I Dreamed A Dream

Last night, I dreamed a dream.  In that dream there was a man, tall, dark and desperately handsome and of Spanish blood.  With a swimmers build and a dark Mediterranean complexion he first appeared across the way while I was buoying in a pool.  He caught my eye but I feigned an arrogant disinterest, until he walked around the pool to where I sat in the water and he stood over me.   He knelt down and, oh, oh so gently he kissed me.  I thought he was Adonis himself, Eros, the son of Aphrodite, goddess of Love.  He was possessed of such a beauty as to be utterly intoxicating...and I was so intoxicated with him.  I was aware that my head was swimming in the clouds and rather than invoke my  mind to employ reason and cast him away, I swam in those clouds, drunk with the beauty that he radiated.

And though the sun rose and night gave way to day and the dream evaporated back into the magical mist from which it was born, he, my Adonis, has walked with me all day in my thoughts.  So potent was his presence that it has not been easy to dispel.  It has been pleasant, though, to momentarily lapse into that special state where I again feel him bend over, blocking out the sun, to kneel and kiss me as if I, I alone had been set aside for him.  I had a highly productive day at work today, but it was a wonder I was able to accomplish anything, walking around in a hangover from his indelible beauty with his kiss still lingering on my lips.  I am a dreamer and this was the dream I dreamt.   At intermittent occasions my dreams favor me with a sensation or an impression that simply leaves me in a stupor that I selfishly indulge in and refuse to let go of.  I force myself into the halls of my memory and there I linger for as long as the Stewards permit.

At odd intervals in the day I have wondered could this god be real, this Spanish conqueror of my heart.  My mind then intrudes and bids me return to reality and know such a creature could not be real,  nor should I desire such a thing.  For in his presence I was obliterated by his beauty, I was simply an automaton standing at his side taking in every drop of him.  I suppose I enjoyed such a thing because life can be tired.  Often it is full of struggle and strain.  It can be good to have a small island of hope or destination of ease and luxury where the heart and soul can replinish its nature and regain strength.  I found such an island last night.  And though I know  my lover's presence will diminish as the days slip by and his beauty be but a fading impression,  I am thankful that I have found favor with the dream gods that I experienced such unerrying beauty.

I AM...

I am the "love that dare not speak its name".  Carefree and youthful I roam the world of men causing them to embrace each other in the bond that moves beyond simple physical embrace.  I have seeped into their hearts and there lit the fire of love that they may know each other with an intimacy that surpasses physical lust.  Those who respond to my touch I have set aside and call them my own.

For Love, when It issued forth from the creator gave birth to my nature among men but I was overwhelmed by my twin who lit the the hearts of men and women aflame, a flame that was greater than mine and caused me to shrink back, making my flame feeble and unsure.  But Time, which matures all things, touched my little flame and the strength gained from those marching ages augmented my nature.  Now, I burn with greater passion, my light glows with an intensity which blinds the those who have been lying in cracks and crevices hoping to extinguish my flame. 

No longer feeble and prostrate I burn brightly in the hearts of my subjects who honor me in the world of men by expressing their love of each other.  Masculine upon masculine, feminine upon feminine, these two natures compounded upon each other create a flame unlike that of my twin whose two natures, masculine and feminine, create a flame of dual color, beautiful in its own right.  But my flame, of a single intensity because its nature has not been separated, but compounded shines with a brightness unlike any other.

I am the love between men, I am the love between women.  I ignite the passions, I light up the arts, I emblazen civility, I inflame knowledge in the minds  of my bearers and on the wings of love I alight to the sweetest strains of the lovers' song.  I, I am...Gay.

Halcyon Days

When I was still a child of about seven, my first step-father died a tragic death.  While burning weeds in our yard, he caught fire.  He ultimately died of pneumonia in the hospital.  After his death, my mother experienced a rejuvenation-I could tell she was different, felt different! It had been as if a light had suddenly broken through our cloudy lives.  Even I as a child felt a certain freedom, as if I was no longer being watched and could roam around freely. 

It was these days that were filed with my roaming around our yard, capturing poor little insect and maliciously tearing them apart, joint by joint.  One such insect, a bee, got its revenge:  when I tried to capture it, something went horribly awry and the insect's stinger got lodged in my thumb!  I will never forget what a terrifically devasting pain that stinger gave me.  It was so painful I could not dare pull it out myself.  I ran around the yard screaming my head off and finally ran to my mother to pull the darn thing out.  I think I left the insects alone after this.

I was a terribly pensive kid, given over to spending blocks of time alone, wandering around the yard exploring things.  I remember times lying in the yard on the grass (we had a pretty good size yard in those days) on lazy afternoons soaking up the sun.  I think this was before I realized black folk were not supposed to lie in the sun, at least not without blackening further like ribs on a barbeque grill.  But it was such a delicious feeling just lying there letting the sun penetrate my senses, letting its warmth wash over my little body.  We lived in Fayetteville, North Carolina then, before my mother met my second step-father-a military man, and we started traveling.  There was plenty of sunshine then!

It was during this time that I discovered my love of reading.  The school library was a heavenly place to me, filled with untold riches just waiting to be discovered.  What pure joy it was to sit and be carried away by words strung together in such a way as to entrance, enthrall and enchant!  Being such a solitary kid, reading was a delightful escape and sanctuary, a place where I needed no adult to escort me, guide me or watch me.  I could get lost in my own imagination, roaming around the sensational corners in my mind, discovering hidden joys and delicate sensations.  Sometimes the words, the sentences and paragraphs awakened things inside me, things which I could not have known but seemed at times to be vaguely familiar with.  I had a lot of deja vu in those days as a child.  I did not know if I had been places and experienced things or if I was simply imagining things.  It actually did not matter-it gave me pleasure, either way!  Reading is so important in a child's life,  though my mother never read to us as children, were I to have children I would make reading an integral part of their little lives.  Those early years are so important.  Aany activity that you can share with your child where you have the opportunity to bond, cannot be taken too lightly!

I remember specifically, in those days that something happened where the school buses stopped coming into our neighborhood.  All the other kids received rides from the parents.  My mother did not take me to school.  I had to walk to school.  It was probably about a mile from our home to the school that I walked every day.  During those walks, like most little kids, I suppose, my mind wondered as I made my way to school.  In reflection, sometimes I think Life has conspired to make me a single, solitary creature, chasing the silences of solitude.  I started walking to school rather young, probably seven or so.  And I walked all the way through high school!  Even when we moved to Germany, the walk to school was probably the same distance, about a mile.  And I too, walked it alone.  I would wait for the swarms of students to pass and then set out on my little solitary journey. 

Those Halcyon days are filled with so many memories for me, so many pleasant thoughts that sometimes intrude upon my day to remind me that things were beautiful for me once, that I was a child, that my childhood was not THAT bad!  I like to hold on to those moments filled with memories like my first bike, my little red wagon, my first pair of roller skates (which back in the 70s were death traps!), fruit and nuts in our Christmas stockings, the first day of school (I loved school back then and I was always some teacher's pet), these are the things that I have been drifting back to lately.

 I have said here before on my previous blog that I feel like I am starting the second part of my life, so these reviews, these pensive strayings and meanderings have been necessary, I feel.  I do not ever want to forget my life, no matter how difficult I may feel it has been. But I want to remember it all and to someday summon the power to resolve it into one glorious equation where all the parts have their place and I understand those parts and the necessary presence of them in my life.  I will use this glorious equation to construct what I will ultimately become! 

Man Love

Man love would at first appear to be an oxymoron!   Men and love do not seem to go together.   We often wonder why it is so difficult for men to express love but we should not wonder why at all when we look at the societal structures that reduce men to the behavior of Neanderthals; the grunting, hunting and gathering, knock your mate over the head and drag her to the cave kind of man.  Unfortunately he is the model for the male species.  Whenever men seem to get together it's usually around alcohol and heaven forbid there are women in the proximity, the grunting, lascivious knave shows himself.

The model upon which this man is based has been mistakenly passed down from one generation to another for centuries.  The little boy is told to be brave and bold, he is instructed that he must never show weakness, that "boys don't cry".  He is discouraged from showing any thing resembling sensitivity.  The effect of this philosophy is precisely what we have, men who hide their feelings at all costs, who cannot relate to women on an emotional level or children for that matter, because they are psychologically confined by the Neanderthal model.

But men are the arbiters of a quality which is also inherent in love and emotional integrity, namely, strength.  A man is often defined by his strength, unfortunately this has been limited to his physical strength.  To his repertoire the male must add psychological and emotional strength, for it is these that really determine the strength of a man and his ability to withstand all that comes his way.  Take for example the numbers of men who engage in one night stands, father children, then walk away.  This is the work of a coward.  He may be fine as they come, with a body like Adonis but he is essentially a coward to walk away from responsibility brought upon him by his own actions.  He has no strength and even less character!  Take the same man, who may not want a family just yet but instead stands up to his responsibility, makes the necessary sacrifices to take care of his family and tries his damndest to give his child the best he can, not simply financially but emotionally, psychologically and spiritually.  This is a man of true strength and integrity, one who takes his responsibility and role seriously.  These are the men we need more of. 

These men are not afraid to show affection amongst themselves.  Often we see such affection expressed on the sports field among athletes.  I can only imagine they are bound together by the same amount of hard work and unyielding determination which creates a certain bond between them.  They are participating in a club of sorts where male bonding can only be legitimate when it comes under the auspices of a "manly" enterprise like sports or military training and endeavor. Under these circumstances men can assure themselves there is nothing "girly" about their affection for one another and that it is safely being expressed without any homosexual undertones.  This is what men must learn to let go of, the fear of judgment by a demanding society that their expression of affection is somehow unworthy of a "real" man.   They must come to see that a real man does express himself because his personality is based on strength and not weakness.  I have always believed a weak man will be afraid to put on a dress or make-up because he believe such a simple act would undersmine his masculinity, that his masculinity is not strong enough to pierce through the costume to assure people he is still a man.  A real man can put on a dress and make-up and you will still see his masculinity shining through.  Nothing frightens a weak man more than the thought that he is weak!  He is therefore preoccupied with trying to express his masculinity through the character of the Neanderthal, the ultimate male.  He will grunt and lay claim to women, all to show he is a real man.  This character must die out and men must learn more and more to show affection amongst themselves without fear of being labled sissy or faggot.  That much is up to society.  It is really society who, often unfairly because it is done without knowledge or wisdom, dictates the norms and the abnorms, for its members.  We should be encouraging men to show affection without fear.  Too many men are terrified of showing affection even with their wives and children. 

I have never had a man friend, a straight man as a friend, I mean a true and good friend.  I often lament this fact, because I think men should be able to have relationships with depth that have nothing to do with beer, pussy, cars or guns!  I suppose I speak of a platonic love, but wonder if this is at all possible among men given their lack of honesty with their feelings.  The closest we have come thus far is the best man at the wedding or perhaps even brotherly love. It is great for society when men can express themselves with strength of character and allow themselves to love each other and bond with each other.  I hope that this bonding and love comes more off the field or in the barracks so that society itself can be changed and allow men to evolve beyond the cave man mentality and expression. 

Lifestyles of the...Non-Gay, MSM, Gay-for-Pay, Anti-Gays

Back in my youth when I was running around, I recall hooking up with an older man. When we got together he said to me, "I knew you were into this."  I remember thinking to myself, "T-H-I-S"!  What was T-H-I-S?  It occurred to  me that by his statement he did not consider himself gay or a homosexual man even though he was engaging in same sex relations with another man (and also that he must have been watching me for some time) .  Over the years it has become increasingly difficult to define homosexuality because individuals are carving out niches for themselves and classifying themselves according to their own psychological predilections.   New catergories have sprung up  regarding gay-relationships such as MSM (men who have sex with men) or gay-for-pay (men who claim a heterosexual status but engage in same sex relations for profit).   Hell, there are even men and women who live gay lives but refuse to call themselves gay.  These people are living lifestyles of the...whatever you want to call them.

For the past decade or so anti-gay forces have, upon their own authority, declared homosexuality a lifestyle, trying to quality homosexuality as a choice that is made by its practioners.  According to this philosophy at some point homosexuals make a conscious decision to be attracted to members of the same sex, to enjoy physical intercourse with them, and bend their psychology to the same sex impetus.  Intellectually this argument should simply collapse under the sheer volume and weight of its unmitigated stupidity but as with so much with anti-gay sentiment, it is completely unrelated to intelligence.  It springs from prejudice, ignorance and fear, the ugly side of emotional expression.  Every now and again I will see a man you who is so obviously effeminate and I think to myself using their psychology of choice, "why would he make the choice to dress the way he does, walk and carry on the way he does, knowing full well he is going to be mocked, ridiculed, spat on, physically assaulted and in the most horrid case, murdered, for his spectacular choice?  Every day, untold numbers of gays and lesbians apparently make this defiant choice, to live this lifestyle.

Being a Buddhist is a lifestyle.  Being a Jew or Christian is a lifestyle.   A lifestyle is a way of living, a way of being in the world that requires you to follow a certain path.  Being gay is no more a lifestyle than being a man or woman is.  BEING gay is a form of existence, it is a form of truth expressing itself in the world.  We can choose not to share with the world our homosexuality and choose to hide instead in the closet.  We can choose not to have same sex relations but we cannot choose whether or not we want to be gay.  This is a stamp placed on us before we know ourselves, often times  we discover it as the years pass by.  Untold numbers of us recall having feelings for members of the same sex before we even knew what gay was.

Because of the ridicule and backlash against homosexuality, particularly in communities of color, men who engage in same sex relationships do not identify with the gay community or gay relationships. They either spurn definition or they create new definitions for themselves.   This has come to make homosexuality more complicated.  For who is a homosexual?  What makes a homosexual?    I personally believe homosexuality is about more than simply same sex intercourse.  It is a part of its definition to be sure, but it does not define it.  I would say that there is something wrong with a man who has sex with another man yet refuses to call himself gay (whether he is a top or not!)   But...if we know or have learned anything it is how complicated the mind is.  Edgar Cayce used to say, "Mind is the builder."  Yet there is also an occult maxim that says, "Mind is the destroyer, the slayer of the real."  What we think and believe not only colors our lives but thereby dictates our thoughts and actions. Some people believe fervently in God and such belief directs their daily lives.  Some people do not believe in God and such course directs their daily lives.  Each has the right to their belief system.  There is no stronger belief than the belief in what and who you are.  I believe I am gay. I do not believe in a choice in this matter.  Evidence points to the contrary.  The vast majority of gays and lesbians discover their attractions BEFORE they reach the age of majority, 18.  The law says that children are incapable of making certain decisions prior to the age of 18 and as such are in the custody of their parents.  Choosing to be gay before your 18th birthday would therefore be legally untenable and invalid.  Yet once we reach 18, our homosexuality often burgeons and we find greater freedom in expressing ourselves. The feelings and sensations do not evaporate or abate.

'Tis true enough that behavior can be learned.  But I would ask from whom would a child learn to be gay?  There are some rather sophisticated cross currents of homosexuality like style, taste and philosophy. Homosexuality cannot simply be relegated to some kind of choice like choosing to have sex with a man or a woman.  What kind of idiot would offer such plausibility?  One chooses what to have for dinner; one choosese where to go on vacation on does not choose sex with a man or woman.

I would say that men who have sex with men, gay for pay and men who do not define themselves as gay are living a lifestyle.  A lifestyle because they pop in and out of homosexuality with a choice.  They choose not to embrace who they are, for whatever reasons, and maybe they are not gay but like a little variety in their lives!  That is a lifestyle, a way of life that you choose be a part of or not as your desire behooves you.  I can tell you that swarms of gays and lesbians wish, at times not to be gay, simply because it would lead to a much easier, less confrontation existence.  But it is not our choice, we are simply being who we are, for us it is not a lifestyle, but a life!

At Work in the Fields of the Lord

And Ruth the Moabitess said unto Naomi, Let me now go to the field, and glean ears of corn after him in whose sight I shall find grace.  And she said unto her, go my daughter.  Ruth II-3.

There was a time when I too, gleaned ears of corn in the fields!  When I was in my early twenties I left the church after a rather unpleasant experience.  I wandered for a good five years without preacher, reverend or pastor.  I was amazed that I was able to pass that long without going to church.  I had been brought up in church, Sunday School every Sunday, Vacation Bible School every summer...  And I loved it.  I loved scripture growing up as a little boy. I remember reciting  Psalm 100, Make a Joyful noise unto the Lord, all ye lands, serve him with gladness...in church before the congregation when I was but a child.   Being a little Libra baby, I supposed I had a predilection for tales of fantasy;  those bible stories always fascinated me.

When I left the church I had no less a thirst for spiritual knowledge and understanding.  I simply came to understand the church was not the place to obtain it.  I was an inquisitive child who always loved learning.  I remember during those Baptist services at Mount Carmel in Fayetteville, North Carolina, when I wanted to raise my hand during the sermon and ask questions!  I came to understand this was not done.  That we simply sat and listened to the lessons or sermons being imparted to us.  I found this so unsatisfactory.  So when I was set free from the church, it was as if my thirst burst out of my chest and onto the world, unchecked.  I delved into astrology, numerology, Edgar Cayce, Theosophy and the Alice Bailey readings.  During this time of my life in my early twenties I was searching for something, for some grain of understanding about life and its purpose, little did I know I was also knocking at the door for answers.  It is written in Matthew 7:7, Ask and it shall be given you; seek and ye shall find; knock and it shall be opened unto you.  It was during this time of my life that I was proffered opportunities to understand the deepest questions that lie at my core, to explore those teachings that I had come to. 

 Often at night when sleep set in I embarked upon many a journey.  To work in the field is a spiritual expression.  A field worker helps those who have recently passed on or crossed over, ministers to those in need of prayer and assistance and helps those in need who are seeking guidance.  This work I did under the guidance of another.  As I was a probationer I could not do the work on my own.  I remember attending classes in my dreams as well with others who were on the same path.  We met in small groups.  I could never recall the discussions upon waking or any information that passed between us.  But I came to understand there were reasons for this. 

Those years are more than two decades behind me, having just passed forty-four years of age.  But I often wonder how different my life would have been had I fully engaged in the opportunities that were presented to me in the evening once sleep had overtaken me.  Instead I got ensnared exploring my sexuality, I got tangled up in promiscuity... and lost my way.  This line of activity ultimately shut out the visions and spiritual messages I used to receive.  Two of those message still pop into my head from time to time.  "Except by prayer, I am known by the love of the heart."  I remember receiving this early in the morning when I would awaken around 5 AM or so.  I would awaken to a black space in my mind, like a board.  And suddenly words would appear in the space.  The above message was one of the messages that appeared.  The other message I received was, "Light I am, Light have I become."  At the time these words meant nothing to me, but they did fascinate me because of the way I received them. 

In the intervening years since I have received those messages, time has done much work in my life.  I have uncovered at least one layer of understanding.  I used to pray and meditate some years ago and noticed that there was something taking place when I would get on my knees and say my prayers, something intangible that I cannot really describe.  The first phrase, except by prayer, I am known by the love of the heart now means a little more to me.  That prayer is a means of knowing the One, or becoming familiar with that form of energy, is a truth.  I could feel this when I used to pray, over a period of time, that I was become familiar with something.  I do not know who the I is in that phrase, but from my experience I would expect it to be Jesus, the son of God.  The love of the heart is the purest form of love and once one has been baptized in those waters, life cannot return to what it once was.  A new road opens up before you.  I chose not to take that road at the time it was offered to me and was waylayed at another station of life.  As I come around the bend or awaken from my spiritual slumber those experiences of my twenties are flooding back into my memory. I know what asking will do; I know what knocking will do; I know what seeking will do.  But that activity also engenders responsibility and commitment; what I did not know or understand in my twenties. 

Life is an extra-ordinary journey and if we pay attention, there is so much to learn, so many opportunities to become or self-actualize, should we understand and accept them.  My journey, I feel has started upon its third leg, as imagine by Thomas Cole in his painting, the third stage of mans life where man is charting the waters himself with his angel in the distance watching silently his action without interference.  I am just as blind now was I was in my twenties, but there are a few more things in my little life bag that there were when I was twenty.  The aches and pains I have felt from becoming a person have been many and varied.  But actualizing one's self was never meant to be a simple task, else we would all have accomplished it!   I know I am on my way to the house of the Lord.  But it seems I have decided to take the scenic route!  This is the route those of us take who are still unsure, unsteady in our convictions.  But it is also written that the race is not to the swift but to the slow and the steady.  Amen.

Thanksgiving

Once a year we celebrate Thanksgiving as a national day of thanks giving for the blessings we recognize in our lives.  All too often we become too comfortable and complacent with the blessings we have in our lives and forget that we are blessed among people, among nations.  I for one take so much for granted only desiring more, ignoring the much which I have, in comparision to the little so many others have.  I would like to give thanks for the many things that I have been blessed with in my little 44 years of existence.  Prized above all in my life I must give thanks for the people who have looked after me, protected me, nourished me, taught me, loved me, chastized me and given me the love and endearment and acceptance which is the natural craving of all sentient beings.  I have been fortunate in this regard, indeed.  All my life despite whatever position I have been in there has been someone there, in the center or on the circumsference watching over me, providing for me and taking care of me.  Only in retrospect and hindsight have I realized this over the years.  It is indeed a blessing to know that you are being taken care of.  For this I am eternally grateful.

I wish all a wonderful Thanskgiving Day full of richness and the blessing that come with family gatherings (minus the drama!).  And for those traveling may to you be blessed with safe travels and spirited to your destinations without problems or hassles.  As we enter this holiday season I pray we will all take a moment to realize just how blessed we are in the world and to appreciate those blessings and to try, by whatever means we have, to share  just a little of the much we have been given.   Amen.

I Can't Let Go

Mariah Carey's sophomore release, Emotions, was my favorite Mariah Carey album.  One of the hit songs, I believe, was Can't Let Go, the obligatory sad tale about not being able to let go of a relationship when your lover has moved on and left you behind.  Over the past year I have had a reckoning with so much that has happened during my childhood and teenage years. Time gives us the benefit of hindsight which allows us to evolve and learn lessons from situations and circumstances in our lives.  But ever so often we get stuck on something, whether knowingly or unknowingly, which influences our behaviour and the way we conduct ourselves.  One such case:  I mentioned in my previous blog, Homo On the Loose, that I had been raped by an uncle at 5-7 years old.  As I grew older and came into my sexuality it was a promiscuous sexuality expressing itself.  Little did I know even in my early 30s that promiscuity among childhood survivors of rape and incest is common place or text book behavior.  Children subconsciously seek to repeat the dreadful experiences that stole their innocence, believing that they can somehow restore something that was lost.  But instead they end up in a ferocious circle seeking a love and affection to replace that dreadful first encounter that stole their innocence. 

I have, over the past year, wondered what my life could have been, would have been had I not been raped; I wonder what my life would have been had my mother been home on that night; I wonder what my life would have been had my parents not thrown me out on the street; what my life would have been if my mother had stood up for me and protected me as her first born child.  I can't let go of what my life could have been like.  I have spent at least the past year pining over what was lost in my life trying find the strength to restore the scattered pieces of my childhood and teenage years to find some resolution.  I have often felt like the Architect in The Matrix: Reloaded: trying to solve variables in an equation one by one seeking resolution.  But emotionally, the information is too much for me to sort through.  I am an intellectual, not an emotional person.  I rationalize, think, ponder, weigh, judge, analyze, etc.  I do not emote or feel or become impressed by. That is not to say I do not respond to emotions, I am probably 80 percent intellect and 20 percent emotions.  My life is viewed and experienced through my mind, not my emotions.  Hence, in dealing with emotions I am on unfamiliar ground.

I know there is a better me out there, around here or somewhere.  I can sense him.  But the road in getting to him has to be put together, I suspect, from the resolution of my past in some way, shape or form.  This is what I feel.  But, I do recall a dream I had some years ago at the end of a long and difficult few years.  The dream seemed to suggest that before I started on a journey, led by a young child, I had amnesia.  Now that I recall that dream, I recall that perhaps that was my instruction for the next part of my life, that I must let go of, or forget what came before so that what comes next may take shape.  But truthfully, I have not yet learned to do this, still feeling the energy from that wounded little boy and teenager, oh so many years ago.  I can't let go!  I feel as if letting go will betray all that hurt and pain that he suffered and carried within his little bosom, that no one understood, that no one could share in or explain.  I feel an allegiance to all that tribulation.  A part of me feels to let it go would be to leave that little boy back in the past stranded with no help or resolution, as if I had failed him, left him to be devoured by his phantoms and demons.  But I have carried him with me for so long. He is my past that is obscuring my future.  I must find a way to let go without feeling guilty, so that I can move on for both our sakes.  Perhaps I can rescue him by becoming what I need to become and to do that I must let go.  Perhaps one day when I have moved further down the path ahead of me I will understand how necessary it was to move past my childhood, to unshackle myself and walk free without the weight of my past dragging behind me.  Let it be so.

MIDNIGHT MADNESS AND TWILIGHT INSANITY

On November 17, 2011 I shudder to think how many teenage girls were sitting in the theater at midnight for the Twilight: Breaking Dawn, Part I, premiere!  A friend of mine told me about the original Twilight some years ago.  I was thoroughly impressed by the movie, considering how well made it was for a teen flick.  I have always loved vampire movies and am a sucker for a good vampire flick.  What I did find a little disturbing about the flick was the concentration on an all absorbing love by a  pair of star-crossed teenagers.  Really a modern day version of Romeo and Juliet with a twist, Twilight grossly encourages young teenage girls' fantasies about love and romance.  I mean, a pubescent teenage girl finds herself in the midst of two teenage boys whose affections are a roaring flame that consumes all in its path? 

I find this a problem because of the nascent emotional nature of teenage girls (and teenage boys for that matter).  Kids are ill-equipped to roam the oft devasting lands of love and romance, girls more so than boys because their heavy emotional reliance on the affection from boys.  Pubescent girls more often than not have not been given the information they need to at least in part, understand the physical and emotional changes that accompany this rite of passage.  The opening of the gateway to the creation of life is a vital and primeval aspect of humanity's existence.  It is a subject that should be treated with the utmost care and concern.  When children are given the benefit of this knowledge the result should be children who grow into responsible adults able to distinguish between lust and longing and the beauty of love.  They come to understand that much of what we call attraction and love has its grounds in physiological changes occuring in the body, the result of chemicals being released and influencing the brain.  Knowledge is power, as they say, and having this knowledge can make the difference in the course a child takes in reference to their sexuality.

Understanding their sexuality is of prime importance, more so for girls than boys, because oft girls are the victims of boys cavalier attitudes towards their own sexuality.  For centuries men and boys have been telling women and girls the same old stories and using the same old lines, to which they fall prey: "I love you," "I want us to be together", I want to be with you and only you,", "we were meant to be together," blah, blah, blah!  And of course there are the girls and women who also learn how to wield their sexuality as a means to an end!

Unfortunately the media in American society exploits sexuality for profit. Everywhere you look, in print and film and television and internet you find sexuality being exploited. Children do not have the wherewithall to sort through these images only the desire to imitate and embrace them without understanding the potency they contain.  This is the problem with the Twilight series for young girls, the idea of the perfect man or the knight in shining armor.  With their nascent emotions coming into play they too often take these images to heart believing they are possible (perhaps possible but improbable.)  Until we take the time as a society to truly educate our children about their budding sexuality the images the media put out only contribute to the fantasies they create about sexuality, love and relationships.  It is only natural that children will be curious about sexuality.  If they had the information they needed, rather than a treasure chest of sentimental nonesense, they would be more likely to navigate the roads of sexuality, love and relationships.   They would be less likely to fall prey to the Twilight insanity!

For God So Loved The World

I do not believe it possible to leave Sunday School or Vacation Bible School without knowing John 3:16.  Every such graduate knows, "For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth on him should not perish, but have ever lasting life."   If the whole of the bible were reduced to this one verse it would reveal to us the most sacred, most potent aspect of Love: sacrifice.  God poured out its Son as a sacrifice and God's Son in turn poured out His life as a sacrifice, both on account of humanity.  Such is the true nature of Love,  not love as humanity identifies or defines love, but divine Love, the kind that sustains and nurtures and creates life.  What we know of love is but a pale reflection of divine Love.  We are not accustomed to sacrifice for it calls for us to release too much of ourselves.  The life of Jesus shows us just how to tread the path of the righteousness through service and sacrifice.  Most of us would call such a life impossible to lead, what with all the demands people would make on our time and energy, there would be little left for us.

But sacrifice is meant to take you away from your Self and lead you on the journey that will introduce you to your Soul, the spark of the divine within us, hidden by our lower inclinations.  Each time we commit to a deed which takes no thought of ourselves but expresses energy for the welfare and thought of another we invoke Soul energy.  It is akin to striking two stones together to make sparks.  Each time we commit to selfless activity we strike the stones together and create sparks.  Those sparks will eventually create a flame, the divine flame within us.  And we become a Light unto to others, often times a Light in a dark place around which others gather.

It is never easy to sacrifice since we have such intense sensations surrounding our own needs and desires.   Often times when we do sacrifice it comes only at moments of great peril or catastrophe.  Jesus said, "greater love hath no man than this, that he lay down his life for another."   Too often when we invoke love it has to do with our own desires, our own needs. This is truly not Love but our own desire masquerading as Love.  Love is a communal or group entity, it springs to life in the presence of or on behalf of many, not heart to heart as we would say.  "The Love of God is shed abroad in our hearts."  It is through the love expressed by the heart center that we connect to each other on Soul levels, that we speak to and recognize each other on deeper levels expressed through intuition. 

Love is the most powerful form of energy in the Universe, transformative, nurturing and selfless.  It creates, it binds, it expresses itself with consciousness, self-consciousness.  To be touched by it is to be reduced to nothing, for in its presence all else is as nothing. 

Occupation? What Occupation?

A couple of months ago, a movement started on the streets of Manhattan.  As with many movements it was brought on by students and aspirants to the Intelligentsia.  The movement, aimed at the greed and disastrous speculation so indigenous to Wall Street and the financial sector, gained significant momentum, even spawning movements across the country and indeed, on other continents.  However in the wee small hours of November 14, 2011 the movement reached its apex with the New York Police Department performing a midnight raid on Zucotti Park in Manhattan, the would be beachhead of the movement.  Police Officers swept through the park sweeping up disoriented folks and protesters who had began to camp out in the park with tents and portable generators.  This occupation of the park created problems concerning health and welfare (because of a lack of hygiene, taste and discernment) as well as causing problems for the inhabitants of the community.

Mayor Bloomberg had been contacted by the private owners of the park and he indicated that he authorized the raid on the park because of concerns voiced by the community, allegations of rape and indiscriminate sex, and uncompromising filth.   The mayor accurately pointed out the the protesters had every right to protest but no rights to occupy the park (even homeless people are told to move it along when caught sleeping in parks).  The park was being co-opted for other than its purposes intended.  Mayor Bloomberg would allow the protesters to return to the park once it had been cleaned out, but they would not be allowed to bring tents and inhabit the part.  But the movement with legal representation fought the order to disband from the park along with their tents.  Their legal application was ultimately struck down and they were permitted to return to the park but not to inhabit it.

This was an important moment for the Occupy Wall Street movement as it would illustrate what direction the energy of the movement was to take next.  However, instead of a declaration, or a fiat the group disbanded and wandered around lower Manhattan like a lost herd of sheep; instead of someone coming forward and being the voice of the movement there were simultaneous murmurings about the direction the group was headed along with concurrent activities, an unmistakeable indication that the movement has lost its steam. It disbanded into a nebulous cloud and spread through the lower part of the city.   Since this time there has been nothing of significance associated with the movement. 

This situation reminded me so much of the incident in Tiananman Square in China in 1989 when (again) students had rose up against the Chinese governement making a stand against the tyranny of the communist government and conditions in China.  The movement also gained momentum.  The erstwhile indignant Chinese government  ultimately held talks with the students, a momentous and auspicious occasion in Chinese history. But here too, there was no little organization concerning the structure of the movement.  It was as if the students never thought about what would happen if their movement succeeded!  Thus when the moment of truth arrived they were disoriented and unprepared.  The Chinese government then took control, with the world watching, and violently dispersed the movement.

Protests, as former Chief of Staff, Colin Powell, recently indicated, are as "American as Apple Pie."  They are the heart and soul of the checks and balances system the American forefathers sought to install after they wrested control of the colonies from the greedy, probing clutches of Great Britain.  In the 1960s the protests surrounding the civil rights of African Americans were highly organized and orchestrated and achieved great success, too often at the cost of lives of those participating, as is often the case.   The students of the Occupy Wall Street movement would have done well to have organized along the lines of the Southern Christian Leadership Conference, Dr. Martin Luther King's group, to have studied their tactics and movements.  Actually, any group protesting should study the civil rights movement with its attendant orchestrations and movements.  The movement, I believe took much from the activities of Mohandas Gandhi.  Dr. King himself had studied Gandhi and his activities in India as he tried to wrest control of his country from the British.  Dr. King modeled a lot of his activities on those of Gandhi.  The essential nature of those protests were modeled after non-violent and peaceful confrontation.  Dr. King's group were actually taught and trained in this model, how to confront their oppressors peacefully and how to react when violence was summoned as a tool against their movement.  A great deal of energy went into this training and folks who endured it were prepared to be assaulted and battered by often vicious policemen.

The Occupy Wall Street movement has lost its steam and its direction.  The occupiers have degenerated into a roving mob, ruderless, leaderless, and a nuissance.  They would do well to re-group and identify the purpose(s) for which they came together in the first place, to take an arrow and shoot it out from their midst to identify the path they wish to take and what they wish to achieve by their activities (something other than simply getting on people's nerves).  The movement has much value for the activities of Wall Street and the Banking industry catapulted this country into the current economic down turn.  To make matters worse, Wall Street and the Banking industry were rewarded with a rather handsome bailout that lead them to record record profits last year.  People are growing tired.  The Occupy Wall Street movement was supposed to be the voice of those tired folk working hard everyday, slipping down the ladder from one class to another because of the inherent inequity of the capitalist system.  Let us hope the movement can re-gain its momentum and occupy the halls of Washington, D.C., where the tentacles of Wall Street and the Banking reach!

Good Hair!!

Yesterday on Dr. Drew Pinsky's talk show, he was accompanied by actress, Kim Coles.  Ms. Coles had revealed that she had previously worn extensions for some 20 years and had recently decided to rock her natural hair.  The subject of the show was the much debated issue in the black community, good hair.  Dr. Drew, as a white man, was completely taken aback by how pervasive and intense the issue of hair is among black women.  One guest wore extensions and had her young daughter (about 12) who wore her hair naturally.  Because she wore her hair naturally she was being teased by her schoolmates who chided her for not having a perm or "straight" hair.  The child broke down into tears when asked how she felt about the teasing.

In the black community the definition of good hair that I grew up with was hair that was silky, smooth and straight, like a white person.
But the definition seems to have evolved to hair that is manageable.
Hence, kinky or knappy hair is not considered good hair because it is so difficult to manage.  But the trend seemed to be more and more women were stripping off the wigs and the weaves and the extensions and going with their natural hair.  Dr. Drew had a woman on the show who worked with black women to show them how to accept their natural hair and work with it to make it more manageable.  The guest mentioned above with the daughter came on the show with her extensions but allowed this woman to take them out and work with her natural hair (at the end of the show).

The thing that I found offensive about the show was that Dr. Drew focused primarily on black women, as if they were the only women with issues about their hair.  It should be noted that women as a group have issues with their hair.  Hair for a woman is a symbol, a form of her identity, just like breast size.  Many women are sensitive about their hair, particularly those who suffer from thinning hair, or loss of hair because of treatment for cancer.  Some women desire a lucious and luxurious head of hair because they feel this makes them more desireable in the eyes of men.  "Good hair" is not simply an issue for black women.  It is an issue for ALL women,  though, tis true enough black women have their own set of issues regarding hair that matters of race intrude upon.                                                                



During the long drawn out centuries of slavery and more so in the earlier part of the twentieth century when black folk started to mingle more, there were  blacks of mixed lineage who could "pass" for white because of their skin color and the texture of their hair.  These folk were usually more successful or had better opportunities because they could mingle undetected in the white community.  This is one of the first issues regarding  good hair: that it allowed people to pass.  Good hair was seen as a trophy of sorts among black people since kinky hair was so unmanageable.  This attitude toward hair was also reflected in the attitude toward skin color:  the lighter the skin the better you were.  Even today in the black commnunity skin color is still an intense topic that reveals the depths of self-hatred to which  black folk still torture themselves.   But truthfully, wherever there is variation in skin color there is the subject of skin color prejudice.  In India, China and South America, Africa and the Middle East the lighter the skin the more opportunities and the better you are perceived to be.

Dr. Drew also went into a black barbershop and spoke to some black men about the issue of black women's hair.  These men were also featured on the show.  Let me just say that their attitudes and statements were grievously embarrasing!  The trend among them was they wanted to marry women with "good hair" so that their children would have good hair.  It was pretty much unanimous that they did not want children with kinky or knappy hair.  It seemed to be completely lost on these men that they all had kinky hair!  The hair was all close-cropped like Jay-Z or Chris Rock but if if were allowed to grow out it would surely be kinky hair.  I thought this was disgusting and again advertised the intense issues of self hatred and self image that the black community has been crippled with all these centuries since our contact with white folk and the admixture of our races.

It was also revealed that black men love the silky straight hair that usually turns out to be  a weave or extensions but when they marry or commit to a black woman they prefer her to reveal and wear her natural hair.  The disparities were plenty enough!  But Kim Coles, with her usual grace and tact, simply wanted women to find their indentities not in their hair but in themselves and therefore rock whatever style they felt comfortable with.  Within this sentiment was the idea that you were true to yourself or with yourself and to why you wore your hair the way you chose to wear your hair.  If you decided upon a weave or extensions it was because you like them not because you hate kinky hair and are trying to distance yourself from your identity as a black woman. 

We have so much work to do in the black community with regard to our identities and our image.  I often say that even if racism and prejudice were gone today, we in the black community would still have a plethora of issues to sort out.  But as time moves along and more and more of us come into ourselves like Kim Coles, we will dispose of the ideas and condiments of self hatred and revel in our  identities and individuals and as a part of our group.  We will be "self-possessed" as a friend of mine once stated.   Amen.

AMERICA, THE (NOT SO) BEAUTIFUL

I was born and bred right here in these United States of America! I have never been proud to be an American.  I have never been proud to be black.  I have never been proud to be gay.  I have always felt you cannot take pride in something you did not have a hand in directly creating.  All these things, being American, black and gay were circumstances or positions I was born into not circumstances or positions I chose.  Though I cannot say I am proud to be an American for the reasons cited above I do love my country.  Though I am not a patriot I do believe in the august destiny of America, no matter how hard the conservative or liberal elements try to distort that destiny.  It is the destiny of the United States, I believe to be a light unto the world, to show the world that "out of many, one" may emerge.  A decided New Age principle, the destiny of the group is the destiny of the world.  Not just any group, but a group made up of individual units which are educated, principled and full of integrity.  Only such a group with such individuals may lead. 

America is full of individual units, or ethnicities. Too often when these units come to America, though, they assimilate and extinguish their ethnic flames in pursuit of some "American" ideal.   This ideal would have them imitate the White Anglo Saxon Protestant lifestyle in demeanor, dress and speech. Such ideals are illustrated in Ralph Lauren or Abercrombie and Fitch advertisement campaigns.  These campaigns rarely feature persons of color and thereby allude to an environment where minorities do not breath the same rarefied air or habit the same upper echelons of American society.  This vision of America, one that is white-washed, one where one has to look intently and widely to find pigment that contains color, is a direct and consumate result of America's long standing affair with racism and prejudice.  This is the first quality that makes America not so beautiful.

Not so beautiful and antagonistic to the unfolding pageant that is America is also the fervent and intense struggle between labor and capital.  One of the most prominent reasons people dared cross the Atlantic from Great Britain to reach the New World was to free themselves from the monarchy, to find a place where freedoms could be gained that had been suspended or ransomed under a monarch.  It was an opportunity to start over.  As soon as the revolutionary war was upon the fledgling colonies they began forming ideas about what a New World would look like, one without a monarch but a representative form of government predicated upon the Ancient Greek philosophy of democracy.  This form of government would see every man with a voice in goverment and the ability to influence the direction of that government. As august as the priciples were that are enshrined in our national documents an even more formidable and contrary spirit arose in the form of the enslavement of Africans in America.  The institution of  slavery provided America with its first real taste of wealth and the power that accompanies such wealth.  To be sure there were wealthy merchants and traders here and there but the institution of slavery made it possible for wealth to spread on a widespread scale.

In a sense, the institution of slavery provided the first look at the struggle between  labor and capital in America.  Though slaves were not considered human under the same statutes as whites, they became a slave class, a class lower even than a feudal system for they had not hope of salvation or redemption.  The great slave estates of the South eventually gave way to the railroad, coal and steel barons where untold and pronounced wealth began to create a staggering difference between labor and capital.  This in turn gave birth to the Labor Movement, a sort of equalizing force between labor and capital.  Labor and capital have been intensely arrayed the one against the other for decades with labor losing significant ground and capital towering about the American landscape as the new robber barons of finance emerged on the American landscape.   Allied with government capital has been able to free itself from cumbersome regulation and virtually dictates to government what it will tolerate.  As capital appears and disappears on the American scene, it creates and destroys economies on a whim.  With a simple keystroke a middle class economy can evaporate when capital decides to take its treasures and wares to a different location, one more amenable to its demands.  The struggle between labor and capital simply intensifies class warfare.  The pursuit of wealth and capital has subordinated all resources, including human, to accomplish its ends.  This has taken a significant and defining chunk out of the beauty of America.

Any country can be defined or described by its social, economic and political systems. These will illustrate the status and direction of the country.  The two major ills listed above that I believe affect the Beauty that could be America are social (racism and prejudice) and economic (labor and capital).  Equally as important in this country is the political system.  As alluded to earlier it was based upon the august principle of democracy eludicated in Greek society.  But the system seems to have been doomed to failure from the start.   I believe Alexander Hamilton himself said that  a certain segment of the people are not fit to rule or require instruction as to how to rule.  As imperintent a statement I believe this is he was right.  Men cannot comprehend the virtues of freedom without education.  It is education that illustrates to man that he has choice and is able build discrimination into his character by virtue of choice (discrimination between that which is good for him and that which is not good for him). Without education man cannot hope to be free.  Without education what he deems freedom is but mere license, the idea that he can do what he wants, when he wants, with whomever he wants.  Without an educated society you cannot truly have a free society.

Politics in America has been a sordid game of, "you scratch my back and I'll scatch yours";  we have a capitalist state masquerading as a pretend system of democratic government. The rights and the will of the people are sacrificed to the will of the corporation which can influence the creation and destruction of laws affecting their well-being.    The collapse of the financial systems currently crippling the international economies have not only economic roots but political roots as well.  The Occupy Wall Street protests are predicated upon the destruction of the natural order of politics and its manipulation by the corporate interests.  This political manipulation of the system, too, distort the beauty of America.

Though the anthem, America, The Beautiful refers primarily to physical characterstic of the American landscrape it also alludes to metaphysical characterstics like brotherhood, which have yet to to reach fruition on these shores.  I do not believe you can discuss life without discussing the political, economic and social strata that make up a society.  This triumverate lords over American society. In its current state it is distorted and perverse and thus affects the beauty that this nation could display.  America can be beautiful, America should be beautiful.  But until man rids himself of his lower qualities like greed, ambition and unwholesome desire, he does not reflect beauty but ugliness.  Right now America is ugly, not beauty.  Though I admire President Obama's desire to change the face of Washington, D.C., I cannot help see his desire and vision and naive and foolish.  The problems in Washington, D.C.,  are grossly systemic and need to be brought down at the root.  The system works for too many people.  Only a catastrophic demise will bring it down.  Until such time comes, we can only work for the beauty we believe in and by our own efforts try to effect change to bring about the true beauty of America.  There are many doing this.  The Occupy Wall Street protests are but one avenue.  But we must value beauty over ugliness.  For now, I fear America may prize its ugliness over the beauty that may be.  May it not always be so.

VIVA VOLODOS!

Arcadi Volodos is a young Russian Pianist that burst onto the classical music scene in the lat 1990s.  Many young artists take the competition route.  Initially the Tchaikowsky Competition was the pre-eminent international piano competition.  Over the last two decades it has been eclipsed by the Van Cliburn in Texas.  A handsome few pianists side-step the competition circuit and manage to achieve renown on their own (or through the skill and artifice of a excellent manager).  Volodos is just such an artist. 

Gifted with the eloquence and technique of Sergei Rachmaninoff, one of the titans pianist/composer titans of the early 20th century, and a compatriot, Volodos has received critical acclaim the world over.  He is particularly skilled at transcription, the art of arranging a piece from one instrument or medium to another.    Among his most famous transcriptions, the Rondo Alla Turca, the final movement of Mozart's Sonata No. 11 in A major, K. 331, has been swept up by every daring and ambitious pianist, myself included ( I should have it down pat in another year or so :)  Volodos' transcription is basically Mozart on steroids.  I have juxtaposed the two versions below.
  

Volodos manages to infuse Herr Mozart with some serious bravura while throwing in some light-hearted humor.  Some artists call the piece affected and vulgar, I however, love the humor and grandiosity of the piece.  One day I will perform my own version on YouTube.  Stay tuned!

STRAIGHT TALK!

Back in the day when I would peruse the personals, I always found it a little humorous and not a little ironic the number of ads that featured themselves as "straight acting."  These ads were in the gay section or a gay paper altogether, promoting this characteristic as if it were a badge of honor or some desired quality that was short in supply and demand.  It points to a deep psychological schizm in the gay psyche, one that is at odds with itself causing sensational tension in the personality.  On the one hand gay men's sexuality is a statement and testament to their identity.  On the other hand this self-same identity is a source of shame and guilt, one which they cover up or mask by appearing "straight acting."    When one acts straight the entire premise is to prevent folks from perceiving, picking up on or figuring out you are a homosexual so that you can "pass".

These are the folks we call "closeted".  They have consigned themselves to hiding their sexuality as gay men by appearing to act straight.  Some of them succeed, some of them do not.  An entire culture and language has sprung up around acting straight for gay men.  It is all too obvious the reasons for this behavior.  Society too often breeds contempt for the minority, for those who differ from the majority. It seeks conformity with the mass and will use whatever means necessary to break down the minority so that it may be absorbed into the majority.  This is assimilation.  Society says, "you will be assimilated".  The consequences for refusing assimilation can be severe from being branded an outcast to death itself.  Hence we find communities or groups of outcasts who come together  for commerce, comfort and transaction and safety.  The gay community is one such community.  But there are those for whom the price of maintaining their individuality and identity is too steep a price to pay.  They opt in to the assimilation program, the price tag being their integrity (and sanity).  Society can be none too forgiving when it comes to its demands of conformity.

The straight acting phenomena goes to the heart and soul of what it is to be gay.  It defines acceptance and rejection in our psyches.  It projects our authentication or our falsehood into the world.  This projection, whichever it may be teaches the world about who we are, to respect us or to mock us.  I am not naive enough to believe every gay person should be an out and proud gay person. I recognize there are situations and places where an out spirit is a dead spirit.  Those brothers and sisters of ours in those positions deserve nothing but our prayers, encouragement and assistance wherever possible.  What I speak of here is a cultural identity which has become so powerful it is a behemoth, it has taken on a life all its own and become a vacuum that is sucking so many of us into it.  I, myself was a member of the straight acting clan until I decided I wanted to pay the price for individuation.  To be truthful the costs rise and fall according to the situation.  The majority of my friends have accepted me.  My parents did not.  They cast me out.  It is all too clear that should I foreswear my sexuality in a born again household, we can move on as if the pages of that chapter had been torn out never to be seen again.  But I want to keep my history.  I want to read every dark, ugly chapter that was full of struggle, angst and depression to remind myself of how far I have come and how sweet the nectar of individuality is.

Individuality is not for everyone.  But because the gay community is a small community relative to the heterosexual community, there is more scrutiny, more expection and demand from us to stand and be counted or to continue to be scattered like the four winds.  The problem with being scattered is our power as group is severely diminished.  A house divided against itself cannot stand. The more of us that close our books the more society laughs at us and mocks us because it does not understand us.  And it is a truism that people fear what they do not understand.  That fear leads peopleto express all kinds of ugliness and depravity.  The more of us who become open books, the more society will understand and the less fear they will nurture.

It is up to us to show the world who we are.  We can declare our authenticity or declare our falsehood.  Feeding into the straight acting culture weakens the authenticity of the gay community.  If we cannot express our own authenticity in the world what right do we have to expect the world to honor us?  Authenticity is a journey, though.  It can take a while to get there. But as the road stretches out before you it gets easier the further along you travel. You eventually come to a difficult intersection to cross, which can seem impossible to cross but having crossed it, a whole new world opens up before you.  The road from then on will be smooth sailing and an open book.

SERENADE TO MUSIC

Many, many, many moons ago, as a young man in my twenties, I was confused and anxious   I sought answers on any number of subjects wherever I thought I could find them.  My greatest source was of course, books.  But there were somethings that books could not tell me.  In my search a few times I contacted psychics.  I remember the first psychic I ever contacted. Now, I am by nature a highly sceptical individual so I was unsure what she had to offer me.  But I was also very interested in the esoteric sciences (Edgar Cayce, Theosophy, the Ancient Wisdom, numerology, astrology, ESP, and other manner of psychic phenomena) at the time.  Curiosity spurred me on. 

When I contacted her I spilled no beans, I waited for her to speak to me.  I answered no questions as to why I was calling (she actually did not ask, either),  I remember she said she had to "tune in" to me.  She took a moment and the first statement she made was, "I see you wearing headphones."  This immediately got my attention!  At the time I was not driving, I took public transportation and walked; I could not be seen without my walkman and headphones.  "And everywhere that Thomas went, his walkman was sure to go!" I loved music and had been listening to music since I was a child.  Back in the 70s we had one of those enormous stereos that was literally a piece of furniture like a chest or cabinet.  I used to sit on the side of it listening to easy listening music (yes, easy listening music).  I took in The Carpenters, Johnny Matthis,  Helen Reddy, Montovani and his Orchestra, and many others.  Then in 1979 a few years after my mother re-married my second step-father, a military man, we were stationed in Germany.  At the time we had two television channels in English and one radio station in English.  In search of music I started checking out the German radio stations and heard classical music for the first time-and I was hopelessly smitten at 11 years of age. 

After the initial statement of the psychic, that she saw me with headphones, she said that I was" intently listening to music, intently as if you were getting something from it." She said I was deriving "something subliminal" from the music.  It was at this point that I realized my relationship with music was something magical, that what I felt when I listened, though it refused to be dragged into words, was something deep inside me.  Subsequent readings from her did not prove as fruitful or worthwhile but I often reflect on what she gave to me anent music.  It has made my relationship with music all the more special now that I know it affects me so deeply.

There is a piece of music in the classical repertoire by Ralph Vaughn Williams called Serenade To Music.  The orchestral version with Vernon Hadley and the London Phiharmonic Orchestra is one of those pieces that takes me to another place.  The original version was scored for orchestra and choir.  In this version, one of the verses runs thus:

  I am never merry when I hear sweet music.

The reason is, your spirits are attentive –

 The man that hath no music in himself,

 Nor is not mov'd with concord of sweet sounds,

 Is fit for treasons, stratagems and spoils;

 The motions of his spirit are dull as night

And his affections dark as Erebus:

Let no such man be trusted.

 "The man that hath no music in himself...let no such man be trusted."  My sentiments exactly.  As much as I would like to consider myself special, I believe music has the same effect on all those who are attracted to its sweet sounds.  How else to explain why so many can be brought together so willingly under its delicious strains?  People come together for few reasons but music is one of the reasons we do come together.  And when we do we forget who we are, our travails, and submit to the music.  It speaks to us each, individually answering some special need we have, opening some lovely space inside us that no other person, place or thing can manage. 

 British orchestras have exceptional string sections with few rivals, particularly when they perform pastoral music, a genre which hearkens to the bucolic life of shepards in the country side. Vaughn William's piece is just such an one.  Another of my favorites is also from Vaughn Williams, Fantasia on a Theme by Thomas Tallis-a sombre, long, rambling orchestral piece.  After the initial outburst of the orchestra it settles down with a violin solo that evoles into a quartet.  The orchestra and the quartet start a conversation, back and forth it goes until it reaches a glorious climax and then retreats. Toward the very end two violins emerge from the fray with the sweetest sounds, the most exquisite harmony anywhere in the repertoire.

Music is my salvation. Were it not so, I  hazard to guess what sort of person I would be; what else I would use to calm my tempestuous inner life and a strong but rampant mind.  I don't know why people succumb to alcohol and drugs when there is music.  It provides me a high that I cannot reach through any other means-a spiritual high that stretches beyond the reaches of the mind.   There is nothing like great music. It is truly God's serenade to the soul, his little lost child in a far away country.  He reminds us oh, so subtley by whispering to us in a language that by-passes intellect and reaches for that spark hidden deep inside us.  This is something only a serenade to music could accomplish!