Croz Has Left The Building..

David Crosby was one of the most beautiful, brilliant, cantankerous, soulful and bracingly honest characters in American musical history. But more than that, he was a first class songwriter, a powerful cultural voice and, hands down, the greatest harmony singer I've ever heard. 

Croz was also fearlessly authentic and wholly unique, in a world that does not always like or reward such brazen sincerity. From The Byrds to CSNY to his incredible solo catalog, we were gifted with 59 years of his music. I can't imagine a world without him.  He is one of the Fathers of the country I live in. A true North Star. The void he leaves is tremendous. 

How lucky do I feel, how blessed am I, that I incarnated in a world where David Crosby played and sang? I'm beyond grateful. 

One of the things I truly admired about Croz was the way he rose from the ashes; like a portly, mustachioed phoenix (or songbird). He lost so many years to illness and self-destruction, only to spend the last decade of his life on a creative hot streak, making as much music as he could, releasing five beautiful records as the clock was running out. And when I say beautiful, you can rest assured that this is a colossal understatement.

He will remain a fixture on my record shelf and an inspiration for the rest of my life. 

"Don't waste the time. Time is the final currency, man. Not money, not power—it's time." - David Crosby 

Thank you, Mr. Crosby. Rest Easy. Well Done, Sir. You leave with a standing ovation.

Here, Take This Before Bed.. Part Fourteen

Goodnight, my friends.

Here's some good stuff for you to think about before bed in these times of tumult and uncertainty:

The sound of a trumpet with exquisite tone echoing through an alleyway. A massive flock of birds that suddenly darkens the sky. The smell on onions sizzling on the grill. A little kid on her parent's shoulder in the park. Raindrops falling into your hand. Realizing the deepest and most beautiful parts of yourself never left you. 

Mama Don't Need Your Pocket Change..

"How a society treats pregnant women is a metaphor for a how society raises its children." - Ibram Kendi, How To Be An Anti-Racist

As we're seeing new, draconian, anti-abortion laws take effect two weeks into the new year, I'm noticing a bunch of criminally stupid, self-congratulatory "we did it" posts from Christians online that end with something to this effect:

"Now that we have banned abortion and restored our values, please consider donating to a crisis pregnancy center."

The part of my heart that easily registers disgust would like nothing more than for me to strike out at them; to offer seething, sanguinary sentiments regarding the sheer lunacy of such an asinine idea. As tempting as that might be, I think I'll just weigh in with this: 

I've got news for you, you nefarious hypocrites: It's too late. Nevermind all the women up to this point who have already had abortions for purely economic reasons. Nevermind all those who had abortions solely because they lacked any sort of real community and system to support them. 

There are abortion bans going into effect *right now* all across the country, and your suggestion is to "donate some used blankets to a crisis pregnancy center?" That's it? Seriously? That's what you think will be required of you in order to stem the tide of bloodshed from back alley and bath tub abortions?

You fought tooth and nail, practically put your life on the line, against healthcare for pregnant women. You called preschool programs "socialism" and therefore decried them as evil. You railed against EBT and the EITC and every method by which the poor, the disadvantaged and the marginalized might be able to get a leg up and find their footing. You sneered at single mothers, dismantled any hope of affordable housing and ripped money from public schools. You're not a Christian, you're a philistine pillager. You have looted and destroyed all the ways and means by which poor people can afford to raise healthy children. You've done nearly everything in your power to make pregnancy a frightening, dangerous affair for millions of people in this country, and now, you think a few fucking blankets will be enough to make up for it? A one time donation to a crisis center will absolve you of all the times and the ways you have oppressed the unborn by oppressing their mothers? You've done nothing, absolutely nothing, but oppress the very people you claim to want to save, and now you want to congratulate yourself for "stepping up" by offering your measly pocket change as an afterthought?

What a damned country. What a hateful, wicked people. 

As a Christian, your witness to the world cannot simply be that you're opposed to the slightest deviation from biblical literalism, or that you diminish or attempt to erase the existence of any and all things that discomfort you, even risking the harm and safety of human beings in the process. 

If you want to be a Christian, if you want the teachings of the Christ to reverberate through the land, then let your courage break through. Look into your heart and let it speak. Let your hands feed the hungry and let your words be a balm for the wounded. Let your testimony and your witness be that you will not bend to empire, that you will not abandon those who are hurting and suffering in your midst. Let your heart love fiercely and affirm the imago dei in every single person you encounter. They are all worthy of love and protection. They are all worthy of owning their own bodies. They are all our Mother.

A Year of Reading..

I've decided to give myself the gift of reading this year, carving out deliberate quiet spaces to absorb creative works that are brand new to me. Over the course of the past two years (one supposes the Covid Pandemic plays into it), I've gotten away from the practice, and as a result, that mental muscle has begun to atrophy. The last thing I want to become is a slave to technology, or perhaps even worse, a man stuck in a valley of disinterest and apathy. So, suffice to say, I'm jumping back in and plan to read as many books as I can. I've also decided that most of those books will be written by women. 

The first book I finished in 2023 was absolutely delightful and thought-provoking. Without providing a nauseating dissertation about how far too many American men tend to view women through the poisonous prism of the Madonna-Whore Complex, Pamela Druckerman's "Bringing Up Bebe: One American Mother Discovers the Wisdom of French Parenting" helped me understand the way other cultures, in this case the French, take a far more healthy and refreshing approach to parenting, and with it comes a curious and enchanting perspective on femininity, womanhood, aging, motherhood and, dare I say, sex; certainly a more unique and restorative approach then we tend to have here in The United States of Puritanica. I was content to wrap my mind around a wonderfully new set of ideas.

So, I finished her book first and I'm glad I did. It was thought-provoking, charming, heartbreaking, funny, brilliant, utterly relatable  and all kinds of lovely. 

---

"The Frenchwomen I meet aren’t at all blasé about motherhood, or about their babies’ well-being. They’re awed, concerned, and aware of the immense life transformation that they’re about to undergo. But they signal this differently. American women typically demonstrate commitment by worrying and by showing how much they're willing to sacrifice, even while pregnant, whereas Frenchwomen signal their commitment by projecting calm and flaunting the fact that they haven’t renounced pleasure.

What really fortifies Frenchwomen against guilt is their conviction that it’s unhealthy for mothers and children to spend all their time together. They believe there’s a risk of smothering kids with attention and anxiety, or of developing the dreaded relation fusionnelle, where a mother’s and a child’s needs are too intertwined. Children—even babies and toddlers—need the chance to cultivate their inner lives without a mother’s constant interference.

Letting children 'live their lives' isn’t about releasing them into the wild or abandoning them (though French school trips do feel a bit like that to me). It’s about acknowledging that children aren’t repositories for their parents’ ambitions or projects for their parents to perfect. They are separate and capable, with their own tastes, pleasures, and experiences of the world.

If your child is your only goal in life, it's not good for the child. What happens to the child if he’s the only hope for his mother? I think this is the opinion of all psychoanalysts..."

- Pamela Druckerman "Bringing Up Bebe"

----

Next up, I'll be driving into Lorrie Moore's "Birds Of America" and "Up On The Rooftop" by Margaret Wilkerson Sexton.

What are YOU reading?

Some Stuff On My Mind As We Head Into A New Year..

I'm happy to put 2022 to rest, but I am not without hope for the restoration of goodness and beauty in the coming year. I am reminded that this joyful idea, no matter how dark the world may seem, is at the center of my being; deeply and fundamentally rooted into my belief system. I am a prisoner of Hope, and I do not plan on allowing cynicism or fear to have the loudest voice in the room or the last word.

In the coming year, I hope to share coffee, break bread and connect deeply with those I love. 

And I believe, as Henri Nouwen wrote, that this kind of hospitality is the act of meeting people where they are, loving people for who they are, and affirming their dignity as deeply, ineffably beloved. That's the energy I'm bringing with me into 2023, or at least I'm going to try my damnedest.

I hope to be sustained by friendship, which includes cultivating and tending to existing relationships with my friends, who are cooler than Miles Davis sippin' a milkshake in a snowstorm. I've failed miserably at this in recent years, but it's never too late to recommit. 

Speaking of reupping your commitment, I plan to do whatever it takes to listen to my body over the next twelve months, which includes not being lazy about what I put into it. The same goes with returning to a daily walking routine and meditation practice and not letting the degenerative mental rot of laziness and comfort run the program. It may sound lofty, but it only takes a bit of self-control, not some kind of Herculean effort, to run a more efficient program. Self-control pays dividends. Self-control is empathy for your future self. Studies have shown that the same part of the brain that allows us to step into the shoes of others also helps us restrain ourselves. Empathy depends on your ability to overcome your own perspective, appreciate someone else's, and step into their shoes. Self-control is essentially the same skill, except those other shoes belong to your future self - a removed and hypothetical entity who might as well be a different person. So think of self-control as a kind of temporal selflessness. It's Present You taking a hit, enduring a difficult routine, to help out Future You. I's a radical form of love, and of self-love. Impulsivity and selfishness are two side of the same coin, as are their opposites: restraint and empathy. Restoring these practices will supercharge the positive side of that proverbial coin. 

Am I rambling? I'm rambling. 

Let's get through the rest of this list with a bit more promptness and a little less palaver.

In 2023, I choose to carve out my niche as a writer and a teacher, including writing a poem every day. This will be the year to abandon imposter syndrome and accept monetization as a form of love, which also will include breaking away from old patterns and old paradigms regarding how creative people go about making a living. I will also refuse to remain in any situation that pays me poorly, requires too much of my energy or underutilizes my talents.

I will continue to love my family near and far and continue to learn how to do that with a more open heart, celebrating their unique gifts and contributions to the world and to my life. I will try my best to never lose the marvel of the graces and joys that they provide; the influx of love that comes into my life through their eyes and through celebrating their uniqueness, their joys and their victories. I don't know how to measure the marvel in a way that it can be improved other than being more available, more celebratory and more present. Hell, I don't know if it's easily quantifiable, but suffice to say, it is expansive and abundant, and much like the love of my friends, I vow to do my best to never take them for granted. 

I will stay soft.

I will fill my life with joyful things because, as Mary Oliver reminds us: "Joy is not meant to be a crumb."

I will, I will, I will... Shit, this IS getting rather long-winded. Let's wrap it up and bring it on home, shall we? 

Some quick life advice for 2023:

Be your own advocate. Do not expect (or let) others do your thinking or fighting for you.

Never gossip.

Buy the better cheese. 

Read. Often. While doing nothing else.

Never dumb yourself down or sweeten yourself up for anyone.

Embrace the fact that you're often wrong and admit it when you are.

Pay attention to what you rationalize -- especially if you're defensive about it.

Never demonize your bodily appetites, nor assume that they have your long-term health and happiness and well-being in mind.

Consider the most joyous outcome ask a viable possibility. 

I could go on, but I'll just say this: I wish you hope, joy, dignity, purpose and boundless love, from within and without, through the new year. 

You matter, and not just to me. 

Bumble Bee In Reverse (A Brief History of Looking in a Mirror at a Runaway Heart)..

The importance of learning to read between the loamy lines
has painfully and ploddingly revealed itself,
expanding with each agonizing syllable, like poison seeds in my stomach:
"Your heart will not be sated, nor will it be seen."

A delight for you, I suppose
a sonnet to soak in, a song to hum, to play with, to whirl around your tongue;
but your feet told the story, didn't they?
they never caught flame like mine, 

they never burned with each step.

Had you run to me, seeking the holy fortress of my heart,
had the noble earthen bulk of you lifted
I would perhaps love you less than I do;
but in this new year, of rain and resolution and regret, 

I will release you,

Cooling my burning heels in the river.

(08/23/17)