Tuesday, March 22, 2011

PRECIOUS ONE



PRECIOUS ONE
I am a bear in the forest
I am a bird taking flight
I am a bee in a red flower
I am a word on the page
I am a falling leaf from a maple tree
The tree itself
I am the stormy sea
I am a dog by your side
I am a cat in the window
I am a squid from the deep with a big eye
I am all that
I am the stars that shine in space
The memory of a precious face
I am an ant among many
I am a snake in the grass
I am a Lion on green hill
I am an earthquake
I am the tears coming from your eyes
The pink from the setting sun in the sky
I am a painted elephant
I am a wolf seen in the distance
I am a deer in your backyard
I am the proof
I am the whisper of something more
The awareness of an open door
And so much more
I am the sun
I am the moon
I am the stillness in a room
I am the wind at your back
I am the Spring
The green shoots from the branches in the trees
I am the sparkle on the river
I am the pearl in the oyster’s mouth
I am the oyster
And the knife
I am your husband
and I am your wife
I am your daughter
I am your son
I am a field of summer flowers
I am also your gun
I am the blood you see in the dead
The ache in your head
The last breath
The sun in your eyes
I am the space between raindrops
And the quiet in your mind
I am all the distraction of this world
I am the unspoken and confidence shared between friends
I am the textures in your head
And the ground beneath the feet
I am Siddhartha’s begging bowl
And Padmasambhava’s Tiger
I am Jesus’s cross
I am the cow on a New Delhi street
All of this I am for you
With all my heart I change my form so your mind might illuminate the world some more!

Friday, March 11, 2011

THE TIP OF HER MIND


THE TIP OF HER MIND
Floating.
The distance to the bottom of the ocean seems equidistant to the top of the sky.
She knows
In her head
The sky reaches beyond the blue,
Even past the night stars.
She closes her eyes feeling the density of the world surrounding her,
Slightly pulling at her.
She arks her body
Raising her sternum to stay afloat
Just to the surface of the great sea.
A deep breath sucking in the sweet sky and the sun
Also reminds her of her place, her location,
Floating
in some seasonal tide
that moves from one named place
to another named place
All land masses too far to see
“Too far to swim…..”
She thinks “I am the land, my body the shore, moved by the tide, whittling me down,
And building me up again!”
And it was so.

She breathes in the days and the nights
Floating
in and out of dream and waking
Sustained only by the fullness of the quiet.

After awhile the little nibbles from below don’t distract her
Her equilibrium becomes skillful in the roughest storm and the largest waves.
She happily sips from the rain
And feeds on the sunshine while trying to look squarely into it’s radiance for as long as she can…smiling…
White light fills her eyes, bright rose under her lids,
“The color of my beating heart…” she murmurs to herself.

She imagines her heart surrounded by a golden crown rising high on towering stems.
Emerald green shoots, rooted to the center of the earth,
hurtle her beating heart towards the sky,
to the edge of the atmosphere,
into the ether.
And the cold of space doesn’t bother her blood rose heart nor her vehicle…
And the green leaves intertwining her heart,
the One she sees under her eyelids enveloped by a golden crown,
turn into wings
with red,
blood red,
tips.
And she sees herself with the moon and the stars in her hair, white light in her eyes.
And she sees herself with each end of the never-ending universe in the palms of her hands and her legs open with the center of the earth…
a fiery hot orb below
floating
in the inky blackness of a vast ocean with no horizon.
“I have reached the shore” she whispers.
And her lips never move.
There is no weight in her limbs,
no sky to breathe,
and just a slight warmth on the tip of her mind.

Monday, February 21, 2011

The Knicks- a little bit of love from a fan

A long time ago my father told me when it was clear that I'd be an artist and engaging the world on the esoteric fringe that I could engage common conversation in the world with almost anyone if I chose a sport and a team to follow. He suggested I read the NYTimes every day, follow that team, it's articles and box scores, and, if I did this, I'd be able to feel connected, not so alienated from everyone.... Well, I took his advice in the 80's and I chose the New York Knicks. I love the Knicks. I came in as a fan at the time of a when the Knicks were a rugged, warrior-like team led by Patrick Ewing, a giant among large men, who defended the basket as if his life depended on it. He and his fellow forwards, Charles Oakley and Anthony Mason, would grind opposing teams down, hammering them to the hardwood if they dared lift towards the orange disc to score. it was an amazing time with formidable opponents that took our breath away. Jordan and the Bulls crushed us season after season, but the games were worth the failure. the fight was epic, and one never felt that we couldn't have tasted victory if the Greek God Michael Jordan weren't so elevated.
After some time Ewing grew old and his cohorts also failed a bit. The culture of winning remained for some time, but we didn't have the "Heart" on the team required to carry it into the future. A few good players served our desire for success for awhile, Houston, Sprewell, Larry Johnson,  Chris Childs and Charlie Ward...They offered some exciting rivalry to Miami and Indiana, but they were not able to merit more than a couple seasons of hope. As a fan I never faltered, my heart lifted with every drive to the hole, and I prayed like everyone that Allan Houston would step up and be the cold-hearted killer we thought he had the talent to be...He had a few great moments, "the shot" in Miami and all, but...

For ten years I have suffered watching the formerly great point guard for the historic champion Detroit Pistons, Isaiah Thomas, become the worst GM and coach ever. He destroyed the Knicks and the culture of warrior-players through one mishap after the other. He sacrificed Heart for Flash that later became "flash in the pan"...we watched our team diminish into a laughing stock....

With him gone these past few years, the fog has lifted. We have Donnie Walsh as a GM, and he brought the team out of financial crisis and simultaneously has created with the help of Coach Dantoni a team of winners. They are not defenders like the past. And quite honestly, those warriors don't exist anymore in the NBA much any way... But they could defend a whole lot better...But they Play, and they play hard. They score hard and relentlessly, and their expertise in scoring is sharp compared to most. They are led by Amare stoudemire, a young 6foot 10inch forward who literally can score at will against anyone in the league. He is not massive but he is swifter and has that "HEart" I was referring to earlier...he wants to win, to crush his opponents under the weight of his talent. Love to see the players beside him, young players, Landry Field (the rookie), danilo Gallinari, and Raymond Felton his stout pick and roll partner, try to emulate that heart, that winning culture. They are talented, but may not be all they need to be. Ewing suffered a great deal because he never had a great enough partner to help him carry the weight of taking it all the way. Jordan had Pippen, Shaq had Kobe and Visaversa...Robinson had Duncan, etc etc...Does Stoudemire need another? I think that he may, and there;s talk about getting Brooklyn Native Carmelo Anthony, another scoring Giant. He also doesn't defend well, maybe even less than Stoudemire, but he is a sharp sword, and unmatched in Ego and showmanship, which is helpful for a winner sometimes.....If Stoudemire can be the sober leader to take them hard towards the goal with Landry Fields and MELO as a wing man slicing and dicing opponents we might have a chance for some real fun in the future!!!
LBxoxoKNICKS

Monday, February 14, 2011

"I wave in my seat like a leaf on a tree."

I wave in my seat like a leaf on a tree
I imagine the hair on the Guru's head doing the same
It's black like the deepest night sky
And the stars of his mind shine brightly in everything their light touches
In a hot room where the stillness seems like a wet blanket
My mind sweeps about like a leaf on a tree
I see the guru's image in a photograph
And his face glows in the dim light of an antique crystal lamp appearing to shift from smile to seriousness to a an open gaze of spaciousness again and again and again
As the clock ticks my mind swings like a leaf on a tree
It appears The world moves underneath me
Like the clouds float up above me
Like the river flows beside me
Like the words from this poem come out of me
Like the guru's mind enters in me and the way light dissolves me radiating out as if I were never there

Thursday, February 10, 2011

Blessing

As the icy wind blows off my Hudson River on 26th street and forces my chin into my clavicle, the bright silvery light of the sun rises above the public housing rooftops and cuts through my eyelashes infusing my mind.
I am full of light for the moment.
My steps forward blind, and my ears and nostrils open to the cold air.
Where am I? The concept of 26th street, my homeland, the artifice of landmark and my place, are dissolved by the morning light.
Instinctively, I lower my head, turning three quarters to the sun, and I see shadows of employees of unnamed jobs tucked in their dark winter clothes move towards me on their way to work.
A new dawn of becoming emerges.
Back in my body, I gingerly face the sun again,
gently hoping to disappear again
into it's light for another moment,
but I've taken too many steps forward and a street sign and the edge of a building are ever so slightly making the brightness obscured.
No dissolve except as a memory.
With soft sadness I write this down.
But I will dissolve another day.

Sunday, January 30, 2011

a few thoughts on L&M ARTS New York show of David Hammons work , January 26 - February 26, 2011

Spontaneously I found myself yesterday at David Hammons' show at L&M Arts on 78th and Madison with some friends, and I was really taken by the excellence and clarity of formal composure in the work. The first piece one sees is a giant canvas thoroughly draped with drop cloth, as if the gallery hadn't unpacked the show yet. There's plastic hanging from the door frame. There's a smaller painting, maybe 4x5ft, with a yucky brown towel seized to the surface covering what appears to be an urgent and loosely painted abstract. But as I discovered throughout the downstairs the painting isn't the heart of the matter Hammons is aspiring to realize in these works.

One can see only little bits of the painting's edges and reveals in holes that have been cut out roughly in the tarpaulins. They appear like marks bitten out or burned, torn... The second room pushed me further into inquiry. Why are they covered? One can see enough of the actual paintings to realize that they're particularly attended to, defined enough, to say "I am a painting" but that's it. So what's that about? It appeared to us that the cover or veil is the subject. And occurred to me that these efforts are attempting to draw our attention to our own obstructions to being fresh when we look at a work of art. We all have this experience of expectation when we look at a work of art. We ascribe to ourselves the imposition of our own ignorance or intellectual knowing that, I believe Hammons is suggesting in the work, prevents us from actually seeing the work at all or in it's true entirety. Because we are not fresh. Our senses are cut off by our concepts of things. The downstairs works suggest to this viewer that is is I who is wearing a tarpaulin over my head, attempting to bite through to see the world fully.

There's one piece that really cinched the deal downstairs where the draped material on the surface doesn't totally cover the seemingly randomly attended to painting, and the fabric appears like some lushly green Issey Miyake shawl. Decorative, not tarpaulined, draping. David Hammons has made mirrors, I think. We lovingly drape ourselves with our concepts of ourselves and our worlds, preventing our eyes and our hearts from seeing and feeling and being seen and felt again and again.

My amazement about this show in reflection is how extraordinarily simple Hammons' means are to convey such powerful context. They are so raw and just right.


Upstairs, Hammons decides to change the project incorporating the tarpaulins and paintings to make sculpture. He says there's nothing to prevent you from seeing these materials as whole. The first piece upstairs is giant, a painting almost entirely covered with black-green plastic, leaning on a cobblestone, from a west village street or somewhere, on just one side, and the plastic falls to the floor. There's an almost figurative lean to the piece, to my eyes, like a lurching giant, the color of the plastic sucking all the light into itself....


There are two other pieces I'd like to reference. To the left in the 2nd gallery upstairs is a piece that shimmers. It's a woven tarp, purple-green, almost silvery, and it has been sewn a bit with what appears like a pocket even. A vertical tear reveals an equally shimmery painting, reminiscent of silvery water, or lightening in the sky. The tarp and painting seem in concert with each other, made of the same essential stuff, and I couldn't help but feel comforted by it. But in retrospect I really wonder what David Hammons intends to elicit with this piece. It is, in comparison to the other draped paintings, the loveliest. We all felt it, I think. But the painting is largely still covered. I don't know.

My personal favorite, the one I'm taking home if I could, is a piece made by two cloudy clear tarps, holes chewed away, hanging on a clean white wall from grommeted(sp?) holes. The torn edges of the holes captured in light appear silvery, almost painted, and I felt like Hammons wanted to show us something simply beautiful....No artifice, no concept, no intention but the pursuit of loveliness...And he really gets it. The transparencies of overlaid plastic feel like flesh or layers of winter lake ice, wax...naturally quite beautiful.


http://www.lmgallery.com/exhibitions/




http://www.lmgallery.com/contact/

Thursday, January 27, 2011

"Every bit of every piece of every split second" a poem


Every bit of every piece of every split second
I am born again anew.
It takes some getting used to
(I'm not yet used to it)
my chrysalis becoming and becoming...
I ride the air of phenomena like the fragile butterfly that I am,
easily dried out, pinned down by time,
readily crushed to dust and left to ride those very same winds into nothingness,
and I forget that simultaneously as I look and listen and feel about
that I am also again and again reborn anew...
the light in my eyelashes as I look into the midday sun,
for the first time, beyond time,
because the next time, as a flurry of snowflakes dropped from a nearby tree branch tickles my cheeks,
I look into the light, and the world, quite differently,
bleeds bright gold white.
I am not what I seem to be,
a man with direction...no...
I am illusion, a wisp of a thing that's not a thing,
I grasp my recollections of self only to claim anew a different story,
a different face,
a different mind about everything and nothing at all....
I've nothing to say
with nothing on the tip of my tongue.
Awash in an ocean of endless difficulty,
astray in a world of concepts that simply don't apply,
in flight in an expanse that offers a vista that is nothing at all ,
and I rest in this no place like a big  reflective butterfly hovering effortlessly,
displaying a world in my wings....
each flutter an illusion,
a mark of some new beginning.
Noticing this...
It's happening.

Anew, anew, anew…

“Hello, hello, hello?
Are you there?”
“no”
“Am I here?
…no place.”
“Where are you going?”
“No place to go.”
“Here already...”
These are whispers of understanding
that disappear like tiny flumes of leaf smoke on a windy day,
or like dried butterfly wings
on a crisp, bright winter's day...

Wednesday, January 26, 2011

The State of the Union Address: a few thoughts

Everybody's talking and reading about Obama's speech last night, applauding his attempt to reach beyond the language of partisan politics, and I agree that his ability to do such a thing is impressive and important. I can list a dozen policy considerations that the President made that I agree with...stopping subsidizing oil companies and use the money to invest in clean fuel technology was big to my ears...High speed rail and internet, VERY GOOD....


But I honestly have no faith that our representatives represent our best interests, that they will make the cuts that need to be made to invest in investments that we need for the future to create jobs and a more prosperously healthy and educated population.

There is one thing that comes to my mind that is a necessary but incredibly opposed cut to be made.

The first, of course, is military spending. All you have to do is Google it and you'll see that we spend close to, before private contracting which doesn't get included, over 700 Billion Dollars a year for military. It's more than all annual domestic spending including social security, medicaid and medicare, municipal pensions, etc...., ok? And for what have we created a fully fallow economic environment? Are we actually stemming the tide of Islamic fundamentalism? I think not even close. We can't kill enough, and we can't persuade these people because we tried to kill them first before persuasion(they don't trust us, and who can blame them), and even if you think there's a chance for success(what does THAT look like?), how long's that going to take, really? It's a dead end. Military culture is fundamentally a dead end culture that costs untold sums of money and Precious Treasure on both sides of whatever war we're fighting, and it does absolutely nothing to create true Freedom and Liberty for beings. Cut it!

Here's some ideas from Kevin Hassett who is director of economic-policy studies at the American Enterprise Institute. His column is distributed by The Washington Post News Service with Bloomberg News.

"First, it’s finally time to take on farm subsidies, which topped $15.4 billion in 2009, according to the Washington-based Environmental Working Group.

This doesn’t mean America’s farmers have to be left to fend for themselves.

Canada has experimented with a program that provides government matching funds for farmers’ deposits into savings accounts that help them buffer their incomes against the ups and downs of farm prices. Such a program in the U.S. could achieve the objective of helping family farmers survive while enabling policy makers to withdraw billions of subsidies to big agriculture.

These changes, plus closing the U.S. Agriculture Department’s Foreign Agricultural Service, would save about $19.5 billion. Not a bad start.

Next, target energy subsidies, which might make us feel good but make little economic sense. If Congress wants to encourage innovation in energy, it should tax carbon, not subsidize politically favored approaches such as ethanol. Riedl says cutting energy subsidies would save about $6.5 billion.

Justice Department block grants — annual sums given to state and local governments, which largely get to decide how to spend them to achieve a certain goal — have also been targeted for cuts, and then saved, again and again. That’s $7.3 billion in savings.

Would Americans really suffer if taxpayer-funded travel by federal employees was slashed? I doubt it. Riedl counts $22.5 billion in savings from that and from cutting in half the cost of maintaining vacant federal properties.


The easiest cuts are to money not yet spent. There are various competing estimates of how much remains unspent from the great stimulus of 2009. I’ll take the most conservative estimate, $12 billion — the biggest chunk of which would go toward high-speed rail.

We’re two-thirds of the way to $100 billion.

Just because we’re all tired of hearing about alleged “waste, fraud and abuse” doesn’t mean there isn’t a lot of it. Riedl estimates that a $5 billion investment in updated computer systems could halve errors in government payments, saving $44 billion. That lifts our spending cuts to $111.8 billion: target achieved, with wiggle room to boot. "

Also, after talking to a friend about Municipal Pensions and their costs, states going bankrupt, one has to ask the question if this can be sustained? I recommend guaranteeing current municipal union contracts. But effective immediately we should make contracts 25-30 years. People live longer, and are perfectly able to work at the age of 45 and 55 years old. If you get a job at 25 the idea that you'd get Municipal pension at 45 is preposterously early. I can maybe imagine making exception for high stress jobs like Policeman and fireman, but people should not be encouraged to leave a working life before retirement age unless they have some spiritual journeying to do. Most American folks end up on the golf course and in front of a tv when they retire.... sorry, it's true.

I have other thoughts that I'll share later. If you have any to share I'd be happy to have them posted.
xoxoL

Tuesday, January 25, 2011

"One day closer to death" 10/29/09


One day closer to death,
The autumn leaves barely holding on to their branches this October day
Remind me of my own tender grasp on this life.
The wind coming out of silver skies seems to expedite the deterioration of my mountain like sense of self...
Blowing the cellular dust off my exposed skin...
A hint of smoke from a passerby's cigarette, a touch of rainbow in my eyelashes, step, step, step, cars moving,
A breath under too many clothes, too much epidermal 40 something flesh,
A glance from some anonymous Arabic guy,
"Was he saying 'hi'?"
The day and its moments unfolding, they are stacking up...
Fleeting something’s,
Someone’s,
I don't know who or what's or whose…
Sparrows seem restless with the scent of winter in the air;
Trying to fatten up,
Scooping up someone's tossed donut or meatball sub in the gutter....
It's not frenzied for me…
The coming of Winter…
I attend to the changing of seasons with sober deliberateness;
Layers of cashmere,
Scarves,
A change of shoes,
Reintroduction of socks…
Death is a little harder to prepare for,
But I feel equally unmoved about its relative imminence.
What's to do?
I reach to the moon
And the sun,
To jazz and Aretha and the JB's
And the open sky over the Hudson,
In the space between my fingers,
In my breath
Little moments and big,
I look to the Guru
And my own Ordinary Mind…
I'm always being born
Pure,
Every time I look,
And Feel,
And Inhale,
And Exhale,
And Touch my sweet dog on my left,
Or hear the cabs beeping in traffic,
Or moving my hips to the soul music in my studio or rubbing the bristles of my brush against a woven canvas,
Painting the invisible,
Looking for the beginningless spark that reminds me of my true nature
And when I'm doing,
When I'm letting it all hang loose
And free,
And I'm seeing and knowing,
And living,
And watching and, well, the bones in my body, their weight, and the coursing blood in my limbs, my beat, beat, beating heart, blood red, I imagine, well, they soften up a little, lighten up…and my mind
Like the silver autumn winds rustling up those golden leaves,
Makes music
And my heart takes wing,
My eyes sparkle a little bit
Cuz I'm feelin alright about wherever I am...

"There is no invitation to make"


There is no invitation to make
But we make the invitation anyway.
There is no special plate to offer because all plates are offered
But we offer them anyway.
There is no substance to taste because all taste is substance
But we taste it anyway.
There is no Guru to dissolve into you because there is no you
But we dissolve the Guru into our hearts anyway
until we realize the Guru is all there is.