The mysterious jacuzzi

Wow, I am kind of shocked that you of all people would be asking me this question. You, appear to be an expert and me, I mean, come on, isn't it obvious to everyone, that I am completely ignorant when it comes to women? This particular mystery has floored me for 25 years, I mean it. I'm talking shut down here. I guess, at some point, I accepted that I have a blindspot in this area. Now, you ask me this question and I am sctatching a hole into my bald head trying to figure out an answer. Why not ask Dr. Ruth? Did she die or something? How about Dear Abby? Is she retired in some nursing home in the midwest? What about writing a letter to Playboy? Why not ask Hugh Hefner? Don't you hang out with him? Well, It's no time to panic so I will try to word my response carefully like I'm walking a tightrope between the twin towers and theres a big ole plane flying right at me! Is this pressure or what? So, Mr Trump... can I call you Donny? No, I won't put a the in front of your name. Remember you came to me, Donny. First off, women and men have always been at war. Go way back to Genesis and you'll see what I mean. The basic paradigm that was established in that particular allegory was the vastly different approach that men and women take towards sex. Women play the role of drug dealer and men play the role of drug addict. This is the core conflict which all the strife revolves around. Women hate the control they have, they just want a man to love them. The men, are driven at a core level to get into the jacuzzi, it is quite a difficult area for men to become conscious in. So, Donny, if you want to stay in control, you need to have more than one drug dealer if you know what I'm saying. I think the Mormons got it right. That's where the Moslems and the Christians are so similar - they're just trying to control the drug: sex. It's a major industry and the fire that life revolves around. So anyway, that's my advice to you and let me say: it is an honor I do not deserve to have this candid discussion with you. Congrats on the success of your show and the marriage to your new wife. Sorry I missed the wedding but there was a great swell that came in and I hadn't surfed for almost a month. What's that, oh... actually, I've never seen it but I hear good things about it. Alright sure, now you have a great honeymoon, your very welcome, good-bye.

Whole bunch of surfing monkeys

I got the call from Rob today around 11. "Didj, do ya wanna go surfing?" So Rob and Mario pull up in Mar's old Volvo, we strap a couple of my boards on and we are off to the ocean to hunt down some waves. I'm stokey 'cause I'm finally gonna get to use my new 8 footer that I purchased almost a month ago. The rains arrived at the time of my aquisition and so I patiently waited for the various pollutants to filter into some kind of balance. We had some massive rain here in Southern California and there are still alot of roads still closed. We arrive at Surfer's Point in Ventura and observe fairly good waves and a whole bunch of surfing monkeys out there. As the first salty water touches my feet, I feel the cold, brrr ... I continue on into the water and soon am paddling out on the new longboard. My board is blue on top and red on the bottom. I catch 4 waves over the next hour. My lack of surfing recently translates to being out of paddle shape but I am still pleased with the speed of my new board. Surfing is a great way to remain in contact with nature. It has a stablizing effect on my being. I think surfers should be paid to surf. If this world made any sense, the govt., state, county would all pay us to surf. We could give them feedback on pollution levels, animal activity, and the condition of the shore. But instead, humans get recruited to kill other humans in a "theatre" that is real.

A tribute to Skip: one of a kind artist

I had been living at TOF for a couple months when Skip arrived, out of the blue. His long, mostly grey hair, was in disarray and his face was hidden underneath a long grey beard. He wore old and dirt covered clothes but even from a distance, I could tell he was not a broken homeless man. His eyes were sharp, alert and pearcing. He had a strong sense of purpose that oozed out of his being. When Skip spoke, he placed his words together with careful precision and shot them out like a sniper hiding in the hills. My first glimpse of Skip was quick but I still remember that moment clearly even though it was six years ago. A few days later, Rob S, Andrew M and myself were hanging out in one of Skip's many kivas. This one is called the kitchen kiva. Suddenly, Skip strolls in and sits down. He greets Rob, whom he's known for years, introduces himself to Andrew and myself and immediately infects us with his irreverence, humor and cage free mentality. Before we know it we are tearing up the kiva. It had about 3 tiers to it, was lime bathroom green, circular and had a fire burning in the middle. When I say tearing up the kiva i mean this literally. So we're ripping carpets out of the ground, endless carpets, I have gone beyond shock, amazement and entered permanent awe as this goes on all night. This particular kiva consists of layers of dirt and carpet with a nice paint job on top. Dawn arrived to find us exhausted. The reconditioning of the kitchen kiva had coomenced - spontaneously, without warning. My initiation to the unique, singleminded, prolific and endlessly creative way in which Skip worked his artform continued for the next month. Skip caressed the skin of the earth with his shovel as he dug deeper and deeper. Before long he'd be on another task - constructing a wall of rocks or adjusting the makeshift roof. Next Skip'd be "mining" for rocks and as he'd find one he liked, it'd be tossed near the wall. "Each rock is moved an average of four times before it is home" is something I recall him saying. Next, he's got the garden hose in his hand and he's throwing water over the ground and turning dirt into mud. Skip begins to mix the mud with his hands and pack it into the wall and then he's tending to his fire. It's all a blur of water fire dust and steam like some crazy beautiful dream. I've woken 2000 times since but this dream is still alive. A fire in my heart that can't go out. There's no one like Skip I've ever met, traveling thru time and space like a comet with a tail made of kivas.

Buddha words

"Believe nothing, no matter where you read it, or who said it, no matter if I have said it, unless it agrees with your own reason and your common sense."

Buddha

A toast: to the rat race!

Hey everybody: drink beer, a million commercials can't be wrong. Sometimes, it feels to me like our society is paving a road to oblivion, a dead end road maintained by shortsighted voluntary wage slaves. From my tiny vantage point, drinking Budweiser, just aint very wise. It has been alleged that they kill the yeast bloom with formaldehyde. A few years ago, Bud(Un)weiser put out a shortlived commercial which staggerd me with its truth. It was during a Super Bowl and thus had a large audience. This commercial gave the con, that is beer, away and left me inspired at the sheer meataphorical truth that was laid bare before the world. The ad went as follows: (close up) Chunky woman in blue maid outfit is vacuuming a room. While shifting around sucking up all the dust, the maid inadvertantly jostles a beer bottle that happens to be in front of a rat in his glass rectangular home. The rat stops running on his wheel. The vacuum goes silent as the room darkens. Through the apartment window, we see all the lights in the city go out. The cleaning lady looks and sees that she has knocked the beer bottle and made it impossible for the rat to see the Budweiser lable. She immediately readjusts the beer bottle so the rat can see it. The rat responds by once again running on his wheel in his glass rectangular home. The vacuum comes back to noisy life and the lights in the room and city all come back on. So, there you have it, get enough humans running on wheels chasing an image based on lies, and you can power the world. Too bad it's a dead end. Alright that's it for now. Go out and celebrate. It's happy hour. A toast: to the rat race!

Attention

The better advertising, tv, movies, radio, internet etc. get at capturing our attention, the more valuable it becomes. The amount of resources spent on garnering human attention is staggering and difficult to estimate, let alone calculate. Subsequently this leads me to believe that my attention is valuable. In fact, it is priceless. This helps motivate me to continue my own personal experiment which has been ongoing for over 11 years. Basically, I use techniques for placing my attention on myself on a daily basis. These techniques have been refined for thousands of years. This is one way to make sense out of a confusing history. Search, find and incorporate ways to improve the human condition. Start with yourself. End with yourself. Alpha. Omega.

Frozen adventures in time

So, you think I have become drunk on power that is not even real. To this I say: This would be a good observation if you were actually talking about yourself. Your response is nonverbal. You just look away and sigh like a fog horn on a tugboat on the other side of a fogbank. Somehow, this pleases me and I am filled with the impulse to tell you some things that I ordinarily would not. Instead of trying to ram my point of view down your throat like a payed off newscaster, I will tell you a story. Like some of my stories, this one is real. In this crazy town that I live there are many characters, many fixtures, some consider me a fixture. You can come to this town and find me. Many people here know me as Didj, try and fine me if you dare. Any way one of the characters in this town is known for hanging around town in frozen positions. I have seen him around for years and observed his various frozen poses. Some day a photographer will take pictures and chronicle his frozen adventures in time. He is around six foot three, stoops, has long stringy brown hair just past his shoulders and a smallish mustache that he has on occasion trimmed the sides to look like the infamous Adolph. He has been out of view lately but in the past he has fequented areas around the post office and the arcade. One day he appraoched me and engaged me in a one-sided conversation. He spoke about a tape of tibetan buddhist monks chanting he used to listen to 30 years ago. He told me that when he heard me play the didjeridoo, it brought him back that memory because of how much i sounded like these chanting monks. His eyes then opened wide and I could see little bits of red where blood vessels had burst. He told me that he met one of those monks and that monk taught him various standing meditation poses, each desinged to tune a chakra or two. The man who liked to freeze in public then got to the heart of the anatomy of this meeting. He asked: Do you know why the monks chant? Why they chant in shifts 24 hours a day and 7 days a week? I shook my head with the barest movement in a silent no. He answered his own question while his slightly bloodshot eyes did not blink: They chant to tune all the chakras. Continually tuning the chakras (the endoctrine system) so that one day they we us you will crack the seed of earthly existence.

Critcal Mass

OK, Hi everybody. Welcome. Today is a special day. We have hit critical mass. What does this mean? you ask sweetly. I'll tell ya what it means. Your job is to sit there and shut up. Got it? (silence) Good. First off, I think you should know that I have been up all night brainstorming on how we can save this godawful world so we can keep this whole maximum suffering thing going indefinitely. Lets face it, as far as the heaven on earth deal goes, we have failed. It's definitely more like hell than anything else so lets make the most of it and be the best hell we can be! What da ya say? Alright! LETS DO IT! So today, instead of fighting the war, protesting the war and complaining about life in general; I want you ta make some signs and head out on to main street. Your signs will say things like: "Can I have Some More War? Please."; "Lets Go to War with the World!"; "Make War Knots Not Love"; "Poison Gas Shower Power". OK I think you get the idea. Oh, by the way did I tell you how good your looking today. That's better. I like to see you smile. Have a nice day!

Free Advice

I want to thank you for coming to me with your question. I feel honored that my opinion means so much to you. Let me begin by saying that I am not an expert when it comes to plastic surgery. In fact, I know nothing about it. But I will still give you an answer based on careful deliberation. Kind of like a jury fighting it out amongst themselves secluded in some cheap hotel in a tiny barren godforsaken town in Texas. Well, I guess that makes me the jury foreman when I say that it would be a mistake to have plastic surgery to make you look like George W Bush. First of all, have you seen any of those photos of his Dad? Do you really want to grow up to look like that? Second of all, have you ever seen any picures of W? So, yeah, I know you told me that there's this amazing reality show that will feature men and women who have had surgery to look like various presidents of the United States. I guess my concern would be: What happens if you don't get on the show? Hmm what's that you say... you could rob banks and you'd never have to worry about a halloween costume again? I just don't think these are valid reasons for plastic surgery to look like fake president Bush. So OK, thanks again for seeking out my advice. I am honored. Good Bye.

RADARSHERPA

Only 7 more days!

I guess I can say that your are pretty suggestive. Don't get me wrong. I'm not trying to pick you apart. I won't analyze your every move, breath and sound. Don't worry. I want you to feel safe. You're a bit low on cash, so you check out a movie to take your mind off it. "Super Size Me" blows you away. You think: "Ah hah! This is the solution to my financial struggle. I will eat snickers bars, milky ways and dominoes pizza for a month and record it with a mini disc camera that I will borrow from someone. "

I have to say: this is a great plan. I am very proud of you. I can tell that you have been bored and feeling like you need a project. Something to do that is important. A way to contribute to society. I think this is it. The world has to know how unhealthy this snack food is.

You walk around on cloud nine stuffing your face with candy bars and pizza. Wow, It's day 4 and you are amazed at how much money you have saved on t.p. and water (5 gallons per flush). No need to number 2 anymore. But hey, can I be honest? I think you might be a bit constipated. You know, when the large intestine clogs, the half digested food doesn't disappear, it putrifies. And did you know how much the intestine stretches?

Without even realizing it, you have entered the intestinal balloon contest. It used to be just adults who played in this tournament. Now kids have entered as well. It is amazing to me that you have sacrificed your body for all of us. This is something Jesus would have done. Of course, he would have been able to document some of his miracles like walking on water. As Jesus would get fatter, he would start to sink into the water more and more. And of course he'd be changing water to beer to wash down all that pizza. I bet jesus would use communion wafers as toppings on his pizza instead of pepperoni.

Please forgive me, I digress. This is all about you and your documentary. Your clothes don't fit you anymore and no one recognizes you. I think that you're watching too much t.v. Ding dong. Hey, I think that was the doorbell. You get up and let the dominoes guy in. You both are on a first name basis now, It's day 23. Instead of a tip you point the camera at him and tell him that he'll be in your movie. He gets the wrong idea and hustles out of there mumbling about his next delivery. Oh well, the lighting was all wrong anyway.

It's time for me to go. Thanks for the contribution to the human race. Keep up the hard work. Only 7 more days!

The rivers are happy

Last week, you fell like a dominoe, softly, with barely a sound but you felt it. This happens with illnesses apparently. First Devin fell, fell hard. He was moaning. Scout, his dog, seemed concerned as he furrowed his brow and slept on the floor nearby. Tony was next in line and he fell - not so hard but it was tough for him to sing and his voice changed with the swelling of lymph glands in his throat. And then you fell softly. You did not know that you were a domino until your throat became scratchy and your sinuses filled with mucus. But Monday was coming no matter. Monday was the day of the recording session. So now you and Tony are in the recording studio. The colds have evaporated and the session goes as planned. The producer dances and the engineer mixes. He adds some echo, some reverb and a few jokes. We are in a log cabin playing ancient music and recording it on state of the art equipment. Tablas from India and the didjeridoo from Australia. My microphone is tubular and made in Russia. Afterwards Tony and you go to the bank to cash some checks. Then you go to Coffee Roasters so Tony can drink some coffee and you can imbibe a ginger lime drink. You look to the sky and see clouds rolling in, swirling over the mountains, they conspire for some more rain. The rivers are happy.

This will be your day: fire

The alarm on your cell phone sounds like some one is dragging there fingers up and down the ivory keys on the high end of a piano. You turn it off and lay back in the bed. Now, you listen to the roar buzz hum of the new old river as it sings the friction between rocks and water song. You like this song. Somehow, it makes you feel less dry. It helps you feel more vital. Soon you are in the yoga temple. First thing you do is burn some sage. You sit in the middle of the room playing your didjeridoo. Tuning each chakra with the placement of sound: ahh, mmm, huhh huhh huhhh, hee hee hee, auommm auommmm and then: vam lam ram yum hum om. You open your eyes to find the whole hall filled with smoke. The sage bundle is huge, the burning finds a place to hide and so you end up pouring water on it to put it out. Back to the tuning of your body mind spirit. The tai-chi feels so good. You smile and feel love as you breathe in. This makes the breath deeper and more pleasurable. You breathe out ahhh mmm. This lasts for 20 minutes. The clock tells you that it is almost 9. Time to head down to the sweat lodge. You are the fire keeper. Your job is to get those lava stones red red red hot. Glowing red hot. And the ceremony begins just before the fire is lit. You place all the firewood strategically. It is a fire stone cake with two layers of fire and the stone people in between. This will be your day: fire. Your focus: fire. You love the stones. They taught you to circular breathe. They taught you to dream when you were a little boy in Connecticut. You would take your lunch across the street and into the woods and down the trail. Big boulders is where you were heading. A slew of big grey blue boulders. You would find the right one and climb up on it and have your own personal picnic. The dream was constant and the crows kept watch in their oily black uniforms as their number kept changing and they fllew on patrol and then rested high in the branches of tall trees. Caahh! Caaah! Now you are fire keeping for friends. This means you will use the pitch fork to carry red rock after red rock into the door of the sweat lodge where Eagle Bear will then take the handle of the pitch fork and place each stone person in the center where it wants to go. He will sing praise and grattitude to grandfather and grandmother and mother earth. You will sit by the fire and hear the songs of the ancestors the ant sisters and rearrange the fire wood the last song of the sun. The songs are timeless. The lodge is huge. You are in it and you are not in it and the earth's wobble has changed and its rotation is faster and you are not you. The space between your eyes feels lit up and your heart beats clean and easy. The sun sets as the talking piece heart stone is passed around the circle of friends. The people share words, their perspective, their gift, their challenge. Every one's eyes are clearer. There is no where to go.

The importance of freedom

Life rolls along under your feet like its been greased with super lube. I'm talking no friction. So, you decide to turn in your keys to the Maximum Securty Detention Center where you have worked "youth Counselling" juvenile delinquents for 3.5 years. With no friction there is no heat unless your heart is warm like a mini sun. Unless you have a small scale nuclear reaction keeping you warm on those icey nights where love is a myth. The children passed in front of you, around you, above you, below you like you were a hard rock in a river of youth. They taught you about freedom and about being chained to the material world. They taught you about anger management, mood disorders and the importance of a good diet. They really feed those kids shit. Of course you wanted to save money so you always ate the slop too. Grilled cheese triangles, card board hamburgers, soup and cake. Heavy and greasy heavy heavy. Makes the job alot easier if all the inmates are using all their uncontrolled energy to digest food. Maybe they will just sleep all the time. The kids taught you about your mood and how you can change it with focus and willpower. The poor, locked up juvies, taught you the importance of freedom. You became adept at ping pong and basketball. But those kids taught you the importance of freedom. They still wanted a mercedes, a rolex, a beamer... the power of advertising seaps thru the skin of the world and becomes something tangible like a wall. When you see thru it you walk thru it. So you turn in the keys and never look back. You pack your world onto the back of your Ducati 900 SS which will take you from 0-60 MPH in 2.1 seconds and will take you from PA to New Orleans in 40 days.

Thanks a bunch, bike man!

The endless talk about politics, pollution, and war has driven you mad. The day comes when you finally say: "I've had it." You say it to yourself so only you hear it, but that is all that really matters. The endless talk has driven you mad because you are unable to see or meet anyone who really does anything except whine and complain about the state of the world bla bla bla. Well, you are different. You feel it in every cell, every beat of your huge heart and in the glow around your beautiful skin. So now it begins. You will do something. First, you trade your car for a mountain bike. Next, you disconnect from the electrical grid. Your landlord kind of freaks. You disconnected your phone so he comes to visit you in person. His thin smile hides his distress like a see thru nightie but you don't notice or care. Maybe that's why you had to find a little niche in the National forest. At least you have your bike so you can ride around and laugh at all the poor souls who perpetuate global madness. "Why can't there be more like me?" You ask. Of course you are relieved that no one answers. Wow, your really getting in shape biking everywhere. Think of all the people who go to the gym every day and pay for it. Now, you are on top of it. No heat no gas no electricity. You are human powered. Thanks a bunch, bike man!

Use your own lab

The number of medical doctors who appear to be unhealthy never ceases to amaze me. What makes even less sense to me is the ability of unhealthy medical doctors to gain and maintain a healthy list of clients. A healthy list is not the same as healthy clients although this distinction appears to have been lost. Much like an evangelist, who becomes embroiled in scandal, yet is able to keep his flock intact. It seems to me that these examples of blind faith typtify and highlight the apparent dilemmas which seem to face our species at this particular time. My observation can now be stated more succintly: Our current challenge involves an integral look at our blind faith in incompetent and corrupt leadership. The medical doctor is an excellent example because it is so apparent that they have no idea what health is or at the very least are unable to apply it. The political leadership's corruption and incompetence remain less obvious because it is not as visible and because of the professional politician's media dexterity combined with double speak rhetoric.
We all want to sleep in the back seat of the auto while some one else drives. At some point while we were sleeping, carjackers hopped in, grabbed the steering wheel, and put the pedal to the metal. They don't change the oil or have any type of respect for other drivers, stop signs, red lights or pedestrians. So, our vehicle has gotten a really bad rep around the international community. We have all kinds of dents and we have all kinds of exhaust. We have all kinds of spin doctors who have hidden the cost. We drive on a road that is made up of people and then on Sunday you find us under the steeple. Thanks god for my new stereo, powered my my own vertigo. Yeah, i wish i could take my country to MTV so they could pimp it like they pimped your ride. At least they could find someone competent and honest to dirive it.
In conclusion, I ride a motorcycle.

Home made bridge

You meander down the dirt road on your way to sage a round yurt. Because the dry creek bed is no longer dry you mentally prepare yourself to jump from rock to rock to get to the other side. But when you get to the new old creek though, there is a surprise waiting for you. Your ferral friend Skip has built a bridge. You laugh in a startled kind of way. You then remember that loud ass chainsaw that had been scaring the heck out of every living creature within a 1 mile radius. You finally put 2 and 2 together. The bridge is constructed out of eucalyptus, oak and rocks. You are impressed. It looks pretty solid. "Can a car drive across it?" You ask Skip. "I drove my truck across four times." He quickly responds. "The first time was easy. The next time it collapsed but I was able to jump my truck out of there. The last two times have been pretty good though."

What the Bleep Critique

What the Bleep was a monumental movie. It has single-handedly bridged the yogi experiece to the quantum physical abstract experience with a relatively enormous audience bearing witness. This movie only takes us so far and then stops. The various experts focus primarily on the abstract implications. They leave the personal application department as pristine as freshly fallen snow on Mount Baldy. Another giant piece of information left out of What the Bleep are the various locations of concentrations of neurons (basal ganglia) found outside of the skull. The movie revolves around the enormous amount of influence our mood (limbic system) has over our perception of reality yet it leaves many dots unconnected. For instance, the heart is made up of anywhere from 60 to 65 percent neural tissue. What is the heart doing with all these neurons you ask? Well, according to Traditional Chineese Medicine (TCM), the heart is the center of brain activity. Thus, for the sharp scientist. it should not come as a surprise that the heart is regulating the cerebral cortex, the limbic system (emotional body) and the immune system. The implications of this information can be startlling. It may be wise to take breaks to allow for integration. Every organ has basal ganglia that includes the skin and the stomach. Yogis are off the What the Bleep radar screen. TCM is off the What the Bleep radar screen. Maybe these topics will be covered in Bleep II. TCM organizes the organs. Each organ is paired and given a department in the government. This illustrates how the organs are communicating with eachother. TCM also is based on meridians. Meridians (energy channels) flow thru our bodies. Western science has proven their existence to themselves. The application of this knowledge has existed for thousands of years. Acu-puncture, shiat-zu, chi-gong, and tai-chi are all examples of the meridian system being exploited for human happiness and health. Yoga is another application of the knowledge that the human has a system of brains. Breath is the common denominator in all these systems. The human body is capable of massaging all the organs with every breath. What is the intention pushing the breath?
The heart is the seat of wisdom and intuition. Breasts are a sign of intelligence. What next?

IMG_01

IMG_01, originally uploaded by surfer x.

aqua pura

Hail to the chief!

And now for something completely different. Let's explore a few common misconceptions and leave the implications unstated. The word conspiracy means: to breathe together. Sorry, It is not a synonym for the word paranoia. What is the intention behind the breath? Who is breathing with who?
Another word to examine - together. Sorry, at some point this word started getting spelled wrong. Duhh. To get her - wrong. Actual spelling: to-gather. I wonder what Webster was breathing and who with.

Is it my imagination or do we live in an image nation? Or is it a lucid nation or just a hallucination?
W Shrubbed reveals much when he claims America supports his Iraqi catastrophe by voting for him. His statements are like a painter painting over macaroni, spaggetti, zitis and various other pasta sculptures that have been used as typesetting against a public wall. I bet when big W was just a small w, he'd play hide and seek. He hated the game though because he was always the first one to be found. Little w would cover his own eyes and think that this is the same as hiding. Big W's playing the same game now. Hail to the chief!

Congratulations on your new job!

Congratulations! You have just been named the new Director of the Department of Education. You have been smiling ever since you got the call from fake pres w shrub himself. That was a week ago so your face is really hurting. You keep trying to think of sad things like the tidal wave, the war in Iraq or the high price of gas. Nothing works. You can't wipe that damn smile off and it is really starting to ache now, ughh. Well. it's time to start sketching out your agenda. You've always felt that the public education was just a bunch of malarkey. Now, you can finally do something about it. Your plan is a bit revolutionary, but, you know that there is a system in place among the various mainstream news organizations for giving that special push that will probably be needed to get the American people to accept their new mandated curriculum.
It's just so obvious, you think to yourself. The new curriculum will be teaching the children how to play Monoply. The best students will be taught how to play and master the game Risk. Wow! Great idea! You deserve a raise.

In with the new, out with the old

Your job has plusses and minusses like any job. You have to wear a big white dress and meet regularly with a bunch of old crusty dudes that ended up where thay are because they had no pull with the ladies. You have to do a lot of public relations and when you do there's a big stupid hat to wear. At first, it was cool to have your picture in all the various newspapers and magazines thoughtout the world but now even that has gotten old. Yet, you have met with some pretty cool dudes like Bono from U2, and all kinds of celebrities. "Yeah", You think, "I guess bein the Pope aint so bad." One day it occurs to you that the cross is an outdated capital puishment/torture device. You wonder what kind of message this is sending to the world. "No wonder membership is down" you conclude. You decide that it's time for a change. "Hmm, why not update the symbol of Christianity?" you slip into daydream mode considering the noose, the firing range, death by injection but they all lack the pizazz that you are looking for. You need something that Madonna will wear around her neck. Like all great ideas this one comes to you out of nowhere like lightening in the sky on a clear blue day.[drum roll] The new symbol for the Roman Catholic church will be the electric chair. It even has a built in crown.

Thanks for the wake up! helicopter man!

You keep sleeping in, day after day after day. You want to get out of bed and start your glorious day bright and early because you want that worm. Somehow, the pattern of staying up late to watch reruns of Gilligan's Island, Three's company and Hogan's Heroes, sabotages your will, over and over. You pray constantly, please help me have the will power to drag my lazy ass out of bed early so i can do something with my life, God. Even though your prayers go unanswered for 2 weeks, you continue your continual prayer. Then finally, today around 7AM, you awaken abrubtly as a helicopter circles above your makeshift, homemade home which consists of onsite timber and a tarp roof and no walls. You tear out of your sleeping bag and dash out from underneath your silver tarp roof and scream; "Thanks for the wake up! helicopter man!"

Happy Birthday Dad!

Welcome to my blog Dad and happy birthday. I remember when you taught me how to ride a bike back in Connecticut when I was 5 years old. I thought it might be a good time to say thanks. So thanks for that. So, you might start gettiing a feel for where this is heading. It revolves around grattitude that you are my father. I want you to know that there is a special place for you in my heart. I especially want to thank you for the trip to Hawaii last July. There were so many moments for me to treasure. A ring of memory set with diamonds and sapphire stones. I learned that my relationships with my parents and siblings set the tone for how i relate to the world. Just like a pearl (rough or smooth) which drops into the cool blue lake of my life. The pearl is my heart sending 3 dimensional ripples with every beat. Something beautiful happened to my heart because of you. Every beat, the ripples sing a song. The pearl gets smoother. The music gets clearer. Every time we heal our heart heaven nirvana is that much nearer. So have a great day. I love you Dad.

Advice for Danny

Danny, How's it on the big Isand? I
want you to be on the look out for tidal waves. If you
see one coming, don't stare at it. I know you might be tempted to
catch it on video and turn it into a documentary. But
please Danny, don't be impulsive. When you see that giant wall of
water coming at you at 333 MPH, I want you to turn
around and run like hell. I mean it Danny, run like a god damn mad
man. climb a tree or something. Or, if you're really
cool, grab a surf board and hang 10, YEE HAH!
your friend,
Didj

Harry apologizes for forgetting to wear a costume

Poor Prince Harry forgot to wear a costume to the costume party. He came straight from an important meeting. He realized his error as he walked though the door. But then he realized that he could pretend that his uniform was his costume. HEh heh heh, Harry giggles to himself as he chain smokes Parliment smokes one after the other, washing it down with Ole Milwakee. Soon Harry is cracking the whole party up with imitations of Beavus and Butthead saying things like "Hail Hitler's Butt" and "Who wants to take a group shower?" Prince Harry can really party!

Thanks Matt M!

You check your blog 20 times per day to see if someone has posted a comment. No one does. You've been honing your writing skills for 25 years and yet you are unable to get a comment. Every day over and over, you scroll and peer at each posting. Like a watched pot that never boils, there is a 0 for every thing you have written. No one knows how much time you have put into your masterpeace blog. No one cares that you have agonized over each word and its evironmental impact on the planet. Every one is checking out the dunkin donuts blog or the blogs in other languages or the prepubescent cartoon new kids on the block Blog or the Burger King Blog. Finally one day Matt M leaves a comment: "Hi, who are you why did you post on our blog?" Initailly, you are hurt, deeply. You begin to develope complex scenarioes for revenge. You have every phone in Matt's home bugged because of your connection to the nsa and you give thanks every day for the patriot act which allows you to protect yourself against terrorists like Matt M. Soon, after several conferences with your panel of shrinks, you begin to see how you are over reacting. You realize that Matt M sincerely wants to know who you are and why you posted on his blog. You call on hidden reserves of confidence gained from meditating in caves in the Himmalayas for years at a time. You see your story of self persecution and have an epiphany which changes your very core. Now you are in the moment and you feel a deep sense of grattitude for Matt M. Thanks Matt M!

Same old teeth

11/9/04 11:19 PM


The time arrived to vote: either for a new row of teeth or to keep the same old teeth in the great white shark (which prefers to eat brown humans). Even though he has a vote he doesn’t much feel like a neuron. More like the myth of a molecule. And he really doesn’t know where he is or where he begins or where he ends, like a cloud. Distance creates the illusion of solidity. The appearance of sanity degenerates into fragments of nonsense under the magnifying glass of scrutiny. He stops his mind and revels in the snowflake Mandela of the infinite backdrop. The built in screensaver invented by the unnamable. He knows a new row of puppets will eat the same brown humans. How can a shark brush its teeth. Or carefully clean its gums with a strand of dental floss. How can a shark transform into a dolphin. The ocean needs sharks. When he says his name it sounds like someone else’s. Who am I?
One day he decided not to get angry anymore. This action inadvertently stopped his flow of emotions. The fire of anger had propelled his life force along. He wore the suit of madness for so long that it hardened and became smooth in places and abrasive in others. He wore the suit like a barrel and forgot it was there as he rolled down the hill down the waterfalls of life. Barreling thru the impassable objects and insurmountable ideas until one day his shell broke against the unmovable object of his soul. Enough it whispered without sound. He sat naked deep inside his brain stem unable to stop the broken records of his past from playing the same old tunes: shame blame raindrops of pain you’ll never feel joy again. All he’d really done was vacated his steering wheel letting the blind drive the blind, never knowing where he’s going or instantly forgetting. Just add denial.
He arrives at the church to vote happy that there is a separation between church and state in God he trusts. This is his third attempt to vote. The volunteers eagerly look for his name among several lists generated by computers. Even though he is registered, no one can find his name. Strike three sports fans. He must vote provisionally. This means his vote will be counted in three days if his name can be found on the state registry. They give him a number to call to see if his vote has been counted. The election is decided the next day. He never calls the number.
He is not a neuron in the Great white shark. He has no name. He feels like the myth of a molecule. When he stops thinking he experiences time differently. His breath becomes slower and slower. 3 breaths a minute. 2 breaths. 1 breath. 0. He is a pod of dolphins. They watch the shark feast. The ocean needs sharks.

Daryl falls like a tree

The sharp spike of a siren of sound grabbed my attention and never let go. Even now as I listen to the music on a borrowed stereo with shared music. Even as I drove here in a borrowed car.
Two long yellow fire trucks make there way down the driveway followed by ambulances and filled with firemen and paramedics. I think of Bill and his bout with his intestinal parasite. I stare at this spontaneous mini parade thru a bathroom window after a gentle quiet soak in warm water. Now, I am out thru the door and walking down the driveway. Quickly, I am joined by firemen, paramedics and Bill. The time is 10 PM. The moon hides behind the curve of the earth and the stars take center stage leaving the landscape shrouded in a deep black veil. We march along the North side of the Pratt House. I follow behind Bill as he leads the way. I hear Skip’s voice and turn to watch as he berates one of the firemen for bringing fire trucks and too many personnel. The fireman vehemently defends his position explaining “This is what happens when you call 911. It is normal procedure.” Skip quickly backtracks and concedes his position in a fairly well spoken, nicely structured couple of sentences, which belies his disheveled appearance. He’s wearing a dirty yellow t-shirt, dirty shorts and his hair is crazy. The madcap paradox of this voyage and Skip’s instant docility seem to placate the fireman and we continue onward. Still oblivious to the cause of this gathering of men, my mind can only come up with this reason: a neighbor has called 911 to report one of Skip’s fires. We go halfway down the canyon cottage trail and then blaze a trail along the side of the barranca. “He dislocated his shoulder” I hear Bill say to someone. A few moments later I see a person lying on their back. It is Daryl. He fell from the top of the cliff 45 ft above. Daryl became disoriented after leaving the brightly lit basement office. He was making his way to his car for a flashlight, smoothie ingredients and the number of his attorney. Daryl was using his cell phone to lite his way but the faint glow proved inadequate as a light source.
Devin heard Daryl falling down the hill and thought it was a mountain biker. He said he could hear him yelling and groaning as he bodysurfed down the side of the cliff.
Skip was working on his kiva “I thought a tree was falling down” he said. But it turned out to be Daryl.

comment

Anshula said...



Awesome snap with an interesting...inspired background. Which deity is that ... by the way (or not)? Been trying to figure out!
All said and done though....great snaps and a very interesting read.


3:15 AM  

Anshula, The deity depicted in the backdrop is Shiva. This is my unofficial conclusion. Thanks for the compliment. This snap is from Burning Man 2003. There were about 500 people in the audience and at least a 1000 in earshot as i chanted om Shiva among others while circular breathing on the didjeridoo.

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IMG_0674-1, originally uploaded by surfer x.

didj vibrations for yoga students on new year's day

Homelessness for dummies and antimatter for eggs

I've often thought of using this title for a collection of stories/descriptions that have been hiding in various journals of mine for a decade or two. Basically, i can be rather stubborn. This trait allowed me to hop over various fences which corralle most of the humans. I found that pure freedom was more important than the standard shelter - job - mate - scenario which attracts most humans like the sun attracts planets. This freedom can be lonely. everything has a price. even air. if you are going to leave the familiar orbit than it behooves you to develope self-spin. Obi taught this to Luke. I often fancied myself to be a comet. surfingtheapocalyse has a post that comets are actually antimatter. thats some serious self-spin. I reckon comets to be like sperm and planets like gaia are eggs. anti-matter sperm now entering another crazy solar system. the planet can see it and feel it immediately. the comet triggers sunspots and solar flares, changing the electromagnetic capacitor of the solar system irrevocabley; heightens the interconnected filaments which travel instantaneously leaving the threshold of time, influencing the future, the past and rewriting the present. the experiment continues.

solid goldfish

How much memory are we allotted in blog world? I've been fre-emailing for a decade and have become MB conscious. Now i am like a solid goldfish who has been rituallistically poured into the ocean. the clear glass wall of WARNING YOU ARE USING 88% OF YOUR STORAGE CAPACITY has disappeared and i am sinking sinking and there is no sea floor. cool

tour-sacredspace-10

tour-sacredspace-10, originally uploaded by surfer x.

july vibrational grattitude Om Quan Yin

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IMG_591, originally uploaded by surfer x.

carry wood burn water breathe steam

head in outer space

I've lived in Cali for over six years without ever feeling an earthquake. What gives? There's been a few shakes here and there but somehow i did not notice. It makes me wonder. i think iam this tuned in dude. feet on the ground head in outer space. yet i am unable to feel the earth undulating beneath my feet. does this mean anything? Several years ago, i was in Joshusa Tree National Park. I bouldered around a bit while awaiting the arrival of a friend. Soon, i got ansey, had to leave, i cruise out of that alien landscape in my (late) red pulsar - back on my way to Ojai - the cosmic idestructo bubble. 3 hrs after my departure, josh is hit my an earthquake. somehow, i dodged another quake. maybe i wouldn't have felt it anyway.

we are just toys

tidal waves and deformed nipples create cognitive dissonance. leaving the pale monkeys confused. do what you want to do. make them do what you refuse to do. they will accept all your blame and displaced anger. they do not want the burden of freedom. they will find a place to displace. dominoes. pecking orders.
seduce and annoy. we are just toys. tell us that you are teaching us how to love.

creative writing 101: fragmented sentences, run on sentences, incorrect grammar. I love it. reflects the changes that are always occuring. schisms. cracks are where the truth appears. and then it morphs into something else. our language must change as our perception changes. keep up or get trampled by the masses, stampeding in waves.


2:26 AM

the rhythmic sound of rain

I awoke to the rhythmic sound of rain peppering the t-house i slept in last night. I continued my streak of night owls and went to sleep at 3am. I awoke thinking about hibernation. Then i thought of Angus the cat i feed here and there for a friend. This, i confess was my main dilema today. I semi-planned on a 15 minute walk thru the rain but i ended up borrowing Tony's vehicle. This cleared away some time to practice my tai-chi form 10 times along with some didjeridoo playing to help stoke my meridian system. Now, the rest of the day awaits me which will only be another 90 minutes grey rainy daylight. I will walk into town and eat a salad, put the cat in, snag a movie and remain open to the unexpected.

We drummed and the river rushed on the 12th day of Xmas

Meditation in the yoga studio started with Tony on tablas and me on the didjeridoo. Prana guided the first several minutes. My left shoulder blade ached and set the tone for me to move around here and there for the 40 minutes of silence. The time actually flew by despite my pain and the 40 felt more like 20. Afterwards, Tony, Bill, Rhonda, Michael and me took off in the B mobile for a drumming party in a house on a river. There were many friends present beaming love as they greeted us with hugs and kisses. The drumming gradually started up and then spread like a fire from heart to heart as the undulating rhythms pulsed and vibrated the floors, walls and ceiling. The room we played in was heated by a huge woodburning stove that was filled with hot red coals and orange flames. The paintings all depicted various goddesses with each telling a part of a story channelled by Dawn. Soon, the time came to wind down to the river where some of us drummed and all of us created intentions of harmony and health and then found a rock to toss into the river. I thru my rock and it made no sound and had no splash. I gave it a 10.
I hear of a game that people play. Or maybe it is a dance. This falls into my blindspot as most things do. Thus i find a hook to hang the coat of solitude I have worn for 2 years. In moments I will climb into my bed while crickets rub their legs and frogs outline the topography of their esophagus and the map of the world. They are dancing and playing a game to which I am blind and deaf. Yet I hear them and feel the beauty in my heart. Thank you world, I love you.

I awoke at 11:11 today...

I really slept in this morning. If it wasn't for the amazing Indio barking at some hikers i would have slept further. Typically, I awaken much earlier. But, ever since the new year weekend, i have been staying up late and sleeping in. I am just about to begin my daily practice which includes: tai-chi, yoga, didjeridoo and chi-gong. This is the core of my experiment on the earth plane. I love myself with every breath and it builds and builds and overflows into all aspects of my life, effortlessly and spontaneously.

Probing the waters for sea monkeys

I am a scientific artist from another dimension who has arrived just in time to usher in coping strategies for the new information that will begin to drown the crazy monkeys in greater and greater numbers. The physical manifestation is a living metaphor. Who's it for? All of us who want, pray, long for and strive for the maximizing of our creative potential. It begins with a simple affirmation. Yes, I want to live. Fully. Deeply. With passion for this greatest gift: life. The way in is thru self-love, self-integrity, self-forgiveness. You know you have walked thru this door when it bleeds into all of your relationships: other humans, animals, plants, the earth and gods/God/Allah/Great Spirit/oversoul.