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Author Topic: How To Stay Sane  (Read 17754 times)

Roy J. Tellason

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How To Stay Sane
« Reply #15 on: March 17, 2005, 03:13:58 pm »

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Hey Roy!

Yeah, I think we've traded emails, privately and publicly, on Libertarian Enterprise.  Then I went to visit family in Texas and kinda wandered off as I tend to do. 

Thought that was you...  :-)

Yeah,  I remember you saying something a while back about heading out to go do something or other.

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Also, I have a new roomie now.  My last one had to move due to a new job.  She took our comp with her.  So I had to buy a new one. The only one I could afford is the piece of junk I'm using now.  This comp is old and has a lot of problems.  In fact, I paid about $80 for it, yet I've spent over a couple of hundred in trying to get it to work right!

(Even worse is that about the only things that have helped were things I got for free!  In the world of computers, I have found that the best help is often free, and that which you pay for is often the bullet you're about to shoot into your own foot, so to speak.)

Well,  my email address hasn't changed,  and I'm real easy to find.  Shoot any tech-type questions at me if you want,  or use the tech forums here,  there's a bunch of pretty knowledgeable folks around here.

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I haven't been on LE for awhile.  I hope to get back to that.  Hopefully, if what I'm doing this weekend has the desired effect, my comp will work faster (and not annoy me so much) and I'll get back on LE, too.  Uh, oh.... I don't think I've been in the account I use for LE (I started a new account to deal with the traffic/number of threads shortly before I went on that long road trip), and it might have vanished.... I'll check later. 

If it's through yahoo you can re-activate an account that's gone inactive,  as mine did for a while.

What,  no library access around where you're at?
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How To Stay Sane
« Reply #16 on: March 19, 2005, 09:00:55 pm »

Yes, somedays I think it would be better to just chuck it all and go completely outlaw.

(Tom Petty and Jeff Lynne)

Well I started out down a dirty road
Started out all alone
And the sun went down as I crossed the hill
And the town lit up, the world got still

I'm learning to fly, but I ain't got wings
Coming down is the hardest thing

Well the good ol' days may not return
And the rocks might melt and the sea may burn

I'm learning to fly, but I ain't got wings
Coming down is the hardest thing

Well some say life will beat you down
Break your heart, steal your crown
So I've started out for God knows where
I guess I'll know when I get there

I'm learning to fly, around the clouds
But what goes up must come down

 
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Come a day there won't be room for naughty men like us to slip about at all...So here is us, on the raggedy edge. Don't push me, and I won't push you.
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Elias Alias

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How To Stay Sane
« Reply #17 on: March 22, 2005, 03:37:59 am »

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But my big thing is music.  
(snip snip snip)
And that's how I keep my sanity, such as it is, for the time being.   :P
Dervish, I could relate to your spontaneous reactions to music. Perhaps music is one of the surest methods by which anyone can reinforce one's sanity. Your post put me in mind of something which I've of late let slide into my background, but which used to be foremost in my consciousness, that being: total responsiveness to live music. (Lately, I've been working too much, methinketh, and have not let myself "go" as readily as I always have in the past, and maybe, your post suggests to me, I should pause right now to re-evaluate that in myself.) Music has played a huge role in the formation of my "General" consciousness, lol.  So I'm wanting to be playful here now, and reflect off your post with a twist of my own, 'K? That was quite a lengthy post you've put up here, and I must confess that it struck me as a challenge. You see, it's one of my pet projects in life to be the maker of the longest posts at TCF boards, and I can't have you running around here making posts which could be longer than my own.  :) I'm sure you understand; therefore, I'm gonna bomb you with this old piece which is not really worth the time it takes to read it completely, but which should manage to get me in here with more words than your post, lol, so here ya go....

~

"Younger Women"  
 
 
(writing January 01, 2002 (01 02 2002), in Southwest Montana... through January 05, 2002. In hopes Andrea and Holly are pleased.)
 
~  
 
"It is the writer's privilege to help man endure by lifting his heart." William Faulkner  
 
~  
 
"Landslide" is one of The Mental Militia's "house bands". Landslide is Rob on lead guitar, Tim on keyboard, Travis on drums, Patrick on bass, and Erin on guitar and lead-vocals. Rob also doubles as lead singer and as backup singer. All of ?em are in their twenties, talented, and wonderful.  
 
And me? I'm the band's "spiritual advisor". Teehee.  
 
Funny thing is, all the little shits seem to like me, and they let me visit during their practice sessions. Sometimes they take me out on the town. I think they are beautiful. Not a one of them minds that I'm a long-bearded old coot who runs his mouth too much. They make me feel welcome, like I'm part of the family. And that is just how I feel about them. Family.  
 
I met them through a "Rockin' The Rivers" dude named Walter_bark. He runs the sound board at their shows. Walter_bark is of the generation between that of myself and that of Landslide, being about halfway between my fifty-six years and the band's average age of twenty-two. He has no car. Well, to clarify that properly, his last girlfriend has his car in Idaho, the one that runs, and ain't into delivering it to him here in Montana. His other car is an experiment in automotive death-transcendence, sitting out at Art's place with a motor which will run fine but with a body which will not. It sorta reminds me of me. I wage a hundred revolutions against the national government on any day, but my lazy ass won't follow through on what my mind comes up with! (So far....) So I drive Walter_bark to all of Landslide's shows in my borrowed car. (Thanks, Anonymous!)  
 
As y'all know, I am an unemployed poet. For nearly forty years I've known that whatever I've written called "poetry" is anything but. Still I try. What I really am is a "reader". But any reader might try his hand at writing, and I just love literature, and I especially love poetry, so I put in a devastating volume of hours banging away at the keypad. Nothing seems to come of it. However, and to my great astonishment and reconciliation, the abstract, vague lines and strained metaphors I write, the seemingly un-related odds and ends, the lack of unity or cohesion in my thought patterns, those and a hundred other idiosyncrasies which anoint in vanity my efforts at writing a decent poem, frustrating as they all are to me, seem to be just what Landslide wants from my worn-out old ass.  
 
~  
 
I was sitting in the Willow Creek Café and Saloon some weeks ago, having a nice glass of scotch and water. (No malt this time.) Yvonne the barkeep asked me, "Say, Elias, don't you hang around with that band called Landslide?"  
 
"Sure do."  
 
"Thought so. Well, the owner was sayin' the other day that he'd like to have them play here for New Year's Eve."  
 
"You know they charge a hefty fee to sit up their shit, right? Does the owner think he'll bring a good enough crowd out here to cover the costs?"  
 
Willow Creek, I should point out, is at the far end of a long road out of Three Forks, Montana, well off the beaten trails in Southwest Montana, and it is a micro-small town. It is a dead town which refuses to die altogether. But "Montana Rose" lives there. (Say you haven't heard of her? Well, hang on, ?cause I'm gonna introduce this board to her this year. She has a great band and a huge following here in Montana, and has five CDs out.) There is one art gallery, one Saloon, a post office with twenty-four-hour box access, as nobody delivers mail in that town. There is no gas station, one church, and probably less than seventy souls living there. There is no sheriff, no policeman, and no traffic signals, though the town does have several street lights.  
 
But like so many of the finer Saloons in Montana, the Willow Creek Café and Saloon and many other good ones are way out yonder in the brush, across the landscapes, tucked into the textures of the Rocky Mountains and those valleys hosted by the mountain ranges. People from all around will drive long rides through sage and over mountain passes to hit a good Saloon.  
 
Aside from that, there ain't shit to do here. If you live here, that is. For people coming and going, there's a lot of things to do, such as elk hunting or skiing, horse-packing or white- water rafting. Montanans do all those things too, of course, but for them it ain't a vacation, it's life.
 
Yvonne made a mental connection.  
 
"Hang on just a minute. Dean's in the back right now. I'll go get him and you two can talk it over."  
 
I lit a cigarette and sipped my scotch and water. Presently she returned with the owner. "Hi, I'm Dean" he said, extending his hand. "Name's Elias", I handed it back to him with a shake. Then I said, "Yvonne mentioned that you might be wanting Landslide to play your Saloon on New Year's Eve."  
 
"That would be very nice. You in the band?"  
 
"Nope, not really. I'm just their spiritual advisor. But if you give me your card I'll have ?em call you."
 
Well, that all worked out, and on December 31, 2001, Landslide did indeed play Willow Creek. Like, as in *playing* Willow Creek! Wow, the band took the standing-room-only crowd and used them all together to shake the walls.  
 
As Dean told me later, and the staff had already brought up to me, nobody was ready for the crowd which Landslide produced at that Saloon that night. The Saloon was caught by surprise, to their good and satisfying joy. The waitresses were swamped, the kitchen got maxed out, the bartenders needed ten clones to keep up with pouring demands from the crowd. And Landslide had ?em all swayin' and sashin', beating their feet, dancin', happily bullshitting loudly as they wiggled and waved. It was a really lively party, and the Saloon was not prepared for so many folks in there at one time. (Even Rawhide from the Land of Magic Saloon in Logan was there, and with a date to boot). But none of that mattered as the evening sprinted by on high spirits. Everyone in that place had a wonderful time. Every one. I know. I was at stage-edge all night, taking it all in, bringing Travis or Tim beers, giving Rob feedback on what the board was doing, except.....  
 
The unexpected happened.  
 
Travis' girlfriend, Holly, being all of twenty-two years old and beaming, home from out-of-state college for the holidays, came up to me and put her arm around me and asked me to dance.  
 
Holy shit! I haven't danced in prolly thirty years or more! The whole idea of it was foreign to me. I love music, and have successfully wrecked major portions of my life by chasing around with musicians, and was once, as I recall, able to physically dance. But I had internalized the world within myself long ago, and lived more in the metaphysical rather than the physical reality. (My version of psychedelic fallout, eh?) It dawned on me, from the radiance on this woman's face and the deliberate and celebrative fires which danced wild and free in her proud eyes, that I had forgotten *how* to dance!  
 
Time for a little wizardry.  
 
I had long ago read "Journey To The East" and "Steppenwolf", both by Hermann Hesse. Harry Haller is forever a character in my soul. And as any awake soul knows, spirituality is a journey to the soul, a transcending of earthly concerns for the purpose of embracing the refined vibrations of the spiritual realms, and the journey of awakening into that level of reality with one's soul, the realization of it, is blissful heaven in the esoteric sense. I instantly recalled, as Holly urged and tugged at me to dance with her, the musician Pablo from Steppenwolf, who would hand Harry some little white magic sticks and suggest as a guide and as a friend that Harry find his way back to being able to dance.  
 
I put that together with recall of some points from A Course In Miracles by the Foundation For Inner Peace out of California. Points such as the quintessence of the "miracle" being the absolution of time spanning a beginning and an end in any and all process of Nature. In other words, and as an unrelated example, if one can get rid of the "time" between one's declaring that one is going to stop smoking and one's actually having not smoked for x amount of time, one may successfully presume to have indeed quit smoking. The miracle says that one never did smoke, has no scar tissue or residue on the layers of psyche, no tar buildup in the lungs, no karmic memory or unconscious guilt, and that when one quits smoking one then sees that the past never happened. One does not smoke, and one, this one, the new one who lives in only the present, never did smoke. Therefrom ensues the essence of forgiveness, by the way. Forgiveness is seeing clearly that there is nothing to forgive. Not smoking is simply seeing that one never did smoke, and that one is now "new" and has taken over the life of the former, the one which did smoke. :)  
 
But everything which, ostensibly, such gibberish concludes, is this: there stood I, one worn-out old beatnik and unemployed-poet frighteningly too close to turning sixty with a long scraggly beard and bad breath and a goddam corn on one foot, (which I had soaked and treated and padded after showering before heading to the Saloon that evening, which helped make me late in helping the band set up their shit, which itself is a project for old hippies, but I digress yet again!), with a lovely young woman insisting I join her on the dancefloor. The band was already popping it off nicely, causing crowd-waves and swaying bodies, lurches and near-leaps and everybody's accepting of everybody else and getting loose as gooses while outside a luxuriant blanket of snow and frost turned the fog-enshrouded night into a crystalline wonderland and those thermometers which dared to show forth at all revealed a descent of mercury into the negative thirteen degrees range, yikes!, thirteen below zero!, and I was waking up in Montana after having worried considerably for several months if I could sustain myself out here.  
 
I was ready to celebrate the coming of a new year as well as my successful adaption to the area with an ability to support myself here. So far, so good. Now this totally innocent and beautiful mistress of the stars not only had an arm out in beckoning, but had clamped down upon my sleeve as tightly and insistently as Old Father Time himself held me in my presumption on the "eve" of a new "year". She wasn't gonna hear "no" as her answer, and she knew she could get away with it.  
 
I had to come up with something real quick. Oh the fear! The projections! The adrenaline! And the beauty of the moment....  
 
This lady was reaching out to me, full of her idea of sharing her joy in life with Old Elias, bringing me a gift as she, nearing the end of her college years and already planning her career as a photographer, and also being at the same time in love with Travis who's drumming with the band was driving all this relentlessly, was also awakening to something which had been deeply hidden within her. A kind of an ancient rhythm. A tempo out of time; an impossibility. Maybe we can call it simply a moment full of the joy in living. A freedom of the soul, which assumes full control over the body and all things flesh at its whim, and which transcends the ages of individuals. "Soular stuff", I often call it.  
 
She figured it would be fun to shuffle around with Old Elias. But more, she figured that Old Elias *needed* a good workout on the dancefloor, and that she was the person to do just that for me. That was what was gonna happen. The next moment in time would not arrive until she had Old Elias out there on that floor. Period. She knew that, and I was, reluctantly and with great fear, beginning to believe it too.  
 
"I got a bad foot!" I hollered into her ear over the band, bobbing my head up and down as I leaned into her hair to try to weasel out of this dancing business. She was bobbing, and the band was up with the volume, but I got it through by bobbing with her. Then--- Wham. Holly's other hand grabbed onto my other sleeve and locked down. Now she had both my sleeves in her unbreakable grasp. She started moving my arms about to the music while explaining to me without a word that my bad foot could go to hell and deal with it later? but for right now, get your ass moving! Her smile was electric. She was much too beautiful, too radiant, too full of the joy of the moment. I could not find it within me to deny her.  
 
I'm a lot bigger than she. Didn't help a bit.  
 
Thirty years of male ego denial and bullshit projections were beginning to slide off my tired old outlaw soul, and life was offering me another moment out of time, another dance, another timeless moment of music and all which music so richly carries for mankind. Here is Eliot's take on it:  
 
~  
 
"At the still point of the turning world. Neither flesh nor fleshless;
Neither from nor towards; at the still point, there the dance is,
But neither arrest nor movement. And do not call it fixity,  
Where past and future are gathered. Neither movement from nor towards,
Neither ascent nor decline. Except for the point, the still point,
There would be no dance, and there is only the dance.
I can only say, there we have been; but I cannot say where.
And I cannot say how long, for that is to place it in time.
The inner freedom from the practical desire,
The release from action and suffering, release from the inner
And the outer compulsion, yet surrounded  
By a grace of sense, a white light still and moving,
*Erhebung* without motion, concentration  
Without elimination, both a new world and  
The old made explicit, understood
In the completion of its partial ecstasy,
The resolution of its partial horror.
Yet the enchainment of past and future
Woven in the weakness of the changing body,
Protects mankind from heaven and damnation
Which flesh cannot endure.
Time past and time future
Allow but a little consciousness.
To be conscious is not to be in time
But only in time can the moment in the rose-garden,
The moment in the arbour where the rain beat,
The moment in the draughty church at smokefall
Be remembered; involved with past and future.
Only through time is time conquered.
 
~  
 
(Taken from T.S. Eliot's wonderful book of four poems, entitled "Four Quartets", Harcourt, Brace and World, Inc., New York; copyright 1943 by T.S. Eliot; ISBN: 0-15-633225-6.)
 
~  
 
Next thing I knew my old feet, pain-jabbing corn and all, were out there on the dancefloor with Holly, and my confused arms were grabbing at air in what I hoped would be some graceful attempt at smoothness and timing with the music. At times I glanced at Erin or Travis or Pat or Rob or Tim. Each of them wore a grin for watching Old Elias get about on the floor with this young dancing diva. I remember thinking to myself as I gyrated, "shit, I've got to learn how to really do this right!".  
 
Already my mind was racing into the future, projecting ways to improve my dancing capabilities, as if one could "do" that deliberately. I was taking myself right out of the present moment. It was as if, in releasing myself from my past by allowing this young woman to entice me to dance, a thing which my past told me clearly I couldn't do, I found myself completely in the present once again, but, as humankind often will, I had immediately projected it into the future. Human frailty. I'm full of it, despite my efforts to curtail it in my psyche.  
 
Fortunately, salvation lay in the lovely zestful face of Holly, who never took her eyes off my face. She danced with great ease before my eyes, dancing into me, dancing through me, leading me and approving me whenever I chanced to make a decent move. She was driving at me, overwhelming me with a glory which opened me to something higher than my capability, and she guided me with her brilliant eyes to that precipice within myself which had previously been a barrier to self-detachment. Over the brink I went, gladly, finally. Holly and Landslide and life as a free soul in Montana was all it took to set me free.  
 
What do I know? Nothing!  
 
How wise am I? Not.  
 
Who and what am I? Who knows, and "who" isn't talking!  
 
There was nothing left to defend, no ground for the personal ego to hold, nothing valuable remaining alive within my old soul. The God-damned government disappeared, along with my war against it. TMM disappeared. My futile life as a common member of America disappeared. There was only the dancing and the incessant music and the merriment and the resiliency of the human spirit and the moving to the joy of the rhythms of sacred life, and Holly's mesmerizing, mirthful eyes reaching through the scotch and water I'd drank and the weed I'd smoked and my doubts and my self-held limitations and my illusions and my predispositions as an old beatnik.  
 
And there was the charged burst of joy which engulfed me when Holly had finally got my feet to hit the floor among the crowd of dancing country people, that burst of joy which took me up and out of myself, that joy which released me from my fear, from my reluctance to merge once again with the universal, with the Natural, with the music.  
 
My face broke out into a huge grin, and I let my arms and legs go. I found myself moving about with Holly, turning with her, spinning around her, facing her, backing her, siding against her, playing as if I were a part of the music Landslide was making. Holy shit! This old beatnik? I registered the amazement of it, but did not skip a beat. The music ruled, and it directed Holly's wonderful smiling eyes, through which my freedom had come, complete with a melody and a driving bass rift.  
 
I did not mind if I made a complete fool of myself. I knew that it was impossible, in this crowd, on this night, with my friends providing the party's music and dancing with me to boot, to make a fool of myself. The only way I could make a fool of myself, it occurred to me, was to NOT dance. Thanks to Holly, I could not NOT dance. So I danced until I felt my rightful place in timeless truth, gave up myself to the celebration of life itself. And suddenly the song was over and Holly was walking me back to my station by the sound board. Twinges of embarrassment, brought on by my knowing that I was not a graceful dancer (yet), were subdued by the charged spirit I found by having accepted Holly's invitation to dance.  
 
Still, being very hard-headed and stubbornly involved with my ego, I figured that I had done it, had done what I was expected to do, and had loved it, but now it was done and I could get back to monitoring the band's mikes and volumes and letting them know with sign language whether their amps were telling them the truth about how they sounded out on the floor, out in the crowd. My brief escape through the window of psychological freedom had occurred, successfully enough, and now I could relax. Now I could regain some of my customary composure. Thusly thought I.  
 
But Landslide provides no rest for the wicked, and quickly enough another song was driving the dance floor, and to my surprise, Holly, who had intimated earlier that one dance would suffice, was back in my face, sitting her drink down by mine on a speaker. She had in tow yet another twenty-two-year-old beauty, Andrea, who was Erin's close friend since grade school. Andrea, like Holly, was home for the holidays, home from school in another state. I had met her only once over at Erin's and Pat's house. They had a brilliant idea. They would both dance with Old Elias.  
 
They pulled me, one on each arm, right back into the magic of the night, and presently I was grinning back into both of their pretty faces, letting their eyes fill me with their driving joy, having fun and forgetting myself all over again. It was wonderful. These two young ladies flattered me beyond all expectations, and they were very obvious in their glee over doing so. They trusted me. I melted, completely, and moved with them, letting them own me, conjuring up from unknown depths within my old soul a couple of neat twists on dancing with two ladies at the same time. They beamed.  
 
I shall never forget what I saw in these two young ladies' faces as we danced. There was a bonding beyond ages and beyond the Ages, a joining into something primordial and precious. There was acceptance, friendship, trust, and a freedom to express loving consciousness without a single barrier.  
 
Well did I know to enjoy this perfect moment out of time. I drank it's nectar as their two luminous faces poured it into my eyes. Their smiling faces were perfection. I'll never know why or how they both seemed so concentrated on sending me their spirits through their eyes, but they kept their eyes glued to mine, and magic ranged through us like mountains through Montana, revealing peaks I've not seen in many years, peaks which sent up into the heavens, and into whatever ethers escape my general consciousness to dwell in eternal bliss and joy, my presence among the living,. Perhaps Eliot's "still point of the turning world" is just "still" being "here" and knowing it, eh?  
 
We danced another.  
 
Well, I was thankful enough, to be sure. But soon the band concluded the show and it was two a.m. and time to pack the gear. The girls grinned and gave me hugs. I felt like a new man as I helped the band load stuff into carry-cases, take down the board, fish in the snake and all the long black lines, manhandle the monitors into a neat pile in a corner, and then have a drink together as the crowd began to thin out.  
 
The Willow Creek Café and Saloon staff was worn out. They had not been ready for such a crowd, though I had mentioned to Dean previously that this band has a following and could get a crowd up on its feet. Dean was thankful for a successful show and party. The Saloon had made a good night, profit-wise. The band had had a good time, the crowd had had a good time, the staff had been over-worked but had pulled it off, and Old Elias himself was in a rare mood.  
 
I knew of a place, a small warehouse which was heated and had a bathroom to boot, and which was never locked, and it was just a block away from the Saloon. I knew the owner, and knew that it would be cool with her if we barged in. The band and I retired there, along with Holly and Andrea, and soon enough Rob had a guitar out and Tim produced an accordion, and we passed around more drinks and tokes and started strummin' and singin'.  
 
As the girls had loosened me up, had got me past my normal timidity, I joined right in with the youngsters and sang some lines with them, even though I can't sing a lick. Not a one of them seemed to mind. Then we got into ad lib improvisations, and who'd a-thunk it, I came forth with some old lines from old poems I'd written long before any of these kids had been born. Rob took his guitar after the lines, and soon was doing musical arrangements. He shared a new song he was writing.  
 
We did this until seven-thirty in the morning, at which time we ran out of drinks and weed and we all played-out together and crashed on mattresses and in sleeping bags. All of us were wrung out with having pursued the muse and the music all night. Old Elias was a happy camper, as so too was each member of the band. I felt, as I drifted off to a rewarding sleep, that I had somehow, by magic, brought in the New Year in fine form. I felt happy, confident, charged with all sorts of possibilities for the coming year, and deeply grateful for Holly and Andrea, for their beautiful hearts and their wonderful sharing of their joy with me. For the friendship and acceptance. I felt grateful that this young band, awesomely tight and "together" with their performances at each show they do, had accepted me as their token "old beatnik", that they enjoyed listening to my weird views on things, my blasts at governmental evils, and my strange tales, and that they seemed to like the ideas which come forth in my attempts at poetry, and that they had made me a part of the Landslide family. I imagined the band in the future playing their rendition of "Church Flower", and "Deja-vu in Colorado", and other old poems I've carried around with me for so many years.  
 
I felt grateful that I had made the huge plunge, had moved myself from Georgia and Memphis all the way out to Montana to seek freedom and to write down my remaining reflections upon having lived another life in this old world. Around me all about the floor in a warm warehouse, Landslide slept.
 
Finally, I slept.  
 
Happy New Year, Y'all!  
 
:)  
 
Elias

~

Well, dervish, that was something I wrote a while back, and I must thank you for causing me to dig it up and post it. Next time you're truckin' around Montana, give me a shout and I'll take you out for some great live music, k?  And, MAYBE, if I ain't on crutches by then, we'll let loose and dance our asses off, lol! :)

Salute!
Elias

 
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"Heirs to self-knowledge shed gently their fears..."

Elias Alias

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How To Stay Sane
« Reply #18 on: March 22, 2005, 04:44:50 am »

Quote
General,

You speak the truth and you speak for me. The hardest things about this life are not what non-Outlaws imagine them to be. The hardest things are the sense of being an exile in one's own world, and the consciousness that the most ordinary, everyday things (things that normal people don't even have to consider) become huge obstacles or dangers.

(some slight snippage...)

There is some danger in the Outlaw life. And there is boundless, everyday effing inconvenience. But there's liberation of the spirit in it, also, as you know. It's not for everybody, of course, and we Ghosts rely at times on the financial and physical mobility of our Mole friends. But it's a rich life in unexpected ways.

I'll resist the tendency to ramble, as you've already said it all. But I must add that having our own freedom communities, our gulches, our own freedom institutions (even if they must exist underground) will make a world of difference to our future.

Claire
Well, Ms Maddog, yer right of course. The never-ending sense of alienation from a led society of conformists and yea-sayers, a society which stands and applauds when the greatest criminals of the day enter a room or make a speech (Presidents, for example), that sense of being alienated from the masses by the simple wish to be free, is a pain of sorts and a great joy as well. For me, it is a joy to be in the consciousness revolution against government with good fighters like yourself, and I hope and trust that my outlawry is also a source for strength to you in return. I would not trade my crazy life for anything, and if all I have to give up are the habitual views on human life, the beliefs by which the world of what Mark Twain calls "The Blessings of Civilization Trust" wobbles along on its wicked way, and the slave-tokens of "security" and "comfort" and "wealth" by which most Americans today live their lives, I'd say the spiritual joys far outweigh the discomfort and limitations which dropping out of society bring.

You noted that there are dangers in this sort of life, and I'll certainly second that statement. It is not for everyone, just as Harry Haller noticed in Hermann Hesse's masterpiece novel, "Steppenwolf". Not for everyone! I just do it to keep my conscience at tolerable levels, same as you.  :)

What Basil Fishbone and I are working on here locally, (through our newly-formed Jefferson River Coalition), is the re-creation and spreading of the long-lost consciousness of "family and community". We're spreading the notion of "de-volving" government and raising up the standards of individual freedom based on loving one's family and community and diminishing one's participation in the systems of demise and death and darkness, such as Social Security, FDIC banking, credit, Federal taxation, and etc. and etc. In my weird way, that strikes me as being something of what you've named "freedom communities, our gulches, our own freedom institutions (even if they must exist underground)".  It all comes down to "friends and family", the re-establishing of "trust" and personal dignity and personal responsibility, all the strong attributes of the human soul, which in the masses of today's media-controlled collective mentality are deliberately down-played and discouraged on every hand.

I remember looking into your eyes at the 2003 LRT Conclave and seeing an innocence which can only come from a high degree of commitment to one's life's work, to your unique direction in life, to your mental choices and values and ethics. You could not have looked so perfectly comfortable with yourself if you had compromised your vision of freedom for one and all in any way; you could not have looked so "true" to me if you had not been totally committed to your vision, if you had not been living up to your own high moral standards, if you had not truly learned in your life-experiences to first be true to yourself. But there you were, with a Montana late-summer sunlight animating your eyes as we stood in an Aspen forest and enjoyed a brief moment of brotherhood-sisterhood together, and my soul knew that I was in the presence of someone who is quite willing to live her vision of freedom responsibly and productively and creatively and, best of all, "individually".  

The good news, Claire, is that we're not alone. Yesterday, I attended a dinner party at the home of a friend. Her family was all there, four generations of them. One gentleman there, my friend's brother, said aloud at the table where all were gathered to a fine feast, "Elias, you've been sounding very good on the radio." I was surprised that someone in my friend's family would have heard me on call-in radio shows here in Bozeman, and pleased that the guy thought well of what I usually say over the air that way, but I was even more pleased when the grandmother of the family invited me to her home this week to discuss "politics". People everywhere seem to be waking up to the fact that our government is lying to us, is threatening us, is selling us down the river into slavery, that something is very very "wrong" with America right now, and they're becoming willing to listen to those of us who'll stick our necks out and talk about it. Claire, if this trend continues, we may one day find that by simply purging our national government of the criminal syndicate which has stolen it, (a crime syndicate which has only a few thousand people, btw), we may one day, at least in my most optimistic vision of victory, find that we can re-enter the work-a-day realities which would allow us to participate in a healed society. (That may be a total fantasy, of course, but if someone doesn't uphold that vision, I'm sure it has no chance of becoming reality, so I cling to that belief and hope for all I'm worth!) I believe that "consciousness works".  Friendships are subtle "gulches". just as are families. One of my goals is to re-awaken here in Montana the value of "community", wherein families and good neighbors come together to oppose Federal tyranny and celebrate their efforts in together taking back over their schools and their local businesses and their local property rights and their local dignity as free Americans.

How nice it is to be able to link people to your books... :)

Salute, Claire!
Elias
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dervish

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« Reply #19 on: March 22, 2005, 09:00:52 am »

That was truly beatiful, Elias!  Ty so much for sharing it.

And if I ever go to Montana, I'll be happy to look you up and do some dancing.  With a couple of odd exceptions last summer, I haven't danced socially to c/w since I was 14. But I'm sure I'll learn really fast.   :D

I'm glad to know that you can still feel that energy.  I've been scared that when I reach 30 or so, I'll lose the ability to connect that way and/or to have music touch me that way.  You're hope and inspiration that many decades from now, I will still be finding solace, even transcendance, in the mystical, musical beats........
« Last Edit: March 22, 2005, 09:02:15 am by dervish »
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« Reply #20 on: March 22, 2005, 03:10:04 pm »

I enjoyed the post as well, Elias, thanks!

Quote
I've been scared that when I reach 30 or so, I'll lose the ability to connect that way and/or to have music touch me that way.


Nah, music keeps you young.  No worries about losing a connection there.  But you did remind me of something else a little off topic.

I'll be 35 this May, and considering my family history, my life isn't even close to the halfway mark, so I still consider myself quite young.  But apparently my acupuncturist doesn't.  I went in for my monthly visit and he told me he would be doing some extra points as kind of general checkup due to my age .  "What are you trying to say?" I asked him, looking a bit put out.

"Nothing", he assured me hastily, "just when you get to the age you are now..." his voice just kind of petered out at the look on my face and he didn't say anything more.  Which proves he may be a tad foolish, but he isn't a complete idiot!

I'm young at nearly 35, I hope you will view yourself the same when you "get to be my age".

 ;)  
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« Reply #21 on: March 22, 2005, 10:02:07 pm »

The more I try to follow the way of the mole the more a song keeps replaying in my mind. "Copperhead Road" just keeps reminding me that it may not be my way.  
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sin419

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« Reply #22 on: March 22, 2005, 11:22:45 pm »



     "I learned a thing or two from charlie dont ya know....ya better stay away from copperhead road"!

merlin  I just pulled that cd out of the drive about 20 min before I came on.  That whole cd is great!
my other favorite is devils right hand.  Good old fashioned steering wheel thumping music!

Elias I never get tired of reading your posts!

Cya

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« Reply #23 on: March 23, 2005, 10:57:17 am »

"Now people been askin' me where'd you learn to fly that way
Was over in Vietnam, chasin' the NVA
The government taught me, and they taught me right
Stay down below the treeline and you'll be alright

I'm a treetop flyer
Born survivor"

Jimmy Buffet - Treetop Flyer (Banana Winds)
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Elias Alias

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« Reply #24 on: March 23, 2005, 12:25:26 pm »

Quote
That was truly beatiful, Elias!  Ty so much for sharing it.

And if I ever go to Montana, I'll be happy to look you up and do some dancing.  With a couple of odd exceptions last summer, I haven't danced socially to c/w since I was 14. But I'm sure I'll learn really fast.   :D

I'm glad to know that you can still feel that energy.  I've been scared that when I reach 30 or so, I'll lose the ability to connect that way and/or to have music touch me that way.  You're hope and inspiration that many decades from now, I will still be finding solace, even transcendance, in the mystical, musical beats........
dervish,
Glad you liked, lol!  :)

About "age" dampening one's relationship with music, it *can* put the damper on it, but it also does not *have to*; it's a personal choice, a matter of holding firm with one's values.  "Maturity" wreaks some damage upon one's youthful idealism, to be sure, but it also can give a strength and vitality to one's commitment to music. As debeez noted, music can "keep you young".  Or not. It's really a personal choice, methinks.  In an insane world, a world run by criminals and power-mad hellishly-greedy financiers who pitch untidy little wars at the Centuries as they're seen wandering by in the lanes of time, I chose long ago to stick with the art, the music, the poetry, that which is creative, the sacred,  the beauty and meaningfulness, and all which is natural in childhood. I chose to be different than, and the opposite of, the tie-and-coat-wearing legions of bureaucrats and politicians with their mechanisms of destruction, pain, and imposed slavery, their striving always for "more", their hedging and protecting and shoring-up of materialism's greatest illusions, and their insane passion for establishing an unspoken Empire. There is a greater meaning in life than the "world leaders" can possibly know, and I pity the idiots, the Statists, the believers in governmental force and made-up "laws", while at the same time fearing them and hoping to remain free of their police-state prisons and torture chambers. (A thing which is getting more and more difficult all the time, eh?) Those sorts of people have no health in their hearts or in their minds, and they have lost any vision of beauty which their childhoods *should* have entertained prior to their "growing up". The "growns" act like "growns" for a reason, and it has to do with what all they lost or forgot as they aged into the "adult" world. I prefer the vision of childhood, its honesty, its hope, its ready joy, its playfulness, its imaginative boundlessness and mental freedom, its unhindered love. I'm sure you do also, right? :)

debeez, I'm glad you liked. I'm almost twice your age, looking directly at the huge SIX-O coming right at me this year. I never thought I'd live this long, so I feel blessed with much extra time. I can remember when I was dervish's age, when THREE-O seemed a formidable age-barrier. Passed that one alright and kept right on truckin'; then came upon the horrible FOUR-O and hurdled that one easily enough. It was the incredible FIVE-O whereupon I began to notice that the old bod' couldn't keep pace with the promptings and inspirations of my heart and soul, and now as I near sixty I flat-out announce to my fast-living friends out here in Montana that there ain't no way I'm gonna drink and play all night with 'em, lol! Gotta have an old man's nap every day or night, right? :) But my spirit is right in there with 'em, so they tolerate me.

merlin419, my friends who formed the band Landslide play Copperhead Road all the time. "Spent two tours of duty in Viet Nam; and I came home with a brand new plan..." Love that song! (And Steve Earle, who I do believe wrote it.)

Sin419,  I've got that album too, lol! Also have "Transcendental Blues", "Jerusalem", and "The Revolution Starts Now".

ND, that was a turn-on. Heck, I had thought that Steve Stills (of CSN&Y) had written that song; never dreamed it was a Buffet song, so I'm surprised. I have heard Stills do it on the radio, so I guess he recorded it after Jimmy Buffet wrote it. Anyway, it's one of my most-favoritest songs of all time, a truly great Revolutionary song and a slap in Fedgov's face nice and hard, lol! The guitar work on that tune is awesome, but to me the lyrics are a treasure.

The music never stops.....

Elias
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Joel

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« Reply #25 on: March 23, 2005, 09:22:21 pm »

Elias, I confess I don't always (okay, usually) read your posts all the way through.  But I did that one, and it was beautiful.  I plan a trip to Montana in the near future, and I'd sure like to look you up and buy you a scotch.
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Elias Alias

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« Reply #26 on: March 24, 2005, 04:58:17 pm »

Quote
Elias, I confess I don't always (okay, usually) read your posts all the way through.  But I did that one, and it was beautiful.  I plan a trip to Montana in the near future, and I'd sure like to look you up and buy you a scotch.
John DeWitt, thank you for letting me know you enjoyed that old piece.  

Can't say that I blame you, or anyone, for not reading my posts in their entirety, lol! However, as Claire once noted to me regarding my screeds, I somehow, usually, manage to "connect it all up" by the ending, so sometimes it may prove to be worth the time required to read 'em to the conclusions. I'd say that rings true for the long posts in the Conspiracy Theory thread, if none of the others, lol....

Now about your coming out thisaway, well shoot, Mon! I'd love to meet you!  Just let me know when you think you might be heading this way and I'll make arrangements to hook up with ya. It would be just great to visit with you face to face. Heck, if I have advanced knowledge of when you might appear out here, I'll save back some bucks from my paycheck and buy you a drink in return for the one you've offered to buy me!

But about your site, or the site in your sig line. Are you "Joel The Story Teller"? Izzat you, John? If so, I'd like to propose some business which we can conclude while you're out here, if you'd like. I have an interest in anything you have written, and especially I'm interested in the book about Elijah and Jezebel. Would love to have the whole thang; but I don't do money transactions over the Internet, so I can't order the book that way. I'd love to buy "The Last Faithful Man" and "The Scroll of Jeremiah", both, in hardcopy, if you would be kind enough to carry out here when you come a copy of each. And if you're the author, I'd love to have your sig inside each book, eh? :)

So let me know, and I'll send you contact info on how to dig my old ass out of the woods here for a live meeting. Dang, but I bet we could talk away a whole evening! Fun!

Salute!
Elias
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sin419

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« Reply #27 on: March 24, 2005, 10:29:17 pm »

Im 32 in april, and I love all kinds of music.  If you look at me you would think country music every day.  But you will hear everything from pantera to bb king coming out of my speakers.  I will say one thing that has changed I can listen to music at a normal level now!  Before if it wasnt loud it wasnt on.  now I can afford to have a potentially loud stereo that sounds exellent at human levels.  I still crank For whom the bell tolls (metalica) and the Fireman (george strait)  That kid still lives, He just doesnt pull up to church on sunday listening to the same music that fueled saturday night. :D   music really is an escape and good for the soul to boot!

Sin
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RagnarDanneskjold

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« Reply #28 on: March 24, 2005, 11:27:41 pm »

Quote
Before if it wasnt loud it wasnt on.  now I can afford to have a potentially loud stereo that sounds exellent at human levels.  I still crank For whom the bell tolls (metalica) and the Fireman (george strait)
I was taking my daughter to a play rehearsal tonight and on the way, we were listening to Nuge - Gonzo. I told her this one had to be loud. She agreed.
I'm in that second half century now. I like almost all kinds of music, and always have. I and all my siblings were brought up on classical music. Ooooo, you wanna hear something that'll kick your ass. Schelomo by Ernest Bloch. Many different cellists have played this, but if you can get your hands on a copy with Mstislav Rostropovich as the cellist I think it will be worth your while to give it a listen. (Elias, the experience is certainly enhanced by a few tokes  <_<  )
Another recommendation is Saint-Saens Symphony 3 in C minor, op. 78 'Organ'. "The Organ Symphony." Back in the early 70s, whenever we would take a trip to a high end audio store to test some serious audio equipment this was a staple to test the low bass. We also usually took a copy of Emerson Lake and Palmer's Tarkus.
Ok, well, shit, don't get me started down memory lane. I could add much variety, but I just read an email from my boss asking about my progress in some MVS courses I am taking...
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« Reply #29 on: March 25, 2005, 01:48:55 pm »

Classical? Yeah....
I feel a great kinship to Shostakovich these days, because of what he managed to write in spite of the government he had to deal with. Allan Pettersson too, though I guess he was a lot more commie personally than his music was. Dark stuff though.

I'm a mole. I'm sitting here at work...the boss is off and there's not much to do, so I'm playing with filling out my Danegeld forms. The worst is Schedule C. The only reason I do it is that I play in this band, and the leader is a Good German who HAS to 1099 me. "I have no choice," he said.  I replied: "Ja, du hast nichts gegen Jüden, aber das Gesetz ist das Gesetz!" He tried to joke his way out of that, but he and I both know that he would turn his own Oma in if The Authorities asked. Anyway, I don't dare NOT do a Schedule C, just because of him. I never make any money...I have enough deductions that I gain/lose double digits (music is an expensive hobby!) . I've thought of telling him to go fly a kite, and I might still, as I don't really need the money. But the idea of not being productive at what I love, just because of the looters, is really disheartening. I'm sure I'd scab on John Galt for ages.  Next year may be better or worse...Mrs. V. gets hers done, and we'll doubtless file jointly. But I'll probably still have to do the damned C on my own.

One of the reasons we got the farm was so that I could be productive in ways that don't go through the economy.  I'm really sick of the leeches. And it gives me some hope of future safety when TSHTF. It's a quasi-gulch, and that's helping me stay sane. Government just isn't there when I'm feeding the chickens!
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