Surreal Red Chile
Somehow, right now, I feel in my element. Lunch in an old Mexican food restaurant where the old man at the door knows my name. Or at least my dad's. My old man showed up a bit after I ordered a Dos Equis.
"You look good."
"Thanks Pop."
Some chips, some beer, some stories. Recent stories of sibling visits leading to examinations of familial character. Then, almost always, a big smile or some laughter. Old stories too starting with, "what ever happened to so and so". Then memories of an earlier time when we were younger and we were on the top of the world and no one could stop us. We ran the show, we owned the town.
Now we remember and notice how much has changed but more importantly, what hasn't. The love and the loyalty which surpassed the pain, the tears, the betrayals, the crazy freaking nights on the town.
Now two men, one feeling much like a boy, sit eating off each other's plates with only the rare awkward silence.
"Do you want some of my red chili."
"Sure Pop, bite of my taco."
There were no lectures, no regrets, just two men who love each other deeply. A father and his first born son and name sake. Lunch ends with a surprise handful of cash, which made it all too familiar. In the past, I would have worked him for it, but never too hard. It has been many years since I asked him for a dime. For some reason, the old man sports me a few 20's.
"Here's some chump change."
"Shit! Thanks Pop."
A hug later and we go our separate ways. As in the past, I never want to go back to work or wherever after lunch with the old man. For some reason, it feels time to go out and take on the world in some way. Keep the party going. And in a way it does. In my truck,
Behind Blue Eyes is playing right off the radio. My mom is obviously selecting radio songs from heaven.
"I'm glad you had a nice time with your dad. I miss you both and love you both very much Honeybee."
With Pink Floyd blaring in my headphones back at my office, I am isolating to record my thoughts. It's all so real, yet surreal. And the red chili rocked.
I just read an article about
Tommy Chong . I used to love Cheech and Chong as a kid, yes a kid. The kid I hung around with, who turned me on to pot and other things, turned me on to Cheech and Chong. We would get tape recorders and record our own versions of Cheech and Chong bits. I was always Cheech, because, well, I was the Mexican! I wish I had those old tapes, we were pretty good.
I digress.
Chong tossed out an old Buddhist or Confucian quote, you've heard it, "when the student is ready, the teacher appears". I have thought and wrote many times that I wish I had a guru of sorts to guide me. Most of the people in my life aren't teachers per se. My good friend and pastor gives me good advice but he isn't a teacher and doesn't claim to be. Is there a Mr. Miagi out there for a middle aged artist?
Yes, Jesus is my guide, but I am still reeling from the cult church. My bible is pretty heavy right now and my mind still filled with legalism.
Chong just wrote a book while he was in jail,
The I Chong: Meditations from the Joint. The title is an obvious take on I Ching, which I was pretty into in college. I always dug Eastern Mysticism because of the serendipity factor. Weird, I ran across that word today, serendipity, and pondered it just before I came across the Chong article. Ironic or obvious that I would run into something I needed while looking for something else.
I have long felt there was something on the horizon for me. And I keep waiting. Maybe I should stop waiting. I AM doing some thing to perpetuate my future but not enough. Not enough writing, playing, and recording.
I wonder if I am even ready for a teacher. Maybe my teacher is Chong!
Or maybe I should burn one and relax. (and watch my "Christiany" friends cringe)
I Am A Loser, or I'm One
Right as I thought about posting about whether I am a washed up loser or not...my free three day trial of the Sirius WHO channel plays my theme song...I'm One written by one of the only people who seems to understand me. So am I just some old fart-never made it in music-wanna be- obsessed fan...or am I the One. At least The One in context of my own life. I love being a husband and father but there is more to me and I can't get it out.
Question: Can a 42 year old husband/father still find his dreams? I just want to be an artist and not a weekend guitar player/occasional song writer. Every day in a tie and at my desk seems to suck a little more life out of me.
All the best artists sacrificed so much for their craft, I sacrificed my craft to be a good father first then a husband. But I feel I have other children that never got to play with his dad...my art. My performing, my muscianship, my acting, my songwriting, my writing.
I can't believe God put all of this in me just to use it occasionally...why would He want my soul to pay such a price...now Imagine a Man is on the radio. I think my mom in Heaven worked out the song list...oh wait! Now. Let My Love Open The Door is playing.
The legalism of Christianity weighs me down sometime. I am still so confused from the abuse of the cult/church...I HAVE to believe God wants me to follow my heart when it comes to my art. Being a good husband/dad is one of the greatest rewards...but there is more...much more.
Don't give up. It's not too late. Tomorrow when I put on my tie, I will put a guitar pick in my pocket to remind me of who I am.
I need a new post
No time to write...just sick of seeing my last post everytime I go online!!!
