Sparks from the Fire

A famous saying goes like this: “If the mind is not contrived, it is spontaneously blissful;  just as water, when not agitated, is by nature transparent and clear.”

Buddhism teaches us the following: “I often compare the mind in meditation to a jar of muddy water.

The more we leave the water without interfering or stirring it, the more the particles of dirt will sink to the bottom, letting the natural clarity of the water shine through.

The very nature of the mind is such that if you only leave it in its unaltered state, it will find its true nature, which is bliss and clarity.”

My mother, a dedicated Christian woman and accomplished healer, who knew nothing about Buddhism taught me the same thing when I was a child, only she was referencing prayer and not meditation.  She would often say, (more…)

I’m in Los Angeles on Watchfire Music business, a wall-to-wall meeting blitz with my partner, Jim Birch and LA staff planning out the coming year.  While on the plane coming out I once again considered the possibility of death – something that I don’t do with much regularity, but have certainly done a lot more of lately.

No, I’m not about to die, I’m healthy and productive, but the CD project I’m producing and writing now has got me pretty focused on the inevitabilities of life on Planet Earth.  When I got on the plane, I had to chuckle at myself as I considered the danger of what I was about to do for a moment.  I was about to fly through the air – for 3000 miles and then come down at just the right place – smoothly.

The CD project is called Goin’ Home, A Gospel Cantata — Reflections on Crossing Over and Beyond.  It’s a joyous look at death and heaven through the eyes of a number of classic Gospel traditional songs and an equal number of originals.

As I sat on the plane as it taxied down the runway, I went through my usual protective prayers knowing with complete positivity that God was over, under around and throughout that airplane, my mind turned once again to my beloved project as I faced the same danger that millions of people face every day now.  The question, “Could this be it?” came to mind for one fleeting instant and then was drowned out in a rash of denials and better focused positive thought.

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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…)

miracle, n, [L. miraculum, from miarai, to wonder at]
1. in theology, an event or effect that apparently contradicts known scientific laws and is hence thought to be due to supernatural causes, especially to an act of God.
2. a wonder or wonderful thing

Jenny Burton

The Miracle of Affirmation

affirmation, n
1. the act of affirming or asserting as true: opposed to negation or denial.
2. confirmation: ratification — antonym: grief

Jenny Burton grew up a foster child passed from family to family by four different sets of parents who all decided eventually that they just did not want her.  At the age of fourteen, flunking out of high school, verging on a life of no hope and the overwhelming obstacles of poverty in the South Bronx, she was led one Sunday to attend the small storefront church of the Reverend Josephine Richards.

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Let’s talk about failure for a moment.  In my experience, as well as for every other artist who tries to “make it”, perhaps the hardest part of dealing with one’s artistry is the problem of overcoming rejection.  Every artist faces rejection constantly and many eventually turn to something else because of their inability to handle it.  I face rejection constantly and have learned to know that it’s never my spiritual man that’s rejected, but rather just my mortal mistakes.

And ya’ know, those need to be rejected.  It’s my duty to uncover the errors and correct them so that they will have no future basis.

Rejection is not failure.  The only real career failure you can have in life  is to turn 80, look back and say, “I wish I had tried to do that — I wish I had attempted that journey.”  Now that’s failure.

I had a young man speak to me after a concert once who said that he wished he had taken the time in his life to learn to play the guitar and that he was sorry that he would never be able to play as well as I play.  Now he was on the verge of failure.

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In Alcoholics Anonymous they say, “Once and addict, always and addict.”  Though I deeply admire and respect the work of this organization, I’m here to say that this is just not true.  I know.  I proved it.

I was a marijuana junkie for ten years to the second.  Yes, a stoner.  Inflicted with reefer madness. )  I first got stoned New Year’s Eve 1969 at 12:00 midnight and I stopped for good New Year’s Eve 1979 at 12:00 midnight.  For the first three years I was what one might call a social smoker – weekends, parties, occasionally with a friend.  For the next four years, I was a full-blown junkie, getting stoned every day around 3:00 in the afternoon and staying stoned the rest of the day.  During that time I never really thought much about my addiction.  It was just something I did, something a lot of us did in the mid-seventies.

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I don’t get it. I know, it’s the $64 question, but I must not have the $64 in my pocket, because I can’t figure it out. If we are, in fact, spiritual man, right here and now, and if we are one with our Maker in His image and likeness, which I deeply believe, then how did I get here, sitting in this chair on this material earth still struggling with my mortality in the first place? Why do we need to go through this earthly experience at all?

I can’t opt in to the “be a good boy and when you die, you’ll go to heaven and live with the angels” concept. It’s just a little too human-fairytale an explanation for me in this digital age. I’m more for the “we have our own opportunity to make our own heaven here on earth and it’s up to us to work our way up the ladder (proverbial) back to our original (and ever-present) state of grace.” Whew!

I believe in a God of pure goodness, not a punishing God. I believe in a God of love and the Bible supports that when John says, “God is Love”.  So I figure if God is love, He, She or It is just that, love.  So I tap into that source whenever I can.

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In my religion we’re taught not to mourn the dead – primarily because we understand that life is eternal. This was not always the easiest concept for me to grasp, especially when someone close to me passed away.

When my dad died, that was probably the first whopper that I had to face. I was in my 30s at the time and remember taking the adjustment that he did not die, but instead moved to California and gave up his telephone.

This helped. Often, over the years we have had little visits in my dreams and I’m always grateful for those times together no matter how intangible they are.

Lately, dear friends seem to have been dropping right and left. So many, in fact, that I find myself feeling slightly accustomed to the experience. The Aids epidemic in New York where I live was a rough stretch also.

Working in the theater where there has always been a large gay population, I lost over a hundred friends and cohorts over time. That disease decimated several generations of hugely talented artists and changed the course of the American theater.

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