12. ARE YOU COMFORTABLE
Does the thought of having all your symbols twisted just to
create peace and harmony in the world sit ok with everyone?
Is there an everyone? Is it just the black and white part
that sits ok because life has to compromise with situations
that are sketchy and out of control? Is the caveman
ready to sit down with his inner beauty, is the inner beauty
ready to lock chains with the inner caveman? Is anyone ready
to admit that emptiness is the result of fullness? Or, that
fullness is the discipline of emptiness. Are you
comfortable? Do you want to learn more about the symbols
that evoke one's inner powers, abilities and comfort-zone?
Are you comfortable with things the way they are, with life
in general, obsessing and ranting away the day? Is this what
it comes down to, taking your survival so seriously that
nothing else matters but you? If there is an everyone, it
must be true. You must have some corner on what makes it ok
to put everyone down, putting everyone behind your self
importance. Is that why America is so great, so important?
The symbols say otherwise. A thrifty, brave, clean and
reverent image is fading, not from lack of new age
relevance, but lack of belief that people could be this
close to conscience. Do people still have a conscience - are
you comfortable not having one. I know that some of us feel
for the plight of others, but did those desires to empathize
get twisted along the way? Or, is it just self-importance
all over again? I gotta be somebody.
Are you comfortable with your arrogance? Are you the flame
or do you simply burn til all is barren? Do you inspire or
insist on having it your way no matter how generous the
offer of help.
Are you the teacher, the observer or the sightseer? Are you
changed by what you see? Are you the fire or the clay, are
you merely the brick baked by circumstance? What force are
you in the world and how do you use that force? Are you
beating everyone over the head with your personal savior or
is there room for some other form of reverence to take over.
Are you the firestorm or the burning bush? How would you
make a rational plan to get things done without setting the
world on fire. Spirit and energy are both consumed and given
freely, shared equally, you think?
Does the need for comfort, all the comforts of home, cause
your wallet to hemorrhage the green blood of quid pro
quo? Do all your security issues line up at the door and
demand payment? Are you comfortable with the overwhelming
need for comfort? Being bullish on luxuries, security, and
stubborn willed determination to persist at the expense of
everything and everyone you count on is bound to be opening
a black hole in your karmic hope chest that causes a
spiritual vacuum large enough to swallow every comfort zone
within a city radius.
Penniless, without a throne, you’ll only
be a hollow reed that tootles in the wind.
More enduring than earthly determination, you must plant yourself in luxury’s lap,
deserving the fruits of others, where sap will always rise to a stirring occasion.
Are you comfortable with two-faced duality, talking out of
both sides of your face? Say one thing, do another? Do you
nod and compromise, placating the people you despise, all
the while churning your infantile disappointments into
justification for hate? Are you the hated or the hateful? Do
you live to cherish your own loathing? Is it not loathsome
to be self-loathing? Aspects of self and mortality stand
like towers, each a riddle, a definition of a frail being
with no clue to who we are. You and yourself are not always
the same. We and us do not get along. The concept of
brotherly love has evolved from poverty and urban plight, to
democracy and freedom's ring. The founding fathers had no
idea how far this concept could go. They would be astonished
and proud. They would not consider the unintended
consequences reason enough to hold back their inspired
Are you a comfortable American, or just clutching onto
another body in the backwaters of the local tidal pool. Is
your gun rack full? Do you aim to take out the first entity
that threatens your sense of security? Can we have enough
security? Are the trenches deep enough? Shall we all change
into see thru plastic clothing and give up modesty and
privacy all together? Are we just foaming at the mouth with
unrealistic fear? Cancerian nation, July born, the crab
symbol longs for the safety of crepuscular shallows and
crannies of the wetland, yet threaten with an armored
gesture any approaching vague shape. But, wouldn't you love to sit down
steaming plate of big blue jimmies? - no longer blue of
course, a hue given up for the blaze orange of the happy
hunting ground where nothing suffers. The Native Americans
have always been the spiritualists and shamans in our midst.
How many citizens understand any of that? Are you
comfortable with ancient wisdom and spiritual healing,
willing to look for a welcome blackbird in a seashell? Can you
read it without fear and defensiveness?
What's it like being the king, roaring and lashing out
whenever the inflow of tribute, piety and worship cease? How
does your birthright make it ok to abuse the people
you don't agree with? Especially the people who love you in
spite of your kingliness. The last time you spoke about
yourself, did it go something like, "You'll be glad you knew me, listen up,
take my words to heart, luck rubs off.
Do what I do, be flamboyant, take a chance.
You only get to be egotistical once.
I'm the largest ideal on planet earth,
larger than a sunflower, stinking like a
marigold, bugs won't even try to light.
I am the last cat you want to challenge."
Sound familiar? Your pipe, your bowl and fiddlers three are
on the house. Donations keep rolling in, though they seem
more like something the cat dragged in. There's nothing
worse than a lion without money or means.
Pretending to be a homeless bon vivant
you're not faking it or putting on airs.
Outcast, you tom cats know deep down the number one cause for joy and despair.
Symbol of virtue, what's in your comfort zone? You dress
in navy and gray, cool babe, legs crossed, a karmic assistant In charge of the 10,000 things,
watchful, self-improving, just enough mental mercury to strive,
upwardly mobile in both service and repair, always
remodeling the human clay. Your stomach is tense, your nerves
are nervous in the cubical of life, toes dusty from the women’s camp.
Do you have everyone’s issues at heart? Without grim news to report life would be unbearable,
so you pray for the foreign.
It would take an overseas correspondent with his native idiom and know-how
to overcome your self-alienation, that congenital virginity. Not
just the gals, you David naked, Adonis, angels on earth - I
know what you're thinking. Just service the account. Justify
everything with a nit-pick flair for detail, no flaw too
common for you to stoop to, conquer and no cause too lowly
Oh, the high flying magic, the charms and lush lavishness of
life, don't stop, I want it all, you say. Bring it on, love,
sex, money! Did I say love? Where is that? Is that not the
mere hollow feeling you get when there isn't any? Is that
just the co-efficient of sex and money? It must be confusing
to get what you want and not have what you need. Order more
gifts. Where's my console of technological wonders? Oh, god
of mobility and desire, where are you? I need this life and
all its input, deliberation, melting pot, diplomatic
immunity, I need it like the farmer needs the land. Airy
gods of Olympus, hear me. Fly to them Mercury, deliver my
plea. Line up the goddesses on TV, let me chose, have
another golden apple, I know they're not in season, I have
them flown in. I'll take that one, that one and... ah, her,
she'll give me all the babies I'll ever need. Oh, wait, I
said that to someone else, didn't I, oh well, you can never
have enough babies, can you? Or, enough partners, order more
beer, party on.
Are you comfortable with all your dying relatives? Are you
taking their money and feeling ok about it? Yeah, they made
your life hell, you deserve everything you can get. What
makes it ok in your head to dishonor your parents? The Bible
aside, does that that really work? Can you take advantage of
your parents and expect to get away with it? Your comfort
level and your stress syndrome will be telltale enough. You
will not fool anyone, your heart will give you away and
signal the authorities because all your symbols are twisted.
Some aspect of your belief system will make it so you cannot
hide what disturbs you. As the Romans say. the poison will
leach out. The scorpion will destroy himself with admitted
honesty, because he admits, I am a scorpion. That's what
scorpions do. But you don't understand that, do you. What
would make it ok to do yourself in on purpose? The answer is
Aren't we happy-go-lucky? Horses thundering, legs and thighs
like steaming pistons at work in the curious world. Go do
everything everywhere whilst you can. Find your pilot, hair
streaming out from his grinning face. All aboard, don't
forget your quiver of freshly ground arrows, that jar of
thigh cream, gotta keep those pistons well-greased.
Luck usually needs a push, a shot of
Juice, beginners luck, money luck, luck
In a foreign country, dumb luck, or blind.
it's the luck of the carefree reckless Don Juan,
seeking the pleasures of the optimist, a higher life of genial wit; yet a critical tome
could come back on the shield of dreams. No one is prepared to give that much freedom
before becoming bored with relevance. Does your ever changing self expression
make you the ultimate religious heretic, unrealized and alone in a complicated world?
Teacher, observer or
sightseer, more comfortable in the sketchy zone?
Are you comfortable with your status? The old sea-goat
squirms to slime the earth, digs itself up from an ocean of
myth. Farmers praise her and queen Rhea in her Capricorn
aspect, yet the slug gets salted and loathed for cutting the
young stems. For everything there is good and bad. They live
in the same ray of hope, stroke of doom. Symbols are
dichotomies, opposites merging into the light of awareness.
There cannot be a symbol of pure good or evil. The lord of
light and dark inhabits everything. We eat as we are being
eaten. The high-born do not contemplate such ideas when
faced with societal status and repute. But, I suspect that
somewhere in the lineage of the self-important there was one
unstoppable voice which whispered like a good Roman holding
the laurels over the hero's head but taunting, "Fame is
fleeting". O, the uneasy fleeting, where is your sense
of poetic justice in this? Isn't it all about getting what
you deserve? The person with the most toys wins? What makes
Friends, Romans, discontented citizens, turn away from your
TV screens, bookmark your laptop, put down that homeopathic
newspaper, breathe, live, move, find life in every nook and
cranny of your being. It's there, right under your
fingernail, out of the corner of your soul-eye, just across
the street from where you go fishing in the stream of
consciousness. It's not tomorrow land or never land, could
be the promise land if only you knew what that meant. It was
believed that Jupiter himself would save one of these green
plots for you in the happy harvest home of the after land.
Who knows, one day you could be preserved forever in one of
the Hereafter Inc. global Sleep Care units, able to walk,
talk, have sex and drink beer. Maybe there is a cyber
heaven where you get uploaded and downloaded at the whim of
I don't make fun of heaven because every individual has one.
The collective will cannot be denied, this generation or the
next will not tolerate death as a wintering-over of souls.
Science undoubtedly will conquer the scythe carrying SOB
except in the case of criminals. Like a prisoner of
condemned sleep he will not be allowed to have sex or drink
beer, but will be awakened occasionally for interrogation.
Your friends won't tell you this. Comfortable?
A faithful friend and singer of lost note, used to chime
reverently, don't worry, everything gon be everything.
I am a Christian, but reserve the right to edit my own
devotions. It's an American thing. Christians, no offense,
tend to oil every item of symbolic possibility into outward
signs of Christ. So, all religions prepare a table of
earthly reminders for their chosen God, except the ones that
forbid icons and statues. Do not forbid me to worship,
praise, make significant note of anything twixt heaven and
hell. I will not obey, it's a writer thing. I'm familiar
with the wages of sin - your life doesn't work. Trust me,
because what is sin but a litany of bad choices celebrated
by a liturgy of wrong songs. But yes, everything probably
will be everything. Comfort and joy will not be the same for
all generations. There will always be another Rome where you
are better off doing what they do than risking your
misbegotten life. I don't see all the hundred shades of
difference between the sorrows of the faithful and the
sorrows of the lost, except that the faithful, no matter how
blind can see the way out of their sorrows. You gotta wonder
though, if you are comfortable with that idea, you are
probably forbidden to read this. Sorry, this must not be of
any comfort to you at all.
Not Being Jimmy, Finding the