Sunday's Sermon

Oh boy! Dad, sit down before you read this one. I went to church today. That's right. I said church. They used the Bible and everything. They even sang one song I knew from childhood. They bowed in prayer several times, they took an offering, the whole nine.

I was sitting in the market by my house this morning drinking coffee and generally trying to wake up while balancing that with my overwhelming desire to still shut out the world, specifically the gang of bicyclists that descend upon my quaint little canyon market on Sunday's. They are completely considerate and polite, but their numbers are great for such a small space. I like to be curmudgeonly sometimes early in the morning, please don't judge me.

Mark and Burke began playing their instruments of music, as they tend to do on Sunday's. Mark, his guitar, and Burke, his mandolin. I found myself drawn to them, as I often do when they play here, and suddenly, almost magically, my sensory capacity expanded and I was watching everyone and everything all at once.

Mark's face is priceless. Underneath his long, silvery hair that doesn't stop until his beard reaches his sternum, is the face of a cherub. Deep, soulful eyes, and a plump pair of red lips. (He should be Santa for Christmas if he isn't doing it already.) I watched those eyes light up with playfulness as he beckoned for Burke to keep pace with every challenge of dexterity and memory he elegantly put forth with every pluck of the strings. I thought about how joyful he seemed.

I saunter off to one of the handful of churches in this small, Mayberry RFD-like town. It's my second time here, which accounts for both times I have been to church this year. The first time they were doing a remodel of their main auditorium and were holding church in the gymnasium.

Side rant:
Why do I find carpet on the floor in gymnasium's of churches that have school's attached? I have seen it too many times. Have you ever tried to play basketball on a carpeted floor? It's absolutely horrible. And nobody wants to let you have a home game! Forget diving for a ball. I guess you do get good grip and can do away with the boys with the mops. I wonder if there is a need to keep a Dust-Buster boy on duty?

So I return today. There is a Greek church that is now using the gymnasium, and considering that gymnasium is their word, I am a little surprised they agree to hold service there, but I digress.

I wander through, find my way to the new and improved auditorium, and find a seat. The new auditorium is pretty impressive. A huge, and I mean freakin huge, cathedral ceiling. A raked floor to facilitate a theatre-like seating arrangement for the audience, that sits very comfortably on overly cushioned chairs. The funny thing to me is that stage area seems built for an audience about 10 times the size of what this building actually accommodates.

A violin player, a guy with no instrument but a microphone so you have no choice but to listen to him, a drummer, a bass guitarist, and the lead singer/acoustic guitar guy embark upon the stage. They sing songs. That's what they do.

I can't help but wonder. Where is the joy that I saw in Mark's face and eyes at the market? These guys don't seem to have it. They sound good. They sound like they mean it, like they even probably believe it. But their faces tell me they have the bitter taste of swill flowing over their tongues with every measure of every song. That doesn't seem right.

I listen as a salesman gets up and tells everyone why the church needs their help in meeting the budgetary needs this year. I say salesman only because I saw the truth. What strikes me as interesting is that when last I visited, this church was only 4 or 5 months into the year, but they were already over two-thirds of the way to meeting their budget for the year. For the year! Now, it seemed, the budget had increased by about 30 or 40 percent and they were finding themselves at the end of the year in the red. How did that happen I wonder. They clearly state in the bulletin that they have raised almost $600,000 this year. Wow. Impressive. The salesman was really nice, cordial, jovial even, in his delivery. He was good. If you're asleep and blindly following the sheep's ass in front of you, he was good. You could barely even feel the darts of guilt trying to penetrate the soul and mind.

The puppets return to the stage to finish their show. Thanks guys. That was awesome. No. I mean that. Well, I mean it as much as you meant it.

Now, something interesting happened before the preacher got up to speak. In this "Cotton-Candy Church", they have a power-point slide presenter that they use for the words to songs, and if you're an overly lazy Christian, you don't even need to worry about a Bible, they'll let you read off the screen! So, the lead singer/acoustic guitar guy says, "I'm going to read, and then you respond in turn." And right on cue, words appear on the magical screen, and at the top it says "Worship Leader". That's his part. Later we find that there is a "Congregational" part. Long and short, there was a glitch, and no one in the audience knew the words, and without the ever powerful screen perpetrating the literary magic to dance us into hypnotics, the "Worship Leader" awkwardly led the stumbling audience through some exercise of rote.

Now, the preacher. His message? Don't let the words of the Lord fall on your heart emptily. Live in the joy of the Lord. He actually said, "I wish we could all just stand up and shout out in the joy of the Lord." There was a long pause. I felt my body trying to stand up. I felt my mouth and voice trying to form the words, "why not?" I almost did. I almost stood up and asked him. In a Cotton-Candy Church, there is no acceptable way, it would appear, to stand up and actually do what you say you believe. I know the Bible. Dad's a Baptist preacher in Arkansas. I know it says to make a joyful noise unto the Lord. This guy knows it says that. Hell, pretty much everyone knows that just from Christmas music, if nothing else.

Mark and Burke were and are closer to "religion" when they play together. That's communion. That's fellowship. That's real connection. By the way, speaking of connection, I didn't know why I was there in that church, until I knew why I was in that church. It was to meet Laurie. Laurie was leaving for India when I last visited some 5 months ago. She seemed out of place in that church. She serendipitously sat next to me today. She still seemed out of place. I had to speak to her. Turns out, she just returned from India. And after 3 minutes of conversation, she slapped me on the chest, the way an old friend that is comfortable with you would do, and exclaimed, "Do you want to go to India?!"

Yes I do.

Brown Bag Special

The walks are different but still the same
The masses gathered for this deliberate game

Serenely we began and build to delight
The birds flock to their feast of the night
They move in inexplicable joy and are gone
Languidly the comforter moves to pull us in
She caresses and rocks us into hypnosis
But it is she that needs this company
Words that cannot be spoken are thrown silently
She begs us to heed her beckoning
As if time were the enemy of her distraction
She loses, but still we long for her when she's gone

Don Quixote's windmills replace the lost comforter
The windmills split to claim opposing ground
Conflicting views that are dissimilar only in communication
Momentarily they regroup to join hands
They display their wares and reasoning for the other
Some see and dance in unison of the enlightenment
For a moment they agree and are welcomed
Giving birth to a new dimension of expression
Expression's baby struggles with the new life line
Twisting and turning the fight continues
The giver of life, ever patient, selflessly proceeds
The young child finally opens herself to sustenance
As they become one

The harlots uniformly in rhythm frighten them away
And seduce the masses to a darkness
Keenly aware, we watch with a guilty pleasure
They are the new sirens with no voices
Only movement and emotion stake a claim
The stage is set for one
She clearly wants the darkness more than any

Angels descend to combat the evil of the night
But they are not without their own malice
They long for each other's embrace
But they deny the request that burns in their hearts
Around and around they search for reconciliation
But none can be defined before they ascend again

The king leads his court to play the feast
The sprites of the evening spread their charms
The princess shows she is of the people
As she assumes the lead of the king's players
The king returns and allows the festivities to continue

A young woman sits lonely to one side
She is perhaps the Cinderella of this ball
But her timidity conquers her unbelievable beauty
She longs for the opportunity to share
But is quietly content to know her own heart
But oh! For that chance she might give her own life

Instead, the beautiful people take the spotlight
They move with the energy and confidence as of yet undiscovered by the lonely girl
They create a kaleidoscope of wonderment
And frighten with delight their captivated audience
They lull them into submission with their anger
But they digress as quickly as they arrived

The foreigners replace them with refreshment
They are confusing and amazing at the same time
Pulled in all directions by unseen forces
Creating and breaking bonds in a single breath
Passionately, the pendulum swings in time
As they retreat in similar fashion to give way
The time they deserved belongs not to another

An adequate replacement as are they all
She creates illusionary effects with a flick
Her body sending a message beyond her reach
She touches all with encompassing vigor
And suspends our collective reality for a moment
A moment so brief we long for closure

The finale of this feast builds anticipation
Time warped, the crickets begin their chirp
Chirping in time together, then separately
In organized chaos they throw themselves about
They intoxicate in entirety with their sound
Interlopers join the charade and are welcomed whole-heartedly

The feast transcends, enlightens, educates
The masses leave with a better understanding of themselves
The celebration is not over
It is merely suspended

Dance, Dance Revolution!

"Are you a free spirit?"

It was a rather innocuous inquiry, neither of us, particularly me, anticipating the vortex which it would create that would afterwards envelope me.

Yes. I am.

"What does that mean to you?"

That I dance in the magical flow of life.

The words were there. They didn't seem to be mine, but they certainly fell effortlessly from my lips. No hesitation, no thought. They were just there for me to use. I paused for a moment after speaking the words to soak in the ethereal magic from which those consonants and vowels had formed the syllables that seemed so simple and so poignantly epiphanic.

So, days later, I find myself reviewing the validity of that statement. It's true, I do indeed feel that I am dancing in the magical flow of this life. But how often am I truly allowing that magic to find me? And where and how often do I block that flow to my own detriment? That is the burning question that currently is my vortex of self-observation. Yes, I know it's a two-part question, but it's still a single concept that has me reeling in a spurt of growth, maturation, understanding and lessons of accepting fully the person I am in this moment. I find myself exploring the Good and Bad, or at least my interpretation of these labels we put upon the events of this life.

I love magic. David Copperfield, when I was younger. Some of Criss Angel's illusions are so good it almost weirds me out, but I still enjoy most of his work. A young man named Andy, maybe 12 years old, who hangs out at my local eatery and perfoms magic for the patrons is my new favorite. I can never see quite how he does what he does even when he does it a foot from my face. And while I relish in the magic Andy performs, the real Magic is in Andy's eyes, smile and heart. It seems especially easy for a 12 year old boy to dance in the magical flow of life, but a grown man or woman in their adulthood seems more of a stretch sometimes.

We all dance. You do too, adept or not, you and I are in constant flux with our environment, our loved ones, and everything in the universe. There are slow love songs, there are high energy club remixes, there are sad songs, and there are songs that seem to completely embody that perfect summer day by the lake when you first kissed a girl. Sometimes we lead, but how often are we led? There is a season for both to be sure. Force too much and you step on the toes of life. Resist too much and you may never leave the outside edge of the dance floor. Dance without awareness and you may crash into your neighbor.

There is a balance. Lead when led to do so. Be led when led to do so. Trust you. It's up to us to find what works and what doesn't, but resistance cuts the dance party short. I am doing my best to be attentive to the flow, to appreciate the flow and to feel the flow. Holding is for your hands in this dance, not for the flow. It is, after all, flow, and flow cannot be held. Experience it without attachment. Flow is constant. It will return, or at least, more accurately, it will seem to magically reappear. The real magic is that it is always there for us to consider, to tap into, to dance to whenever we want. We can, at the very least, always just tap our toes to the rythm, right?

Hey! I think I hear them playing my song. May I have this dance? C'mon. It'll be fun.

Thank you!...No! Thank You!

Like everything here, this is for me in the hope that you glean something for you by peeking in to my world. Having said that, and realizing that it sounds contradictory, this is for Filippo. Thank you, my beautiful friend.

"Thank you." No. Thank you.
'But I meant that. I really wanted to thank you.'

Thank you for being here.
Thank you for your warmth, your generosity, your light.
Thank you for allowing me to play in your world for even a moment.
Thank you for accepting me just like this. I didn't even have to change anything.
Thank you for laughing with me.
Thank you for making me laugh.
Thank you for touching my heart.
Thank you for opening my eyes.
Thank you for changing my life today.
Thank you for listening.
Thank you for caring enough to allow me this space.
Thank you for creating magic in my presence.
Thank you for invoking a beautiful spirit.
Thank you for helping me. You did see that you helped me, right?
Thank you for sharing the gift of you.
Thank you for allowing me to pass that gift on to others in my path.
Thank you for being the sweetest person I met today.
Thank you for holding a space of safety and love for me here.
Thank you for this moment.
Thank you for being the divine channel of light, love, hope, faith, charity, peace and well being that you are.

What a simple "thank you" contains is never as simple as the words themselves. We must acknowledge the right of our fellow human beings to implement one of the most efficient and vital tools in vibrational resonance that we have available to us. Gratitude. Say "your welcome" when someone bestows a "thank you" upon your head, and then you can thank them, in turn, if you like. Receiving thanks is just as important as giving thanks. So share the wealth.

Play Date

"By closing the eyes and slumbering, and consenting to be deceived by shows, men establish and confirm their daily life of routine and habit everywhere, which still is built on purely illusory foundations. Children, who play life, discern its true law." - Henry David Thoreau

Ok, I thought. No problem.

I woke up today with the attitude to play life. I didn't have to work all day, and I figured I would do my best to play. Check my phone to see what time it is. There's a text message: "Can you work for me today? 11:15." Ok. Sure. I need the money so I try to say yes every time someone graciously proffers their shift.

I stop at the local cafe and grab a breakfast sandwich on my way to the bustop. "Regular sandwich?" Yep. "Wheat toast? Cheddar cheese. American bacon. Eggs over, no, scrambled, right?" Wait. Make it Irish bacon. "Oh, really? Trying something new?" Today I am. I walk outside and cross the little side street to the bustop. Wow. It's beautiful today. The same girl from yesterday sat silently, sipping her Starbucks iced coffee. Yesterday, I took the 268 to the train station. I got a phone call and couldn't cross the overpass to the train deck without drowning out the sound coming from the small earpiece connected to my phone. I waited by the elevators next to the bus bay. She took the 287. It takes longer to get there. I finished my phone call and walked through the open elevator door. She was there. I asked if she took the 287. "Yeah." I told her she could take the 268 and get there a little quicker. "268? Ok." She sat there still sipping her coffee. We exchange pleasantries. The sigh of the bus braking at the four-way stop causes us to both stand and walk to the curb. "The 268, will take me to train station?" I hadn't noticed her accent yesterday. Yes, it will. I'll show you where we get off.

Exit at Halstead and Foothill. Cross to the southside of Foothill where the elevators to the overpass reside. Did you have breakfast? I have half a sandwich left if you're hungry? "No, thank you. I already eat at home." I unfold the tin foil protecting my half egg, cheddar cheese and Irish bacon beakfast sandwich. 'Maybe some homeless person will be hungry.' Maybe I should wait. Nope. No homeless. The train takes me to DelMar station. My stop for work. I wonder what wonderful things will come my way for my attempted feeding people good deed efforts.

$75. Two hours work. Pretty good. Thank you. "Extra. This extra." This tuna salad? "Ya. Caesar too." Esta basura? "Si." Esta basura por mi boca. "Whatever." Cool. Free lunch.

It's so beautiful today. Just hot enough. Clear blue sky. You could see the moon this morning around 9am. Half of it, anyway. Just about half way up in the southwest sky. This afternoon though. Wow. I don't feel like going home yet. I walk around town and up to the park. It's so perfect outside. I should stop by the pub to see if I know anyone working. Hey! "What are you doing here?!" I just took a chance. "I have to go bake a cake, wanna come help?" I almost say no, but I remembered that I'm playing. Sure. Why not?

We shop for a Funfetti cake mix. I don't even know what that means. We buy Funfetti and Red Velvet. "I wanna make a layer cake." Cool. "What do you think for icing? I like this Creamy Vanilla." I really have no idea. "Excuse me", she says. We both look. "This Rainbow Pleasure goes really well with Funfetti." Ok. We get it.

"I can't tell if these are lumps in the mix or Funfetti." I can help whip. I do. We delve into life and where we each are in this moment. We speak at length about our journeys since last we met. It's been some time. I have an idea. I have to learn to teach something that I believe will aid you in your path right now. You need to learn this exact thing I need to learn to teach. I can help you. You can help me. Will you do this with me? "Yes. Absolutely." That's so cool. I have been putting this off for too long. This feels right. I like it. This is exciting. Hey there's a soccer ball in the yard. Let's go kick it around. "It's not ours." Ya, but it's in your yard, and if we go out and play, maybe the kids whose ball it is will come out, and then we can invite them to play with us, and then we could have a game on the front lawn, or if they want the ball back, we give it to them, and we come back inside. "Noooo. I don't think so." Come on! It will be like when we were kids, and we can take our shoes and socks off and play barefoot in the grass, and it'll be fun, and we can be like kids. Come on! Come on! "Noooo." 15 minutes! Ok, ok, 10 minutes. Just 10 minutes, it'll be great. Come on! "Ok. 10 minutes."

She kicks it into the street. Hey, remember that time, when we were kids, and I almost got ran over by a car because I chased a ball you kicked into the street? My shoulder smashes her nose. We fall to the ground laughing. "Hey! Remember that time, when we were kids, and you smashed you shoulder into my nose and broke it?" An hour later, I leave Henry, Maddy, Evan and Seth to play in the plastic castle slide. Henry had enough soccer he said. I was way to big for the plastic castle slide. I walk inside. The hardwood floor feels good on my bare feet. She had just finished showering for work. "I'll be ready to leave in a few minutes." Ok. No problem. Looking through the living room window and through the bushes guarding the front porch, I see Henry playing soccer with his dad. Hey. He said he was tired. I want, for a moment, to feel a little hurt. 'That's his dad. Maybe his dad hasn't played with him in some time. Maybe you helped bring a boy and his father closer today by playing soccer with his son.' I like that story. Even if they do regularly play together. I like both stories.

A tiny black blur jumps and finds itself in my lap. Petey. Too much energy with this little Chihauhau and Miniture Pincher mix. "Throw the toy! Throw the toy!" Ok, Petey. Go get it. I hurl some red fuzzy thing to the opposite end of the room. Sit. Good boy. Go get it. Drop it. Good boy. Sit. Good boy! Go get it. Time after time after time. She gives me a look of I'm impressed. Does he know these commands? "No." Well, you should totally train this dog. He's really smart. We have to go.

Just drop me off in town. I want to walk the rest of the way. I love you. Let's talk on Sunday and arrange the hikes. "Ok. Love you too." The sun sets the sky to a delicate orange. Wow. It's gorgeous tonight. I say a prayer for a little marketable phraseology magic. Three candidates throw their hats. Nice. I like them. I pause to send a text to those involved. I don't want to miss a step of this walk. Glad I didn't. The mountains are so enticing. Thank you for showing me how wonderful it is to have this home. A 30 gallon forest green bucket on its side grabs my attention. Free wood. It lies against the curb as if the wood had made some valiant attempt at escape, but after obtaining its freedom, realized it had nowhere to go. That's going to be hard to see when it gets dark. I saw the lady of that house in her yard. Maybe I should say something. No. That will be weird. She might get scared. 'Are you playing today, or not?' Yes. 'Well, are you going to come this far today, and have this much fun and not finish it? Honor you intution and it will come around more often.' Ok. I go back. I explain that I'm playing a game today of honoring my intuition. Can I move the wood onto the curb? I think someone in a car would have trouble seeing it in the dark. I'll do it for you. I just wanted to make sure it was ok. "Sure. I guess." She was hesitant. She thinks I'm weird. I am sure of it. I would think I was weird right now. I stack the pile neatly on the curb and lie the bucket back on its side so the label Free Wood stays right side up. "Thank you." Your welcome. Have a good night. I resume my walk home. I smile. Today is so much fun.

My money? Still not figured out. Things hang about, awaiting further attention. However, I have accomplished all that can be accomplished for today. I am certainly proud of that. I feel fantastic. Isn't life really about achieving this feeling? Interesting. It didn't cost a dime. I just played.

Recieve This!

I've had so many people tell me through books or videos, conversations, both real and surreal, that you have to be open to receive. You can't just ask, you have to then open yourself to receiving. I use a paraphrased form of that in my own email signature. But how often do I really listen to that advice? Not so much as it turns out.

Receiving is still difficult in certain areas of my life. I am finding, however, that this "problem" (read: lesson) is at least now in my field of consciousness, so I intend not being here too long. However, this is something I must remember a number of times throughout the waking day. I'm finding that as my mind begins to clutter with the "noise"; I also begin closing myself off to anything beautiful, spiritual or magical. Thus, I find myself not so open to receive.

I give. I told myself a while ago that I would never again just brush off the homeless. If they asked me for spare change, and I had it, then I had to give it to them. If they asked for a dollar, they got a dollar. That was the rule. I haven't broken it yet. This is nothing grand, giving change to the homeless. I'm not supporting a worthwhile charity. I'm not helping defenseless animals. I'm not really even giving that person a sandwich. A bag a chips, maybe, but it's never much more than a dollar, so what could they really get? This act is nothing big or flashy, but it's energy in giving, which, following the "Law of Attraction", or anything else lately to which people subscribe, we know that particular action, in turn, "attracts" to us more giving. But this article isn't so much about why I'm not receiving, and how I can fix that. It' more about how I am spiritually impacting this existence.

Imagine, we all have our reasons for being here. Everyone who has ever lived or ever will live have their reasons for being here; evil or good, it matters not, we have all come here to fulfill the role needed for us to grow to our potential as a species. So what does that have to do with receiving or not receiving, right? If you're closed to receiving, as I was until I started writing this, then you are not allowing yourself to grow the way you need to. If you are not open to receiving help, and someone is trying or wanting to give help, then you are operating on different frequencies, and you will be unable to find each other. Suppose that help sends you or that other person on the correct trajectory to accomplish their spiritual life's mission.

We are directly impacting the entire universe constantly. Each of us contributes to the whole. Only by seeing ourselves as separate, are we truly separate. My "non-openness", if you will, puts more "non-openness" into the ether. That, in turn, bolsters your "non-openness", and so on and so on to support the illusion that there is not enough for everyone. We are all here to help each other remember. We all remember different parts of the whole, so there is always something to learn from everyone. But if you are looking for me, consciously or not, or if I were looking for you, and we miss each other, then we have not made the most elegant choice (as a good friend would say), not only for ourselves but for the whole. I find that I want more from myself so that I will have more for myself, and I know that will mean more for all of us.

We have so much beauty and potential and light inside us; who are we to stop ourselves from creating beautiful lives?

She Whispers In My Dreams

For now she dances in the stars
And plays in the constructs of my mind
Smart and sassy she slyly plays her jokes
Her beautiful spirit so free and pure
With an innocent tongue she speaks wisdom
Sometimes she nudges me to keep me awake
She beckons me to swing just one more time
She always laughs hardest when I laugh with her
She softly kisses my cheek if I ever cry
She always wants to hold my hand
Her pride in me unwavering and true
Curly brown locks frame her beauty
And her smile completely melts my heart
I hold her tightly at every opportunity
Passionately, she squeezes me back
We giggle lovingly each and every night
As I tuck her snugly and safely into bed
And my heart bursts with joy
Each time she whispers
"I love you, Daddy."