№ 103. Music and Metaphysics

PAGE STATUS: This page is just for fun. It has become a dumping ground for all the crazy stuff I have written through the years and is in bad need of cleaning up.
LAST UPDATE: May 21, 2021

My destiny


I have come to believe that writing this website is my destiny.

Every man should know what it feels like to meet his destiny face-to-face.

For one in ten thousand readers, that may be happening right now. You can trust me. Bury yourself in my work and listen with your whole heart. I am not making all of this up. It is not my imagination. Exposing what is happening was the reason I was born into this world. 

Destiny is all

                                  –Uhtred, son of Uhtred

August 27, 2020: I have not visited this page for a long time. I developed it early on thinking full disclosure was a requirement given what has happened to me. But there are two things I never wrote about. They were relatively brief episodes, but both are deeply imprinted on my memory. The reason I think they deserve mention is that they occurred years before I came into contact with ET. I will not attempt to elaborate because so little of what I say about myself is believed by others. I am fully cognizant of this. I am not sure of the chronological order of these two episodes except to say that they were separated by years. In what I believe to be the first, I composed a symphonic work in thought. I know it was my own because I worked on it for days if not weeks. Once it got to a point where it represented what I would describe as a whole movement, the progress stopped. For months afterward, I could recall it. But not now. It is completely gone. I’ve spent well over a decade listening to the Baltimore Symphony Orchestra (BSO) and a couple more seasons listening to the Austin Symphony Orchestra (ASO). I assure you, it belonged on stage. The second incident was even more bizarre. Here I want to stress that it lasted only minutes and then was gone forever. I spoke with the voice of William Shakespeare as naturally as water flowing down a brook, with the same metric construction and depth of meaning as the Bard. I spoke out loud, but no one was around at the time. It was my voice, but I was listening at the same time I was speaking. It was not really me. I don’t know what it was or where it came from. Even while it was happening I was completely transfixed. This incident ranks second only to my encounter with ET in both strangeness and wonder. I do not know why this happened. I cannot explain it, though I have come to regard both incidents as alternative paths I might have taken in other times.

The real madmen


I longed for a brother in my youth, but it was not to be. My three half-brothers (no one except my dead mother knows who fathered me) could not understand me. When this Elton John album was released in 1971 and I learned the words to every song on it and started singing alone in my bedroom, their consternation grew by leaps and bounds. Growing up with these animals taught me everything I needed to know about this world. People are small.

Elton John
is large.

Madman Across the Water was the last of the songs on the LP I learned, but it became very special to me—a subtle message to my half-brothers to keep their distance, that I was only passing through their sad little reality.

I love you
Madman.

You saved me in my youth with the promise of something more. You were my Christian Science as a child. The Madman Across the Water YouTube video runtime is 5:58, a number that incorporates my birthday. [Warning: awkward segway coming.] Page 558 also happens to be the first page in the chapter named Apocolypse in which Mrs. Eddy followed in the footsteps of the Book of Daniel and The Revelation by using The Revelation to encode the year of the apocalypse she learned while married to a Royal Arch Freemason. Were that not enough, she did so in almost the exact same cryptological style as the Bard. I was born for this job.

Maybe it’s just more delusion—but I am starting to think she really did know.

That was then. This is now.

I love the cops because they can differentiate between the truth and a lie. This fact of life saved my ass more than once. In Florida, at the young age of 18, I was framed for the robbery of a convenience store where I worked. I was interrogated. It lasted only minutes and subsequent to that the management of the entire convenience store chain was jailed. In Baltimore, after a fight to the death in which I cut up a young black man pretty bad, two Irish cops talked to me for about three minutes. I was rushed to the hospital and treated like a hero for defending a young black woman who I never met and did not know. She was being brutally beaten in the lobby of the YMCA where I lived. One of the best guys I knew in my youth became a cop even though his oldest brother spent most of his adult life in penitentiaries. I was in over 300 fights in my youth, only one of which I started. He became a catholic preacher. I don’t take shit off anyone.

I am from the streets of Baltimore.

I didn’t have a black friend. All I knew was black guys.

I grew up in the Meyerhoff listening to the BSO and sitting across the aisle from the head of the Jewish mafia.

I really liked that guy.

And I love good music.

That includes Eminem and this guy.

Then one day a man named Eugene Skarie sent me to Principia College.

The Christian Scientists had found me. They said I had been thrown on the trash heap of society.

Then they threw me back on the trash heap.

Hope springs external.

After a stint in the U.S. Army, I was working in Dallas, Texas soldering copper pipes on high-rise office buildings. One day I came home and someone had stolen my stereo. I called the cops. A single officer arrived not long after. Like every Texas cop I’ve ever met, he exuded character. So when he saw my apartment was empty, he looked genuinely perplexed and said in a noticeably empathetic tone, “They took everything.” I had to explain to him that all I owned was the stereo and a bed. They did not take the bed. Music has always been my best friend. After he left, I laid on the living room floor and wrote these words:

A madness haunts me
and much abounds
in winds of lavender
and lilac smells.
G.W. on the piano
And me, in perfect hell.

The winds of lavender is a reference to Purple Haze. I was a real fan of Jimi Hendrix. And lilac smells is a reference to Lilac Lane, the name of a street at Principia College where I went from heating cans of beans on the radiator at the downtown YMCA on West Franklin Street in Baltimore, Maryland to cavorting with rich Christian Science kids from California for three years. (Forty years later, I can tell you with some measure of certainty, they were as fake as their parents.) These were the two extremes of my life. G.W. is George Winston. I started listening to him during one of the happiest times of my whole life, as a U.S. Army soldier in Augsburg, Germany. So you see I even remember things in terms of the music I was listening to at the time. So when someone stole my stereo, it hurt. I am a rebel spirit. I came, I saw, and I radioed my coordinates back to God and ordered a fire mission on my own position. I was not made for this place.

This is the last page of
a three-page dedica-
tion from The Adam
and Eve Story: The History of Cataclysms
by Chan Thomas
. I so
know what this guy is
talking about
.

Those who are able to see beyond the shadows and lies of their culture will never be understood, let alone believed by the masses.

Plato

The average person reads this quote from Plato as if it were a platitude, not understanding the profundity of what he is saying. We live our lives on the outside looking in, never able to enter therein. Oh my God, what a price we pay!

Platonem ferunt didicisse Pythagorea omnia

Thoughts on Suicide


William Shakespeare (the playwright, not the actor) was the most respected progeny of Jove since Pythagoras, and I can assure you his name was…

Sir Francis Bacon
33 lines

To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them?—To die,—to sleep,—
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heartache, and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to,—’tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish’d. To die,—to sleep;—
To sleep: perchance to dream:—ay, there’s the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause: there’s the respect
That makes calamity of so long life;
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s contumely,
The pangs of despis’d love, the law’s delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? who would these fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,—
The undiscover’d country, from whose bourn
No traveller returns,—puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought;
And enterprises of great pith and moment,
With this regard, their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.

Before the world took hold of this body of mine and tortured it to their delight until finally, I slashed my wrist. Shakespeare was right. It’s a hard thing to ask of yourself. We live forever. Thinking you have some part in that decision is something that actually should make you feel embarrassed—that in a world composed of ONLY consciousness,—the ONLY expression of which is through,—take a moment…

Sentient beings

I would define sentient beings as conscious, intelligent beings, but not consciousness itself. We are individualized expressions of the one consciousness. In other words, we are made in the image and likeness of the fabric of the universe. We all got da same brain.

Sentient
beings

As I was saying, you really should be embarrassed to imagine you possess such power as to influence the very nature of being.

You have no say so in the matter.

The essence is that which is unchangeable, which was, is, and shall forever be. The mystery of life itself. Whence cometh life? Matter or Mind? (Here I must point out that some people think Mind and matter can co-exist. I am not one of them. That is ground I cannot enter. When I look in that direction all I see is darkness.) As a choice for what constitutes the stuff of life, both matter and Mind involve riddles. In the case of matter, it is the chicken and the egg problem that the materialists cannot solve and will never be able to solve because they live in a hall of mirrors. But the metaphysician faces an even more mysterious question. What is behind Mind? But unlike our foe, we can say “nothing” without seriously weakening our argument. Therein lies the Truth also.

“I am that I am” requires no explanation

Oh but there’s the rub. One wants to ask, What was there before Mind? And this is how we define Essence. There was nothing there before. Neither in space nor in time. Something had to be there in the beginning, right? Yes, we seem attached by nature itself to this perspective. The metaphysician can cope with this problem. The materialist cannot.

defining nothingness

We demand that you define nothing. Whatever your definition of nothing after everything else that cannot be the source or essence of life is stripped away, What is left? Does it have a name? There is and can be only one answer. Consciousness—namely, the consciousness trying to solve the problem. That is all that is left after trying to solve the chicken and the egg problem. You follow me? I doubt it because this is real religion. This is what you must do before insisting on the presence of harmony. You must grapple with your definition of reality.

consciousness as essence

And what are we? The only thing we can say for sure about the thinker trying to solve the problem is that it is conscious. So consciousness is the definition of nothingness. When you strip away everything else, what is left is consciousness, thought. We exist in thought, and in thought only. How could it be otherwise? 

Hence, God is best thought of as the fabric of the universe (no caps required).

If I have your attention. This is me. Got it? Look at what the world has done to me. This reality needs to be exchanged. Wink. Wink. Let me tell you a story; I really am batshit crazy,—but we live in a world of opposites. The world is almost incomprehensible to me. If everyone would just be honest, all of our problems would melt away over time. Lying tears at the fabric of being. Strive for honesty in your life. 

This actually is a very old video of me in the Georgia backwoods while visiting my kinfolk down there. That’s my cousin Virgil in the background nodding his head. This is my family. This is what holds us like chains to the boy inside of ourselves. I’m the little kid swinging his arms to the music next to the tree at the beginning of the video.) Whoever choreographed this is a genius. No kidding.

What you are about to experience is called visual poetry. I’m writing in your head. Now see if you can pick out me and Virgil. Both scenes are close together and near the beginning so pay attention. First, there’s me playing with my friend at the creek and then Virgil nodding behind the guitarists.

This is what happened to the Jacobean Brotherhood. This is what they evolved into after the not-so-civil war. Who would of thunk it was happening in the JawGA backwoods? With these guys at my back, I fear nothing, least of which is death. I’m all in.

The Bard says Hi. (I hear voices, too. In fact, they are screaming at us. Here is the gist of the matter. Are we really the last?)

Smart move.
Righteous!

Now for the rhythmic rap showdown in which there is not only a white audience but challengers for the new rhythmic rap crown. For taking things to a whole new level by introducing what sounds like a  Gregorian chant in Chillin in The Backwoods (see above),—one that freely flows from the Jacobean hearts they know not,—No. 5 says the winner is…

I haven’t lost myself in music so much since 50 Cent surfaced without M&M.

In an effort to shorten the delivery, they lost the rythm. They lost me, too. But I never lost faith in them. I was born a Motown baby. I knew they would come around.

And Dr. Dre followed suit.

The Music Calvary

The musicians are awakened to entertain us and as instruments of communication, but they pay a heavy price for that privilege. Too high a price if you ask me. 

M&M flashing 666 in the above Dr. Dre music video. Everyone is running from something.

For musical balance and just because I can.

Here’s what I think. The time for churches is over. Organized goodness? Now there’s an idea ripe for abuse. They’re like little sideshows. Life is the stage. Do you’re best acting in life. Liven things up a bit for the other actors. Do the unexpected. Do not draw geographical borders around that which is the best part of you. I’ve met some of the best actors and actresses on those sideshow stages. I fought on their turf to learn more about the religious heart. The buildings are holding us back now. Let them die. Do your best acting in life and trust that the fabric of the universe will reflect back the warmth. Let the churches die a natural death. Walk away. Prove what you say.