As a genetically skeptical entity raised in a family of spiritualists and Christians, I’ve always been on the outside, looking in. My two most spiritually active siblings, both “seers” and “mediums,” failed to predict their swift, horrific and far too early exits from this realm. Yet I, the card-carrying nonbeliever, apparently get the green light to carry on indefinitely. Ironic, yes?
And yet …
Some time in 1977, during what I assumed at the time was a jazz-oriented period of my life (I was 25), the song linked to below came to me, almost fully formed, as if in a dream. I called it “Moonman.” I did not know at that time that astrophysicists were simultaneously listening to a “wow signal” from the direction of the constellation Sagittarius, in the same small slice of the cosmos from which 3I/Atlas appeared in July. The thing is lurking behind the Sun right now, doing god knows what. Probably nothing, but …
Again, I don’t necessarily believe in any of this woowoo, but you might. Enjoy! The first verse goes like this:
These are wonderful contemplations, and very timely. I have been pondering this dream....this creation these past six years as I care for my lifelong partners through illness, dementia, and death. I have little opportunity for rest or sleep, and it has been my meditation practice which has enabled me to keep going. It has also gradually brought forward a recognition that there is a greater "something" that is generating the entire dream in which I find myself. As I read your piece from your soon to be published book, I remembered something which happened to me many years ago. I was living in a small cabin on a horse ranch with my Cat. I came home from work one day to find her waiting for me.....something was wrong. I made a bed for her and lay down with her as I realized she was dying. She began struggling to get into her litter box, so I gently placed her in it....she peed, and I lifted her back out into her little bed. After a few minutes she suddenly sat up, scratched enthusiastically behind her ear, and keeled over dead. I was devastated. She'd been my loving companion for 18 years. I had a large canvas I'd been working on - an oil painting, just colour and shape....no intentional image. In the days following her death I went back into the canvas, applying more layers of colour with nothing really intended. One day another friend dropped by, and stood looking at the canvas sitting on my easel. He suddenly turned it upside down and "hey look at this". In the blur of colour and shape were the words - "my Cat". Since then, I have approached every canvas as a mystery - never a planned image, but a process of allowing colour and shape to direct me as I continually turn the canvas on the easel. Always an image comes forth seemingly of its own volition. Always I am surprised by what I know I could not have painted successfully had I been trying to paint as a painter.
That’s lovely.
As a genetically skeptical entity raised in a family of spiritualists and Christians, I’ve always been on the outside, looking in. My two most spiritually active siblings, both “seers” and “mediums,” failed to predict their swift, horrific and far too early exits from this realm. Yet I, the card-carrying nonbeliever, apparently get the green light to carry on indefinitely. Ironic, yes?
And yet …
Some time in 1977, during what I assumed at the time was a jazz-oriented period of my life (I was 25), the song linked to below came to me, almost fully formed, as if in a dream. I called it “Moonman.” I did not know at that time that astrophysicists were simultaneously listening to a “wow signal” from the direction of the constellation Sagittarius, in the same small slice of the cosmos from which 3I/Atlas appeared in July. The thing is lurking behind the Sun right now, doing god knows what. Probably nothing, but …
Again, I don’t necessarily believe in any of this woowoo, but you might. Enjoy! The first verse goes like this:
Seen my life
from a distant place
From high in the sky
On a seed in space
Blue metal womb
Of an exiled race
Waiting to land
A new age of man
From the Moon
I’m a moon
(Don’t be crazy)
https://on.soundcloud.com/4c81KtNstqXrOWOcfL
Also, I recently had a dream so vivid that it shook my world enough to make me whip up a chapter in my philosophical memoir-in-progress:
https://biffogram.substack.com/p/death-takes-no-holiday-chapter-13
These are wonderful contemplations, and very timely. I have been pondering this dream....this creation these past six years as I care for my lifelong partners through illness, dementia, and death. I have little opportunity for rest or sleep, and it has been my meditation practice which has enabled me to keep going. It has also gradually brought forward a recognition that there is a greater "something" that is generating the entire dream in which I find myself. As I read your piece from your soon to be published book, I remembered something which happened to me many years ago. I was living in a small cabin on a horse ranch with my Cat. I came home from work one day to find her waiting for me.....something was wrong. I made a bed for her and lay down with her as I realized she was dying. She began struggling to get into her litter box, so I gently placed her in it....she peed, and I lifted her back out into her little bed. After a few minutes she suddenly sat up, scratched enthusiastically behind her ear, and keeled over dead. I was devastated. She'd been my loving companion for 18 years. I had a large canvas I'd been working on - an oil painting, just colour and shape....no intentional image. In the days following her death I went back into the canvas, applying more layers of colour with nothing really intended. One day another friend dropped by, and stood looking at the canvas sitting on my easel. He suddenly turned it upside down and "hey look at this". In the blur of colour and shape were the words - "my Cat". Since then, I have approached every canvas as a mystery - never a planned image, but a process of allowing colour and shape to direct me as I continually turn the canvas on the easel. Always an image comes forth seemingly of its own volition. Always I am surprised by what I know I could not have painted successfully had I been trying to paint as a painter.
A life is a way to pass eternity.
Variety is key.
https://open.substack.com/pub/sbm369/p/u-big-quity-preach-on-the-sacred?utm_source=share&utm_medium=android&r=3wu1fz