Sparks from the Fire

This is Part 4.  If you haven’t yet read Part 1, 2 & 3, I highly suggest you do so first.

He was a chicken.  I don’t mean he was afraid to do things; I mean he was really a chicken.  Well, not in all actuality, but he was acting a chicken.

Let me explain.

I was performing at the Waldorf Astoria Hotel Ballroom in some unremembered benefit back in the days when I did such things, and after I had finished my act, the stage manager asked me if I’d like to see the rest of the show.  I said that I would and during the blackout and set change for the next act I was quickly led to a front row table right smack at the stage proscenium.  I was so close to the next act that the comedian could have stepped on my head if he wasn’t careful.

I was not, this time, literally ‘in the wings’, but I was so up close and personal that it felt like it.

I do not remember the comic’s name, but I will never forget his act.  It was hilarious and he kept the audience howling with hysterical laughter for a full ten minutes.

Like I said, he was a chicken.  He was totally committed to being a chicken and, of course, he had to be.  His act was so ‘out there’ that he would have bombed horribly if he had not been so committed.  In it, he chicken-scratched, he rooster-strutted, he hen-squawked, he flapped his wings, he clucked, he gave us the best “cockadoodledoo” I’ve ever heard and he chickened about the stage in a total frenzy for the full ten minutes.  What’s more, he wore no chicken costume at all.  Just a man in his pants and shirt, but he impersonated a chicken before our very eyes.  (Or perhaps he imchickenated a person when he finished his act.)

About the only thing he did that was un-chicken-like was that he sweated.  Oh my god did he sweat.  This comic was workin’ the house and was chickening so deeply that he must have lost ten pounds in ten minutes.  The sweat flew off him like he was in the shower and any number of times flew right on me as I sat, fascinated and wet.  I’ve seen men do this in the last frantic minutes of an overtime basketball game, but never such a constant shower on stage – and I’ve never had, before or since, the ‘privilege’ of taking part in anything resembling that shower of activity.

I don’t remember ever laughing.  I remember thinking that he was really funny, and being aware of the audience roaring almost continuously, but laugh myself?  Not.  I was too fascinated with the caloric burn, the intense mad workout and the tsunami-like proportion of his effort as the sweat flew off him like feathers.

I remember thinking that I was glad that I had never chosen to be a comic.  For such a funny thing, it’s just hard work!  He was a big man, which made his particular chicken character even funnier, of course.  He was so committed that I wondered how long, when he finally got off stage, it would take him to transform back into a human being.  Perhaps they had a big bowl of chicken feed and water waiting for him back in his dressing room. (more…)

I’ve always loved Christmas songs.  Who hasn’t?  They are iconic references and symbols of one of, for most of us, one of the real highlights of childhood – and then we get to repeat it all in a slightly different fashion as parents years later.  These songs take us through these enchanting times and play in the background like a movie score.

Previous to this month I had only ever written one Christmas song – a song recorded by the Jenny Burton Experience called Christmas In My Soul.  They say, in the music business, that the month of June is the month to write and begin one’s Christmas album, the preparation of such to be around 5-6 months.  Who can write Christmas songs in June?  What a silly notion.

This year the Missus has come up short in her search for the perfect Christmas song for her Christmas Day performance in church.  She had decided to employ a terrific Boston harpist and together with her organist, Bryan Ashley, keep it small and delicate in accordance with the spiritual implications of the morning.  Last year she used a brass quintet plus the church four manual pipe organ and blew the roof off, so this year she wanted to do something completely different.

But no song came to mind to fit the criteria.

While watching her go through her turmoil, I happened to mention one day several weeks ago that perhaps I could write one for her.  This was said in a fit of compassion for her plight while I was in the middle of the mad dash of the final throes of my own CD, Goin’ Home.

Seeing a light at the end of the tunnel, she grabbed at the offer and signed me up.  At first I thought, “Oh no, what have I gotten myself into?”  Where would I ever find the time to do this? (more…)

I have no idea what it means to be enlightened, but I’ve seen the light enough to know that that’s what I should be doing here – what I should be living for. Does it mean that I should go off and live on a mountaintop somewhere? I hope not. I think not.

I’m probably far too caught up in the minutiae of daily life now. Founding and building a company, Watchfire Music, is a task that takes inordinate amounts of my time and energies and sometimes I go weeks without even thinking of the word.

Then again, I live my life these days considering the many ramifications of Inspiration so I like to think that I’m somewhere on the road to enlightenment.

I just have no idea how long that road is and how far it is that I have to go. There aren’t a lot of roadmaps to buy and I don’t have a GPS system to point me the way.

Well, then again, maybe I do.

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My son, Dustin, was 8 years old when the heavy steel front door of our apartment smashed his finger.  He was leaving for school, and sometimes when the terrace door is open up here on the 38th floor, there is a wicked compression that happens and doors slam all through the place – especially the front door.

His scream had me running through the living room immediately.  The finger was still caught in the door when I arrived and Dust stood in shock just looking back and forth between me and where his finger disappeared between the steel door and the door jam. I quickly reopened the door and let his finger out.

It didn’t look good. The finger from the first joint to the tip was already bright red and turning a wicked purple and swelling immediately to twice its size. He was horrified and began to scream again. The thought immediately struck me, “How could his finger have possibly fit between door and jam?” There was only 1/8 to 1/4 inch of space between.  The picture in my imagination of his finger caught in that narrow space was not pretty. (more…)

My own personal definition of God has changed rather dramatically over the last several decades.  I was never formally taught to believe in an anthropomorphic God, rather a God that is Love, Life, Principle, Truth, Mind, Soul, and Spirit.  However, growing up in America, or perhaps even in this world of television and public schools and diverse peoples, it was inevitable that I should accept a God of Him or Her or Father or Father-Mother.  So when I prayed, it was also inevitable and perhaps forgivable that I would pray to an anthropomorphic concept – not exactly that guy in the sky with a long white beard, but often somewhat close to that.  World thought seeped into my little brain and I gradually took on an anthropomorphic concept whether I wanted to or not.

Sistine Chapel

Around 25 years ago I had my first rock the boat experience working with my religious teacher where my God concept was so severely challenged that it shattered and broke to smithereens.  At the time it was a devastating experience.  Looking back, it was, of course, a great turning point in my life and actually spurned a huge amount of growth on my part because I needed to have my false concept exposed and done away with.  For a couple of years I even stopped praying because I had no idea who or what I was praying to.

Gradually, through study, meditation and certainly a form of prayer, I built back my concept of God on a different and more scientific and, you might say, natural gut level.  I took great steps to eliminate that “guy in the sky” concept from my understanding as much as possible.  I stopped using the gender words of He or She in reference and decided that in this English language, God would simply be, for me, an It.  I changed my prayers from requests basically to acknowledgements – acknowledgements of gratitude, acknowledgements of infinitude, acknowledgements of goodness, etc.

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Not so long ago I wrote a posting called “He’s One Of Mine” and in it, I played with the idea that God is the same God of all religions. I received the following reprimand soon after the posting:

“Jesus said, ‘I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life, no one comes to the Father, except through Me.’ So… the god of Buddha (or Mohammed, or Confucious (sic), or any other religion) is NOT the same as the GOD of JESUS. They are completely different, and all religions do NOT lead to God. The only way to get to heaven is through a RELATIONSHIP with Jesus Christ who died for our sins. HE IS THE ONLY WAY. ~God Bless ! — Beth Lightle”

Posted by Beth on Tuesday, April 07, 2009 – 7:27 PM

First of all, Beth Lightle, thanks for taking the time to write in. A little controversy is always good for the soul. It keeps us alive and thinking. Though I doubt that you think your thoughts are controversial judging by the number of caps in your missive. You’ve made it clear here that you’re absolutely sure of yourself.

I too am a huge fan and follower of this man Jesus. I’ve spent my life studying the Bible and especially his words and teachings, and have used these teachings to better my life, to heal and be healed. I do not in any way discount his statement, “I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life, no one comes to the Father, except through Me.” I only slightly interpret the words in a different light than you do. When he says, “…except by me.” I take that to mean, ‘by my teachings, or by the truths that I teach.”

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“I always thought I should be treated like a star.” – Madonna

“Fame is fickle and I know it. It has its compensations, but it also has its drawbacks and I’ve experienced them both.” – Marilyn Monroe

“Now there is fame!  Of all — hunger, misery, the incomprehension by the public — fame is by far the worst. It is the castigation of God by the artist. It is sad.  It is true.” – Pablo Picasso

If you fail to succeed in any case, it is because you have not demonstrated the life of Christ, Truth, more in your own life…” – Mary Baker Eddy, Science and Health

I find it interesting to note that Mrs. Eddy says nothing here about money, glory, good reviews, or fame. I personally have experienced all four of the latter, and I can’t say as I have gotten much of anything out of the four. The money, I spent — the glory, only served to confuse my ego — the good reviews, no matter how good, were never good enough, — and the fame — well, let’s just say, “it was all a bit on the hollow side.” in fact, let me tell you my favorite story about fame.

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