____________Expressions in Song & Spirit & Social Change____________

BALANCE

Turbulence, like mind,

can make for a rough ride,

hemispheric balance, solving for Y.

Cold fronts, or bold ideas pushing against

the engine of thought.

Warm fronts or wimpy ideas can cause…

loss of context.

Under certain lights, bold is cold,

warm and wimpy,

all rolled into one pint of Ben and Jerry’s.

It’s not all a ‘Black Light Trap’,

some synapses Shriekback:

referring of course to that trick of logic and light

we know as smoke and mirrors.

‘Quite the raving’, quoth the maven.

Usually these thoughts are kept

for much, much later.

‘Oh, there’s a limit on thought?’

Can these directions be brought under control?’

‘Is there a cat piloting my soul?’

‘Cause if dog’s my copilot,

I’d prefer they find common ground,

instead of chasing each other’s tails round and round.’

Since these empty pockets of thought

barely keep my hands warm,

at least these wings will be level

as we fly into the storm.

Every bolt of lightning, every thunderclap,

the white stripe on the skunk,

saying ‘Don’t touch that!’

Each gauge, each measure,

every turn of a prop,

even flying itself,

proof that Nature knows Math.

ROUND ABOUT

To believe in the lyrical

is to believe in the spherical,

the universe the source of all mc’s material.

But belief is a trap, the universe exists;

without being, yet present if you get my drift.

I’ve been there, you’ve been there

flip the choice spot if you’re so aware.

Feelin’ stuck in the same ol’ same?

I’ve lived on that plane.

Drinkin’ in sadness, drinkin’ in pain.

Stopped by a dime,

live for today.

The grass is always greener

when the green’s in your brain.

When the heart is the way,

when you feel joy,

 Shout!

As you are breathing out.

 All your cells burst forward to

your next Roundabout.

Kindness

At the bus stop a homeless man

Said he wanted to tell me about his best friend.

Well, he kinda smelled, his clothes were dirty,

But the bus wouldn’t arrive ’til 8:30.

There’s a light in his voice and peace in his eyes,

And his smile is as wide as what we call the sky.

Well, I’ve got troubles, but I’ve got no troubles.

It’s true, it’s wonderful.

With a song and a chant and blessings in his hand,

Offering rain on this droughted land.

On the streets here I’m invisible,

when he greets me, I’m invincible,

 I never thought I’d feel this way

I’ve lost a lot, but it’s ok.

This magic, it isn’t magic

I’m just resting in the hands of spirit

And the pain in my belly, the snide remarks

Just reminders of where to start.

There’s a light in his voice and peace in his eyes,

And his smile is as wide as what we call the sky.

Well, I’ve got troubles, but I’ve got no troubles.

It’s true, it’s wonderful.

With a song and a chant and blessings in his hand,

Offering rain on this droughted land.

He stood up as the bus arrived, I saw a flicker in his eye,

He kinda smelled, his clothes were dirty,

But I was no longer in a hurry.

I turned to this man who had a best friend,

And say hey, tell me again.

There’s a light in his voice and peace in his eyes,

And his smile is as wide as what we call the sky.

Well, I’ve got troubles, but I’ve got no troubles.

It’s true, it’s wonderful.

With a song and a chant and blessings in his hand,

Offering rain on this droughted land.

The Darkness

Sunlight can only be seen from the dark,

A mother’s truth is infinite and large.

I’ve felt your handshake,

Your limited faith,

We’re all one tribe through the miracle of birth.

Tell me why only light can represent truth,

When everywhere in nature

The opposite is proved.

My heart began in The Darkness,

Your heart began in The Darkness,

All Life began in The Darkness.

It’s untrue fiends are born in the dark,

Fiends are bred through lies and ignorance.

Shaped without warmth,

Formed in secrecy,

Hatred and fear I know your recipe!

Tell me why only light can represent truth,

When everywhere in nature

The opposite is proved.

My heart began in The Darkness,

Your heart began in The Darkness,

All Life began in The Darkness.

There’s nothing wrong with warmth,

Ain’t nothing’ wrong with love.

Even a warm Fuzzy Navel gonna get me some.

You say you know what’s wrong,

I know what’s not right,

And through poetry alone

Your truth I will Smite!

Tell me why only light can represent truth,

When everywhere in nature

The opposite is proved.

My heart began in The Darkness,

Your heart began in The Darkness,

All Life began in The Darkness.

battles, it’s believed belong to those who flex their might
culture strives from chromosomes unconcerned with fight
a love supreme will reign, in a way the world can see
this hatred of our stewardship, no way for us to be
everywhere ideas for change, it’s evident we ought
the ethos followed formerly, with fright is fraught

with glory and grandestanding, government is fraught
when asked of other ways, the humble admit there might
bettering conditions, no aim for politicians yet, ought
we must root and scream for all in freedom’s fight
can we on one point agree, all people have a right to be
class synonymous with caste, self-evident why can’t we see

no one free when others are oppressed you see
you got, I got, this consumer habit with emptiness is fraught
til heartbeat props are granted those with other ways to be
some will always dream, I wish I may, I wish I might
when Thomas said, ‘Do not go gentle,’ what else but freedom’s fight
poetry and Yoda speak, to re pen thought, change our words we ought

to banish fear from mental sphere, give thanks to those we ought
music, universal language, harmony speaks, you’ll see
in the space where truth is free, there is no need to fight
overcome ego, a koan, is the owner of breath with discernment fraught
nevermind the yestertime, or fret about what might
time eternal set to now, how can it not be

que sera, que hora, believers, it’s time to be
synchronically existing as embracing hearts we ought
as the circle pushes forward, the fates tease those with might
no dice, no trading futures, the new physics shows us see
surfing waves of freevertising, with balance be fraught
breathe slow, notice the glow of others in the good fight

armor yourself with humor, shields up, no need to fight
advice from high, when facing treachery, let it be
tune to natural rhythm, through the myriad signals we’re fraught
choose through the muse, and your heart will be where you ought
never been born, never been free, open your ears to see
draw from life’s loving fountain, strength and might

in the spiritual fight, find freedom we might
so others yet to be, see what our hearts see
and with joy be fraught, to chase past humus we ought

speech, evolutionary artistry, communication elemental
assembled anglo sounds, significance residual
vocal tones balance the lofty and the gifted
awareness, bountiful, caged in ego; not elected
esoteric painters represent rationale as golden
direct transmission – enlightenment; still beholden

gilded glossary paints perception: beholden
sea and earth and satellites, gravity; elemental
geography, culture, grow wisdom standing golden
echoes of poets whisper: conceptual residual
poems prized per policy; no emotion, still elected
espousing muse in parchment used, releases verses gifted

scholars, zealots, bards, left volumes; we’ve been gifted
geoecholoqution, igniting spirit less beholden
indoctrination, cannonization: heart shapes poems elected
the expression of wisdom, love: omnipresent, elemental
stains of war and weary soldiers; not nature’s residual
advancing war, advancing debt, deified by golden

sacred earth distraught for betrayal of her golden
perhaps the wise attune to creation always gifted
warmongering builds hate; leaves destruction as residual
as fish forget water, forts forget they are beholden
to captain industry, slash and burn, ignoring elemental
poets wreathed in laurels grown, yet industry elected

speaking plants ideas; slang gets words elected
people’s use is people’s choice, it ain’t always golden
leadership currency creates resistance, thanks to elemental
sediment sprouts mournful odes, lessons learned, now gifted
a calf, an idol, lucre lately, yoke of thoughts beholden
diamonds, beef, wrangling votes: witness the residual

gluttonment creates unrest, tax and war residual
as a penny saved is earned, invested thoughts elected
music, art, dance, expression: being beholden
a koan, a canvas, a child’s poem, all signs life is golden
capitol harvests harshly, ideas that dreams hath gifted
time refines, improves with rhyme, nature, elemental

fundamental, elemental
rhyme without negative residual
gifted thought, double edged, vorpal sword blade, not elected
prior to thoughts priced golden
communication: with one state
to unity all behOlden

“We have new information.” Waite offered. He continued: “One area of the mine has been closed for some time, and had upgrades performed. Safety equipment was added, more lights and a few other specialties. There will be an ore specialist visiting tomorrow, apparently to make recommendations on how to improve the excavation of a possible new ore that has been found here. Apparently, the only person that they could find with the required skills is from Earth. She has been in the Bragliian system for a few days performing preliminary studies on the samples they have already obtained.”

Thorpe’s wife had talked with him enough about her work as a neuro-astronomer, so that when Waite mentioned that the specialist arriving to make recommendations on how to mine the ore was a woman, Thorpe instantly pictured the woman who had made the trip with him from Titan.

He was not surprised therefore, when, with the help of their sympathizer,  Waite, Shovel, and another of the captured, while maintaining a wary eye on Thorpe, allowed him to be a part of the mission to covertly watch the inspection from an abandoned control room, that the ore specialist did in fact turn out to be the woman that he had initially thought of as a bride or agent.

The surprise was that his ‘friend’ Cole, and his doppelganger were among the members of the inspection team. The inspection lasted about an hour, and as far as Thorpe could tell, was normal, other than the hiding of the enslaved workforce, and the illegality of the entire operation. Waite had mentioned that the tour was being recorded, but that they would only be provided with an audio format initially, because the room they were using to maintain their observation of the tour would not be available to them for two more days.

When they had returned to what Thorpe now knew was called the ‘undergrounds’, Waite was surprised to find that the audio file had already arrived. Among the things they learned by listening, was that the specialist was Dr. Lynne Ellensdraught, and that his double was named Eugene, a fact which caused Thorpe to cringe.

After listening to and listing the changes that Dr. Ellensdraught recommended in order to preserve the most of the mineral, Thorpe and Shovel, who also had worked in construction, discussed in what ways the changes would be able to benefit their situation. Most useful to their desired goal of a serious disruption was the introduction of sonic drills. The captured could tell that their captors were relieved that Dr. Ellensdraught’s suggestions did not include the traditional blasting caps. They were running a slave mine after all, and some improvements just could not be tolerated.

Because their captors were unaware of the captured’s level of extensive communication, and the skill set that the ‘disruptunion’ had amongst themselves, there was no way for them to prepare for what was bound to happen when the captured were given the sonic drills.

Cole read numbers, which appeared to be random, then began discussion with someone off screen. When the camera changed position to show the person who Cole was talking to, Thorpe understood what Waite was talking about. He was looking at himself in the monitor.

Thorpe was dumbfounded. Baffled. Puzzled. Confused, and quite a bit pissed off. What the hell was happening?

He motioned to Waite to leave the room. Back in the Alcove, he asked Waite “What was that?”

“As far as we know, that is a live broadcast.” Waite replied.

“How could that be? I’m right here!” Thorpe almost shouted.

He began to pace, though there was not much space in the little room.

“How long have I been on that broadcast?”

“From the beginning, almost two and a half years.”

“That is not me!”  Thorpe emphasized again.

“You do have a strong case for that point.” agreed Waite.”But you will excuse me if I don’t accept what you say at ‘face value’.” he continued. Thorpe was surprised to see a sense of humor being displayed by one of his captors.

“How do you know they are live broadcasts?” Thorpe asked.

“One of them sympathizes with our situation,” was the response.

“Though not enough to help you escape” muttered Thorpe.

“The offer was made at one point”, Waite stated, “but I want to free all of us and lock up the bastards responsible.”, a sentiment Thorpe wholeheartedly understood.

“We have got to get more information”, Waite mused, “and I bet you are tired”

Waite and the Shovel Man talked in low tones on the far side of the room, and after a moment, Shovel Man disappeared.

“He’s getting some sleeping gear, and the keys to loosen your cuffs some.” Waite informed Thorpe.

“What’s his name anyway?” Thorpe wondered.

“Kenwhar, but we all just call him Shovel.”

“I think I know why.” said Thorpe, holding his head.

“You haven’t seen him eat.”

After a bit of rest, and a bizarre dream, Thorpe awoke to Waite entering the room.

The guard who had spoken had apparently been held captive for quite some time as his garments or lack suggested. Dress clothes, not unlike earth wear. What had once been a suit looked more like moss and mud pressed together as a type of felt, the clay and dust from the mines melding with the original color of the suit.

“My name is Waite,” he said, “and you’d best start talking.”

“Why are you here?” Waite questioned.

“What did you do to be chained?”

“What about something for this knot on my scalp?” Thorpe retorted.

“Shut the hell up”, the other man suggested, and began to swing the shovel again when Waite stopped him.

“He can’t talk if you keep slamming a shovel into his skull.”  He cautioned.

The other man snorted and threw down the shovel, which clanged and sparked along the floor, catching Thorpe’s interest as he had not noticed the floor was also made of the metallic alloy.

“What the hell is going on?” asked Thorpe.

“The obvious” Waite replied, “We are prisoners, captives, slaves.”

“Of who?” wondered Thorpe.

“You.” Was Waite’s response.

“Well” Thorpe thought as he processed what Waite had told him, “That explains the looks I have been getting”

In retrospect, a lot of events were now understandable, no wonder he had been attacked so many times since being nabbed. His two guards had now taken him from the room where he had been questioned, into a small area off of one of the larger mines.

“The daily announcement will explain some things for you.” Said Waite.

Thorpe viewed, and for the first time, deconstructed the video as the voice began the broadcast.

“Today’s weather” began the voice, followed by what looked like commercials, almost non-sense to show them to a group of people in chains, yet it was happening, and Thorpe was a witness. The commercials stopped and the usual voice began.

“You are here because you are weak,” the voice intoned.

“You are weak, we are strong, we have numbers, we have knowledge, we have power, we are power.”

During these words, images showed varied colors being broken by a shadow of a hammer, built into a pyramid, then in a moment, gone to be replaced by a face. One, which Thorpe was startled to recognize, as his friend, Cole.

His short brown hair-cut, and craggy face immediately identified him as a space marine to those who knew the look. There was a scar below his left eye which had not been there in his youth and Thorpe recognized the glint of trickster in his friend’s eyes and saw also a coldness which must have developed in battle. His boxer’s square jaw and broken nose said ‘keep away’.

Bob Marley’s Jump Nyabinghi, and Maroon 5’s Moves Like Jagger, have some interesting points in common, considering ecstatic dance as the direct connection between the two songs: ‘Love to see when ya move in the rhythm’ and ‘all the moves like Jagger.’ Each song also refers to the desire to be free from control/oppression expressed in the psychospiritual lyrics ‘troddin’ down Jericho walls’ and ‘I don’t need to try to control you.’

Of course, as someone said in a conversation the other day, ‘As a musician, I’m a universalist,’ and it is no coincidence that the archetype of dance is expressed completely fluently in these songs by these renowned musicians. As reported in a Time magazine article, the importance of dance, and therefor music as a cross cultural method of communication is hard wired ‘[T]he dynamic features of emotion expression are cross-culturally universal, at least for the five emotions tested here… these expressions have similar dynamic contours in both music and movement.’

While the Maroon 5 song focuses on a more personal approach, and The Wailers a social connection, each song also suggests the presence of a higher power, Jagger, obviously, and Hallelu-Jah. Personal liberation must arrive before social liberation can be achieved, is how the Handbook of Poetic Phonetics tells me to interpret ‘Everyone doin’ and they’re doing their best’ and ‘Just shoot for the stars if it feels right.’ A more somber statement that reflects these ideas from Viktor Frankel is ‘Man does not simply exist but always decides what his existence will be, what he will become the next moment. By the same token, every human being has the freedom to change at any instant.’

So, have you sung today? Have you danced today? Believe in the music of your soul, and check in with your inner dance.

Til next time.

After having Maroon 5’s song in my brain for a day and a half, the coincidences seem to be stronger than just archetype bubbling through consciousness. 😉

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mH9UGhm1cbI

He was still having trouble figuring out why so many of the others were giving him the evil eye. As near as he could figure, he was at the bar right next to the spaceport, and the sheer numbers of people, as well as the spaceport police ought to have provided safety. He must have been drugged as he waited for Cole. Though he could not know for certain, he believed he was in the same solar system. There was the slight hint of thin air, so it was possible that they were being kept on a planet with no atmosphere, or worse an asteroid. Until he could find out more, there was really no way of knowing. Perhaps he could get a clue from the type of ore they were mining as Cole had provided him with some details about the stellar region.

When they had reached what seemed to be a platform on a level surface, Thorpe looked ahead to see what type of equipment that they were being issued. Maybe he could use something to remove the chains. It was his hope that his experience as a mason would give him an idea that the others had not considered as a means of escape.

As it turned out, apparently the new arrivals were only given items to clean with, a few push brooms and dust pans. Thorpe would have to put his hopes of using the mining tools to escape on hold.

He was soon pushed into a large cavern with the rest of the unfortunates. He had noticed while chained to his group the range of styles in their clothing, from his functional and well-made travel attire, to actual other worldly formal wear. *** Now he noticed as they moved into the chamber that many of the other captives were still in the clothes they must have been abducted in, as they wore thread bare and dirty clothes, and all reeked of sweat and grime.

On the upper levels, perhaps the recycled air had been close enough to the source that the smells of slavery was not so noticeable, here in the midst of the mine, the stench was strong, acrid and pungent with fear, anger and desperation.

He also noticed that many of the others were once again glaring, and one or two even seemed to point in his direction, at him? His paranoia was quite active, being held as a slave, yet he believed that they were pointing at him. His thoughts were confirmed when one of the men ran towards him and swung a shovel at his head. Point of pride, he did duck the first swing.

As Thorpe awoke this time, with his head clanging more than the sounds of the mine, He was still in a bright room, yet the sounds of the mine were somewhat quieter. He was being guarded by two of the men who had been staring at him.

“What the hell are you doing?” one of them demanded.

“Who wants to know?” Thorpe replied.

Waiting in isolation was not as bad as he had remembered, partly he believed, due to his wife’s work. Technicians were now able to isolate which type of bacteria would be harmful to an environment and with a blood draw could isolate any damaging organisms within a matter of hours. Most of the wait he supposed, was bureaucratic, since scans existed which could provide preliminary results within minutes. In this age of technology and enlightenment, he had no fear of disease, and since he was visiting a space marine, the least of his concerns were pirates.

Ω Ω Ω Ω Ω Ω Ω Ω

Feeling very groggy upon awakening, Thorpe could barely keep his head up. He could see bright lights, but did not feel quite like opening his eyes, He could hear a voice, loud, commanding, and droning at the same time. But was not inspired to look. He lowered his head and continued to sleep. When he next awoke, he raised his head, looked around in the cold bright room, and realized he was no longer in the bar that he last remembered. He was just beginning to wonder what had happened, when he saw a motion in the corner of his eye, a blur, a star, and blackness.

Ω Ω Ω Ω Ω Ω Ω Ω

The voice again, metal clanging and restraints on his wrists and legs. As he came to, he wondered why the others on the chain gang were looking at him with such hostility. He could tell the chains would begin to chafe and cause bruising from how tightly they were clasped. Though no training was needed to use restraints, intention and cruelty were behind the pain he felt in his wrists.

‘More’, another voice through a bullhorn shouted.

He felt the chains pull and stood up with the rest of the captured people. His sense of direction told him they were moving down, and his experience as a builder let him know they were deep underground in a mine. The stairs they used were very rough, nothing more than dirt steps and a type of plywood, as they wound down, following a set of tracks, the rails of which at times looked new or used; Thorpe concluded that since tracks and carts were one of the most cost effective ways of moving minerals underground, that it would also be a good way to keep purchases for an illegal mine away from the suspicion of law enforcement. The larger spaces were walled with a type of metallic alloy, which looked much like corrugated cardboard and gave off a blue green hue where it had been polished and occasionally other a fuller rainbow would reflect as they trudged from level to level with the lights shining here and there on the tracks used to move the ore. With the combination of the noise, the hustle and bustle, and the obvious drilling, the work site almost looked legitimate, except for the lack of safety equipment, and the sound and sight of the shackles. The first voice was continuing to blare through the loudspeaker at random intervals, he supposed to distract from thoughts of slavery and rebellion which must have been occurring to everyone in chains (since there was no need to incessantly broadcast brainwashing slogans to captives.) As his faculties returned, he slowly gained awareness of what might have happened, and from his beard and fingernails could determine how long he had been unconscious.