Not too much, Just enough.

This has been a few days of astronomical proportions as it pertains to my growth as a spiritual person.  The God hits have been a flurry of impacts, like the sky falling during the yearly Perseid Meteor showers.  I don’t know if I can full on communicate what has occurred but I will do my best.

I think people may be able to relate to the motion of the body and head as one begins to pass out.  The distinction between reasons for such an edge of conscious does not really matter.  It could be the chicken neck thing people do when they are extremely tired, falling asleep while sitting up.  It could be the loose and stretched look of someone on a blackout drunk, fighting the shutdown of their brain by trying to hold their head up.  The reasons and situations are plentiful, the swimmer who swallowed too much water, blue in the face, lurching up the remains of the sea to breathe again.  Lost in lust, a face writhes to and fro during the riffs of ecstatic sex.   The pill popper fighting consciousness on the couch, the meditator, teetering on the cusp of sleep, the dancer, the head banger, the hip hop artist, these movements all have one similar motion, bouncing the head.  It’s just like the smiling baby being bounced on a knee.  Those events perpetuate through the course of ones existence.

The focal point of the energies leading to this kind of movement is 4 corners leading to a pyramid like shape with the human as the center.    It’s a neon sign saying “don’t forget, you are never really here.”  But more than that, it is a reminder that the spiritual world is right alongside us.  Call it God, call it Creator, call it Mother Earth, call it what you want, it is there all the time.  However, much like the movement, it is not calling, it has to be called, to be welcomed, into the heart , before one can be guided by it.

I spent the weekend  with an old friend.  Not my oldest, but a guy I got clean with and spent some of the most emotionally honest time hashing out thoughts, actions, fears, regrets, and hopes.  We parted ways, as he had his deal and I had mine, but we didn’t lose touch.  He’s one of those people where you pick up right where you left off in the first place.  We spent Friday, fishing out on the bay near his home.  We caught a ton of fish and some other things, but only kept one black cod.  I caught a number of Canary cod but those are illegal to keep, and we follow the rules of fish and game.  We were out in a small craft, just bigger than a dingy.  The sea was for the most part, calm, and it didn’t pick up chop until much later in the morning.  It was still spooky, three of us sitting in this tiny craft, about a mile off of shore.  Don’t get me wrong it was a ton of fun, but at the same time, I told myself, well, if we’re going over and this is the end, then that’s ok.  We talked about going out Saturday on a different boat, but decided to put it off so he could spend some time with his wife and kid before they went out of town.

Friday night we were psycho babbling back and forth about things, and I was hit with a reminder that I must be careful for anything can change at a moments notice.  I also predicted that something “bad” was going to happen the next day but I didn’t know what.  I figured it would be on the boat if we went out.  I wasn’t trying to make a self-fulfilling prophecy, I just had a gut feeling.  We took our dogs for a walk in the woods behind his place.  His dog is named Rojo, and my dog is named Iggy.  We let the dogs off the leash, and they happily sniffed along the trail with us.  They are well behaved and respond when called.  We didn’t have any issues.  We made it to the local high school and turned around opting to trek back through the woods instead of taking the streets.

About 5 minutes away from his house, the dogs went berserk. They started sniffing and pacing across the trail and into the woods, which they hadn’t done the entire time.  My buddy gets Rojo back on the leash but Iggy is not responding.  I look around to try to spot what he’s after, because I don’t want him to get skunked on, and I spot about 50 yards away, a grey fox, with tail in the air, staring at us.  The fox is a good third bigger than Iggy.  Due to connection between master and dog, Iggy sees the fox too.  He takes off full sprint after this fox.  They are off running, we’re yelling to get Iggy to turn around, and he’s gaining on the fox.  He gets to about 5 feet from the frantically fleeing fox and turns around to look at me.  The fox senses this as a moment of weakness, turns around and pounces my dog.  I have my knife out and am full bore in that direction.  However, when I pull up on the scene, Iggy is just sitting down panting.  The fox is gone.  I scour him looking for punctures, signs of pain, etc.  But there was nothing, he was just doped up on adrenaline and clearly not used it.  We made our way back to the house without any more incidents.

Now it needs to be mentioned that Iggy does not chase other dogs.  I have never seen him do that.  He minds his own business and is way more into people than other canines.  His behavior was not like him in any form.  In fact, I can only attribute his sudden aggression to one thing:  he’s a pure bred Smooth Fox Terrier.  The story of how he came into my life will have to be saved for another day as this post will read like a book instead of a short story.  Fox terriers were bred to chase down a fox, slink into it’s hole, shake that fox by the neck until the hunter pulled the terrier out by it’s tail.  That was Iggy’s ancestors original purpose.  It’s in his genetic code to go after that fox.  He got the scent and primal Iggy took over.

It was a reminder to me that I often put my purpose aside:  my music.  I have not followed through and have not put enough energy into doing what I like doing most.  Bam.  There was a hit.  I watched my friend stress over his family, and the things he was doing.  He would listen to my spiritual babble, but he was distracted.  That is because his purpose is with his family, and it’s something he was losing sight of.  I sometimes think that we are just spirits looking through the windows of our eyes as our atoms hold our memories.  Our genetic history is fed through our consumption of oxygen, and it will be passed forward into the future, whether it is in the dirt, the sea, or a child.  Sometimes I think I can sense something along those lines and it was apparent this weekend, that I had forgotten that I could sense anything like that.  I found out that my Pops fell while riding his bike with my sister in law up a long steep grade the same day Iggy met the fox.  I think he was pushing himself too hard, he’s almost 70, and was at a breaking point.  He had to turn around and head back.  Thus, my prediction was eerily close to accurate.

Everyone is right where they are supposed to be at this moment.  That’s how shit works.  Our fragile minds cannot conceive time as it actually is, and we cannot perceive the world in it’s true form.  It is a reminder that the Spirit is everywhere, touching each and everyone of us, we just need to welcome it in. It is a reminder to always have a purpose and be working towards that goal, towards something.  It is a reminder to stop hesitating to talk to that stranger, or introduce myself to that pretty girl I saw, because we’re in a race against time, and the opportunities that we are presented might never be the same again.

As people in this day an age, we are constantly bombarded with distractions, with bias, with things that take, or want to guide us away from our purpose, things that take us away from connection with our spiritual selves.  Computers, cellphones, video games, television, food, booze, weed, drugs, porn, worries, possessions, and fears, are all distractions that aim to deprive us of our true potential, our true meaning.  I must learn to use moderation with all things, thus I have come up with the mantra, “not too much, just enough.”  It can apply to many aspects of my life, but for my purpose, with music, and my spiritual goals, I’m going all in and am not going to question it again.  Music and meditation be my voice and thoughts and my will be guided.


Salty Musings

My home is the sea.” – Bonnie Prince Billie in Superwolf

One of the things I learned from my Pops at an early was the ability to fish.  Back then, I had the luxury of bank fishing rivers and lakes, to going out on ocean near San Francisco on a boat.  Rainbow trout, blue gill, smallmouth bass, rock cod, lingcod, and crappie all made their way into nets hoisted over bows and banks by my brother, Pops, and myself.  One of the rare opportunities we were given was to hunt for the great King Salmon.

My early recollections of salmon fishing are vague.  I do recall being in the 5th grade and going out on the Pacific with a few family members on a charter just off the Mendocino Coast.  The ocean was a frothing mass of fury and angst that day.  The sky was a dark grey and wind swept violently across the deck as we made our way out past the jetty.  Once we cleared the few rocks of the inlet and out into the open ocean, we were confront with swells that seemed the size of a three story building.  It looked like a mountain of water would surely engulf the entire craft and send us to our salty deaths.  Instead, the vessel floated right over the top of that huge wave and down the otherside.  It was harrowing and nauseating.  All three of us kids got sick and starting hurling our breakfast over the stern.  I have a feeling that this terrible act was good for business for shortly after we chummed the waters, we started getting hits.  With the excitement of reeling in some monster salmon, we forgot all about the mountains of water that would send us to our doom, the stomach turning motion of a small ocean vessel climbing and descending these nautical staircases.  We got lost in the heat of the moment, and it is one of the fondest memories of my early childhood.  Some of it was even captured on VHS by my pops.

Fast forward about 20 years.  This expedition has taken a new life for me and my family.  Our friend with the boat sold his boat.  We are all scattered through the state of California and do our best to get together.  Since fishing is a tradition we all share, it’s a common theme when we do get together.  Before I moved to my current city, I used to go out night fishing 2-3 times a week.  It was a sort of meditation for me.  Grab the frozen baby Shad, pack a cooler with some drinks, grab the fishing gear, some bug spray and a lantern.  I’d post up on the inlet leading to the lake and chase the nighttime feeding Catfish.  Often times I’d catch a sunfish or an overly aggressive bass, but it was the Cat’s I was after.  I digress..

For the past few years, each salmon season, my brother springs for chartered fishing trip off the Mendocino coast as a birthday gift to my Pops and myself.  I look forward to these trips.  We were out recently, and although the bite is really popping off up in the Humboldt area, the bite is not so hot south of there.  The deckhands said it’s been really intermittent and that they have not had a day where they got the limit.  The day we went out was no exception.  The ocean was calm and the sun was bright and strong.  One guy in the corner of the boat, with line around 90 feet, bagged two monster salmon, somewhere between 25-30 lbs. each.  Lucky bastard.  I had one fish on, but whilst reeling it in, it collided with another fish that was being dragged in on the opposite side of the boat, it slackened the line, and came off the hook.  As we were not using barbed hooks (it’s illegal to catch Silver salmon) without any tension in the line, I was S.O.L.  Still the experience was good enough for me.  As we approached the time to pull the lines and take off, you could see off in the distant horizon a wall off fog approaching.  It looked so far away, like a distant mountainside.  But boy, did that fog creep fast.  Suddenly the sky was grey and no longer hot enough to persist without a jacket.  The wind picked up and swells began to grow.  Some people headed inside to sit in the cabin and wait out the cold prior to docking.  I sat on the engine case facing the western vastness and watched.  No longer am I the fearful lad shaking at the sight of a roaring ocean.  I embraced the welcome of some turbulent waters, and chill of the fog, and the refreshing wind turning my face red.

It’s amazing how quickly conditions can change when one is out on the water.  My Pops, being ex Navy, has some harrowing tales of his time on his carrier of giant waves sweeping over the bow of his Aircraft carrier.  Amazing power in those currents and air streams combined with the gravity of the Moon, the Sun, and our molten core.  In the blink of an eye, things can go from a peaceful sunny summer morning, to a raging cold hangover of a storm slamming against your ship.  I find the chaotic nature of the ocean to be very attractive.  It’s danger and life all in one.  It can be your best friend or your death.   One must always give respect to the great seas for not only do they hold uncertain endings, but they also hold our beginnings.

It is much like man in the same essence, that each man and woman has the ability within themselves to make drastic, and amazing changes right….fucking…. now.  There is no excuse to wait, other than ones own procrastinating tendencies.  I am so very guilty of this,  being the father of many unfinished projects, both in the realm of the arts and personal health.  As The Broadways said on their album “Broken Star” in the song We’ll Have a Party: “sometimes motivation sinks deep in these couch cushions, sometimes sleep is my best friend.”   But like anything in this life, one must find their passion and motivation, seize it by the horns and run with the bull.

On an aside, the rhythmic beating of ocean waves against the shore is a soothing and to me, erotic sound.  I enjoy the outdoors and without fail, when taking a young lass camping out next to the ocean, the fire behind the love making and romance is always extreme.  I think because that sound awakens some deep down and primal inside a person.  Or because the chaotic nature of the ocean is a reminder of our own mortality.  I am not sure the reason, but I can vouch from experience that if your girl is down for some ocean camping, you are in for some good times.