We fought about Iraq. He listened to Rush Limbaugh on the job and turned off our customers. He grew depressed and so did I. We grew apart. He lost sight as to why we are selling guitars. "What's the point? The world is going to hell." There is no point, that may be the beauty of it all. There is no point so just contribute to someone elses happiness. If they buy a stupid guitar and don't beat their kids as a result of having a little non substance related relief, we have done good in this world. That's what I told him.

  The Bush was elected for the 2nd time. I spent that election night watching a Yoko Ono film of naked asses as they were walking. Very meditative. Butt cheeks swooshing from side to side. Better than watching Kerry get molly washed. Next day was awful. Some pock faced Christian right kids came into the shop and started singing really hateful Jesus songs (no joke) and they smiled at me as they did this. I felt afraid. They were gloating. They were psycho. I had no tools in place to deal with making a proper boundary in those days, but I did have a .45 behind the counter I didn't know how to use. One old man told me years ago just flash it. It's all about the front.... I considered it and they left anyway. Got bored I suppose. I didn't choose to argue or engage them in any way.

  But something was changing in these negative times. A year later I opened my own business and decided to explore prosperity. A year into that I went cold turkey on my news watching and after the harsh withdrawal, I realized I needed to work on my own problems. Bush would be over and something else would happen.

  In 2008 I was on tour with the Evolutionary Jass Band here on the east coast. We weren't bringing our A Game on this tour and part of that was playing way outside of comfortable Portland. The rest? The economy was about to collapse....Then it did. We didn't see the news but we were headed from rural Massachusetts to NYC when you could feel the vibe at the highway rest area. People were mega depressed.

  I drove back across the country with my dear sax player and we freaked out about it together. I bought several instruments at antique stores that I sold later to pay for the gas. Read that again. I took the action to pay for the gas across this huge country. Hmm. In positive times I could be so negative. In negative times I needed to be positive. So I started to learn how to do that. Pain is a great motivator, but I'm learning that joy is an even motivator greater now.

  When I returned to my little shop (Leighton Audio) things were grim. I went from nor being able to see my windows cause I had too much work to wondering if I was going to make my $300 rent. About 9 months went by of me staring at the walls and thinking about how bad things are. I started looking at the news again to affirm my negative mind. This lasted till about my birthday in July 2009. Then I thought about closing, not serving the public any longer and getting a job. I had one business card left.

  Light bulb moment. Yes the economy is a mess, yes Bush was a twat and his henchmen were evil, but the problem is me. I'm feeling sorry for myself. Nobody can fix this but me. I went to Kinkos and xeroxed that card onto cardstock, cut them up and put them in stores. I put ads on Craigslist for free and I went back to regular hours. I changed my habits. Easy to do when there is a dangerous snake in the room. I did what I had to do.....

  It took 48 hours before I had all new customers. I was too busy till the day I decided to move on. It only took a simple action and a positive outlook. It only took some self care and to be reminded that life is about serving another which is the same as serving oneself. I couldn't let Portland down, there were still amps to be fixed and fans to be entertained.

  At the end of the day it's all about being decent to one another. Don't play the politics game. It's rigged to be divisive. The banks that rule this country love a negative population. We make poor choices when we are pissed off, depressed and blaming one another for our pain. We overspend, fall into debt and the occupy some stupid street screaming at someone we will never meet and whom we will never change. We lose if we stoop so low. Do we really want to give them this sweet victory? I don't. Start by loving thy neighbor and treating each other with respect. We do this and the 2 party system will simply lose its power. It has to. Go do what you love and work hard at it. If we want to change this monstrously boring system, we need to change what is inside of us. I'm not perfect, I'm not close to being there yet. But I know this: I woke up in a bummer vibe this morning too and I have no one to blame but myself for that. It's my own self pity. I could let that get magnified by the bummer vibe I may encounter as I leave my apartment, but I choose not to eat that. So I took good care of myself and I feel better. Now I'll go out and take care of another.

  I love how this works....

JB

Slave mentality, survival and a piece of land in South Carolina

  I recently flew across the ocean with Tv on The Radio (best rock n roll band on Earth!) gratefully employed as a guitar tech. You know, it's been a while since I've flown anywhere and since I last flew apparently planes became flying cinemas with loads of on demand goodies to watch.

  On this flight the film 12 Years a Slave was being shown. I had put this one off for years now, I can't handle slavery films. I had heard about its brutality and after seeing the film Sankofa 20 years ago then Beloved I had sworn off watching another. But I decided to watch this one. I knew what I was going to see and I knew I'd cry on a plane full of strangers. But what I didn't know exactly was what would move me.

  The scenes of beatings, rape, lynchings, horrible.... I watched Roots when I lived in Germany in the 70's. Yes, a similar horror show, a similar of survival. But the 2 scenes that really brought me to the brink of screaming were the one on the slave ship where the protagonist is talking to Michael K Williams character (one of my favorite actors!) and another slave. Michael K is not going to lie down, he is alive and set on escaping even if that means killing his captors. He dies 4 minutes later as he is trying to save a young woman from being raped by an evil slave trader. But it's what the other slave says that made me so furious. He gives the protagonist advice for survival: Keep your head down and don't let anyone know you can read or write or that you are intelligent at all. If you do that is your death sentence. In a later scene the protagonist Solomon Northrup (played by Chiwetel Ejiofor) is talking to Brad Pitts character, a decent man. Pitt ask him to tell his story and he's afraid to do so, fearing for his life. That is the scene that brought tears. Not being able to tell your story, to live a life of hiding. There is no greater horror story than this.

  One day as I was putting my life into a storage facility in Los Angeles I had a nice conversation with the manager there. He had some lovely silver jewelery and he admired my silver ring. He was a handsome black man. He said something to me about how he just keeps his head at water level as to not be seen otherwise, he will be beaten down. This cat was well dressed, had some status in his job and whenever I went there he brightened my day which was full of fear at this point and yet, he's diminishing his life for fear of being beaten down. Beaten down by who I wonder?

  I read a book by Swiss child psychologist Alice Miller about oppression. She shares a story about a family she counseled. The parents were partisan fighters during WWII. They lived in the woods hiding, eating rats and stolen potatoes, surviving as best as they could. They met each other, fell in love and did what they had to do to survive. When it was over they started a family and never spoke of the horrible war days. They had 2 kids, a boy and a girl. When there was stress in the house the 2 children would run away.....to the woods and hide for days or weeks at a time, living on whatever they could steal to survive. They had no idea what the parents had lived through. It wasn't until the entire family worked together in therapy that the past was revealed and things changed quickly. No more running off to the woods. The wounds needed to be out in the open. But it is interesting how the pattern gets passed from one generation to the next even if it isn't spoken of.

  I knew my mothers family came from South Carolina. We had land near Myrtle Beach in some little town I'll never see. I knew that in the 1920's my Great Grandfather got into some trouble and the KKK wanted to end his life. The story I was told was that he was a bit of a rascal and was accused of moonshining which as the story goes, was probably true. He fled, and my grandmother who was a little child at that time got her earliest memory of getting into a big old car in the middle of the night and fleeing to Baltimore. My great grandfather became a much in demand wall paper man who wore one of those railroad engineer caps.

  It was the cap that seemed a mystery to me. Why a railroad cap? Hipster Luddites wear them today cause they look cool. Not too many hipsters around 80 years ago. Something about that didn't add up but I went through life re-telling the story as it was told to me. I also went through life keeping my head down, thinking I wasn't the brightest bulb in the lamp post and diminishing my chances at success by thinking I didn't deserve it or this world is hostile so why really put the effort out there. I don't know why I had these peculiar negative attitudes, they are so contrary to my own true nature......

   When I turned 39 I learned the truth about my great grandfather. He worked on the railroad and travelled all over the country. He was a brilliant man, well spoken, an orator. He would come back to his little town, go to the barber shop for 'coloreds" and tell stories of a better life elsewhere. He was what those Klansmen called "Uppity". He owned a piece of land in South Carolina and had a bit of status. He was marked to be murdered because he was smart, well spoken and decided to help other people choose a better life. He was a bright light in a sea of ignorance and intolerance. A beacon of hope and love. That's why they wanted him dead. He was a threat. A rebel spirit. Not a moonshiner and certainly not an idiot.

  When I learned the truth I was furious, then I was quite depressed for some time. Why was the truth hidden for so long? Yes, I'm smart and my true nature doesn't allow me to fit in to this stupid society yet, I've lived much of my life as a lie, hiding out and trying to fit in much like my storage space manager. That is the essence evil: destroying oneself to fit in. This is what evil does.

  I can choose to sit in resentment of those Klansmen, those southern ways, my family for not telling me the real story but I forgive all of them. I look at it this way. If this didn't happen I would not exist and I love this life I have been living. It keeps getting better too. If they had stayed in South Carolina my mother wouldn't have been born and my father certainly would not have met my mother. It is fate. And if for some reason I would have been born in South Carolina, I couldn't survive there. Do I feel entitled to a piece of stolen land there? I could get into that idea but, ask me if I want to live outside of Myrtle Beach and the answer is a solid "hell no".  There is nothing wrong with it but it's not the life for me.

  And besides, it's enough to know that my Great Grandfather was an ass kicker. He was a brave soul who stood up to a monstrous world and made the best choice he could make for the survival of himself and my family. Best thing about the past is the past is dead. It's a corpse and it cannot hurt me or anyone else. We get to start over right this very moment if we so choose. I choose to start again every day now and I feel so blessed that I live in a world where I can do that now. My great grandfather chose to live and for that I am grateful.

JB

  

The brick that hit the camel on the head: Attempted murder, denial and why I left Boston.

  I attended Berklee College of Music in Boston from 1986-1988. I won't go into details but I'll just say there were things I liked about it and things I didn't. Boston, it's a beautiful city but the vibration in those days wasn't for me. Things were meaner in the 80's, or maybe my perception has simply changed.

  I knew I was going to be in for a bit of a wild ride within an hour after my dad dropped me off at my apartment in September of '86. I was at a record store and was approached by a man who wanted me to be in one of his adult films. My little suburban self wasn't prepared for big city life but, I did manage to elbow him in the ribs out of instinct as he reached into my personal space and told him to get the (expletive) away from me. He did. I honor my inner animal.

  After 2 years of good grades and having my guitarist ego crushed like a bug, I was having doubts as to whether music was something I really wanted to pursue. Plus, Berklee was quite literally, 85% boys. There were so few girls. Not cool for a 19 year old Jef and I don't just mean on some sex/romance level, I mean on simple variety. I didn't like the way women were treated, especially by some of the scuzzier jazzhole professors. I found myself drawn to my English class. My schoolmates resented the requirement, they only wanted to talk music and study scales and harmony and I was bored of that. I discovered I actually liked reading and writing. I started to wonder if school was actually damaging me: disconnecting me from so called normal folks. Would I make music that didn't connect with people? I did not want that. Simply put, it was too much music, not enough life. This was the institutional art school model of the 80's. It felt like a factory. I needed to be in a band.

  But I stuck it out despite these feelings. I wanted to please my parents first and foremost, and I wanted to follow through. But something simply wasn't right. Boston was a rather segregated city with a heavy race vibe in those days. I felt the energy there was sending me elsewhere.

  Yeah, this post is uncomfortable....race, religion, Othering one another, that's the heart of it.

  I had a neighbor down the hall named Dylan. He was a smiley hair metal kid. I'd see him often in the morning. We'd always smile at one another and go about our business. One day I finally introduced myself and we had a few conversations. He was just a nice kid in my life story. At the end of the year he invited me to his party. There was a really cute blond gal that hung around his place so of course I said yes, but would have said yes anyway.

  So I went to his party. Did something I hadn't done for a long time which is drink. And I drank way too much. These were metal kids. When in Rome.....There was some weed and mushrooms going around but I stuck to bourbon.

  Those of you who know me, I'm what they call bi-racial. I don't like labels, I find them violent and they don't actually describe anyone. I get nervous at parties when I'm the only one like me there. Sometimes people feel free to toss a black joke around and I feel defenseless. They don't know who I really am and my skin happens to be pale so while they feel safe, I don't. I gained a reputation for leaving without saying goodbye. There is a reason for everything.

  Back to Dylan's party. Yeah, the cute blond was there. I remember her being nice to me but of course, she fancied a metal dude. So I drank more. At one point I wondered what am I doing here at this party. So I stepped out with some mushroom tripping kids and went to their apartment. I took my camera with me. It was about 3am. I left their place around 5am and by this point my drunk was wearing off. I got back to my haunted building and decided to say goodnight to Dylan and thank him for the good times.

  When I walked into his place there was a new guest sitting on the beer keg. An older man, a rough looking 40 something with greasy blond hair, blue eyes and a black leather jacket. He immediately took an interest in me. He started asking about my camera which he deemed a weapon. "I said don't point that machine gun at me!" He kept yammering away and yes, I was creeped out. I lived right up the hallway but didn't wish to go home, I did not want this guy to see where I lived. He kept talking about me being Turkish and that he didn't like that fact. He muttered some bible mumbo jumbo.....

  Dylan, high as a Georgia Pine on mushrooms asked me if I wanted to go to the roof and watch the sunrise. I said yes, it was an opportunity to get away from this fair gentleman. I said goodnight to him and turned away.

  And of course, he followed us up to the rooftop. What was I expecting? My new frenemy wanted to carry on his hatred of me and continue his creepy ass delusion that I'm a Muslim and he's a Viking defender of the faith.

  So we arrive at the rooftop and Captain Klan mutters more Jesus stuff and American patriot stuff and ask my what my nationality is. I say "German Irish" to which he replies "Bullshit!" Then informs me that he's an American and nobody fucks Vikings over and that my Turkish ass will be going over the roof. He grabs me. Fortunately, I was cold sober by now and he was destroyed on whatever he was on. I managed to get away pretty easily, slide down the ladder to the roof and run to my apartment. Before that moment I looked at Dylan and his lady friend and just said 'help'. They were useless with this gaze on their faces and the saddest eyes I had ever seen. I was already dead apparently. Fear baby, fear.....

  I locked my door and listened to this maniac run up and down the hallways shouting obscenities. Eventually the shouts stopped. I stood in my apartment and shook for what seemed like forever.

  So Jef, cops? Did you call them? No, I didn't. I'm no longer baffled by that. It took another month for the denial to wear off. Attempted murder? Nah. That only happens elsewhere to other folks on the 11 O'clock news.

  About an hour after the incident my roommate came home and I told him what had happened. He looked worse than me. He simply says "you think you had a bad night?" then proceeds to tell me that he got drunk at a bar and cheated on the love of his life (who was seeing at least 2 other dudes!) and she was going to be devastated. So I almost lose my life and he has a zesty session and his night was worse? Oh lordy, what is wrong with people?

  So no, I don't blame Jesus for the actions of a maniac, but someone put those ideas in his head maybe 2000 or 3000 years ago. Our thinking is the result of thousands of years of propaganda, ancient books written by folks who didn't have clean drinking water so they drank wine and other fermented beverages and wrote down things to make men feel superior. Think about it. If we go about our lives declaring "I am an American, I am a Muslim, I am a Christian, I'm a Viking" or whatever, we will never move forward from monstrous acts like this guy tried or Isis does so well. The declaration of Othering is violent in itself.

  Fast forward 12 years later. I'm on tour with Jackie O in 2000. We're in London and our drummer and I are sitting on the steps to the hotel and there are 3 little Pakistani kids playing with a ladder. We're smiling at them, they are smiling at us. One of them ask my drummer if she's a Christian. She says no. Then the kid, who can't be more than 8 says "That's good, Christians touch dogs and spread disease." It breaks the heart to hear such violence coming from a child. It breaks the heart cause like my dear bible verse quotingViking patriot American maniac, those ideas where put into their heads when they were innocent children by what we call adults. People we are supposed to trust. People who think they have our best interest.

  So how does my Boston story end? My dad picked me up to take me home for the summer and I sublet my room to a kid from Silver Spring Maryland named Ben. I have no details but do know that Ben and Dylan became drinking buddies. I got a phone call from one of my Boston people, a friend of my ex, that she went to take the trash out and found Dylan in the dumpster. He had fallen off the rooftop. Dead. Rumor had it he a Ben were drinking together 6 stories up. Ben? Never heard from him again. He simply vanished and skipped out on the rent. So I decided that going back to my haunted (literally) apartment building in that city was a really bad idea. Best choice I could have made and I have no regrets. Sometimes the energy of this world simply acts this way. GET OUT! You know, like those horror movies where the family moves in and a voice says "Get out" or blood comes out of the faucet? Horror movies aren't far from the truth. It's best to simply admit "I'm not welcome here, I shall go where I am loved, Goodbye evil spirits!". Life is short, and I'm grateful that it wasn't for me only 19 years short! I'm grateful for that horrible racist even, for that was the brick that hit the camel in the head and altered the course of my life for the better.

JB

The dead, the living, posession, the shaman and being in a band.

  I went through a period in my 30's where my energy was just plain low. It was frightening at times, how much longer will I live. I attribute some of that to the Pacific Northwest dreary weather but something deeper was clearly going on.

  I don't have a problem believing in spirits, ghost, angels. Never had a problem of belief. I just know these things exist. After all, our atoms don't ever go away after we die right? I've seen people possessed. It's nothing new to me. A lot of us die and simply aren't ready for it so we stick around. We have this culture that is obsessed with life. Look at People magazine. Youth, youth, youth. Stay young forever. There is no culture of death, no preparation of the inevitable. Most of us never witness death except perhaps our own, which we all witness. Birth and death largely takes place in cold, horrible hospitals. So when we go we don't know where to go. I don't wish to die anywhere but my home surrounded by familiarity and love. When my beloved saxophone teacher died he passed in his home. He was in a nice 'retirement facility' and he fought hard to go home to spend his last few months. I am glad I got to see him in his own home. Things were tough and terrible but my man was ready. He was a fighter but he was done. He had his horns nearby and all of his beautiful clothes, the things he really valued.

  Many of us pass on with this horrible notion that we are going to hell cause we stole Ms. Appleworms pencil in 2nd grade. Religious conditioning of the mind can be so powerful that we are afraid to go. So that fearful spirit creates its own purgatory walking the earth looking for friends amongst the living. We take on the role of judge, god and jury along with the role of human being. What a burden! No wonder many of us don't go.

  So one day I went to see a shaman for my own de-possessing. I went in half skeptic (my father is a rocket scientist, no joke!) and half believer (my mother is a writer and quite spiritual though not the least bit religious). The woman asked me if I drove and will I be all right to drive after we were done working. I said "sure! No problem! I'll be cool."

  After it was over I sat behind the wheel of my car and stared at it for 40 minutes before I put the key in. Easily the most psychedelic experience I've ever gone through and no, there were no drugs involved folks. I won't go into details, too personal here, but I will say this. She pulled 3 spirits off me. Hitchhikers. One was an old friend who loved me dearly. The second I don't remember but the 3rd was just plain vile. He had a mean streak and shouted obscenities in a voice I've never heard before at the shaman. He was terrifying. He was a real dick.

  She told me to go home, get a big carton of Epsom salts and pour the whole thing into a hot bath and also pick up some trace minerals to take since these things live on our nervous system. Yes, they literally drain the batteries.

  About a year later I had a gig with the Evolutionary Jass Band at Valentines. By the time I got home I had a terrible pain under my right shoulder blade. It lingered for about a week. I had trouble moving. I wasn't convinced that a doctor could take care of it and being one of the millions of uninsured people in this land, I figured I would tough it out with aspirin.

  It didn't subside.

  A week after it showed up I was at a brunch party in the Woodstock neighborhood of Portland. A beautiful home with a finished attic. This lady was giving card readings in the attic for twenty bucks. I figured why not just for kicks.

  I went upstairs and she drew one card. She said "this is how I see you" and yes, the card looked a lot like me. She then asked me what I wanted to talk about and I started to ask about the pain but before I could even form the sentence she said "oh, you want to talk about the woman in your shoulder? And yes, it is a woman and she's really clingy right? She does not want to leave. So tell me are you a musician?" "um, yeah I am" "Well, you probably picked her up on a gig. See when you are performing you are opening up and some people, living and dead, want to be your friend, get close to you, you should surround yourself with blue light before you play, keep the dead from occupying!"

  Yeah, I was blown away. She then told me what to do which was pretty much like what the shaman told me: "Pick up a large carton of Epsom salts, run as hot a bath as you can stand then tell her to get out of your body and do not be wishy washy wimpy about it! You must be firm. Mean if you have to be, she likes you and doesn't want to leave but, she does not belong here. She is dead and needs to go home."

  Next day, which was a Monday, at about 1pm I followed her instructions. No, she didn't not want to leave. I could feel her resistance. She was upset but, I got her out. Goodbye, go to the light.

  Next night we had band practice. We always made dinner before we played which was a nice thing. Our trumpet player Jesse showed up. He was white as an iceberg, sweaty, clammy. I've never seen him look so bad before. I asked him what is up, are you okay and his reply? "I have this fucking pain under my right shoulder blade. It's so intense I almost passed out at work last night!" I asked him when did this start? He tells me "right about 1pm yesterday".

  I said "okay, keep an open mind and do as I say. Get yourself a big box of Epsom salts......

  JB

  

Ghost.....

It's October, the good ol' month of Halloween so I figure I may as well share some ghost stories. All true of course.

Around 1997 my lady friend and I were living and Portland and had split up. We shared this 3000 square foot space on 30th and Killingsworth where we hosted the occasional concert, dance performance and rented to a couple of artist. I wasn't sure that I wanted to stay in Portland after the breakup so I wound up living in our space and sleeping on the sofa there. I was also a major X-Files fan and likened myself to the Fox Mulder character who didn't have a bed. Something manly and awesomely lonely about living on a sofa.

Best part about this chapter was after 5pm there was nobody around so I could make as much noise as I wanted to. At the time it was what my musician needed. One of the artist was a hat and bag maker. She made really beautiful stuff and had an area sectioned off for use. She had 2 girls working for her and there was the troubling matter of, well, she believed the girls were coming in after hours and making their own stuff on her machines. She had specific settings and in the morning the settings were always off. I was the only one there at night and I can say with certainty that I never touched her machines and that no one else did. She also told me that the stereo I built was defective, that it kept "turning down". I asked if she meant the volume was dropping, a simple fix but nope, the volume knob would actually turn down. Impossible.

One night I was asleep when I felt what I thought was a child or a dog brush up against me. I woke up. It was dark of course but as my eyes adjusted I could see what looked like a shadow in her area, a being darker than the darkness around it moving slowly throughout her area from machine to machine.

I knew I wasn't losing my mind but, I told no one. I was already the crazy one. "Yo, your ladies aren't messing with your machines, it's a ghost." No one would buy that.

Eventually she left the studio and we moved a friend into the back room. This woman was a bit of a hippie Earth momma type, super cool and had a cat and a big German Shepherd. One afternoon she came up to me and said "I had to chase that fucking ghost out of here last night, he was driving me nuts!" I said "oh thank you! I'm not the only one who saw it!" "Yeah, I was losing sleep. It was messing with my cat and dog, turning the faucets on full blast, it was a little boy. He thought he was being funny."

It's nice to be validated. It's nice to know you aren't crazy. It's nice to know there is something on the other side and that it sometimes has an annoying sense of humor. It's nice to know you can send it packing. Poor kid was dead probably long before it was a lawn mower repair shop. And he certainly didn't belong in our studio! It's nice to have hippie friends who know exactly what to do.....

JB

Humans Of New York and my 5 minutes of fame... The challenges of changing lanes.

I left my guitar store job in July with no real plan, just the faith that something would work out for me. Not an intelligent choice if my choice was fueled with fear, NYC with no safety net, but alas, I've been working on my faith for a while now and decided it was time to take that leap.

I had little money in my checking and enough for one months expenses here. At the same time I was also moving. Yeah, the rattle snake was in the room on my birthday and I couldn't afford one bad decision.

2 days after I left my job it was my birthday, and the following day I landed a gig through a dear friend with 3 Fingers Painting company. I've painted with my mom before but this is one of the finest companies in the city. I wanted to learn a new skill. This couldn't have come my way in a more perfect time! Gratitude city here!

I also substitute teach at NY School of Rock. I want MORE of this work as I love teaching. I show up when ever I'm needed and am available. I'm hungry for more teaching gigs.

So we were painting this beautiful house in the West Village one day, (I'm doing masking and prep, not allowed to paint as of yet!) we took our lunch and by the end of that break I had this insatiable craving for a chocolate macaroon. I figure there has to be a coffee shop within walking distance that would be able to satisfy my craving. I had my ginger beer and was all dolled up in my painting clothes when I turned the corner on this magnificent day and this cat with a big camera comes walking up.

"Hi, I have a website called Humans of New York and is it okay if I take your picture and ask you a few questions?" "Sure!" (I do like publicity and humor. He looked like a happy cat so why not?).

Here is the result: https://www.facebook.com/humansofnewyork/photos/a.102107073196735.4429.102099916530784/735004729906963/?type=1&theater

His first question: "So what is your greatest struggle right now?"

I was in a great mood, and I lied. My greatest struggle was finding a Macaroon in the West Village but instead I told him "I don't really have any struggles". Which on a good day actually is true. He seemed kinda alarmed. "What do you mean by that?" I told the truth: "I gave up struggling, I didn't see the point in it any longer". We had a nice dialogue about surrender, vision, and moving forward with life. He asked what I'm doing now and I talked about music, teaching and painting houses. He asked what I used to do before I came here. Part of the dialogue was about changing lanes. I was a repair man for 20 years, tube amplifiers and I hit bottom when I could not manage the amount of work I had. I was miserable. My guitar playing went from something I was really proud of to playing the E chord really loud 2765 times a day to hear if an amp is working properly. I felt really depressed, I had set out to be a musician and became a good technician and now is the time to live the dream. I must have said something about being 'one of the best tube amp techs in the country' during this dialogue. Yes, at one point I had such a demand partly because I have a good ear and I listened to my customers needs. Oh, that would be on a good day. I'm human. There is pride then there is arrogance. I've slipped to the bad side before and it never worked out. I learned how to have 200+ happy customers a year. I am proud of that fact. Plus I got to run my own business, proud of that too.

But...I don't do this anymore with the exception of working for a few friends here and there when I need the dough. I don't care to do this for a living at all any longer, I just want to play, produce, compose and teach music for the rest of my life. Huffing lead acid fumes and playing Marshalls at 11? Man, my ears ring. Tinnitus for a decade now. I like the work but decided to change lanes.

Here's where it gets tricky: You are in 1 lane for 20+ years, you want to go to another and in between is the distraction of pure survival. I need money. That simple. Plenty of easy distracting money around.

So when I heard about this picture being chosen I was really excited to see it since our dialogue felt really connected and fun. I was mortified when I saw the chosen quote. Then I was hurt and angry. I should know better than talking to the press!

I've learned something in this time. I have no steady job but I'm still earning roughly the same per month as I did at the guitar shop. Energetically I may be telling myself I'm only worth this amount. And I'm mostly earning from a tech gig here or there and doing things I'm still not all that stoked about. I realized, well, I did this tube amp thing 8 hours a day for 20 years. Of course my confidence comes across. I can mumble 'hey um, I can fix that' and in no time flat be under a pile of broken guitars and amps. I can scream 'I teach guitar!!!! I produce music!!! I have a great band!!!' and the response is cricketland. That doesn't mean I'm not good at it. The people I have helped expressed nothing but love for the lessons and music. And I know I can lay it down on guitar and am easy to work with. I know I can help a musician sound better by suggestion. But there's this lack of confidence in there. It's deep down. This little voice lying to me daily saying I don't deserve the good things in life.

That's where the work needs to be done. That kid inside me there needs to be listened to and allowed to be heard and heal. And I'm up for the work. What else am I going to do? I only have one real fear and that is turning 65 one day and looking back at a pile of potential (isn't that an awful word?) that I refused to realize.

And I will never, ever give up until I'm called back home.

So back to the Humans of New York bit. I didn't look at it till tonight. Didn't read the comments. I was frankly scared to. I saw some comments from friends that were defensive as in "Jef's a great guy, piss off haters!!!" I appreciate those comments but you know, I don't need defending. I know my limits. I know such a comment as "I'm one of the best" will be viewed as arrogant by many and they will gladly share whatever opinion they have of me throughout the safety of a laptop, wireless, satellite, fiber optics etc. So tonight when I did read some of it I was really tickled. I'm glad he chose that comment. I'm glad to see much of the dialogue was about being proud of what you do and that there is nothing wrong with that. I'm glad some folks like my smile since I like to smile, and some folks like my forehead, or, fivehead with my receding hairline.

So if my good mood that day allowed such a dialogue and brought a bit of humor into the lives of 70,000+ people, then my job is more than done. Get out there, do what you love and get really good at it, then by all means: TOOT YOUR OWN HORN!!!!

Peace and love, Jef B.

Decide to be happy

I had a psychology teacher in high school, Mr Wizda (no joke!) who didn't like to say "have a good day" cause it was just too passive. Me would say "make it a good day!" instead. This annoyed me probably much like it annoyed other folks. We're so trained to say the former.

The last few weeks have been really challenging. I've met some major goals which is quite uncomfortable (funny how that is! Knowing thy actual power is scary!), I've also intiated some amends which is a goal in itself and a painful one. I've had some setbacks that affect my finances (I behave my worst under financial insecurity!) and my vibes have been extraordinarily low. Truth be told I fell into that AWESOME victim 'pity party' space this last week. You know, "life sucks blah blah blah".

I say blah blah blah cause that's what my brain has been saying. A feeling, good or bad, only last a minute if even that, but a story can last a lifetime. "Blah blah blah, this happened to me blah blah blah life sucks won't you feel sorry for me now? Yadda yadda." And the more I engage in that low vibe the lower I go, the more boring I become, the less work I get done, the less money I make, the less attractive I become and the old story becomes THE story. I get to wear it like a medal: I'm a victim! See?

Um....yeah, that's not reality. That's insanity.

So yesterday I woke up and got about 2 1/2 seconds of peace before the story started kicking in. "Loser!" screamed through my head in a horrible Dick Cheney cracked church bell type of way.

So I asked myself, "dude what is this all about? So I had a setback. There's a lot more dough to be made and if I sulk, things will stay the same." So then I asked myself "how about I make it a good day like Mr. Wizda suggest?" So I did just that. I took good care of myself and the day ended with me working on music for 5 hours. It wasn't  a perfect day thank goodness, but it was good and I achieved the goal of feeling good. And that's enough to remember, I can make the same choice the next day and the day after.

I wonder why I was ever annoyed by that suggestion? Or why I don't suggest the same thing on a daily basis? Or why I forget my responsibility to myself and my fellow humans? If I make it a good day for me then everyone I come in contact with has a bit more light to work with! Now that sounds good...

JB

Thoughts on Katabasis, conflict and being a Space Being (for men, sorta!)

  I've been reading Robert Blys' book "Iron John" and gaining maybe a bit too much insight into my own male conditioning and at the same time finding comfort in the question "what happened?" These last 4 years have been difficult and yet overall I can honestly say I'm happier than ever. Trouble is I don't take enough time out to reflect on the progress I have made since I hit bottom in 2011, but when I do I can say I went from a place I really didn't care to be which was close to homeless then working at the worst job I've had in years while staying with my folks at the age of 43 to living in NYC. That's pretty amazing. And my standards for living? I'm raising them this month. Massive change. Uncomfortable. Feels like dying though the bliss moments are just more...blissful.

  So what is that harsh word Katabasis? It means a drop in status, a kind of bottoming out. For me it's where my compulsive behavior led me. I went from being a business owner who set his own hours, didn't work too hard and earned more than I ever have, to overspending my way to the poorhouse, to working for $7.25 full time at Guitar Center. It's a crushing defeat, and according to this book and to the numerous biographies of successful people, it's nothing unusual. I don't buy the word failure so I'll use the word defeat. Every success story is full of defeat stories leading to that place, and if your spirit isn't right, that can become your new surrender. Oddly enough what I did learn from running my own shop is I actually worked much harder at Guitar Center, longer hours, on my feet 40 hours a week. My shop I worked 4 days a week and earned roughly 4-5x what I did at GC. So that drop in pay, yes, that was crushing. What carried me through that was just knowing this was temporary and setting a clear end date. Oh, and showing up to work after my 30 mile commute and screaming obscenities in my car in the parking lot before my dreadfully dull shift started. I could walk in after that and be Mr. Positive. Worked most days.

  See, those moments when I was building amps for customers, I could lose myself in the present. With music I vanish. With teaching guitar I vanish as well. It's that state of bliss where the money doesn't matter, the service does. I follow that bliss, it's led me to this dirty city that I love.

  In 2 weeks I'm leaving my current job. I'm excited, scared, confident, freaked out, joyous and anxious at the same time. Actually, tonight I'm in pain. I'm realizing something. I'm in the 9th month and I'm being re-born. All I want to do is cry like a baby does. Being born is intense I'm remembering. It's no joke. I'm throwing myself to faith. The war is over and I've lost. I give up the fight. I give up resistance. I no longer have it in me to fight. Opportunities to teach and play keep showing up and I can't afford to not explore them. I feel a flow coming on strong and it makes me uncomfortable. So I need to dive on in that river and see where it takes me.....

  I've lived this life as a "jack of all trades, master of none". Musician, photographer, shopkeeper, repairman, salesman, writer, lover, boyfriend, and probably a few more hats o' distraction that I can't remember anymore. I've been wondering what to do with the rest of this life now that the war is over. Well, there is desire. Behind any desire is a desire to feel better than before. I desire some bling to dress myself up to feel a little better. I desire a better job to be able to afford a place of my own. If I desire to fire an employee who isn't working out, it's painful but still behind that desire is to feel better by bettering my work environment.

  So the question is what is my "burning desire?" Well, this is where my conditioning steps in. See many years ago my feelings became unsafe for me. My feelings being the most honest thing I know. That space between my neck and my groin vanished, became that defensive pot belly I struggle to keep slim and I started to lie. Tell people what I thought they wanted to hear. When asked a question like "what do I want" I'd freeze up. I'd formulate my answer around what I thought the person asking would approve of. And of course, with so many safe possibly lucrative choices, who can make that decision? May as well just let god decide for me...

  I'm a musician. That is my burning desire. Has been since before my feelings became unsafe and it still is. I never learned the nuts and bolts of earning money through what I love and live cause, being a musician is sexy, wildman stuff. There is no safety in the wild. May as well get a day job and do music as a hobby.

  Fuck that. I'm a hunter gatherer. They don't teach instinct in college. Hunter gatherers worked an average of 20 hours a week, then lay around celebrating for the rest of the week. The 40 hour workweek is bullshit ladies and gentlemen. When I've earned the most I was in tune with that natural state of being. Less time, more money=more time to enjoy life. I'm a hunter gatherer, end of story.

  There is no societal reward for the wildman. No "oh that's great, you are a wildman" like you hear when someone becomes a lawyer: "oh awesome, you studied hard and now you're educated and you can have a good salary!" Nothing wrong with that, it's just not my natural way.

  But it's funny. I can be that natural being on stage. Women I've dated have been baffled and put off at how awkward and sometimes dis-connected I am offstage. I don't know how to connect the 2. I do know that the deeper I go in this life, the more Jekyll and Hyde come together. It's terribly uncomfortable but what else is a man to do? Go on playing a role that is external or be himself?

  Okay, I know I'm going all over the place tonight with this one. I just need to wrap up with the second part of the title, being a Space Being. Mercury is in retrograde and these last 3 weeks have been torture at times. Change of job coinciding with home instability and living in a place surrounded by people more neurotic than I think I am. My mellow is being pushed around and my buttons are being pressed daily. I've had a few heated situations, stuff where I just got upset with another. I've come to embrace the term 'Space Being' as one who is vibrating high but not quite to the point of dis-integration. A Space Being doesn't feel the need to compel or impel anyone to do anything. When my buttons are pressed I go to war, become passive aggressive, manipulative. I'm seeing this in myself so clearly today. When I remember it's a choice to let go of resistance or engage with someone elses' disease, the choice becomes obvious. I don't need to win an argument. I don't need anyone to see things exactly as I do. There isn't much in this world that matters to me anymore, so I'm learning to let go. After all, what is conflict but 2 parties trying to hold on to their different concepts, ideals, petty little problems? My problems are petty. What am I fighting for? A structure created to house something. My body houses this soul thing. One day my cells will start saying to each other: "hey, maybe we should start seeing other cells?" and my ego will only serve as a means to fight my inevitable end, only to avoid collapse. Not unlike a beautiful old building that simply can't stand any longer, the termites and wood bees have done their duty. So away goes the old and makes space for the new. I'm starting to see this in my life. All of my conflicts seem so un-necessary. If someone feels the need to call me out I can see it as an opportunity for variety. I needed try to do anything to change their mind. I'm choosing every day to go to space.....

  So now that I've felt the pain and insanity of the last few years, I don't need to go there again. I don't need another Katabasis, another bottom. I get to talk about it and share some insights that hopefully help another. Sure emotional triggers come up daily, but maybe it's okay this way. It's an opportunity to appreciate variety. It's an opportunity to check out space. A way to practice my wings. An opportunity to set boundaries and learn to be present, to learn to feel and be honest with my gut. A means to propel me to a higher vibration. A means remember the man that I actually am. I like that guy, he's pretty amazing.