Author: Philo

human

Music

There’s a magic to music. Take the time to find it. If you don’t play, then listen. Listen closely. In the pieces it can be heard. That is, the feeling of the musicians and their abilities, their willingness to listen to each other.

Music can be ignored but it cannot be dismissed. There are those times when playing, sometimes late at night on a stage to an empty club, drunks at the bar, no one paying any attention, TV’s blaring, when the magic happens. It might be between the bassist and the drummer, or the guitarist hitting a particular note at a particular time.

Music can be analyzed and understood and still be an allusive and rare species. There are many pathways to “it” but “it” changes. “It” is not a destination or a goal, just a temperamental touch of time in a passing slice of space. There are people who are musicians and there are people who are able to play music. The difference is the ability to recognize the magic when it happens, if it happens, and to be able to tell the difference.

Music is a language that takes a lifetime to learn it is one of the few things that is actually worth it.

Evil

At the animal shelter of any town or city one can see, firsthand, the final results of ignorance and greed, of those that bring down the rest of us, that take away the good in a community. It is easy to recognize and difficult to face. There is no place for cynicism or complacency. It is there, staring you in the face with frightened eyes, or anger, or defeat, and even hope.

It could be that those that create the need for these places have reasons to feel forlorn, forgotten. It could be that they themselves were or are abused. It could be many things that bring an individual to break a spirit, or to answer a hopeful look with a violent attack. It could be drugs. It could be depression. But there is one thing that it could not be; that is, it could not be a person.

A person wouldn’t create an innocent and broken spirit. A person would not cause panic and pain. A person would not do the things that it takes to create an being that no longer wants to be a part of the world that it has been thrown into. A person could not look at the faces at an animal shelter and feel nothing, feel a disconnect, or feel the need to inflict even more evil.

And that is what it is. Evil. There is no other word, no other concept. Evil is not given to humanity, it is made. It is in the faces of those that have experienced it. At the animal shelter of any town or city one can see, firsthand, the final results of evil.

All the While

Perspectives change and change they should. The bubbles that we live in daily are facades, they are buildings that we have erected and have been erected for us. every brick shields us from the ever-changing reality that just sometimes becomes too much. They are so much a part of our lives that we hardly notice them. After time they themselves become our realities.

We all love our own perspectives. they are, after all, those things that define us. This, we are told, is the ultimate goal of life: to build a lovely life filled with good things and to like ourselves. And this is the goal as long as it is not at the cost of all else. Perspectives exist within a reality and they have consequences within that reality. They affect that reality and visa-versa. That is how it should be.

But perspectives have a way of creating their own realities. They have a way of shielding us from things that might change them, that might change the way we think. They have a way of parenting our decisions, and holding an ever-protective defense over our eyes. And while this happens and we go about our lovely lives filled with good things, the bricks are laid.

Soon we forget who we are and what we are, and we don’t realize what we’ve become. Good and bad cease to have meaning outside of our own opinions. Arguments become ideologies and reality becomes what we want it to be. And all the while…

The Cowboy

The cowboy’s life is sometimes a hard one. He stays up night worrying about the days.

And when the light comes over the horizon he promises himself to mend his ways.

And the years roll by like the highway beneath him and he knows he’s been trying to hide.

Hide from the truth that life is mistreating and it’ll beat you down until you cry.

He’s been taught that crying is wrong and he’s been told to lie is a sin.

He believes that there’s someone somewhere who will on day understand just where he’s been.

The cowboy knows that time is sacred and he knows that life is short.

The cowboy feels each heart that’s broken and he cries a tear.

So if your a cowboy that tired of fighting and you feel that life has let you down.

Find a road that leads you somewhere and wait for the good to come back around.

Because life’s not fair for the cowboy but life doesn’t care who you are.

Life goes on for the cowboy, but he never knows just how far.

Helping

There is something about helping that can raise the spirits, make the world seem brighter. Even if it is a thankless thing, an anonymous hand that pulls the string, a minute to stop is all it takes.

Don’t expect to be thanked. Don’t expect the world to stop and graciously bow before your helping hand. Don’t expect anything but know that it does make a difference. Just look in the eye of that dog you stopped to help, or that cat that needed a hand. Just look in the eye of that person.

Money, yes, but better is time. Help by giving your time. If you can, give as much as you can. It’s amazing how fulfilling, how wonderful, and how life opens up when you give that thing that we all take for granted. Time is amazing.

Do what you can. Do what is needed. Do the right thing. Give the world your time and smile as the warm feeling of happiness fills you. Help til you’re tired. Help until you need to help others. Help yourself.

Help is that sort of happiness that so many don’t believe exists. Help them to understand that it truly does. It truly does.

Pay Attention

Don’t let a phone get in the way of looking at someone while they talk. Visit with the flesh and blood sitting in front of you. Share their smile or grimace. The picture doesn’t matter. The text can wait. Turn off the ringer. There is nothing more important than that person that you are sharing a minute, an hour, a day with. There is nothing on that screen that can give you as much or that you can learn more from.

That small, magical box is Pandora’s. Let her have it. Give it away freely. Forget about it. Let the battery run dead and find your life once again. People are flesh and blood, and they have given you their time. The silicone and plastic, the oil and electricity soaked entertainment takes your time and sells you an illusion. Put it down. First for an hour, then a day. Then a week.

It’s worth the pain. Don’t look at it while it sits and lures you in the the fake imagination and shiny promises of a preacher. Let the wires retract from your veins and let the sun shine through the backlit LED lies that flash so quickly as to not be seen. Don’t be fooled. Be bored. Don’t look for information. Find knowledge. Find yourself. Find what friends used to mean.

Pay attention to the moment. Pay attention. Now.

Search for Truth

Happiness is fleeting and probably overrated. This seems cynical but it is not meant to be. We in the west tend to desperately desire to be happy, all of the time. In Denmark, rated the world’s happiest country for several years in a row, the question was asked: how? How is Denmark so consistently happy?

The answer: lower your expectations. This also seems cynical, but it is not. The truth does not always lead to happiness. It does not always feel good or adhere to your particular ideology. The truth is often in simple statements. The truth is often simple and most often does not meet our personal expectations. It does not always give us what we want. But it is the epitome of human existence, at least that part of human existence that matters.

But what is this truth? What is this concept that matters so much?

True, justified, belief is the short answer. But there is one other possible answer. Consider it.

Truth is the quality of the relationship between an idea of a thing and the thing itself.

The search for truth is an unending process to raise that quality, the quality of our thinking and of our thoughts. We must raise the quality of that relationship. The search for truth leads down dark paths and contemplative nights but the search for truth is our only justified means. It does not rely upon happiness, but it is perhaps the only way of lowering our expectations.

True to Yourself

What should I do?

What should I be?

Where should I go?

These are the questions that children ask their parents and that parents ask themselves. We all want answers. Answers range, but narrowly. “Follow your heart” is a popular but platitudinous answer, dripping in emotion and vague. So what is left?

Truth. But truth comes at a high cost. Not that it is not worth it. It is, but it takes a lifetime. And it takes failure. Truth demands that the “heart” take a backseat. Truth demands questions. And truth changes. It depends upon situations and perspective.

Truth starts simple enough, with a belief. But then things get difficult. We have to justify the truths that we find. Others demand it and we demand it from ourselves. The first lesson is that we must be true to others. The second lesson is that we must be true to ourselves.

Don’t misunderstand. We cannot live for others. We cannot live for our children or our spouses. But we must be truthful with them. Being true to yourself, well…that’s another thing altogether. We may tell the truth to those we care about, but we easily lie to ourselves.

Being true to yourself takes courage and will often lead you to places unknown and surprises not thought about. Anyway, in the end what else is there but truth. It is the only thing that matters.

The Necessity of Normal

This last year was, of course, not normal. But that goes without saying…or does it. Over dinner a long time friend comes over and we hug in the doorway. We don’t think about it. We sit and talk and eat for over five hours and the time goes by quick, in a blink. Before we know it we are saying goodbye. But before we do we realize that such things are no longer normal. They need to be normalized. And that takes work.

While we sit and during dinner the normalcy of our situation slowly pours over us. It’s syrupy sensation is warm and inviting but my friend is heavy in thought even though he doesn’t say so.

“You know, I use to think that bad people were the outliers.” he says. “I thought that good people outnumbered the bad. I thought that moral people were the norm and that those that didn’t care about others were psychopaths. You know…I don’t know…like someone who does something heinous. But, I don’t know anymore.”

The conversation went silent while my friend gathered his thoughts.

“I’ve always considered myself an optimistic, a hopeful person. I’ve always thought the best, I thought that the good guys win…”

He told me a story of people on his flight acting like children because their connecting flight had been cancelled. We talked about the inevitable, about T**** and about the Republicans and the people that continue to support him.

“Is it that?” I asked.

“No, maybe. I think it was the pandemic. It just seemed like common sense that everyone would do what it took to be safe. Why the fuck not just wear a mask?!” he exclaims. “Maybe everyone, most people not everyone, is simply not that good. That’s a fucked up thing to say I know. I don’t know.”

He sits on the couch in thought and sip my scotch. Before we know it we are saying goodbye. but before we do we realize that somethings are no longer normal. They need to be normalized. And that takes work.

The Waiting Game

There is no doubt about it, it is a strange mix of happiness and sadness. Seeing the motorcycle sitting silently in the garage, patiently awaiting me to flick the key and push the starter button. It has the patience of a motorized saint. It knows the day will come. It knows somehow. And I know as well. It sat, dirty, after the 6600 mile trip for a few days…for a few. But then I washed it and polished and put it back in its place, beside the wall in the garage to wait for the next time.

The adventure came to an end, a pause in between paradise. I see the handlebars just over the hood of my truck as I slowly make my way into the garage, squeezing the large truck in between the motorcycles and the other car. It is strangely silent when I turn the key off. I’ve found myself walking over and just staring at the bike, sometimes I start it just to hear the engine. One day the maps will come back out, just for fun, and routes will be considered and then I’ll know the time has come again. It might take months or days, or maybe hours.

Touring on a motorcycle is really simple. That is, if you want it to be. A few bags, a tent, a loose plan. Go alone for the most freedom. Riding a motorcycle alone is talking to yourself in your helmet as the hours whiz by with the wind and the road in your ears. There are many good conversations to be had inside a helmet. You are really never alone. Riding alone is stopping when you want and riding into the night.

Touring on a motorcycle, the complexity of life disappears. Simple things at home become more simple. Instant oatmeal and a pour-over mug of coffee is all it takes to jump start the day. Dinner is just as simple, cooked on a one-burner camping stove in a single pot. Two wheels, not four, no glass, just the wind and the rain and the cold and the heat. Go or don’t go. Sleep or don’t sleep. Either way your two-wheeled ticket to freedom will wait. Just as it does in the garage. It knows the waiting game well. Silently, knowing that the time will come when you will have to feel alive again. To feel human once more. To wonder and to laugh out loud inside the illusion of safety as you lean into turns and watch the world go by in a blur.