Creation's Constant and Unfolding Welcome

One of the most beautiful things I started doing in 2023 was to deliberately slow down.

I don’t mean slowing down from work or movement or art/music/magick and other things that give me radiant joy. No, I mean actually moving slower. 

Walking along the craggy coastline at an unhurried pace in the morning so I could notice my surroundings—how the light dances off foamy waves, how the hulking freighters dot the watery landscape like floating lanterns in the distance, or how the trees curve outwards as if to catch a glimpse of the ocean beneath them as the first ancient rays of sunlight begin to kiss the edge of the Pacific.

With each step, I learned to take time away from the hurried impulse to know what I believe, as if my beliefs are only valid if I can define them or immediately act upon them. Slowing down is deep soul care. And feeling uncertain is human. And basking in some of that uncertainty was a warm and beautiful revelation. 

Theologically speaking, I was once willing to believe in anything that could save me or heal me from the dark alleyways of childhood memory. Whether it was chanting Om Kreem Kalikayai Namaha during Puja or taking part in ritual at Lodge or sitting in church pews, praying to a celestial Father to feel love, hope, connection and communion. But what I came to realize was, I lacked the wonder to consider that, perhaps, I’ve been saved and held and loved and maybe even healed all along.

Funny how the demise of certain theologies and the slowing down of the frantic pace in which we meander through the world makes it easier to trust that there is no lack, and, strangely enough, no rush. 

My soul is not hanging precariously on the edge of hell. Or ruin. Or sin. Or destruction. I need not readily available and definable answers for all my spiritual queries, I simply need to trust, to breathe and to slow down. It's all here, with every slow and deliberate step.

I continue to learn a powerful lesson through this practice: That there is time to slow down and behold the beauty of both the outer world and the world I carry within. 

There is time to taste, to dwell, to sink toes into salty waters and breathe in aromas and wander up coastlines; to slow down and accept creation’s constant and unfolding welcome. After all, it was there, waiting for me, the whole time.

Scenes From My Dream Journal, Volume One..

Death rang when you were trying to remember how to laugh sincerely. She danced around, hips circling, telling you "send money, baby." Like you, she's grown bored of the charade, of the rotting washbucket of recycled souls denying their divinity and reliving repetitions. She's teaching moondance and raising funds for an extended temple hermitage where she longs to spend her nights singing drunken hymns to the old gods, renaming the stars and setting satellites on fire. I don't know why she longs for celestial poetry and ceremonial destruction. After all, the world has plenty of prayer and fire. But if you return Death's calls, please tell her a joke or send worthless nudes - do not send an offering. I hope she doesn't disappear for too long. I can't bear to think of a world without the sweet relief of our Darling Mother Death. We are near crisis with the news of her impending self-imposed exile. We are burdened by abundant births of endless cycles of karmic shame sludge and will surely drown in sickened skin sacks if Death raises enough money for her selfish exodus. How quickly the world will weep and wonder why their Gods have forsaken them. We must convince her to stay and have mercy upon us, lest she follow through and doom us to carrying the cross of our own life and finding our own way home.

The Most Important Meal Of The Day

You can't make an omelette without breaking a few eggs. This is because you are weak, your egg skills are weak and your bloodline, collapsing under the weight of its own culinary inefficiency, will inevitably crumble and be forgotten. 

I, on the other hand, possess unfathomable and otherworldly omelette skills. Through ancient magickal techniques, I have gained the ability to transpose the very atoms of the yolk and white into the pan before me and create a delectable breakfast concoction that the very Gods themselves would kill for.

You want to know these omelette making  secrets? You want some easy spell or grimoire to unlock this omelettic sorcery for yourself? No. I simply cannot do that. I'm sorry. You have no idea the sacrifices I've made to gain this awesome expertise. And, to be honest, you're not ready for this kind of power. It is what it is. Your bloodline will fail, and it will fall. 

This is not your fault. It was written long ago. One must not tempt fate. But perhaps, if you're lucky, I'll scramble you a tasty breakfast to help you disburden your sorrows, if for only a day.

Three Paths

I suppose there are a myriad of other ways with which to make such a proclamation, but I'd like to talk about what it looks like to become an adult in this high tech/ low touch culture we inhabit. 

I'm not a person who uses the term "conspiracy theory" as an automatic sneer of dismissal. Conspiracies do, on rare occasion, actually occur. For example, we can refer to the staged Gulf of Tonkin incident, or to the fact that William Casey of the CIA tried to strike a private deal with the Iranian hostage-takers in 1979, inducing them to keep their prisoners until the Carter administration had been defeated. 

There are countless others. If you're a curious person, we can discuss them freely. But to the frenzied sect of sinister, dimwitted, consensus culture automatons who subscribe to a multitude of imbecilic notions that see conspiracy lurking in every corner of modern life, I don't hate you, I pity you, and I'm here to give you the ugly Buddhist truth. I'm not going to wrap it in a bow or a blanket. I'm not here to make you feel safe. This is the Bone Cutter Sutra. But instead of a noble eightfold path or four truths, I'm going to give you three pathways through which to navigate the dizzying world around you. Hopefully, it helps.

You've finally become a real, functional adult when you realize that there's no one pulling or controlling the strings. There's no shadowy cabal behind the curtain. There's no faceless Illuminati that orchestrates the world with evil precision. It's just people. Uncoordinated groups of us, meandering and trying to maximize our happiness, comfort, growth and stability. There's no one who is "really" in control. Suffice to say, this is probably even more frightening to you. But that's okay, just stay with me.

I suppose it's much easier to imagine that by conspiracizing some kind of ultimate evil, that they (WEF, UN, Davos, The Jews, The Deep State, etc.) are charge of this whole shit show. With that sort of narrative at play, you can imagine that the world can make sense through some kind of grand design, good or bad, and that we can structure or restructure society in a way that can actually make our lives simpler, better, or even more meaningful. Because without that, your efforts seem small, don't they? I mean, if there's really no one behind the curtain, what are you fighting for exactly? What can populists really rally against?

I don't what to hurt your feelings here, my sweet summer child, but I'm going to reiterate something to you that I was hinting at a few paragraphs ago: Conspiracy Theories are remnants of immature thought.

 When I was a kid, I thought maybe I would be the chosen one to build a time machine, terraform Mars or make some kind of contact with a galactic representative in a distant world. These ideas make a whole lot of sense if you believe the world is you-centric and that your individual impact is limitless. But when you're an adult (we talked about the realizations that accompany adulthood earlier) you realize your impact is rather small. You don't live a big hole, as they say. When you die, they dig a hole, and they put you in it. There is no clear big picture or an easy way to coordinate, legislate and design our way to a just and better world. There's just individuals that sometimes congregate into groups of people, for better or worse, controlled by luck or fate, who do their best to come up with small, sufficient solutions in the midst of the unfolding chaos and somehow, through their small efforts, tend to produce emergent structure. Small people doing small things that keep this small world going. Not a shadowy cabal. People. Like you or like me. Small. 

So, as I intimated before, you have three paths before you:

Path One is cognitive dissonance, where you deny the practical reality of the world unfolding around you and still choose to cling to conspiracy out of comfort; like a blanket fortress to keep the big, scary, confusing world away. It's a comfortable path, no doubt, to believe that there are invisible enemies all around you and that they are solely responsible or at least the biggest reason why your life currently sucks. I'm not sure if it's a rewarding path, but at least you won't have to change, right?

Path Two is that you sink further and further into apathy and depression. You can continue to feel absolutely helpless and lose the rest of your will to make any kind of positive change or gain any kind of forward momentum. It's all a sinister plot anyway, right? Designed for you to suffer and toil. Why fight it? 

Part Three is that you stop the you-centric fantasy and rechunk your focus to make small changes locally, where you can, and slowly build a more kind, innovative and beautiful world. Real change is made through small acts of love, faith, kindness. Put your heart in your hands and feet and work to make things good for the people you love. Will you be the one to build a time machine or terraform Mars? Probably not. But you'll probably sleep a little better at night knowing you are living a life of meaning, doing your best, and not letting some childish illusion about blood-drinking monsters and sinister shadowy puppeteers control your thoughts. 

You have the power to give your life meaning through small actions. And with each step, those shadows will continue to dissipate into sunshine. It may be chaotic out there, but it's a beautiful world and it's made even more lovely when you choose to play a small part in its growth. 

Peaceful, Welcoming Spaces

For some people, tomorrow is opportunity to carry on the family traditions we grew up with, and that can certainly be a wonderful thing. For others, holidays like these can also be a beautiful reminder of how far we have come in terms of chosen family, chosen faith, and chosen peace. 

If you’ve moved away from circumstances, relationships, patterns or groups that were breaking your spirit or didn't align with your conscience, good on you. No need to explain yourself. I see you. I celebrate you. I honor your choice to heal. Good on you.

There are also a lot of complex feelings that come up, especially in regards to both the loss of those you needed to leave behind to find peace in your world and with respect to the grief and horrors currently taking place in the world around us. A posture of gratitude is wonderful, yes, but acknowledging anger, hurt, pain or discomfort does not make us ungrateful. 

Some years, we simply carry more sadness or outrage than gratitude. I want to remind you that this is perfectly okay. We can hold space for the goodness of ritual, gratitude and tradition (whether through families or ones we have created on our own) and also feel frustration, grief, even anger. 

We carry so many things within us. Maybe the kindest thing we can do for ourselves and for one another is to lower expectations and do our best to provide peaceful, welcoming spaces for our weary, complicated souls to break bread together and simply be. 

I hope you and yours have a peaceful Thanksgiving, or whatever you call it, however you choose to celebrate it. You're Loved, Fam.

Bob Welch and the Heirloom of Dodger Baseball

Many of my favorite childhood memories are of my grandfather taking me to Chavez Ravine to see the Dodgers play. 

The one that will be forever cemented in my memory was my first ever trip to Dodger Stadium.  It was a Sunday afternoon game on May 23rd, 1982. In my first ever game at the ballpark (I was five years old), I saw Bob Welch throw a complete game shutout against the vaunted St. Louis Cardinals (who were deep, with Ozzie Smith, Keith Hernandez, rookie superstar Willie McGee, etc.). They even went on to win the World Series that year.

But as great as it was to see my heroes like Ron Cey and Steve Garvey, I was mesmerized by the performance of Bob Welch. Everything he did was flawless. He was an artisan pitcher of the highest order. Fortunately, it would be the first of many memorable starts that I would have the pleasure of witnessing until Welch went to Oakland in 1988. However, as good as they were, they will never replace the magic of that first game.

I've been lucky enough to witness a lot of amazing things in my life. I've seen the sun kiss the rooftops of ancient bathetic cities, felt the sand between my toes on majestic beaches on different oceans, I've stood, awestruck, in the early morning in the Pacific Northwest, watching the Northern Lights cascade across the sky...  And I've seen Bob Welch take the bump at Chavez Ravine and mow down a handful of  superstars and future Hall of Famers. 

I was never the same after that. I was, from that moment on, A "Baseball Man." That love never leaves you, no matter how many times the game breaks your heart. It's a lifelong love, and Bobby Welch was a huge catalyst in creating that spark.

The older you get, the more it means. 

Mr. Welch left us a few years back, but I can only hope he's on the mound, somewhere, in some other life, bringing joy to a little boy at the ballpark for the very first time. 

In the meantime, here in This world, pitchers and catchers report to camp at Camelback Ranch in three months. And after that, for a few months out of the year, I get to be a kid again. Some would say Bobby Welch won't be there, but I'd have to disagree..

Seasons..

I have come to believe that there are seasons for most things in this blessed, messy mystery called Life. And not all of them are easy. 

There's no shame in acknowledging our struggles, or in changing the way we experience things in different moments of our lives. There are seasons of belonging and seasons of deep loneliness. There are seasons of firm clarity and certainty and there are seasons of severe confusion, exhaustion and unknowing.

In this life, this reality.. There are seasons and they are cyclical. Good times and hard times interchange. Moments of stress dance with moments of indescribable beauty. We are breaking apart and rebuilding ourselves stronger through these seasons and changes. We are being continuously remade and sometimes, in the process, we come undone. It's painful and it's beautiful. It is lonely and it provides solace. It's sobering and it's restorative.

And here you are, right now, in another changing season of your life. Maybe you're in pain. You might be overwhelmed and a little lost, but you're also growing. And you know what else? You're beautiful and you're loved. Even right now. Even when it sucks. Even when things feel dark and unfamiliar, there is grace, as there is an every season.  

So if you're currently mired in the part of the season where grief abounds and hope feels in short supply, I am here to gently remind you that the feelings and struggles you are processing are valid, yes, but they are also temporary. Feel them. And know that you are loved and full of light, even on the darkest night; even in your fear or your despair. Even right now as you read this sentence.

More loved, dare I say, than you could possibly imagine.