Saturday, January 19, 2019

Let us not Become another Forgotten Prisoner in the Penitentiary of Time.

Dog Poet Transmitting.......

Greetings my dear friends. Given the progression of events that have been transpiring over fairly recent times, I am compelled to say a few things. Unfortunately, the audience I might wish to reach is becoming increasingly unreachable. More and more, these postings are labeled as a “dangerous site”, or can't be reached at all. I pay it no mind. It matters not to me if anyone can read them, they are written on the wind as well as here. The compelling point is that they are written. Once loosed, like an arrow from a bow, it is no longer my concern. If the aim is true it will strike the target. Perhaps light will flow from the wound. That is the intention.

Those tormented by the hope of being heard, are speaking to the many rather than the one. If the one should hear it, it will reverberate through every residence in which that singular unity may dwell, awake or dreaming and there is none can stop it.

Such are the times in which we live. We either await the dawning of the light within, or we elbow the shadows on the double wide stage of pomposity and pretense, jockeying for position and demanding our moment in the false light; becoming one more blurred face in the crowd, one more snapshot of another forgotten prisoner in the penitentiary of time.

Tumbling from the cornucopia of mutant life, into this shake n bake world, come the villains and scoundrels, with an occasional hero thrown in for contrast, hardly anyone knowing who they are, without the parallels and polarities of personalities, designed to illustrate the moment ...and then the moment is gone. Once the truth, with all virtue and honor, has been tossed aside into a vacant lot and replaced with hubris and hypocrisy, there is little worth remembering, except the certitude of fate that comes over and over, like waves from a poisoned sea, covering the ozymandiam ruins of its manifest destiny.

We are appointed our tasks here before we arrive. We may abandon them. We may put a personal imprimatur upon them, rendering them vastly different than was the original intent. We are already garbed and set on the road to Damascus, Samarra (what is the true origin of anything?) or Kansas City; where you are going to get you one ...or be gotten.

We don't know who anyone is. We don't know who we are, until we do and then, like a lightning flash, we have a certain clarity about everyone else; whether we can see them or not. Most of the time it's simple enough if you close your eyes.

We see the sun shining, indirectly we hope... and that should say something right off the bat. We feel the wind and rain. We hear the thunder; the multitude of the voices of nature, bird songs and animal calls, the conversations in the park, not to mention the conversations in our heads and we attribute a different origin to every one of these but they are all expressions of a single force. This force is made into whatever personalization by adaptation; “true, without falsehood, certain and most true.”

It would seem (at least it does to me) that the author of anything can be found within the work produced, just as the thought that brought forth the scripture can be traced back to the living mind which created it. That is the only mind there is and we have (for the most part) individualized it through separation from it. One doesn't have to be separated from it but one does separate, due to the insistence of something that doesn't even exist, except as a temporary phenomenon, like dew on the grass and which meets the same result and which runs forever through the cycles of its changes. So I could, technically, communicate with the author of anything by addressing it through the medium of what it has produced. Like talking to anyone and actually speaking to what animates them... instead of (and this is also an option) what deceives them.

Like I said, we don't know who anyone is.

There are people in every walk of life who are witnesses and evolving examples of whatever they have witnessed or been inspired (or deceived by), visibly or invisibly, or they fall away, singly or in droves, depending on the particular pressure of the material world at a particular time. Sometimes the magnetics are stronger than other times. What might have been resistible in one period could be irresistible in another, unless you have already found something even stronger than whatever 'that' is.

No matter what anyone tells you, it isn't the easiest thing to maintain a consistency of faith in what you cannot see. Sometimes you have to lose the connection, any number of times, before that which you seek to have faith in has finally impressed you with its finding you again, any number of times.

It is my most blessed and fortunate opportunity, to be able to tell you that God is real and to have the Faith and conviction of what my experiences have branded upon my consciousness, as a permanence of Certitude, so that Determination can dance with a wild abandon, through this kingdom of everlasting freedom, made real and inviolable by the master of all souls. It becomes forever-after unnecessary to genuflect before, or bow the knee to any impostor, past or present, no matter how large a shadow they may cast, here in the land of the walking dead.

The proof and evidence of an everlasting and eternal being has been made again and again and is being made every moment by whomever is representing it. If the proof and evidence is given to anyone at any time, one is then rendered incapable of remaining silent concerning it. Even if one is mute, it reverberates to the furthest reaches of space. It is the soundtrack of existence. It is the resonance of the planets rubbing together. It is the celestial symphony, composed of the totality of all of the heavenly bodies in their interplay through time and beyond time. Once one has had even a minuscule vision of the splendor and glory of the ineffable, everything else that is or has ever been, is reduced to a secondary importance of little consequence.

The Buddha, or a Buddha, was once asked what one is to do with the acrimony, slander and offenses visited upon them by the mocking wretches who assail them in this life. The Buddha, or a Buddha said, “To whom does a gift belong if it is refused by the one it is being given to?” The petitioner replied, “it belongs to the one who was giving it.” The Buddha, or a Buddha replied, “Then so do all these things when they are not accepted by the one they are being visited on.”

One has to be transubstantiated into a place where such things cannot follow or establish any residence. Everything is composed of vibrations. The difference in anything that exists is a difference in vibration. The vibration of anything can be changed. Only the changeless cannot be changed and herein is the secret of changing lead into gold; not that this power is of much relative value after one realizes what they can be themselves changed into, or revealed as ...and one does not even need to be a master to accomplish that, one only needs to provide a place for that master to reside in.

It is a matter of both comedy and tragedy in simultaneity, when one observes the spectacle of life and the pursuits being engaged in. It appears that there are many who are indifferent to or unaware of what is possible, as an alternative to the perpetual suffering that inexplicably goes on and on and on here. Sooner or later, someone, here and there, decides they have had enough of that and... in the interim runs their battlefield hospital in whatever environment they find themselves in.

This is an apocalypse. Expect the unexpected. And... above all, take full advantage of the tremendous possibilities and potential for spiritual advancement, which exist in such a time.

End Transmission.......

♫ Light up Ahead ♫

Wednesday, January 9, 2019

Herpes of the Mind, The Presence of God and no Stopovers in Wine and Cheeseville.

Dog Poet Transmitting.......

I was talking to my friend today and somehow we got on to the subject of Grammar; probably because I am near the completion of my new book and I made a derogatory comment about 'dry academics', followed by this statement... “they are experts at things no one cares a wit about and are only able to talk about them with others of their kind who are also experts at things no one gives a wit about.” I did not use the word 'wit' but the word I did use... rhymes with it.

This put me in mind of all the experts who are out there in White Wine and Cheeseville. These are the people who know all the intricacies but none of the implications. I am an expert at nothing, except perhaps, screwing up. Having achieved this exalted position, I was forced to abdicate, due to my phobia about crowds and having lost interest or getting promoted; I forget which. That certainly affirms the loss of interest. No doubt there was some element of both.

While so many are captivated by building a legacy and jockeying for prominence, some of us are working in every way to be made free of such things, recognizing the painful confinements that attend them. To be known by the ineffable, is to me, the greatest accomplishment possible in this or any life. It is usually accompanied by being roundly diminished by the experts to whom the efforts of people like us are judged as nonsense. This is in line with the wisdom of man being as foolishness to God. This put me in the mind of a couple of lines of scripture; “Because the foolishness of God is wiser than men, and the weakness of God is stronger than men.” and... “but God has chosen the foolish things of the world to shame the wise, and God has chosen the weak things of the world to shame the things which are strong,”

I was speaking with the ineffable a few years ago about my songs; musing on the lack of success I had attained in the production and recording of them. He answered me by asking, “Who did you write those songs for?” I replied, “for you Lord, mostly.” Then he said, “Well... I heard them.” There was a period of a minute or so when I pondered the meaning of this, followed by a warm glow of true satisfaction. When I say, as I have said a few times here that, “I consider myself one of the most fortunate of men.” I most definitely have my reasons for thinking this.

Now it is most likely true that there are some who think it a delusion that I have conversations with the divine and some who don't believe there is such a creature. It matters not at all to me what anyone might think in this regard. I have the lasting evidence of the truth of the matter and it is reaffirmed, more than once, on every single day. When it first began to occur as a regular event, rather than an occasional experience while I was in an altered state, I wondered about the verity of it. I engaged in several conversations concerning this and... more often than not, I was interrupted while thinking about it, by the divine, who then went on about my doubts before I had even voiced them. Over time, the nature and contents of the exchanges have proven to me, beyond all doubt, just who I was interacting with; not to mention, occasional commentary on events that had not yet occurred and which then took place precisely as I had been told. Then, there was the evidence of cardinal moments, prior to the inception of regular discourse, where powerful truths were demonstrated.

On Maui, I think it was in April (April having often been, 'the cruelest month' for me in past times) of 1984; about 15 minutes before I was to meet with an undercover policeman at a car, in the front of the Maui Mall, I was walking from the other side, where our car was parked and while in the middle of the mall, I realized that I had to take a leak. I went to the bathrooms and had to walk through a lime green corridor to get to the men's room. This is the same color one sees in various institutions everywhere and which I had previously seen in some of the places where I had been confined on other occasions. I was already feeling a nervous quality in the air. As I walked down the corridor, a voice came clearly into my head and I was told, “You are going to see walls with this very color shortly but do not be fearful or distressed, I will get you out of it.” Then I realized that I was going to be arrested. Did I turn and take off at a run to avoid the inevitable? I did not.

I did my business in the men's room and then walked to the undercover's car. As soon as I displayed the goods, the undercover said he had to go to the trunk where the money was. He got out and went round the car and very shortly, following the opening of the trunk, I heard the pounding of many feet upon the parking lot macadam. The other officers had been hiding in the True Value hardware store across the way behind us and the opening of the trunk was the signal for storm-trooping over.

I was charged with 3 Class A felonies. Each of them carried a twenty year mandatory sentence. Hawaii had the highest conviction rate in the nation at the time (probably still does). According to the police and everyone else I spoke with in the 18 months leading up to my trial, I didn't have a prayer. Well, the truth was I most certainly did have 'a prayer'.

I was locked up for 90 days before my friends on the mainland could bail me out. Bail on Maui is far more difficult to obtain than anywhere else in the country because people sometimes pull a runner, so you have to have some kind of equity-escrow to get out; property, a house etc. Eventually my friend, Howard, put up a portion of his land to secure my release. I was let out on The Fourth of July (grin). Of course, the cops, who continually harassed me through the time to my trial, had me arrested again by getting the bail-bondsman to demand yet more equity, which we got together rather quickly this time. In the time leading up to the trial, the (hanging) judge I was going in front of, retired (allegedly drunk by noon each day. I think his name was Hirito) . The experienced prosecutor was transferred and I wound up having my trial in a nice airy conference room, because my new judge did not yet have a courtroom; one of the ancient, yellow walled courtrooms, drenched in the anguished, astral tears of previous victims. The trial that followed was one of the most amazing and truly funny occasions that I think had EVER taken place in that locale.

On the evening of the day on which the verdict was announced, we were all (my lawyer and I and my supporters) in a nearby bar; I was getting 'plowed' in case the judgment went against me. However, I was in an inexplicable celebratory state... no real physical reason for it. No one had EVER been acquitted by reason of entrapment in the history of the state. We had only been in the bar for a little over an hour when we were informed that the jury had returned. That quickly was NOT a good sign. We went into the courtroom and took our seats. Behind us, quite close were 9 of the biggest cops in street clothes that I had ever seen. They were waiting to haul me away.

The judge came in... the jury was asked it they had reached a verdict... yes they had... the bailiff went and got a slip of paper from the foreman. I looked at the jury. They were looking at me, with no indication of anything. The judge directed the bailiff to read the decision. “On the first count... not guilty. On the second count... not guilty.” By now I knew what the third count would be and I was right. The courtroom was shocked! Nothing like this had ever happened before. I turned to my lawyer (a former mob lawyer from Detroit, who thought he could dry out in the islands- not hardly), Bruce Metz and I put my hands on his waist and lifted him straight into the air. He weighed at least a hundred and eighty pounds. He was in good shape (surprisingly) as well. Under no circumstances could I have ever done this with my usual strength. It just happened. I turned and looked at the cops. Their faces were a wonder to behold. Later, my lawyer (quite the Lothario) dated the cute bailiff and she told him that the jury said it had only taken them 15 minutes to acquit but they stayed longer so as not to embarrass the police.

The first vote was 9 for acquittal and 3 for guilty. The three for guilty were all little, elderly ladies. The foreman asked them how they were convinced of my guilt. They said they weren't convinced but they thought I probably was guilty. The foreman told them that wasn't good enough. They had to be convinced beyond a reasonable doubt. One of them laughed and said, “Oh wonderful, we didn't want him to go to jail anyway!” heh heh.

A couple of months later, my lawyer was riding down in the elevator at the county building, with the District Attorney, Cardoza. He turned to my lawyer and said, “You know Bruce, your client and his girlfriend were two of only three people who never cooperated with my office in my eight years as the prosecutor.” When I heard this, such a thrill went through me. I was never going to cooperate anyway, period because, NO WAY was I going to wake up with a rat jacket for the rest of my days. It was a beautiful thing.

For a good long time afterwards, every case like mine and even some that weren't, tried to use the same defense. It never worked again. I wish I had the time to tell you about what occurred in the courtroom. There was a constant progression of supernatural events. On several occasions the jury broke out into laughter and we had to wait some time for things to continue. On one occasion it took a good long time because, every time proceedings were about to recommence, someone from the jury would start snickering and then they would all start in laughing again. It was at that point that I somehow knew I was going to be okay. That event was triggered by the title of one on the songs from my first album, “Jews from Outer Space”, which was, “Herpes of the Mind”.

This was only one of a number of other times when similar results occurred; not in a courtroom but some other environment, when disaster, as well as life and death were on the menu. I've got far more proof positive than I require in order to know that the conversational back and forth between me and The Luminous One is real. People are welcome to all the power and wealth, position and fame they can acquire. I am completely satisfied with what I have gotten and which includes none of the things just mentioned. It is impossible for me to describe the impact that the Presence of God has had on me. It has been worth all the acrimony, slander, ignominy, pain and suffering, as well as dreadful confinements which it has cost to get here. It is worth whatever it might have cost... whatever.

This is all just by the way of also saying, the company of the ineffable is available to ANYONE who wants it 'more than anything else' and who will go the distance and it is far, so far beyond priceless that the true value of it can never be measured and it grants a level of enjoyment to every single thing and event, no matter how simple or pedestrian ...and that can be had NO OTHER WAY.

End Transmission.......

♫ God's not Dead ♫