thanksgiving: the long lost art of gratitude

My dear friends up north are celebrating one of the most meaningful holidays in the U.S. repertoire: Thanksgiving Day. I love this holiday, but my feelings toward it have nothing to do with its history, which is somewhat unusual. You see, holidays are, if anything, historical in nature: some one did something memorable some day, something that was cause for celebration, and in their remembrance, people carried on observing the anniversaries of these momentous occasions.

However, I appreciate this date from a much more direct perspective, and that is the act of expressing gratitude. I’ve been observing more and more how the word “thanks” seems to be fading from our collective vocabulary. In a world where we get progressively more enamored with youth and being cool and carefree, the value of hard work that bares fruits in due course has increasingly lost status, to the point of becoming an outdated concept. Now, more often than not, the operating principles are shirking responsibility, cutting corners, finding the easy way out, etc. And the thing is, work and gratitude are intimately related concepts.

Time and again, popular expressions celebrate a job not done or done half-assed, rewards gotten through little or no expenditure, risk or even sweat. This absence of labor, of investing time, energy, love and effort translates itself into the absence of gratefulness. Things cost us close to nothing, so why give thanks. As used as we are to complaining and trying to get our ways, the forgotten art of gratitude and acceptance is at best dismissed as trivial, and at worst, discarded in a flurry of ego-driven entitlement, followed by the ubiquitous “whatever.” But really, it is that kind of attitude that makes energy vampires of us all, caring more about what we can take than what we can give, or at least how we can begin to even the score a little bit. What is it? Is it a lash-out to the inequities of government and wealth distribution? Something like “I’ll get what’s coming to me no matter what, and screw the rest?” Or is it the reasserting of adolescent rebellion? You know: teenagers usually resenting their parents for the boundaries they place, thinking that, at 13 or 19, they’ve already gleaned enough answers about the way things are, so as to be able to set their own limits, which usually are no limits at all. If we as adults are constantly looking at youth for that sense of “cool,” it stands to reason that we will inherit the good with the bad. We get bombarded by the media-driven propaganda of “whatever” and soon enough, it starts coming out of our mouths, without consciousness or thought, just another cool word in vogue.

I’ve been there from time to time. I’ve excused myself from doing the work, milking justifications dry. I've been a recurring participant, as I too struggle with desires not met, with responsibilities that knock at my door, forcing me to rise above, grudgingly, and answer the summons, but I'm waking up to value of actually earning my R&R. I’ve been thinking that the act of realizing what I have/gained and actually being grateful for it puts things into focus. Old-timers’ sayings like “idle hands are the devil’s playground” may have lost their motivational magic, along with their meaning, but deep down, pops knew what he was talking about.

Because there is value in work, in gratitude, in love and friendship, beyond the trite, the used up and the meaningless. It’s not just a feel good new age thing. It is what builds community, what draws human to human. Appreciation is the operating concept. I appreciate you being here. I appreciate you taking time out of your life to give a hand, to say a nice word, to pass along a smile. I appreciate the gifts I’ve been given. I treat others as I’d have them treat me. I focus on the positive instead of the negative, on what I have instead of what I don’t, the glass seen as half full.

We are really entitled to nothing. We are given: from the moment we’re born and we’re blessed with existence, we are given gifts and favors, in myriad forms and expressions. Not giving thanks, not appreciating, is just that: not appreciating. Not giving these their real value, not realizing their right worth. But when someone doesn’t cut you off in traffic, and instead lets you drive in front of them, that’s worth something. When your buddy helps you through a tough time, that’s worth something. When the world bestows warmth, shelter, nourishment upon you, that’s worth something. When the universe blesses you with a magnificent sunset, one that makes you aware of your minute place in space, of the awesome power of creation, of beauty, that’s worth something. Appreciation takes us out of the loneliness of our perceptions, of being trapped inside our bodies, and allows us to commune.

There is saying in Spanish: Lo cortés no quita lo valiente. This roughly translates to: courtesy does not take away from bravery. In other words, being courteous, showing your appreciation does not lessen you in any way. In my opinion, quite to the contrary, it heightens us, collectively, as a whole. It lets us all know that we're not superflous or invisible; we are seen, we are important, we belong, there is a place for us.

I appreciate you. I appreciate you taking the time to read through my words. I appreciate us being alive. I appreciate. Thanks.

endeavor to remove

dear life
i've tried. i've endeavored in comprehending.
i've put, time and again, all my efforts into understanding
and when the picture's finally clear,
when out of the haze at last a tangible image appears
my etch-a-sketch is shaken
a stone you drop into the pond of my vision
and once more you, dear life, get thrown into chaos
and me, unhinged, off-course, into despair

however, feelings are indeed a badge of honor
they are what certifies:
'this one's alive,
one of the chosen few who has chosen
to refuse to dissolve in the unfortunate ocean:
gray waters engulfing
the tumultuous multitude of human drops,
all the same, all in their drab little uniforms...'

so, yes, i'd rather freeze, a unique icicle
to be blown away in the gale,
or burnt away in an untamable flame of emotion,
only to retain what's essential, if but for a fleeting, doomed moment

but yours is the choice now...
time and again i've played my cards,
and maybe as i've been trying to understand you,
so have you tried to put your finger on me.
maybe it is i who gives in to my slippery nature
and swim away from your grasp.
but your lead now's quite clear, methinks,
you've shown how expectations
hopes, wishes and dreams
are naught but heights from where to fall
and, though no vow have i uttered to hold on to letting go,
i release you from my encumbrance,
from me, be free to go

i will remove my hooks
i will sever the ties that i've laced round my fate,
as precious as these to me may seem,
i will maintain radio silence
i will refrain from the thought
nay, the need
to check in on you, to think on your themes
to ponder when will i find my place within you
why do i feel so forsaken by you, by us, by me...

whatever you thought, though, know there is no game here.
artistry, pleasure, yes, need and desire,
but no more a game than a seance in trance, than the seer,
withdrawing from fated deck to reveal what's beneath,
what the undertow brings:
anxiety, craving, longing, maybe;
perchance the odd chance that you'd come around,
but not, no, no game here, my dear

i will only reserve the right to this heart on my sleeve
to dwell in the house of confusion, under the blade, still on the brink
many a parable's been written 'bout he who dove in too late
and if that'd be my fate,
i will take it in stride
i will relish the fact that at least i was alive
and i tried.
many a tale has been spun 'bout he who wasted away,
but in the depths of my heart, my gifts have been real,
even if not for the whole world to feel,
i've basked in the knowledge
of who i am, what i've done, what has moved me
how i love thee
and how, in your way, you've bestowed your love upon me

dear life
if it be your will
from my burden relieve yourself
as from hopes so will i
maybe in time, i'll wake up to realize,
from what happens to what is,
that the key to the prize was always inside,
and that in trying to see i've been blind,
that the mistakes have been mine.

Respond

respond
respond to the call to respond
respond to the will
respond to the thrill

respond to the leave
of my senses i've taken
respond to reopen
the trails once forsaken
respond to hold on
to the chances we dwell on
to answer the summons of heights never trod on

respond to reveal
to feel the gift, to reel
in time to steal a peek from what's real:
the trance, the dance, the chance to appeal
to reclaim the hill
to set heel to toe to this path
feel wrath and love and pain and zeal
and still, to return, to relive, to heal

to tread under guises
to rein in, to keep
the door's shut but a crack, a slight sliver, a peep
a see-through silk veil that uncovers what's plain
what's implied, right as rain
we respond in this way, for our hope to regain

set foot on this road, to meander
to find my way, to wander,
to stray under this beacon, to wonder
'bout wonders unspoken yet pondered
to go yonder,
beyond limits self-fostered
imagined and built, rock, brick and plaster
respond in an effort to master
diffuse this disaster
and move from before into after

respond
for no other reason than the need to respond
for no other reason
than the need
to respond

haunted

haunted oh so haunted
haunted by your face, your eyes, your smile
haunted by your words
haunted by your touch
haunted
by your ghost and mine
by the ghost of you and i
by the smile that left my face and shan't return
by the rain
by the sun
by my burning, with no peace and no right
by a world of indecision
hard choices and paths diverging
by the will to stay or walk away
by our moment
by your absence
by me, and the heavy load on my shoulders
haunted
oh haunted so.

the next move

walk
inching
approaching
the river's edge so inviting
green depths that beckon, calling me under
ponder no more
just go into it
c'mon
dive
sink
become the waters
head on
headstrong
slumber no more
but dissolve

swim
slipping
steal the last precious moments your lungs avail
and drift
smother out the babble
the ruckus solidifies in hearing
the cost of unheard warnings.
warming's the past, now,
become the cold
dissolve
drown
break down

invade
swallowing
liquid reality, so welcoming
seeping in
slipping,
sliding in farther
into darkness
becoming
darkening
heavy limbs thus reject now bygone movement
crystallized,
time fades into slow motion
a memory only,
an illusion of the world that was
dissolve
evolve
erode
become
just a passing thought of a world that was

J's top five - day two

Today's selection could be dubbed Exercises in subtlety, except for maybe the odd one out. It slowly did turn into that though, quite on its own, a current I decided to ride out. Today's harvest is also leaning towards the past a little bit; again, a bit unexpected, but if so, so what. Today’s is another eclectic collection of music, from 80's thoughtful pop, to rock, to disco and back again, all with some tasty bass performances. Other than the criteria I proposed at the beginning of my first list, there really is no motivation or formula to my choices than the desire to bring them to your attention. These are songs that are currently on my playlists and that I enjoy deeply. Perchance you will too (if there's a "you" out there).

Ok, let's get right to it
Number 5 is a timeless little artifact. From 1980's Never for Ever, Kate Bush's Egypt is a haunting piece, that breathes mystery, and conjures visions of pyramids and rituals, smells of howling desert winds. Kate soars through her exquisitely high register, combining her melody seamlessly with captivating counterpoints by the backing vocals. In rhythmic terms, she switches with mastery between 4 and 7 as the track swells and ebbs. Every time she hits that 7 – especially the last time around, which arrives after a climactic crescendo – the music becomes bewitching, in an enigmatic interplay between the soloing keyboard (or is it a guitar, I wonder) – featuring a sound I don’t feel dated at all, something hard to find in most 80’s music – the bass – mixed satisfyingly in the foreground, and powerfully leading the rest of band – and tasteful drums, that accentuate the song, bringing about a dramatic ending. And, almost as if affirming the song's evocative essence, metallic chimes and bells, hidden in the background, add depth to the textures. This song has been with me for years, disappearing only to get unearthed time and again, organically mirroring its theme, ecstatic, gorgeous and edgy.

Number four is a bass-guitar orgasm, plain and simple. Jamiroquai’s Don’t Give Hate a Chance, a cut from Dynamite (2005), is a real scorcher. To actually listen to it, first you have to resist the urge to just give in to the infectious groove and boogie down. Somehow, the challenge becomes to hold that energy, while at the same time becoming absorbed in the music. The trick for me is to let it invade from the feet up, but then anchor it in the ears; like in meditation, go back to the sound. It’s no secret that Jay Kay and company have been driving a disco revival since the early 90’s. In their arsenal of compositions, there are ample examples of accomplished rhythm and string sections, the right dose of electronica and the inspired exchanges between his vocals and the de rigueur female backup singers. This tune, however, just adds everything up oh so nicely. Great melody, meaningful lyrics, and at the center of everything is Derrick McIntyre’s amazingly complex, fast-paced and precise bass playing. He leads the verses with a very funky root-fifth back-and-forth, in ascending lines that are every bit as creative as they are hip; he resolves into the chorus, switching to a much rockier riff, while at the same time adding a little distortion to the sound, taking everything into overdrive. Later, toward to the end, when the rest of the instruments fall away a bit, letting the vocals and the bass play off each other, oh my god the licks he pulls out: just out of this world. Pure solid gold, I tell ya.

Following with today’s bass fixation, the next ditty features another memorable performance from the low end of the auditory spectrum. From Ben Harper’s Burn to Shine (1999), this issue’s number three is Alone. On this down-tempo, melancholy track, Harper does a wonderful job of transmitting angst in sedate, temperate way, imprinting the song with a clear message of slow burning sadness that courts but never quite becomes all-out desperation. In the tradition of Miles Davis, who knew exactly which notes to play on his horn, distilling the art of soulful sparseness, Ben’s solo, dished out through the ebow-magnetized strings of his guitar, is really an ode to tastefulness, a magnificent passage that beautifully enriches the melodic aspect of the tune, mirroring the sober, tender pain of his vocals. And, boy oh boy, the quality of Juan Nelson’s bassline is truly something: neither flashy nor flamboyant, it is clean, accurate and with just the right dash of complexity, to make a subtle statement of just impeccable elegance. This sonic painting is brought to completion by carefully chosen percussion: a triangle at the right moment, a splash that is like a soft brushstroke, a polyrhythmic hihat driving the song straight through. Sometimes things just come together; this is a brilliant example of just that kind of perfection.

Number 2 this time around, comes from a unknown band that had a short life and no real hits, I don’t think. An outfit out of Salt Lake City, of all places, Acroma’s Don’t Think Just Move was featured in the band’s 2003 debut Orbitals. This song stands pretty much alone in an album that is more grunge than anything else. It is a lovely tool-esque ditty, a piece that rises and falls with great artistry. Beginning delicately with a clear ride-and-rim-shot groove on the drums and a sweet bassline, the guitar slowly starts developing, first with the ebow, and then the pick, heavy on the delay, letting it breathe and evolve. The voice is also soft and tasty, taking its time to rise through the tune, along with the rest of the band, in a wave that progressively gathers strength, getting bigger and bigger, until it finally delivers us into an orgy of cymbals, a slight yet powerful storm in their sonic ocean. Buried in the mix are enticing keyboard lines that have a vaguely vocal quality, giving the whole landscape an hypnotic, magical aura. With the stoner vibe of The Door’s The End, the message of Don’t think just move is about letting go into an unhurried trance, eyes closed, body swaying in movements generated from one’s center.

Number one today was hard to pick. I had to think about it, mainly because, with the exception of Jamiroquai’s disco anthem, the rest of the tunes this time around - quite organically - have a certain subdued character, delivering their messages with a kind of assertive restraint, each taking their time to evolve into blooming sound landscapes that are never an all-out assault. I wanted number one, today, not only to be consistent with this essence, but to be a uniquely skillful expression thereof, and it finally came to me. In The Noose (Thirteenth Step, 2003) A Perfect Circle have created a near-perfect example of graceful collective collaboration. Music that is movingly beautiful mixes with the amazing poetry of singer/lyricist Maynard James Keenan, a hymn to personal responsibility and accountability for this new millennium. It begins almost like a whisper, sparse liquid drums slowly blending in with an electronic pulse, and Maynard’s soft and elegant voice. Slowly, effortlessly, the tune begins to build, soft parts flowing in and out of each other. Delay-tinged guitar parts come in to lay down delicate layers, progressively adding to the song’s thickness, until the drums solidify, Josh Freese’s technical nuances front and center. Only at the end of the song do we arrive at its full power. Distorted guitars are finally unleashed, backing vocals become a harmonic tapestry of calls and responses, drums are pounded, transforming the experience into a vibrant sonic collage that coalesces for only one of the tune’s near five minutes. Then, everything drops in an instant, leaving only the voice and a solitary, chorus-effected guitar, to close it all off, almost as mere witnesses. Did I really hear a song just now? A mirage, a soft suggestion, surely a figment of my imagination, only a dream, this was. Yet I am awake, delivered, and with the vague sense that a religious-like experience just happened.

Comments. Musical suggestions. Always welcome. Until next time, thanks for reading.

Nov. 4th, 2008: a night that changed the course of history.

God knows I lost my faith in politicians a long time ago. I’ve seen them look out for "number one," stab each other in the back and generally not give a shit about the people they so solemnly swear to represent and serve. The world over, power-hungry scumbags motivated by greed have prospered at the expense of those in their charge, yadda yadda yadda, so on and so forth. Then, why is it I am so moved by what just happened?

I have been enormously inspired by Barack Obama's victory in the U.S. presidential elections last night. I have been swept up in the energy of an historic moment happening hundreds of thousands of miles away. A more cynical observer would undoubtedly say, that is exactly what these campaigns are engineered to do: to get under your skin and move you intellectually and emotionally into backing such and such a person.

However, and especially for one such as I, that looks to The States with a passionate interest, and understands that, in this day and age, decisions made in Washington affect the entire globe, this turn of events, not entirely unexpected yet still surprising and deeply moving, spells the real opportunity for a new beginning, for a change. I find that three facts endow this auspicious event, which was crowned by a magnificent victory speech, with an aura of true possibility: 1. The horrible track record of his predecessor, George W., in what probably will be considered the worst two presidential terms in U.S. history, 2. The fact that Obama is the first U.S. president from a minority group, and 3. The fact that this election motivated this country’s largest voter turnout in decades. If the American people can defeat apathy and a history of racial prejudice to place their faith, as a nation, in the hands of an African American leader, then maybe it is true that anything can happen.

I’ve already begun to hear "buts" and caveats. Early critics, cynics and people who are still operating on outdated modes of thinking are already circling their wagons to address their concerns. From the other side as well, people who already put their money, energy and hard work where their mouths are, look at what happened last night with profound mistrust. The former cower in the face of a road that may mean digging into our pockets to alleviate a nation – and a world – that desperately needs it, in terms of social and environmental responsibility. The latter, view the president elect as yet another pawn, yet another version of the bourgeois system that will continue to perpetuate the relationship of haves and have-nots that keeps the rich getting richer and the poor oppressed underfoot. As valid as these views may very well be, I think they are missing the point of what really went on - or maybe it is I who is guilty of idealist blindness. Regardless, the message I gleaned was two-fold:

1. We are a global community in the XXIst century. More than ever, we are aware on a very personal and emotional level that what we do in our respective corners of the world affects all those around us, and will eventually come back home to roost. Somehow we have come full circle - or at least have begun to see that initial starting point as we turn the corner - relating to the wisdom that our native brothers have been trying to whisper in our ears from the time Europeans first begun to come to America, and even before that. One need only look at the words of Chief Seattle in 1854 to get a glimpse into their insight, and, mind you, it is a message shared by native peoples in the Americas, Asia, Oceania, etc.

2. The other factor is motivation. I witnessed a people, wide-eyed and overjoyed, looking at coexistence in a different, novel way. I saw people willing to take on the road ahead of them, not necessarily from the comfort of their own homes - or at least not entirely - and to take action to bring about a transformation. Obama's campaign ran on fresh ideas that include dialoguing with all the world leaders, even with those whose ideas run contrary to U.S. interests, and exploring new energy sources, even at the cost of alienating the powerful oil conglomerates. These are only two examples of a progressive approach that, in my humble opinion, has the makings of a paradigm shift, an propitious starting point deserving of this new millenium. Nevertheless, a great many points of view will have to be taken into account, many perspectives be swayed and refurbished, many endeavors fulfilled.

And so, the doubts of the non-believers and nay-sayers ring true, at least in the sense that this, again, is only the beginning, and the battles to bring about a change that is lasting and meaningful are uphill ones, beset by pressure and threats, temptation and apathy. This new leader must rise above all these, as must we. Together, from all corners of the world, we must truly coalesce into a united, global community, one that can tackle the huge messes our individual groups find themselves in, to be able to effect freedom, equality and the pursuit of happiness, holding a healthy spirit of individuality in our communion, and communal cause in our individual experiences.

And so, today, as I find myself inspired by this politician like none other before, I bring to you the words that Walt Whitman wrote in honor of another freedom fighter. How synchronous that these words pay homage to a man that fought and won the first meaningful struggle against slavery in the U.S., thus paving the road that delivers Barack Obama to the position he finds himself in right now. Whitman wrote to Abraham Lincoln:

O CAPTAIN! My Captain! Our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting...

As sacrilegious as it may seem, I dare add:
O captain! My captain! Only a respite in the journey this is;
The wind has died for naught but a passing spell, the sails will soon swell on;
The real quest will so begin, with all of us embarking...

Good luck to you, good man. Good luck to us all. YES WE CAN.
Thanks for reading. Blessed be.