A Change In The Wind, Says I

I hate change. I know I'm supposed to be some wild and free, bohemian, groovy, go-with-the-flow, jazzy-jazzy, writer-poet-free thinker, but...I'm really not. Sometimes I am an obstinate, stubborn mofo who wants everything to stay the same: nice and safe and goddamn predictable. I don't want to get off the couch, I don't want to change my clothes, let alone my mind, and I don't want to have to learn contrary habits and actions. Change my Habits?! Are you kidding me? This is a joke, right? I've spent years - years! - sculpting and crafting those habits. And I'm just supposed to chuck them out the window now because they don't work? Call me Bartleby, but I'd prefer not to.

But what happens when you tell the Universe you don't want to change? Everything changes. Your grandmother dies. You have to find a new place to live. You have to get a new job. All your resistance does is place an emergency call to the Tricksters Union (Local 247). Coyote sneaks into your room and pours a bucket of cold water on your head at three in the morning. Eleggua is waiting for you in the alley with a two-by-four to the dome. Hell, Bugs Bunny even gets in on the action and suddenly you look down and realize you're running on thin air. And there's nothing you can do about any of it.

Stopping the flow of change is as impossible as stopping an oncoming wave. And you look just as silly trying.

The upside is that after you've been splashed with water or mugged by a few Tricksters, you get to see what they were really up to. You get to see the world in a new way. Yes, a grandmother leaves, but a niece or nephew shows up. Life is change, change is good, and therefore Aristotle, life is good.

And that is all ye know and all ye need to know.

This Just In

Via Roses:

"Yeah, I'm scared. But you know what? Fear and excitement are right next to each other and they mean I'm doing something different, something a bit risky. And fuck it. I'm going to do it anyway."

I believe I shall inscribe this one upon the wall...

The War Against Common Sense

The terrorist's war is a war he cannot win
because terror does not give rise to fear,
terror gives rise to courage, solidarity, and gratitude
for all that is not lost.

The terrorist's war is a war he cannot win
because the memory of those we love
is more alive than the hatred for those we do not know.

The terrorist's war is a war he cannot win
because the death of one innocent
is the birth of a million human hearts.

The terrorist's war is a war he cannot win:

because our greatest lessons come from our enemies

because one day we'll remember that we all want peace

because you cannot fight for an illusion you can only die for one -

but you can live
and fight
and win
if you take every single breath
for love.

In Defense of a Phrase

"It is what it is":

What incredibly vapid, stupid and unoriginal people say when they cannot construct a proper thought, retort or sentence.

-Urban Dictionary


Why has this phrase fallen so far out of favor? And why is it considered something "stupid" people say?

Let's take these one at a time. It has fallen out of favor because it sounds dismissive and escapist. I think the critics are hearing it but not listening to what it means. It is about accepting reality as it is; surrendering to reality instead of resisting it. It is a simple and profound zen statement on the nature of existence: you cannot fight the truth, no matter how much you want to, because you only make your life harder if you do. Reality will not change to suit you. You will struggle fruitlessly until you accept life on life's terms.

It is considered something "stupid" people say because people ignore the rich history of this phrase. It is not one of those recent, oft-repeated, meaningless phrases (like everyone's favorite whipping-boy "At the end of the day..."). For example, I often heard this phrase in my youth from the mouth of many a wise old(er) black man. When I whined and whinged about the unfairness of the world, someone would smile, put a hand on my shoulder and say gently, "It is what it is, man". What I heard was: accept it, deal with it, and move on. An older generation may have told each other, "You can't fight City Hall", while a younger, less serious, generation might say, "Forget it, Jake, it's Chinatown" - but the message is the same essential wisdom. Fight reality and reality will win, every time.

So what is one to do? Don't spend your energy worrying about/trying to change/stressing over things that are outside of your control. Focus on what you can change: yourself. This in turn will change the world. When life seems unfair, take a breath, relax, and remember: IT IS WHAT IT IS.

For Colored Artists Who Are Considered Simplistic When the Rainbow Is Not Simple Enuf

Sunday I went to a multi-act performance at The Last Bookstore in Downtown Los Angeles. It good, bad, baffling, inspired, funny, and I enjoyed myself immensely. I also caught myself exhibiting that bemused smile I used to see on the faces of adults when I was young and furiously naive in my politics. I am on the other side of all that now and it is an interesting perspective.

The first act was a troupe of three interpretive dancers/performance artists/high conceptual dramatis personnae intent on saying something profound about race and I'm trying to finish this sentence without becoming a condescending ass but I can't avoid it. The start of their piece was actually really cool. They took turns playing sad, simple music with voice, drum, and plastic accordion while they ritualistically dressed each other in junk and rags. It felt as if they were enacting something sacred through the guise of the homeless population that lives in Downtown; maybe finding something dignified and ancient that exists in gesture and song regardless of outward appearance. Very cool. But then they tore off the clothes and launched into some bafflingly outdated routine about racial stereotypes. They went out into the audience and asked everyone, "Can I touch your hair?" They chanted, "Race fondue! Race fondue!" while decrying the ills of racially insensitive dialogue and moaning "I'se tired, Lawdy! I'se tired". They - well, if you were born during or immediately after the Sixties, you get the point. And you understand my bemused smile.

The next act was conceptual dance - a woman, a melancholic violin solo, and some melancholic dance signifying perhaps the trapped emotions inside us and the great mute divide of emotional understanding between us. I reach out to you. I turn away. I reach out to you. You turn away. Etc. I liked it. Though at this point I couldn't get "Race fondue! Race fondue!" out of my head.

Then there was a woman literally dancing her way out of a plastic bag while an NPR report about an oil spill played overhead. I didn't see all of this piece so I can't comment. I did see her sit in my brother's lap at one point and I noted the weary, annoyed expression on his face.

Next up was an incredibly talented flamenco dancer named Mercedes Ibarra who blew everyone away. She was backed up by a guitar player and singer (and introduced by some sort of Poet-fellow reading some sort of Poetry) and ripped up the stage with power, grace, and controlled fury.

After Mercedes was a singer/actor doing a musical monologue about her journey of empowerment as a black woman performer who will not be limited by society's claustrophobic vision of who she should be, how she should regard her sexuality, or how she should feel about her posterior. I know, but it was pretty good. She was funny and had a great voice. But to be the grumpy, old fart for a second: she's going to be much more interesting ten years from now.

It's Good To Focus On Similarities Instead Of Differences

This Old House

Consider your self a house - your body, your mind, and your spirit are all contained in this house. What is the state of your house? Are you taking care of it? Do you live in all the rooms? Do you invite people in?

My house is an old Craftsman style home. I've owned it for thirty-seven years and I used to love it just as it was built: full of cozy rooms, hidden staircases, and lots of quiet spaces. But I abandoned it for a long time. I reduced my daily routine to just a couple of rooms in the back and the let the rest of it fall in to disrepair. I pulled the blinds. I ignored the doorbell. When visitors got too insistent and demanded to be let in, I sent the butler to open the door. He looks just like me and has a pleasant, if somewhat vacant, smile. While he stood in the doorway and mouthed the expected responses, I hid in the library and read my favorite dusty old tomes. No one was ever allowed any further than the foyer (yes, I have a foyer!).

Today I'm remodeling and renovating. I've changed over the years and I want the house to reflect who I am now. I still love the basic design of the house, but I'm knocking down a few walls to make the rooms bigger and I'm adding some big windows on every floor to let in a lot more light. The basement and the attic need some serious cleaning out. The exterior could use a little, let us say "slimming" refinements around the middle floor. I'm also re-wiring the electrical system because it's not up to code and the lighting is damn depressing. Change your wires, change your life, as Bob V. might say. Most importantly, I'm inviting people inside. It's kind of messy and I admit I'm a little embarrassed when company comes by, but I tell them I'm in the middle of making some big changes and they usually understand.

It's a good house and worth keeping up. But I could on and on about the renovations! How is your house coming along?


(Thanks to John for the butler line! I stole it and I'm not giving it back!)