Friday, April 24, 2009
Celebrating 67 Years.
Today my mother is celebrating 67 amazing years. Despite the recent news, she's in good spirits and ready to live. That's right, LIVE. Being alive isn't about decades or time, it's about being in the moment, and we all need to remember that.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Margaret
Her voice is full of fear. She's already in pain. I've answered the call and have cleared my calendar through the end of May. Our long-anticipated road-trip to New Mexico and Arizona is still on the schedule, but we've warned our friends that the trip could be called off at a moment's notice.
Cancer is a force of nature. Every species battles it. We're losing that battle in so many ways. We've poisoned our own wells. No other species has done that. Yet, we battle on against the odds.
In those battles are our mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers, partners and babies. We will join this battle whether we want to or not.
Tonight, I can only focus on one warrior: one woman among millions who finds her body invaded by her own cells gone mad. My mother and my friend. Fight hard, Margaret. I've got your back.
Cancer is a force of nature. Every species battles it. We're losing that battle in so many ways. We've poisoned our own wells. No other species has done that. Yet, we battle on against the odds.
In those battles are our mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers, partners and babies. We will join this battle whether we want to or not.
Tonight, I can only focus on one warrior: one woman among millions who finds her body invaded by her own cells gone mad. My mother and my friend. Fight hard, Margaret. I've got your back.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
The Cancer Plague
Today this plague hit my family, specifically my mother. Her liver and pancreas are spotted with it, and she's in a bit of pain.
I hate cancer; I deplore it; I loathe it. And sadly, if we avoid accident or injury, most of us will die from it, and in increasing numbers.
Cancers are not accidents. We pass them from one generation to the next, and we get them from the thousands of chemicals we've created. We live in a toxic soup.
Cures and better treatments are coming, but the number of toxins smothering this world is staggering and mind-numbing. It's going to be an uphill battle.
Cancer is a curse, and something we must live with as long as we continue to pass this plague from one generation to the next, and put convenience and shine above health and longevity.
I hate cancer; I deplore it; I loathe it. And sadly, if we avoid accident or injury, most of us will die from it, and in increasing numbers.
Cancers are not accidents. We pass them from one generation to the next, and we get them from the thousands of chemicals we've created. We live in a toxic soup.
Cures and better treatments are coming, but the number of toxins smothering this world is staggering and mind-numbing. It's going to be an uphill battle.
Cancer is a curse, and something we must live with as long as we continue to pass this plague from one generation to the next, and put convenience and shine above health and longevity.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Ramblings
Many people I know are in a tizzy about Easter: stations of the cross, endless vigils and dinners and foot washings and...
Many are also fretting over Seder.
For me, this is just another borrowed season from our far more ancient past. Traditions stamped on top of prehistoric rituals and observations. No one knows or can agree on how long Christ stayed in his tomb or how much blood to put on your door frames, but no one disputes the pagan origins of observing eggs and rabbits, or the sprouting of blossoms and buds.
I abhor pastels and "baby" colors. I prefer the bold and bright, not the faded and the pale. Commit to something, even color. For example, if you're going to have pink, make it a shocking pink, not the washed out hues of a poorly dyed egg or a piece of candy. This dislike of pastels goes to the root of my dislike of the particular time in the Judeo-Christian calendar.
People swath themselves in pale colors and talk of sacrifice, but they don't commit like they do during the winter holidays; days covered in dark reds, greens, and blues. You never hear talk of caring for the poor in March or April. No one gives Easter Baskets to needy families; baskets full of food and clothing like the boxes people trip over themselves to get out during Christmas, Hanukkah, and Yule.
Foot washing during Easter is all the rage these days, and yes, it does show compassion. But a suggestion for the foot washers: followup up this act of humility with a tangible gift for those you serve. Food. Clothing. Rent. Medical assistance. Counseling. Something more than touching a foot.
Look into the dark heart of winter for the way to observe the pale lights of spring. Do more than just share a cup of blood and wash a dirty foot. Get to the root of the pain and find a way to end it. God is in the mercy, not baskets of candy or tables filled with prescriptive food.
Many are also fretting over Seder.
For me, this is just another borrowed season from our far more ancient past. Traditions stamped on top of prehistoric rituals and observations. No one knows or can agree on how long Christ stayed in his tomb or how much blood to put on your door frames, but no one disputes the pagan origins of observing eggs and rabbits, or the sprouting of blossoms and buds.
I abhor pastels and "baby" colors. I prefer the bold and bright, not the faded and the pale. Commit to something, even color. For example, if you're going to have pink, make it a shocking pink, not the washed out hues of a poorly dyed egg or a piece of candy. This dislike of pastels goes to the root of my dislike of the particular time in the Judeo-Christian calendar.
People swath themselves in pale colors and talk of sacrifice, but they don't commit like they do during the winter holidays; days covered in dark reds, greens, and blues. You never hear talk of caring for the poor in March or April. No one gives Easter Baskets to needy families; baskets full of food and clothing like the boxes people trip over themselves to get out during Christmas, Hanukkah, and Yule.
Foot washing during Easter is all the rage these days, and yes, it does show compassion. But a suggestion for the foot washers: followup up this act of humility with a tangible gift for those you serve. Food. Clothing. Rent. Medical assistance. Counseling. Something more than touching a foot.
Look into the dark heart of winter for the way to observe the pale lights of spring. Do more than just share a cup of blood and wash a dirty foot. Get to the root of the pain and find a way to end it. God is in the mercy, not baskets of candy or tables filled with prescriptive food.
Friday, April 10, 2009
The Merman
On my easel, resides a merman. He's haunted me for years, and several weeks ago, I finally started bringing him forth from my thoughts. He is more than siren, and more than song. He's something ancient and powerful beyond words. He has been with me since I was a boy, and he'll be with me when I cross over into the next life.
Lately, as his first layers of paint have dried, he's been telling me to add more hue, more depth. And so I will honor his wishes. He's also conveyed that he has brothers, and so I've decided to bring them forth, as well. They are countless.
His sisters and mother are being brought forth by other hands. My task is to liberate his cadre, his ageless fraternity.
And yes, like the song of his sisters, his call controls me. I am his, utterly and forever.
Lately, as his first layers of paint have dried, he's been telling me to add more hue, more depth. And so I will honor his wishes. He's also conveyed that he has brothers, and so I've decided to bring them forth, as well. They are countless.
His sisters and mother are being brought forth by other hands. My task is to liberate his cadre, his ageless fraternity.
And yes, like the song of his sisters, his call controls me. I am his, utterly and forever.
I don't belong here...
...and perhaps, neither do you. I've long known that I'm residing in the wrong place in time. When I close my eyes, I see the steam from trains, and hear the hum from the cables. I also see the stars morphing into streaks and the vistas on other worlds. I don't belong here. Oh don't get me wrong, I like the toys and most of the entertainments. But having said that, something is missing. I need to explore the past and the future in ways most people can't comprehend. I need to feel the dust of the pyramids on Earth and Mars. I require things for sustenance that 2009 cannot possibly give me.
So what do I do? I have to create these life-giving fuels from the mists and ethers, creating a place in my studio where I can find life.
I belong to time, but not this present.
So what do I do? I have to create these life-giving fuels from the mists and ethers, creating a place in my studio where I can find life.
I belong to time, but not this present.
The Beginning
The thoughts that ramble around and haunt my brain now have a home on what the masses call the "Internet." Here you will be able to glimpse the goings-on in my art studio as I attempt to please my various muses. I will also share my views on the past and future. (The present is immensely boring.) My mind likes to explore the depths and asks far too many questions.
Let the journey begin.
Let the journey begin.
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