Summer Reading List

Hello Gentle Readers:

Well, summer's here(not officially, but close enough)and it's time for dancin' in the streets...whoops, I mean, it's time for the Summer Reading List. You remeber your school sending out one every summer to spoil your vacation? No? Well, my school did it and I still have nightmares about it and if I have, so should everyone else. (It's my Blog...nyahhh).

This is the Official Perfect Blog Title Summer 2006 Reading List:

• The Truth About Witchcraft Todayby the late great Scott Cunningham. The shortest book on the list. Does what it says on the tin.(That's an in joke for all those in the UK).


• Anything by the Dalai Lama


• When Elephants Weepby Jeffery Masson. A look at spirituality is never complete without a look at how you look at animals.


• A History of God by Karen Armstrong. Some people climb Mt Everest, some read Karen Armstrong. The effects are similar. Extra credit book.


• The Wisdom of Big Bird(and the Dark Genius of Oscar The Grouch) by Caroll Spinney, who also illustrated it. Required reading from a man responsible for shaping the minds of my generation and possibly at least two more.

That should keep you busy.

Rice & Beans

I hate Anne Rice. Don't get me wrong, I hope she has a happy life and never gets audited by the IRS, but I want back all the hours I spent reading The Witching Hour. Nearly 1000 pages of itty bitty print and at the end I find it's the first in a series! So idiot me goes back to the library and snags the second book, Lasher, a mere 600 pages. Apparantly there's a third book, but I'm not going to bother.

1600 pages and not a damn thing happens. And yet I read all 1600 pages. I hate her. Why can't I be that brilliant? Her writing is hypnotic, like a LSD trip (don't ask me how I know), very very pretty but no plot to speak of.

Oh, you know who Anne Rice is. She's The Interview With A Vampire babe, remember? She recently wrote a wonderful novel with a plot based on the early life of Christ. It, too, is to be the start of a series. A series we already know the ending of, incidently.

And then, musing on Anne Rice and her dreamy plotless novels, I realized that's why I could never get into The Bible. I've read it all, cover to cover, in two versions and after finishing it for the first time I thought "That's it?"

I read it the second time to be sure I didn't miss anything. I didn't.

The whole Old Testament is apparantly to set up for the coming and going of Jesus. And quite frankly, Jesus is not that much of a due ex machina. No publisher in their right (or left) minds would publish the New Testament if, say, it were submitted today. No Jewish independence, no lawyers, no car chases. And Jesus is a bit of a wimp. Great storyteller, but who could understand Him? Miracle man, but only did a very small ammount of miracles to a very small corner of the earth. Hell, he could've invented pizza! Very few souls are saved when there's no pizza in the cards, let me tell you.Having the power of God and not trying to break into the movies? Not very realistic. And why are only people talked about? What about the animals? That's why I reject the New Testament as reading material--no cute dogs. Not even the donkey He rode to Jerusalem on Palm Sunday is given a name or a chance to save a diciple or two from drowning.

Maybe Anne Rice can spice it up a bit for me now. She knows beans about keeping interest...I just hope she sticks a cute dog in that's not murdered by the undead. And, come to think of it, would Jesus technically be a zombie?

And The Greatest of These Is Faith

Screw love. Love gets you in trouble, love makes you crazy, love lets you think you can change Satan's ways if he only had somone to love him. Love will always fail you.

It's faith that gets you through.

The manuscript I wrote & illustrated was about my faith. I'd dedicated the book to my first dog Rusty, who taught me that faith was stronger than hope or love. It took six years of struggle, outright plagerism and alot more blood than sweat. It was nearly finished, at a monstrous 800+ pages.

And then the only copy got burnt. "So much for faith in a Great Spirit," I thought. "Dogs are better than God."

I don't watch Oprah, but my Mom does. She said there was a dog on, so I had to watch. The dog that came on was named....

Faith.

The dog was wagging her tail most of the time. She sure played to the audience! And she was so happy.

So what's my excuse?

Dum-Dum-Vinci Code

Oh please, people. Here are five things better worth your time than arguing over a stupid movie:

1)A fair look at albinos

2)DaVinci had more on his mind than codes

3)See the light

4)Tom Hanks' Hair--A History

5)When it all gets too much.

Stunt Requests For David Blaine

David Blaine is one of the very few people who impress me, like the Dalai Lama, Gandhi or Peter Gabriel. Anybody who can pull a tooth out of someone's head and then spit it back in I sit up and take notice (and keep my mouth shut around). When I was living as a hermit in Bathwick, England I still heard all about his 44 day fast suspended in a Perspex box above London. (I could hear Gandhi say "Ahh, amateurs!") In case you happen to be a hermit off of the planet Earth, you probably heard about his latest stunt, Drowned Alive (which almost happened). Poor boy is probably convalescing, wondering what on earth he can do to top that.

Well, David, never fear! Here are some suggestions for guaranteed payoffs:

* Shoot my ex out of a cannon into the Grand Canyon. When he splatters, say "Ooops--that's show biz!"
* Find out exactly how many licks it takes to get to the center of a Tootsie Roll Tootsie Pop.

*Find me a job...well, that would take a miracle, I guess

*Pull the teeth out the George Bush's head, make 'em disappear and then make them reappear in Dave's poo.

*Get my dog and my Mom's cat to stay in the same room without setting off the next world war.

*Get Hasidic Jews, Fundamental Christians and Osama Bin Laden-wanna bees together for a toga party. Hell, invite my dog and Mom's cat, too.

*Get a new roll of toilet paper going without shredding the stuff into tiny strips of useless fluff. Now that's magic!

(I also placed this article up on Bubblews)

Interview With a Lama

Today, I had an actual job interview for an assistant librarian. I read a bio of the Dalai Lama in order to calm down beforehand. Turns out, he had to interview for his job before he got it. He had to prove (at age 3) that he could pick out the personal items of his previous incarnation. Damn, and I thought being asked "Why are you seeking a part time position?" a tough question! At least I didn't have to root through a box of oldcoffee mugs and Bic pens trying to pick out which ones were used by my previous incarnation. (And if I could, and the mug said "I'd Rather Be Golfing" would I admidt it? Would I need the job that bad?)

That being said, they still got the right man for the job. When a teenager in the Summer Palace, he sneaked driving a car (as teenagers, His Holiness or no) are geneticly programmed to do. He smashed a headlight but repaired it before anyone noticed! Screw walking on water--how many times you need that in your life? A spiritual leader who can do DIY--now THAT I sit up and pay attention to. Namaste

WWSKD

Apparantly, while I've been living under a rock, there was a sucessful (ie-made a craploada moolah)campaign by Christians to teach their kids about what they believe Jesus would do in any situation (give to PBS, vote Republican, support the troops). It was called WWJD--What Would Jesus Do?

So, since I have a new guru, I ask this question to myself all the time--

What Would Stephen King Do?

And remember always how to spell GURU (gee you are you--unfortunately, I have my arsonist ex to thank for pointing that out to me. AAARRGGHHH!)

On On Writing

"There have been times when for me the act of writing has been a little act of faith, a spit in the eye of despair." --Stephen King, On Writing

Ah, my new guru, Stephen King. I just finished reading his best book ever, On Writing. The book is not so much of a how-to manual but a strong declairation of spirituality. There are loads of Golden Rules and Commandments like:

• "I believe the road to hell is paved with adverbs, and I will shout it from the rooftops" (p 125)
• "Plums diefy!" (p 121)
• "The dictum in writing classes used to be "write what you know." Which sounds good, but what if you want to write about...a man who murders his wife and then tries to dispose of her body in a wood-chipper?" (p 158)

Your spirituality is what makes you you. Being a writer is every bit as spiritual as a Buddhist monk. It's the core of you--what you think of yourself as.

Why should spirituality be limited to religion? There's no limits to the human spirit, so why limit spirituality?

I've always thought of myself as a writer. And, as you can probably predict, I don't have a damn thing published (as in for pay).Writing has become an act of worship for me.I know not why I do it, I just do it. It's elusive, mind-boggling and soul-shattering. And here I am with a blog, stumbling ever onwards.

I had an 800 page manuscript when I lived in England. I not only wrote it, I illustrated quite a bitof it with cutouts from magazines as well as my own drawings. There was only one copy. Since I lived as a hermit in the woods, it was kinda hard to plug a Xerox into a tree.

So my ex hired an arsonist to burn my home down, including the only copy of the manuscript. Not that anyone could prove it, although everyone in the area knew they did it. Not that I'm bitter...

ANYWAY I thought that'd be the last piece of writing from me. Why pour six years of yourself into a work of art only to have it turn to ash in fifteen minutes?But I still write. Why do I bother?

Because I am a writer, and like a martyr or Holy Grail Knight, you do it even though you fully well know it'll all be for nothing.

And you couldn't care less.

Forms & Emptiness

I'm researching Buddhism, founded by Buddha, or Bud, as I like to call him. So I'm reading a lot of the Dalai Lama, who quotes quite a bit from the Buddha, beleive it or not. Buddhism definately gets my brain out of its comfort zone. Then again, my brain doesn't really exist:

"Form is emptiness; emptiness is form. Form is not other than emptiness; emptiness is not other than form."
Bud

Since nothing is permenant, it doesn'r really exist in The Grand Scheme Of Things. Everything relies on everything else. Everything is therefore in harmony, as forms are the mirror halves of emptiness.

So, even you are not real.

That being said, I think both Bud and the Dalai Lama would encourage all Americans to get their tax forms in by Monday to prove their financial emptiness. At least that's one thing I really really know!

Wanted : God

How do you pick a God? And don't give me this crap about the God picking you, 'cause I'm one of those people who wouldn't hesitate to tell any kind of Diety where to stick it. So, question again: How do you pick a God? Simple--you hire the One (or More) that best fulfills your needs.

I've been using this time of unemployment not only to look for a job (duh) but learn some html and look for a patron Diety. Here's the job listing (I guess it would be under Hot Jobs in Heaven):

GOD/DESS

Immediate full-time opening in Philly area woman.


Must have Own transportation.


Exp. helpful, but will train the right applicant


EOE


I'll let you know how it goes. So far, no applications have arrived yet.

The Keepers of Our Souls

I wish I thought this bit up, but I haven't. Is there an original thought in my head? Well, that's another blog entry, I guess.

Anyway, in reading The Social Life of Dogs by Elizabeth Marshall Thomas,, her husband refers to their pooch Sundog as "the keeper of my soul".

The soulmate concept has been around since dirt. However, it usually involves half your soul being somehow inside your current beloved (who then often winds up being Satan, Jr). There's also a superstition that twins share one soul.

Why should only one person monopolize half of my soul? Perhaps there is only one soul. Then we all--planets, people or pets--need each other to find the other bits of ourselves. Might be the incentive the Satan, Jrs need to start acting at least as good as Sundog.

The Inhabitants of Heaven

One of the things I actually do believe in is balance. Since the last blog entry focused on dogs, this one will focus on cats. I wrote this in my early 20's:

One Sunday when I was in church
On a Sunday Mom made me go to church
The pastor said how wonderful heaven would be
And I cried and cried incessantly.
I drew praise for my tears
They said I had wisdom beyond my years
To be moved by the words the pastor said.
I just lowered my tear-drenched head
I let them thin what they wanted to
Even though their assumptions were untrue.
It wasn't for God's glory that I cried--
I was thinking about all my cats that died.
Who cares if people's souls go up there-
They all can hate, their deaths were all fair.
But all my cats never talked back
Despite who you were, they'd sit on your lap.
Isn't heaven supposed to be reserved for the good,
The truthtellers, the serene, the misunderstood?
If heaven turns out to be a wonderful fact
There God would leave me alone to take care of my cats.

God Spelled Backwards

Yes, I'm owned by a dog. I'm suprized I haven't bored you to death about her yet. I'm also suprized that I can't claim her as a dependent on my income taxes, but that's another story.

Pony Trekker is my pride & and joy. She's the most beautiful dog in the universe. So imagine my horror when, during our walk this morning, she managed to get a chicken bone caught in her throat.

Here, we backtrack. I was raised a Born-Again Protestant Christian. I gave it up about 1988 and have been a solitary seeker on the spiritual path ever since. Before Pony was even conceived, I asked the Goddess Hecate to find the perfect dog for me. Hecate is The Distant One Who, I'm convinced, wears a T-shirt that says, "Love me, Love my dog." Pony is consecrated to her Patroness.

Now, I've tried to be as grateful to Hecate as I can. I've tried to be a good little Seeker, being open minded to all faces of Diety.

But guess what I thought when Pony started to choke?

Yup, that's right--"Oh, God, help my puppy!"

Pony managed to dislodge the bone and is none the worse for wear.

That being said, I'm not taking any chances. I'm saying prayers of thanks to Hecate, Jesus, Allah, St Francis, Raven, Ra, Ghandi, the local faeries , the constellation Sirius, EVERYBODY.

Pony, in contrast, is currently ripping up a tennis ball.

Same thing, I guess.

Forgiveness

The odds of me becoming a Saint are less than zero. This is because I can't do the first step Saints all can effortlessly do--forgive others.

Now, I don't exactly retch with loathing whenever I have contact with my fellow wo/man,but I just cannot envision telling the guy who burnt my home down "Have a nice day." Quite frankly, I want him and the guy who hired him to be flayed alive. I know Jesus said "Forgive them, Father, for they know not what they do" but wasn't He in the eensy-beensiest thinking, "Ooo--just wait 'til I resurrect..." (Come to think of it, maybe He did. It would explain a lot.)

But I'm not Jesus. I know if I ever hear that the arsonist and/or his boss get dragged by a train I'll dance the home I'm currently in down. In fact, I admidt that I rehearse this dance. I know I'm supposed to forgive and forget, but you might as well tell a rock not to be a rock. Not gonna happen.

Perhaps that's why God made people--to figure out how to forgive. You never know, maybe Allah never returned Jehovah's lawnmower. They're still not talking to Each other over it. Archangel Gabriel's been trying to get the Pair to BBQ's, bar mitzvahs and whatnot, but Neither of Them will have it.

• Gabe: But it's just a lawnmower


• J : But it's MY lawnmower!


• Gabe: Someday, you'll look back on this and laugh.


• J : Lawnmower first! Laughing...maybe

Heaven Help Us, Jeeves

Okay, Gentle Reader, time to get down to work, so buckle up and hang on to the bar. It's time to face an issue that's tearing an entire country apart. The issue deals with the preservation of the silent minority.

The issue is

foxhunting

Thought I was going to write the "a" word, eh? Nope. In England, where I lived from 2000-5, the issue of abortion has been done and dusted. No one wastes their breath on it. They save it instead to riot over foxhunting.

Yes, Tally-ho and all that. If you are in UK politics, your position on foxhunting is the first (and often ONLY) thing voters check. The Anti side says foxhunting is cruel and inhumane torture. The Pro side says "Listening to you lot is cruel and inhumane torture."

Actually, the foxhunting debate has nothing to do with foxes. Foxes are rarely killed in hunts, yet thousands are killed in traffic. No one protests to car drivers, though, 'cause no one wants to give up their cars. So why the violent, heated, police-in-full-riot-gear protests?

Because you need money to foxhunt. And live in the country. Lots more English are born. live ands die in town, primarily due to lack of money. So, yeah, it's about the only time the poor can tell the rich to shove it as they drive speeding cars, throw beer cans out the window and eat fried chicken.

I, of course, when on UK soil, would not open my mouth either way. As soon as "foxhunting" would be mentioned, I'd be outa the room by the second syllable. My advice for all non-English in England--just shut up and smile. If you rankle ANYONE it'll take more than a pack of hounds to find your mortal remains.

Sometimes I wish God would come down in a flame of glory during one of these pro and anti clashes and smack everyone on the head with a frying pan.

"PEOPLE! Can't you see you don't give a rip about foxes, fetuses or flag burning? You just want to get off telling someone else what to do! BLOODY 'ELL! That's MY job! Go get your own!"


But until that day, I'll just keep my mouth shut and smile. ;-)

Why I Don't Go To A Church

It's not that I haven't found the right church yet. It's that I firmly believe churches are irrelevant for worshipping God/dess.

In a church, coven, ashram or whatever, there's other people there worshipping, too. That's the big stumbling block. Other people can and will get in your way of trying to contemplate God. They might not mean to (HA!) but they eventually will. You get sensitive to their disapproval. You start worrying "What if they hear me fart?" And if there's a hint of disapproval about THAT, imagine how they'll disapprove of your spiritual opinions, for they (and only they) know How God Wants Believers To Smell.

There's always a pecking order in any groups of humans. We can't help it. We have to put things in a ranking order or our heads will explode.

People, buildings, rituals--they all get in the way of trying to get to know God/dess. By not worshipping with any other person, I get at least a glimpse of God, and then I can face people again. I can tolerate them better, because I can recognise that weird spark inside each one as a feather of God.

Top 10 Jobs I'd Like

10) Guinea pig shepherd somebody's gotta keep them in line
9) Avenging Fury
-Unfortunately, I'm overqualified
8) Bookend-alas, I'm not a team player
7) Peter Gabriel's hair dryer-is a comment here really necessary?
6) Official Dog Petter-Don't have time to cuddle Cuddles? Pay me!
5) Executive Washroom Pointer To-I'm DAMN good at finding out where to pee.
4)Messiah-Only two problems: I'm not Jewish (that I know of) and my gospel is "Figure it out your own friggin' self!"
3)Shadowfax, Gandolf's horse-now how cool would that be? Not many horses in Middle Earth have to pay rent.
2)Rainbow designer-why just 7 colors? Why not a paisly rainbow?
1)God-hell, I couldn't do any worse than the current bugger.

The Rock So Big God Can't Push

Hey, ho. I'm not blogging daily anymore because I'm trying to learn computerese to be more "hireable". Right now, I'm brushing up on Microsoft XP & trying to learn some HTML (Hell Twisted My Lugnut).

Now I know why God created people-- so someone could set up His blog page.

The Tiger

I wrote this when I was about 8. Possible William Blake influence, but at that age I kinda doubt it:

The tiger is a ferocious jungle cat.
Like the lion, a lot meaner than that.
Stripes are black. Can't fit in a sack.
And that is that is the tiger.


And I'm not sure my poetry has improved any in nearly 30 years. Why my Mom saved this, only God knows.

Take Off That Cross

Walking through the parking lot
of the church my family went to without reason
I overheard this between a pastor and a believer
and it made me slow a step-
"There is a Jesus figure on that crucifix
around your neck."
"Why, yes. Is there anything wrong?"
"Wrong? That's a symbol for Catholics. What's worse..."
(Here he quoted chapter and verse)
"So all along that crucifix
there must be nothing but the crucifix."
"But this is an heirloom.
It's the only crucifix I have."
"No Born-Again Christian would walk around
with a crucifix like that."

I remember that theological exchange
held just outside my vocal range.
I'm not a Christian now- but I can't deny
that someone named Jesus really did die.
And as he, hated and dying, nailed to that tree
I doubt he was caring a fig about jewelry.