RedNose's Open Salon Blog

The War

Fri, 11 Mar 2011 02:03:10 -0500

There is a war going on, it has existed since the beginning; as darkness and the light have been opposites, so have two opposite forces which are known by many names. Often the names become a diversion and we are distracted from the truth. There is nothing to be concerned about, we are in position to join sides or observe; the sun will rise or it will not, our concerns will have no effect. If you are called, you must answer; otherwise it is a moot point, perhaps you will be killed as an innocent bystander but that cannot be avoided as there is no place to run and no place to hide.

Buzzard

Thu, 10 Mar 2011 07:03:35 -0500

I saw a young buzzard today, he was beautiful. His neck and head had light to medium gray feathers, of small to middlin' size. The body was black, but is was a clean black; not bloody or grubby, not decaying or bringing forth thoughts of such things.

He was sitting in the sun alone; the rest of his flock were 150' or so further away, but, he was not disconnected: he just was. There was no truth or lesson to be learned: I flinched almost as I was startled, when overhead were coming three together. These were seen in the traditional way that I've seen them, despicable, fearful, dirty, necessary but only tolerated. The only beauty being that of necessary function removed far enough away for me to hate them somewhat though not wish them harm because they performed a needed function.

Somewhere, deeply rooted within me, is a fragment of fear think. There is a death, decay, dying association when I see buzzards in one way, perhaps based on fear. I imagine a near death experience with a gathering of them: I fear pain from them, when I can no longer resist, them arriving ahead of their time seeking.

By seeing him, alone, as beautiful; I was stopped. My perceptions and pre-conceived notions challenged.

Mesca

Thu, 10 Mar 2011 07:03:38 -0500

They were the days of flying to California for an Abalone dinner for a Sarasota artist and friends, because he had sold another painting. In my little college bar run by two English professors I'd meet Jack Kerouac in his plaid shirt, looking like a lumberjack, flicking peanuts down the bar trying to get one in my mug; and hear tales of how he rode all the way to Mass. in the backseat without getting out, both emptying and filling a case of wine while Cliffy and another friend drove. The days of cheap cuts and music howling harmonicas and Formula Vees, of Fred Neil's music becoming mine through a friend of his. Those were the days when the three of us rode our motocycles to Mexico and pulled up under the vacant chickencoop to hide from the rain, they were wonderful and free; hopeful and seeking. It was during that trip when I was introduced to Mesca, a local drink made high up in a mountain community which could only be approached on horseback; our volunteer guide was taking us up to speak with the kids at the small school with about 20 students, just a few families lived there and tended the coffee bean trees, our visit would be a treat for the children and for us of course an honor. Just Jimmy and I had made it that far and connected at a predetermined plaza in some small town, we waited there in a small hotel but Steve had broken down in Louisana and turned around when finally getting back on the road, knowing it would be too late. My smattering of Spanish along with his, great perseverance and kindness from our hosts, sign language and finally a willingness to laugh and be laughed at were sufficient to get something to eat; though most often we didn't know what it was. We'd ridden off road to removed areas to camp on the way out a room with a bed was welcomed and the next morning after waiting past the appointed hour we continued our journey toward Mexico City. The paved road was fine and we were recieved mostly by those older and more experienced of the world who vicariously enjoyed their youth and enthusiasm; we saw it as kindness and goodness which was in all people, or most all people, our innocense was offset by their own life experience and we were sent on our way with their blessing as we do with young people on their life march and exploration.
We'd filled our tanks and were well into the mountains when the clouds began to darken and form into tight groups which announced the coming rain with it's chill ozone breeze preceeding and were elated to see the abandoned chicken coop with rusted metal roof near the highway, in the middle of nowhere. It was almost dark and our tired butts were contemplating stretching out with sleeping bags when we saw the flashlight coming through the woods; curiosity arose, not panic. It was beyond our imagination to conceive of anyone feeling we were imposing upon them, we were just passing through: to be approached by the smiling handsome man in tuxedo and gold jacket was like something out of a book, a fantasy which should have Tinkerbell in it somewhere, but it was just love, dressed as it does in an outfit your mind cannot process. With excellent English we were invited to the Lodge and seated to a sumptious meal served by others with their shiny black boots, tuxedos and gold jackets trimmed with a winding gold ribbbing; we had been brought for a late supper at a place for the elite and been received as long lost brothers. It was humbling and beautiful. That night we spread out our bedding on the concrete floor of the men's housing, along with the staff and were roused for an early breakfast where we were invited to speak with the children at the school up the mountain. I was a little nervous, being a country boy does not automatically make you a horseman; but these knew the way and after an hour or so we came to the mountain top community and were introduced to the class. It was a novelty and experience for them to meet Anglos who were so approachable and innocent; and an honor for us to be considered as ambassadors and friends. When the kids had tried out their other language on us and it became time for them to return to their normal studies we once again mounted up and were ready to return down the mountain when one of the resident men approached with a bottle of clear liquor; I could not refuse their hospitality but tried to limit my swig but found the bottle come round again, and again.
The trip down the mountain went well I suppose, at least when I awoke two days later on the floor I was alive, if shocked, bewildered and ashamed. Apparently Jimmy had a cast iron stomache but mine was at the edge of an abyss; still no one but myself seemed to mind tying me on the horse for the trip back and carrying me to my sleeping bag. Nothing was disturbed, my few dollars were still in my pockets, my clothes were on and everyone was amused but me: I was ready to go home, now! In spite of the rain and cold I felt it was time to go and prepared to pack saddlebags even though Jimmy would remain for futher adventure. After a warm time of expressing my gratitude for the hospitality and acceptance I fired up the machine and began a non stop trip to the border following so closely behind a semi trailer that I was hardly bothered by the rain and could not drive off a cliff unless he did. A few hours sleep on the concrete at an all night gas station with the attendent's permission and implied protection prepared me for a straight drive non-stop back to Tampa, classes would begin again in a few days and I needed to get back in my cave of familiarity and comfort, even if all that was in the cupboard was tomato catsup and spagetti noodles. They were days of innocence and trust, of hardship if you looked at it that way; days when we reached for the stars and felt nothing could get us down and at least one day learning that Mesca could.

Naive_Me

Thu, 10 Mar 2011 06:03:55 -0500

George and Melinda joined us in Nassau; they had flown in from Chicago and were tied to the owner and wife, fellow cast members in local plays. On a 34' boat, only 10' wide people have to be pretty cozy when there are 6 on board. They trooped off to experience the dazzle of the casino and returned with straw hats from the local market; expounding on the joys of the Goombay Smash and rollicking playfully. Sleeping in the cockpit and looking at the stars not only was a wonderful experience but provided a little more space for the tight group to interact. Spontanious recreations of the latest reproductions songs fired up from time to time and the three days they spent with us before returning were filled with good companionship and comradery. Melinda was the gregarious, bubbling beautiful person we love to be around and George offset her extroverted reaching out with his own temper; seemed a perfect match and happiness abounded. I'd occasionally stick my head in the cabin to watch them play cards, cook and carry on; not that I was not participating, it was just sort of a personal time for them and in one sense I was 'crew' and responsible for at the least allowing for the current play to go forth merrily. Fun in the sun and an overnight anchorage at a deserted cay, where they tried to climb cocoanut palms passed quickly and soon it was time to say goodbye as they returned to December in the Chicago area, and the real lives they had.
Several years passed and we received news that the charming couple had gone their separate ways; but still when we arrived in South Bend to build the boats I looked forward to sharing some of those idealic memories, with either or both; after all their divorce changed nothing in our relationship and they were just too good to let go of. Melinda was out of touch but George was at the home and when my new wife and I went on a leisurly Sunday drive and saw the yard filled with over a dozen cars, it seemed to me a 'party' atmosphere and I just turned in unannounced. A stranger, to me, opened the door and I could see a multitude of people inside in small groups of twos and threes and directly in front of the door a woman and two men sitting at a table; one of them was George. It was delightful to be received well and immediately introduced to the lady who was the mother of a 30 something yr old man sitting with George. The conversation was easy and as introductions were being made I tried to get some sense of the occasion and surroundings; they were all men, except for the one woman I'd already passed pleantries with. Naive being my middle name, I asked 'what do you all have in common'? At first the entire house became as soundless as a funeral and then a booming roar of laughter permeated the air. The mother was up from Mexico visiting with Gary's new 'partner' who was the young man at the table; now I got it. Leaving was no issue and I felt no remorse, these were kind good people even if they did not fit into the boxes which were provided for me, to understand the things and people around me. After all the boxes were only to be used until the gift was removed.

Dawning

Fri, 4 Mar 2011 09:03:17 -0500

Some I met, who are not; feeling something, somewhat.
Could have been an error,
misdiagnosed disease that I've got, might mislead,
and leave me in a terror.

Wishing to gather round me,
watchmen who say; 'all is well'
inner ear hears distinctly
howling hounds of hell.

Eye opening to know, almost let go
cannot see cause of disturbence.
Memories, a similar voice?
pride is an unruly servant.

Inner compass and guide, discern past the eye.
trust, follow, taste the fruit
really no answer, why
though I've pulled up every root.

Dream, path through mucky mire
let go past, put out fire.
How let go, yearn to know
becoming sole desire.

Solitude, searching soul,
finding peace, direction
arise, renew, reflect on the dream
is it mirage or reflection?

Comradery, share the pain
valid or misperception?
sound out, you on mountain top
here, there's little direction.

Hey, can you hear from tower?
'who goes there' you cry, and I pass the sign
you respond;'Tis not the appointed hour'
I am sent by the king, good tidings I bring
he's arisen with might and power

Dark cannot withstand, the wonderful plan, fulfilled within the hour.
Come in friend, I've longed for the end, and welcome a surcease.
Cupboard is bare, but I can't care; alone I have no power
No place of my own, a shell of what was I don't even have a lease.

Of and for all, none shall fall, life without a care
no misunderstanding, designed for you, only joy is there.
Feasting on milk and honey, manna, apple and pear
Need'nt carry money, everyone's invited to share.

I just can't wait, hope that fate, doesn't hinder arrival
Is there something I bring?
Yourself, you're the king,
if you don't lose the strong sense for survival.

dawn is breaking now
we'd better not tarry long
I hear a bird calling
the welcoming daylight song.

Twon't be long, you're alone; answer to the question
If you can't wait, leave note on gate; advising intersection.
Bird on the wing , beautiful thing
sing at your own discretion.