Yet Another Page

I have just now put all of my assembled poetry onto a separate page accessible from the “About” page.

It is entitled “Songs of Love from the Bottom of the Ocean, Within the Asylum, or Inside the Armory.”

It is something of a rough draft, and a few entries may yet be eliminated, but I thought I would put it out there while I am still working on it.

Most of it was written over the last four years except for “Spring Dream” and “What Have You Done with My Goddess?”.

I plan on assembling my collected essays on yet another page sometime in the future.

Otherwise, I have been told it is not very easy to access some posts from the archives; I have found it difficult myself, since I do not necessarily know when I may have posted a particular item.

Selah.

Thanks.
Namasté
नमस्ते
Chazz Vincent

12/23/2016

 

 

Morning Revelation

How can this be?

I am looking at a drawer filled with about fifty-three unmatchable   black socks; some are more black, or more blue, or more grey/gray(?); no ribs, ribs that don’t match each other; high-tops, low-tops no tops; over the calf, below the calf.

All black.

All just slightly different enough for me to notice.

Where did they all come from?

Where did their mates go?

Is this some portent of what my life has become?…a series of flawed choices born of imperfect alternatives?

Despite this daily conundrum, I make the best choice I can, fearing that everyone will notice the source of my secret shame the minute I enter the room, only to arrive at work, and while crossing the parking lot to discover I am walking behind a woman who has unknowingly tucked the back of her dress into the top of her pantyhose.

Fortunately I know her well enough to avert her eventual humiliation and even try to dispel her embarrassment by showing her my mis-matched socks.

And at that moment I thought, naked or clothed most of us are too busy and preoccupied with our own real and imagined flaws to notice anyone else’s, and those who would call attention to our own faux-pas are only trying to divert attention away from theirs.

And if they did, I would have retaliated with a scathing critique of something I already knew they believed they were hiding from everyone else who already knew, deceiving only themselves in believing their subterfuge had worked.

(Somewhere within me I had developed a talent for noticing such things in case “I needed them later”, and it was quite liberating to give up that addiction.)

BTW: It’s the same mentality that provokes an entire nation’s government to stockpile enough nuclear and biological weapons to destroy the entire world seven times, monitor every electronic word or internet access we make and generally wipe their asses with the first amendment in the name of protecting our Freedom.

I don’t hate the government…but sometimes I think they are trying to take over the country…and if that statement doesn’t strike you as being tragically and ironically funny, I suggest you look up the phrase “…for and by the will of the people…”.

It’s contagious if you fall into that trap, but we have only ourselves to blame if we do.

Otherwise, who will protect us from our protectors? But ah!..I do digress!

The entire universe is a reflection of our own minds’ inventions.

You have the choice to put it all down.

Somehow, I had created those socks in order to force myself to notice something I already knew but refused to acknowledge.

Sayonara Zetsubou Sensei
さよなら絶望先生

(Goodbye Master of Dispair)

Namasté
नमस्ते
Chazz Vincent

12/23/2016

PS: Almost every faith, race, or belief system on the planet celebrates any number of holidays over the course of this month and the next; wouldn’t it be great if for just sixty days we didn’t use our beliefs as an excuse to destroy or impugn everyone else’s?

“When you impugn, you hazard repugnant pugnacity.”

“…nemo me impune lacessit…”

(…and vice-versa…)

Sayonara y’all!

 

What’s in Your Wallet?

Your Time

your Energy

and your Love

are the Currency of your Life.

Namasté
नमस्ते
Chazz Vincent
12/21/2016

My Favorite Buddhist Joke

(More observations of a recovering Buddhist)

I first heard this many years ago. It was funny then for an entirely different reason.

A man decides he wants to become a Zen Buddhist monk, so he goes off to devote his life to the pursuit of Buddhism.

He is interviewed for several hours by all the monks in the monastery, who tell him they will decide amongst themselves and for him to wait outside for their decision.

They finally call him in and tell him they admire his devotion and dedication, but they think it would be best if he went back into the world to get a life to give up.

 

 

 

How to Breathe Underwater

(This is a re-blog I found while assembling my collected poems that deserved a second reading)

You were perched on your rock

when I came upon you,

ready to dive

into the water,

skinny-dipping

in the late mid-morning.

The sun had evaporated the morning dew

and the air was heavy with the vapor.

You tried to cover your nakedness

at first

but I was not the kind of gentleman to look away

once I had already recognized you first.

You seemed to sense that it was I

and your shoulders drooped

as your hands fell away

from your tender parts

with a soft, sweet sigh

and you smiled that smile

I hadn’t seen

in too many lifetimes to recall.

We later named that rock Reality.

I hadn’t planned on seeing anyone there

that day.

I thought it was my special place

alone.

You blushed and giggled

as you looked over your shoulder,

then winked

and dove right under.

I stripped and followed you right in.

I found you waiting for me there

very deep in the pond,

halfway to the bottom

where the water was still clear

and the sun shone down

illuminating us both,

our eyes open wide and

your smile so broad…

When we touched,

we kissed for so long

that you started to gasp

and struggle

to reach the surface,

clearly panicked…

afraid for your life.

I smiled and said

“What’s your hurry, my dear?”

“This is our dream you know…”

“Only a dream?”

you asked, almost tearfully.

“It’s all a dream of a dream

within a dream…

Now breathe in

and realize your true power.

After this we can fly

like Peter and Wendy

as naked as jaybirds

until we are dry…”

“…But only a dream?”

you repeated again,

and this time I really thought you would cry.

“What do you mean

only a dream?

Reality is for people who can’t handle

Romance.”

“You can live in fear

of what might happen

and chances are

nothing will.”

“Nothing at all…”

“Ever.”

Swim with me.

Dream we are dolphins

until you learn to dream

of breathing underwater.

Fly with me.

Do not be afraid.

It isn’t the fall that hurts

it’s the sudden stop

at the end of the dream

we never want to end.

Stand on the edge of the volcano,

or swing on the swing

 at the end of the world

with me.

We can jump

or fly away as we choose.

We can do the Ghost Dance together in Dreamland

until the detonation

sweeps us all away.

Acknowledgement

I once wrote a post here called “She Wants to be the Other Woman”.

It was written for Suki, my spouse and co-conspirator of over twenty years.

The mother of our three children.

She rarely writes at all anymore; she says it is just “not her thing” and although it was not her strongest skill, the inspiration, understanding and support she provided was a creative thing of beauty in itself.

She never got to enjoy the kind of creative banter or literary flirtatiousness that I have enjoyed with a number of fellow writers (and fellow travelers) who have inspired me in other ways.

I assumed she already knew, and enjoyed the companionship and intimacy not provided others who have inspired me, in much the same way as a wife is jealous of a mistress.

My real mistake was in not recognizing that she never felt she got the credit she deserved just for being there for me.

Favorite Poems #’s 1,2,6 and 9 were inspired by her.

We give to others according to their needs, as well as for what we get from them.

We all bring something different to this movable feast we call our lives, and nothing tastes better than it does when we hunger for it, and we will do more to get it when those hungers are not satisfied.

Her hunger was for recognition as well as acknowledgement. I regret not understanding that now, in retrospect.

Between Suki and Anastasia (sometimes literally) I drew inspirations I have learned to envy and miss in more ways than I could have imagined. It is not surprising that they developed the rapport that they found within each other that I was blessed to witness, and I share her nostalgia for that wonderful time in our lives together.

At least Suki is still here, although sometimes I feel like I was the consolation prize. The long gone Astral Traveler left without even saying goodbye, but I later learned that it was just her way of hoping we would leave the light on for her, because in truth, she always came and went as she pleased, and we loved her for it.

(We still do, by the way.)

She called me from somewhere in eastern Europe almost a year ago; she had been traveling with a techno EDM band that barely spoke any English at all, and I understand she is playing electronic percussion for them, which is quite amazing, since she never played the drums at all before, and often lamented that she always ended up with the guitarist even though she wanted the drummer.

Now she can be the drummer she always wanted, but never got.

Good for her.

To even know either of them was a blessing for which I  will always be grateful, but since I never seem to manage to say it…

Thank you Suki.

Dōmo arigatōgozaimashita, tsukimono suji no kimi.

どうもありがとうございました, 私の最愛の白い魔女

We miss you Anastasia, and yes we’ll leave the light on….

Namasté
नमस्ते
Chazz Vincent

12/11/2016

Sayonara, y’all!

 

I’m Getting Published!

Several months ago, I was invited to submit ten poems for publication. I believe I posted them here.

Hearing nothing, I assumed that I had not made the cut, and eventually forgot about it. In light of my long hiatus due to an injury that resulted in a near-fatal illness, it’s not that surprising.

Three days ago, the gentleman contacted me to let me know that I was accepted, and requested that I send a Bio, which gave me pause, since no one had requested one before.

It was requested to be within 150-200 words, which I soon realized was a new challenge, since I seem to find difficult to post anything less than ~2000 words.

I also soon realized that I wasn’t sure about what to write or how to say it…especially concisely.

I will post the details about the Who, What and Where in my next text, but I thought I would post the Bio here, just for S&G’s.

Namasté

नमस्ते
Chazz Vincent

Sayonara Zetsubou Sensei
さよなら絶望先生

PS: To those who contributed to the inspiration for several of the entries (My Muses), I wanted to say  a sincere thanks (I hope by now you know who you are). I love you.

 

 

Biography

Born in Charlottesville, Virginia in 1950, Chazz Vincent is a self-proclaimed “Post-Neo Dharma Bum”, part Mad Scientist turned philosopher, part semi-reformed Rocker turned Paramedic in Exile.

He has written two novels, one entitled Dancing in Dreamland and the other The Home for Wayward Souls and The Talking Monkeys, which he describes as “Enhanced and Fortified Non-Fiction”.

Both are available for free at dreamlanddancing@wordpress.com.

He is currently working on a novel entitled Once in a Blue Agave Moon.

A staunch advocate of Polyamory, self-medication, cannabis therapy, unlicensed but responsible personal and civil liberties, rational anarchy and civil disobedience, he now lives in relative seclusion in his “cabin in the woods” just walking distance from the lagoon where he fishes and less than two miles from the ocean.

His latest bi-line entitled Observations of a Recovering Buddhist is a re-thinking of a pursuit that defies either achievement or attainment, but rather the pursuit itself within the “ever-present, never-present, present moment” because “Enlightenment is not the ever-lasting kiss of True Love.”

His poetry ranges from esoteric, sometimes cryptic and enigmatic to visceral and explicit; a pure bad-boy romantic fool who proclaims “It is never wrong to tell someone I love you.”

 

 

 

 

Observations of a Recovering Buddhist: II

Recovery?

It has been over a month since I initially conceptualized the title of this most recent series. It will become a semi-regular bi-line, much like This Thing We Do with Words, or On Letting Go.
The idea came all at once, but how it was that I should be able to convey its meaning was not easy.
I still sit. I still meditate. This is not a renunciation of Buddhism.
What then, is it?
I have faith that you will be able to decide that for yourself.
Many years ago, a long-lost brother of mine, full of new-found enthusiasm, suddenly broke eight months of silence to announce that he was, as of that date, three months clean and sober.
Of course I was happy for him; in over a decade of shared unbridled decadence, I had witnessed a nearly unbroken series of relapses from any number of addictions.
I had always believed in his natural state of brilliance and shared the passion with which he experienced life.
We were brothers of circumstance and of mind. We shared a love of poetry, a fascination with Zen, and The Transportation and Treatment of the Sick and Injured.
We were brothers…for a time. I did not think it was as circumstantial or conditional as it may have been, but I wish him well.
I still consider him to be my brother.
As he launched into an energetic and lengthy description of his meeting places, his sponsor, and how in addition to his five daily meetings, he still managed to participate in other various twelve-step activities.
I congratulated him sincerely and enthusiastically.
Eventually however, I had to ask: “So now what are you going to do?”
“I just told you…”, but before he could completely repeat his accounts of the exploits of his deprivations, I broke in again.
I repeated “But now what are you going to do?”
“WHAT THE FUCK IS YOUR POINT?!” he snapped; I was no stranger to his frequent irritations over many of my comments.
On occasion, he had voiced his opinion that he was not the only person to find many of my remarks insensitive, or anti-social, yet the bond of friendship and mutual respect for the traits we admired or points of view we shared continued to enable our mutual tolerance.
“I understand that recovery is a life-long process, but NOT being an addict isn’t a full-time occupation; it is a laudable accomplishment and I heartily applaud your strength and perseverance…but while you are in recovery, what are you going to do?”
“What do you really want?”
“How are you going to get it?”
“When you get it, what are you going to do with it?”
(I have often been told I have no filters between my brain and my mouth, and back then, there were some who might have been prompted to question whether I suffered from Asperger’s.)
He hung up the phone and disappeared again for over a year. He later told me that he attributed his relapse to my insensitive questions, which it appeared, he was not ready to address.
I suspect that the real problem was that he wasn’t able to imagine anything he wanted to do more than to not be an addict…this is understandable on a certain level; being an addict had taken over his life more than once.
Our culture programs us to strive to achieve.
Just as it is the journey, not the destination that is most important, the importance of our achievements is all too often measured in the pay-off we get for them.
Once he had achieved his goal of sobriety, there was no continued pay-off in the denial of his desires, which still remained, and it was infinitely more pleasurable to be an addict.
Given the two choices, why bother to get clean and sober if all you get is a chip?
Suffering follows all desires, but denial is already its own suffering.
What is the difference between no desire and indifference or apathy?
You can’t spend your entire life sitting beneath the Bhodi Tree.
Choose your passions wisely so as to embrace their concomitant suffering in a manner befitting anything so precious.
A death, lost love, or a fall from grace were all preceeded by joys at least equal to the pain.
There is great beauty in both sorrow and pain, but it can only be experienced by remembering; by recognizing its dialectical interdependence to its opposite.
By embracing it you experience a joy that cannot be known if you run from pain, or divide everything into good and bad, thinking you can escape either.
Buddha did not strive to be the Buddha, and more than once, he admonished his followers that the answers they sought were not to be found at his feet.
Buddha was always Buddha, but when his followers tried to be the Buddha, they set themselves upon a journey to an unreachable destination, charted by a map drawn by the fool they had made of themselves.
“If while traveling along the road, you should meet The Buddha, you should kill him and feed his body to a hungry dog.”
If you label and objectify anything you limit it into lifeless non-existence.
If you believe you have attained or achieved enlightenment, you kill the ever-questioning mind.
Realizations are fine and beautiful events. Epiphanies are but a momentary joy that are meant to fade into the background of everyday Zen.

Enlightenment is not the Everlasting Kiss of True Love.

Namasté
नमस्ते
“Sayonara Zetsubou Sensei….”
さよなら絶望先生
Chazz Vincent
12/02/2016