Your Eventual Ghost

If you have a conscience
Then you have a soul
That holds a place for
Your Eventual Ghost

We may not survive
Or live forever
But we are vessels
Place holding our soul

Our soul is our
Earthly heart
When we pass on
That's when we start


When we die
We only start
Our Eventual Ghost
Comes from our heart

I was raised in the Episcopal Church, and have read quite a bit of both the New and Old Testament. While these were written by some old dudes a long time ago – I think a book of morals is a good thing. I also think any religion that is based on The Golden Rule is great. But sadly – I gave up religion years ago due to so much hypocrisy and those who use religion for their political and other money making devious ventures. On top of that – fundamentalists and in your face bible thumpers just plain suck. No wonder churches are closing down right and left.

There is still a part in me that thinks – maybe – just maybe – there is something that is bigger than us ant like humans and that maybe there is at least some Devine or cosmic force in the universe. I say this because I can look at stars and the moon at night or just the beauty of nature during the day – or perhaps witnessing a kind loving gesture by a human being and then some of my erstwhile faith is restored. But man, its getting harder and harder it seems.

Nature makes me feel like there is a God – and humans make me feel like there is a devil. Just kidding (not kidding) – there are some really, really bad humans that have polluted this earth the last 5 or 6 years. Parading as saints no less. Charlatans Jesus threw out of the Temple . . . Throw in gun violence – and what a misery stew.

Any way – none of us live forever – so I have been reflecting on what we are and what a heart and soul is. No definitive answers – but it is an interesting thing to ponder every now and then.

I Was Born For The Stage

I might finally be over my fear of singing and thinking my voice is awful.

Here’s the funny back story of that last song. Michael Stipe, one of a handful of my favorite rock singers, used to love to do a bad Elvis impression. I thought, “What if I tried a Michael Stipe impression of him singing Elvis Style.

My wife and a few others said, no joke, it’s not terrible singing. I really do want to sing I’ve been deathly afraid of it …..

I was born for the stage
I was born to sing
Countless fans adore me
For my uncertain gift

My heart is on fire
I'm alight with desire
To paint the town red
Everyone is my friend

My adoring fans
Call me Saint
Its my singing
And the sounds that I paint

Nothing to Lose

I've always had nothing to lose
But never understood this
A young mans trepidation
Has now turned to unbridled bliss

I no longer care what people think
I'll be completely who I am
No more playing it careful
I just don't give a damn

The things I feared in youth
Are gone forever
I feel so free and alive
Since I learned to never say never

The Karma of Happiness

I just finished Jeff Tweedy’s short book “How to Write One Song”. While I don’t need exercises to write songs, I absolutely loved his description of his song writing process. He even addressed my “fear of singing” and he said he feels 1 in 5 songs he writes he likes. I feel like he’s a spiritual cousin because what he says I have felt the exact same thing.

Happiness comes from within
This we know as a child
We seem to forget
As we age for a while

I've been diagnosed
With Boyish Enthusiasm
Fever of Joie de Vie
The Happiness Spasm

How does it work?
Asked the doctor of mine
My answer was simple
Its all based on time

I greet each day
With a sun salutation
A nice cup of coffee
A mindfulness station

My mindfulness station
Is a clear mind from worry
I watch the sun rise
Then I let in the flurry

The flurry comes in
After looking at pictures
Places I've been
Maybe hardware fixtures

I try to see something
I hadn't before
In grand open vistas
Or cabinet doors

It never fails
That an old photograph
Of something from nature
(Or not) makes me laugh

I conjure the absurd
The crazier the better
I ask silly questions like
What if doorknobs wore sweaters?

Add in the fact
That I make junk art
Called Assemblage
Made of old rusty parts

These rusty parts
Are treasure to me
In each part
There is so much to see

All of this banter
During my first cup
It all came to me after
Just waking up

This happens again
When the sun's going down
Without coffee
And stillness abounds

I clear out my mind
Put my thoughts on a shelf
Take a deep breath
Think of nothing else

This cycle repeats
Every single day
Its a daily practice
Like how Abbey Monks pray

I greet each day
With a sun salutation
A nice cup of coffee
A mindfulness station

No Pedigree

I've got no pedigree
What you get is what you see
I went to State College
No expensive University

I've got no pedigree
My parents Won the War
They were uneducated
Yet opened many doors

I've got no pedigree
Boat loads of common sense
What pedigreed people lack
I have as recompense

The Bubble

Nobody makes you happy
It comes from yourself
You get what you give
It doesn't come from
Somebody else

Nobody makes you happy
It seems like a struggle
At first it seems like work
Until one fine day
You break your bubble

Nobody makes you happy
Except your own open mind
Once freed from your trap
Your openness
Attracts those who are kind


Happiness does not
Come knocking at your door
That's not what happiness is for
Happiness wants to be your friend
You reap what you sow in the end

If you don't succeed at first
Make the effort and keep on trying
Shed no tears let others do the crying
Happiness wants to be your friend
You reap what you sow in the end

The journey is always the award
The effort is what happiness is for
Your success opens new doors
Happiness wants to be your friend
You reap what you sow in the end