Life is art!
Well, they did it
Got me signed up for that American Dream
Thirty years of monthly payments
On this pile of blocks and boards
Tiles and shingles
Aw, I’m just kidding
It is a proper structure
Safe
Secure
And I am certainly thankful
For floors without holes
And a roof lacking leaks
Can’t just up and leave now
Got to hold it down
For all these kids I have running around
I wake up in the morning
Make coffee, roll a stick
Sit down
My spot
Well, mine as much as that is where my wife as assigned me
Gazing, front door open, through the glass storm door
Staring right into the back sides of other folks’ lives
Folks I don’t know
Folks don’t know me
Laying before me a suburban encampment of the struggling American middle class
Just the same
My neighbors to the rear receive the same upskirt view of American life
Setting fire to my stick, inhaling to forever
Exhaling, blowing the steam off my cup
All the dwellings visibly homogenous
Mostly
Certainly there are different shades and colors of brick and vinyl
Like the soul of those who reside within
Diverse in build and aesthetic are anatomically the same
Particularly with the view of bent over backsides
Like the back doors of all America
And still, the same each soul housed with in the diverse anatomically the same temples
Are each to themselves unique expressions of the individual soul
Not in some abstract fantastic way
Of Bohiemians gathered in mores.
Rants and diatribes of dirty dishes and who’s cutting the lawn
Fire lit nights and conversations with the stars
You better hold on
Cuz it dnt slow down
It just keep spinnin’ & spinnin’
And, it gotta keep rollin’ & rollin’
You better take hold
Cuz you gotta keep livin’
Them years get to rollin’
And still, it jest keep spinnin’
I remember when she taught me how to make memories. I had been doing it my entire life, but never thought it as something to be done intentionally; like I had any control over it. It was an autumn day, not unlike today. Sitting on her momma’s front porch in the early evening after school. I was smoking a square and rolling some weed. Scheming on how to get into the parties thrown by the rich kids at The Spot downtown, or thinking how we tore JR’s house up the other night and I really needed to get over there to help him straighten the place up before his mom gets home for the weekend. I got up from the porch swing to put out my cigarette in the old coke can, now a make shift ash tray. When I sat back down she grabbed my hand. I looked and saw into forever through her light blue eyes. I took a deep breath and smiled. Insecure of the emotions that was overtaking me and in a defensive reaction I fixed myself to speak. “Stop!” she said. “Close your eves,” she closed hers. Feeling a peacefulness I relented and shut my own. “Just breath” she said, “I want to remember this forever. How the wind smells, and how it feels to be next to you. Listen to the trees and the cars. The taste of this gum in my mouth. So, just shut up for a minute. I’m making a memory.”
Doing yoga on the front lawn, facing the highway
Raggedy oversized sweatsuit, bleached navy blue
Early on any Saturday morning, early spring or late fall of the year
The only folks up gotta reason to be
Coming home from a graveyard shift
Or, rushing off to make an early one
Probably running just a little late by now
Neighbors coming on and off the highway
In and out of the neighborhood
Passing the Bum deep in meditation
Taking in all the universe
Caught in the middle of a warrior’s pose transition
What is he doing? How peculiar!
What a weirdo!?!
The Dharma knows and embraces all of life’s vibrations.
It acknowledges and accepts all thoughts and judgements.
Of the neighbors,
and the world.
Overtaken by the flow of energy through the universe.
Surrounded by neat single-family dwellings,
and the maze of infrastructure.
The Bum releases himself.
Solitary and static, sinking into downward dog.
Spinning into nothing and everything.
The Dharma uncontrollably passes through all of time and all of space.
An alarm sounds from a cell phone.
The oven is ready for cinnamon roll.
Them boys sure do love cinnamon rolls!
Misty eyed, the old man looks down from his mountain home on the civilized that reside below his watchful gaze, glowing as light shown through a prism, the one light perceived in its spectrum of color. Bright vibrant shades of green to violet stand uniquely and individually firm, but seamlessly united in spreading its light through the darkness. Each citizen living, loving, growing in their own identity, expressing themselves to the rest of the universe without fear. The old man sees the walls and razor wire of division, judgement, and fear have ultimately been dismantled, cast away as the chaff when separated from the grain. With his final breath the old man casts his last blessing of peace over the civilized before entering into eternity knowing his creation has realized its purpose.
What is culture? Often, we define culture by cultural expressions; art, customs, and institutions. But, what creates culture is when these expressions have shared value amongst social groups. Lifestyle is another cultural expression when shared. Since the time of the ancients, people have been globalizing the world. Traveling, exploring, and engaging in the exchange of not only goods and commodities, but also knowledge, art, and faith. Culture, then, is ultimately a social form of communication. A way for social groups to communicate, to members and outsiders, its values and ideals.
There is much division that is often caused by the polarization of extreme ideas. I am convinced that if individuals were to examine themselves honestly, they would see themselves as multicultural beings not some cultural monolith. Once the individual views self within the phenomenon of diversity, they can then implement cultural diversity as a tool or technique in achieve supreme results.
With the continued work of truth seekers and advocates of peace and justice perhaps the old man will be able to retired from his struggle against the chains on people’s hearts and the razor wire in the rivers surrounding their minds that prevent us from expressing our many different shades while spreading the light of love and goodness throughout the darkness that still thrives in the world.
Clairmont Ave
The coolest little spot
Not a lot going’ on
The sun shines by day
At night the streetlights beam
And when the moon is high the funky boys and girls come out to check the scene
Clairmont Ave
The coolest little spot
Not a lot going’ on
Too young to got to bars
Two broke to cruise in cars
Clairmont slim, as he will later be called
Speaking the language of his peers
At least those that live near
Or willing to hitch across town to drink beers
Smoke Lucky Stripes, nonfiltered, no intention to really hear
Clairmont Ave
The coolest little spot
Not a lot going on
We all can be Writers and Rappers,
Poets and Thinkers,
Side-eyed winkers,
Philosophers, and too damn big dreamin’ Dreamers.
America is still the Great Big Open Space!
Can’t just use it up though.
America that is.
Gotta be smart!
Nah, gotta be wise jack.
