i have heroes; do you ¿?
I remember the first time i saw the expression “Tabula Rasa” - latin for blank page · I was 23 just before meeting my 2nd wife. The expression was in a letter from a consort that never quite jelled, or i queered the deal by leaping in the sack with my 2nd wife, thus betraying the possibly much truer heart of my consort a 1,000 miles distant - i say this not to defame a woman you don’t know but because 7 years later she “rolled me over” for my immediate superior · he was not fucking around when he sang “instant karma’s gonna get you.” Yet let us be clear in the light of valence, shit cuts both ways; each and every act of dharma you execute without attachment will move the balance for the whole universe. That is an incontrovertible reality you know the truth of with any honest examination of your existence.
Where we trip ourselves up is with “payback;” each of would like to believe our lives so unsullied that we will be standing there when the bully from your 6th grade torment is faced with _____fill in the blank. The reverse is as equally true the only happiness you will find is in abandoning each selfless act on behalf of another, the more anonymous the better. Which brings us full circle to the homely arena of “heart” where everyone battles their demons in private and exalt the angels modestly and in private lest they see the baseness of our hearts. And i have no idea where to go from here. If i could, i’d stand at your shoulder and pat away the tears, or caution the conceit - it is hard enough for me to be there for myself much less the gazillions of spirits i have passed in my travels.
Had i my way, i’d introduce you to them all - they were that fun to know · on both side of pleasant. Some were so taxing it was like lifting weights just to spend time in their presence; others so exhilarating it was like swimming in “Whiskey River.” So i am leery enough from my own mixed experience with Whiskey River to subject anyone else to something so powerful that must be by their own selection for it to have any meaning. My youngest brother would freak whenever i handed the phone to whomever i was talking to at the time we were speaking; they were often interesting characters i wished each to share with the other; i may be too far ahead of the technology or too far behind · i just don’t know anymore, but care less daily. Our father was a fierce advocate of “adapt, improvise and overcome” though he was Air Force down to the wings he used to flee this mortal coil.
He was also one of the funnest people i have known; he could find amusement with a popsicle stick on the shoreline, or the worst misery from which you would want relief. Ma in her own fashion is as unique, but far more stodgy and wounded which rendered her proud and conceited. She is not an unfeeling person, but i feel that her wounds were such that the scabs prevents her from touching that which cover the softest parts of her - which must be many. I mostly wrote the last sentence in past tense though she lives still. The projection is entirely my own - i miss my family · but feel in my heart of hearts that my presence precipitates the same pain which prevents my youngest brother from playing with the phone and entertaining people i would spontaneously introduce him to when i owned a phone. Now i try not do delude myself that what i feel is important to anyone but myself; my only reservation about such a selfish strategy is the joy i feel listening to happy music like Bob Dylan’s “Narrow Way” without jumping out of my seat and shouting to anyone listening - “doesn’t that,” as Bob Holdsworth might exclaim “bar you up?”
So much so, had i not counted paragraphs the next day, i’d have cheated you my illusionary reading public of the 5th paragraph - and it wouldn’t have been the first time · there was much hay in the air for the city had just gone into “lock down” which in this SE Asian nation is very serious business. My own country is blowing up in slow motion with a sitting president suggesting the election should be postponed - this after sending up test balloons about whether he would step down from elected office if he didn’t like the results. I was recounting my steps most of yesterday trying to remember as accurately as possible what public interactions i’d had and where so that if i come down with the demon virus, at least my last memories will have been in the hopes of serving those around me to avoid the same fate. Riding the bicycle was not possible but my “poison” is working very well and not interfering too much with my daily life unless you count missing the 5th paragraph of a 5 paragraph essay as a defect - in which case · ya’ got me.
jts 31/07/2020
http://stoanartst.blogspot.com
reprinted with permission - all rights reserved
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