What is this thing called work. From one point of view it is a good thing, it gives you money for your time spent “helping” another out. On the other side it is a bad thing as it does not give enough money and the person wants a lot more “help” than you imagine yourself capable of giving.
It is the latter work that bums most of us out. The former work is a good thing. The latter bad. I saw both sides of that last week at the Gatornationals where Labor Ready found me a job. It was hard work but to some of the men I was working with I was not working hard enough. That was the bummer. I could have been paid more, too, but the minimum wage hasn’t changed much, though I did think it was $7.34 and I earned $7.56 an hour.
I got sick on the last day. I was getting a cold and I had downed a Full Throttle from the managers of the day before. I lost my van at noon and I spent 20 minutes of my 30 minute lunch break looking for it. I was taking a medicine that warns it may make you dizzy. I can get dizzy from anything, I’m so tired most of the time and I was conscious that these energy drinks cause a crash.
I had been sleeping in my van and thus the cold I was telling you about. A cool morning was beginning to turn into a hot afternoon. I had been taking some Zyrtec for hay fever that week. Lots of pollen in the air. I thought that was the end of that.
I found my van and had some apple juice and a banana. I had been worried about the dizziness. I have not had my eyeglass prescription renewed in over a year and I was taking my glasses off and putting them back on. I thought the glasses were making me dizzy. I was keeping up with work though, I thought. It wasn’t until we finished our original site and moved on to another site to take down another tent that I got dissed about not working. The water seemed to be the thing. My friend whom I had taken to work that day told me I should drink the water during a break, and sit in the shade, he said. I did but when we moved to the new site and there was more of the heavy lifting of those frames, those ribs that kept up the tents, made of aluminum I started to feel kind of wiped out. I looked for simple things to do. There were tools I was not familiar with, tools I didn’t really know how to use. I learned one thing that helped wrap up the rubber flooring, a small wench kind of thing but I became no expert on it nor can I remember its name.
To make a long story short I was looking for things that would not knock me out. At the new site they were hard to find. The dizziness continued. Everything was white out at the new site. I thought I was going blind. I had to ask if everything was all white out there and I was assured there was a tremendous whitenss to it all. The vendor’s truck was white. I have diabetes and it is something that happens to diabetics I’ve heard.
Someone took a good look at me and said I should drink some cold water. I did. Not long later another fellow saw me getting kind of pale and wan, I think, and also told me to drink some cold water. The first fellow was white, my friend whom I gave a ride, too, the second was black, a young man I had seen on the job. I wondered what was wrong with me. Was I just so out of shape? One fellow did not worry that I was sick and was pissed off I was drinking the water. I was just loafing as far as he was concerned. It may be of some mention that I had taken a rider he may have gotten $3 for to the site instead of him that morning. I was driving with a suspended license and I hope police will forgive me for this. They had told me that I had a suspended license when I went for a police clearance pass to get into the Salvation Army. Funny, about that, originally they had checked a box on my clearance pass that said I was a sexual predator. I took that pass to the Salvation Army and of course they couldn’t let me stay. So, next day after some discussion with one of my friends from St. Francis House, I went back to the police station and cleared that up. I was not a sexual predator I told the young police woman. “Are you a sexual offender?” she asked. “No!” I replied.
It took the young woman a long time to make sure I was not sexual predator but shefinally got it done and a policeman came out and returned my license. He said, “You know your license is suspended don’t you?”
“No, I said, I don’t. “
“Falure to pay a court fee, an outstanding ticket or fine or something like that.”
I finally confided that I had been driving without insurance for some time and he told me that that would do it. He asked me if I had driven there and I said yes. He gave me back my license because it was my only form of I.D. and told me if I did drive to keep it at a minimum. The back streets, I concluded and did as he asked.
I had work out at the Gatornationals on Sunday and I drove. I could have gone with this black rap star looking fellow but Labor Ready and I had not set up for me to do so. I had been told if I could get a ride I could have the ticket. Well, I had a ride. I had my ride, my van. There had been another fellow in the office that day. A nice, young afro-american man from Connecticut. I went over to the Labor Ready office on Sunday , the day before I was to get ill, to see if maybe he was there hoping for a ride. He was not but another fellow, a white guy who had lived in California for a while was there almost ready to take off with my rap star looking man. I asked if anyone needed a ride and one of the managers at Labor Ready, a female manager, let him take my ride instead of the other. I didn’t know this was going to cause a problem. Was the rapper man getting even with me on Monday for the ride I took from him on Sunday? He would deny it most likely.
By the end of the Monday I was just standing around bent over. I was dizzy and sensitive to the criticism I was getting, trying to tell other fellows that I had diabetes and heart problems. That started with saying I was out of shape. I had been in a gym at one time so that’s why it came up in my mind. One man thought maybe I had been drinking or taking drugs. I told him I didn’t drink or do drugs. I follow a Guru for Christ’s sake, but I didn’t tell him that. Woo, time finally passed and the “boss” as the young black men were calling the contractor was signing the tickets. When they sign the tickets they put the hours they are giving the men or employees to be politically correct. I looked at mine and it said 8. Whoopee! I needed the money, but I still woozy and as I tried to make it out to my van I had to stop and bend over forwards again. I puked. I threw up. The heat, some cold I was getting, the sugar maybe, probably sky high as I have not gotten any insulin yet, made me do it. Three times and finally I was able to get out to the van.
It was a difficult day and one that is keeping me from going back to Labor Ready for more work as well as my illness. I have developed a cold which reminds me how really bad I felt that day. My heart was racing from that Full Throttle energy drink. It also gave me severe heartburn. I was taking some Tum like stuff for it. They didn’t work too well. I was really worried with the dizzies and the heart racing about my health. My friend, Mark, whom I had given a ride also was worried. He said the Full Throttle gave him heartburn, too.
I have a favorite place where I was parking the van and sleeping. Homeless people who are not in a shelter do that, they find places to sleep for the night. I pulled into that place, a quiet place and I was still having trouble. The cold symptoms were beginning to bother me and it occurred to me that some cold medicine might slow down that hearbeat. I also figured that I could get a better acid reducer than these Walgreens Tums. I was used to Prilosec but I had discovered the store brand did just as good a job. My Campus Credit Union turned out to be open until 6 P.M. and I had gone there with the check I received from Labor Ready after I handed in my ticket so I had some cash though I was sick as a dog. I almost threw up at Campus CU. It was so cool in there. I could feel what the sun had done to me that day. There had been discussions about where to get a check cashed after 4 for free at the Labor Ready office. Bank of America seemed to be the hot place. There are also places, Publix among them, who cash the check for a $1 fee. BOA unfortunately closed at 4 p.m. they told me. I was surprised when Campus was opened and surprised again when the teller told me one didn’t need an account there to cash a check. So , there’s a tip to you guys. Campus USA, credit union will cash your check until 6 p.m. Monday – Friday.
So, the cold pills did do me well. The slowed down that heartbeat very nicely and the store brand Prilosec took care of that heartburn but that cost me $20 for the 2 items. I had only earned 50 something dollars that day and 30 something from the Sunday.
A 9th grade English class came and worked in the kitchen yesterday and they are there again today. Boy, what spirit and enthusiasm. I just loved them and their teacher. They added nicely to the kitchen vibe which has gotten better. I remember my supervisor Astrid talking about dead end jobs. We decided that a job that didn’t give you raises nor offered no promotions, the work study job, was a dead end job. Weren’t we the joke. Now, I’m working in the kitchen of a homeless shelter for my bed. Boy, there’s the dead end job, isn’t it? It’s no job at all to SF. It’s what we need to do to keep a bed, which is a pretty good thing when you are penniless.
It was after the class arrived this morning that I found my extra power cord.
By the way, my cell phone arrived yesterday and I got it last night. Groovy. I called TempForce this morning to tell them of my changes.
Ram speaks of seeing things into existence and I am working on that. While some things get me negative other things should keep me positive. I don’t want to perpetuate negativity but I would like to avoid the pollyanna, Mr. Sunshine thing. Maybe that is a samskara.
Did a new lesson arrive? Seems like I have been on this one quite a while. What is it? Oh, Ram lost a computer, the lesson on it, etc. Someone studying the subtle body, a hospital, a doctor Ram knew. He wondered why more of that wasn’t happening? It’s all up to him, or me. We create the universe, or I.
We SEE it into existence.
Didn’t think it would hurt to put this up. It’s a post I sent to
Living in the Truth of the Present Moment:
I liked the comment in lesson 35 about the ethers. Actually it was about finding that warm spot inside, a kind place, a place where the infinite spirit starts his stair or path to Himself. I was given something for free today. A lunch. A good lunch and hot coffee. Also, some company. It was very nice. They were Christian for the most part so my thoughts were with Christ. I kept reading others where you had written ethers. I went, yeah, oh, others, yeah I know, as I read it. I also reflected on our oneness with the Divine. Some believe in duality, a God and his child or his devotee and others believe it is all one. Lal disco0vered that she was one with her Guru. She and Gurunath were the same one and so I read that into this, but the ethers. I had heard of the ethers in the 70’s in college when this wonderful young teacher took up a free class of Alice Bailey’s books. I became a passionate lover of A.A. Bailey’s books then. That’s where I read of the etheric and the akashic. Don’t confuse it with the ether that is a substance used to subdue animals and even human beings. That is some awful stuff. This ether also would have something to do with the atmosphere wouldn’t it? Though that woudn’t take me to the center of the universe, would it? Oh, I also found it helpful to agree with everybody. My brother turned Christian is offended at yoga. So, I don’t do it. Not when he is present anyway, present in the ethers or the etheric. Present in consciousness. The yoga finds a way to creep back in. I’ve been doing it for 30 years, right? How do I stop. The mantra repetition since I was 25. Now I’m 58. So, I agree with Bill. But these fellows at the free lunch given at the Senior Center, they began to talk about Iraq and gov’t and though we had had a nice conversation until then I had to disagree. I like President Obama and I think he has been too conservative and too bipartisan. These elderly fellows did not feel that way at all. The did not want to tax the rich. Somehow they think taxing the rich is taxing them and they are far from it. They are at the Senior Center to have a free lunch!!!. Well, I am sorely pressed for my rent, now $900 backe up. No electric, turned off day before yesterday, over $200 to get that reconnected. Begging from friends and getting the negative. But I found an old friend who seems to be doing well. He writes books and music an sells them on the net. I’m sure you’re too busy to check him out but his website is www.wignelson.com. We used to play chess in the old days in college. He won most of the time. We also sang together, the old Beatle and Bob Dylan tunes in his car. He took me to his parental home back then. He was a private fellow but kind and a good wit. Another old fellow apparently was willing to come to Facebook. My friend in Hawthorne High School in 1970 and on, a Jack Collins. He has quite a mind. They had to create a physics class for him in H.S. There was one. Florida seemed to be a bit behind N.Y. educationally. When I transferred here I got all A’s in my classes, except for gym which I skipped. The senior year it went back to the barely passing grades I was used to in N.Y. I have to think of Einstein when people flatter me for my intelligence. I never did very well in school. Now and then there were flashes. The employment application forms ask about those sorts of things. How I did in High School. Well, they are not geared to middle aged men in general. Talking McDonalds and Pizza Huts here. They are looking for kids and kids are applying to them. Had to get this off to you about the Etheric. I thought it was others. I must need a new prescription for my glasses.
Peace Unto You.
Eddie Bryan Gratitude. I am watching a tape I made of an videoseries I subscribed to. The experience of this tape is something to be grateful for. I have also had an experience with Tara that is very nice. I was able to give my landlord $100, 1/5 of the rent. I am getting my van running again, just need a funnel for gas. I have lost a lot of weight which is good since my doctors have wanted me to lose weight for many years now. I pray, someoone will send me money. Just drop it off in my mail box or under the door. Is that silly? Unrealistic? An old friend I called and he gave me the $100. He has Parkinsons. He is a natural living authority and has written a book, http://www.crawfordsolomon.com. Hope you don’t take that to be advertising. He is a fine fellow whom I have known since the 70’s though we have gone are separate paths. I am grateful for having all the things I have, pictures of Gurus, statues, books enlightening me on who I really am, what is really going on. I am grateful for tolerance for my path, nobody is trying to hang me because I meditate and chant or believe in such things. The friend giving me money was so astonishing. But … you know, but…§ that’s the end of my comment at Ram’s page. I will go further now.
I am grateful for more than that. I am grateful for the ride home from Gainesville, 34 miles away by a long white haired Marine Veteran of Vietnam War. He told me how he fought with his dad. “We got along about as well as oil and water” is what he said to me. I was talking about not being able to get my brother to give me money for the rent, electric and so forth. It’s like he doesn’t think I can get a job and he’s willing to see me go to hell with that, become homeless. This fellow, named Barry, with long white hair, smoking a cigarette, a menthol, picked me up in one of those new pick up trucks or was it like r soemthing. It was so late when he stopped. I was afraid I was not going to get a ride. It is so rare for one to hitchhike these days. It seemed to me in Gainesville a lot was done to prevent hitchhiking. They have double laned a lot of roads that were single laned with big parking areas near the curb leaving little room to get out and put your thumb out there. I walked while I was in Gainesville. I got a ride into 43rd st. and 39th ave. I got out and walked north to the Campus CU, Campus USA is the common term for it. I had to walk from there to the Oaks Mall. I suppose only local readers will know of any of these places. I was repeating my mantra all the way. I had some food stamps to get a libation here and there. I bought some Green Tea with Honey and Ginseng at Walgreens on 43rd. Did you know Food Stamps won’t pay for the sports drinks that have become popular. The tea was good. I was carrying a laptop with me. My Dell Inspiron 1420. It was great to be out on the road. There is a great spirit out there but don’t get me wrong, it is demanding on a 58 year old, diabetic who is slightly overweight at 220 lbs. I had to hitch though since my van was not operable at the time and I had a $100 check I needed to cash, made out only to Eddie. There was a $5 fee to cash the check unless we had a debit card with Campus and I did, so I was able to get cash from the ATM outside. I worried about carrying cash but went with the flow. With the price of things these days, $100.00 isn’t really so much though a great gift from a friend. Friends are not so much required to help you out as like family is. It is this truth that leaves me dumbfounded when family tell me “sorry Charlie,” or “no way Jose.” No way Jose is something I have heard Gurumayi say. She used it in reference to the ego, I think. It’s hard to recall. I’m watching her now. She is speaking of the Buddhi, the higher mind, the greater intellect
What a day last Friday was. That’s when I took to the road. I am still very greatful for getting back home with the money and with my newly repaired glasses. That was another event. I had to go from the Millhopper area to the Oaks Mall. WHAT A WALK. No I didn’t hitch, like I said, Gainesville has done quite a lot to keep you from hitching and use the public transportation. I hadn’t any money at all and had never prepared to be a bus rider. I will be looking into that now. I think there are passes for buses available to the poorer citizens. I think students too get a lower priced bus pass. I will look into it.
Thank you very much for reading.
Crawford Solomon – Heaven On Earth
I am a truth seeker. A seeker of light as mom once put it. I have attended Shaktipat Intensives and, I guess, received Shaktipat, though I find it hard to recognize. That’s why, I suppose, I received knowledge from Prem Rawat in 2007 shortly after mom died. I think it has helped. I love Prem Rawat’s mastery of the language. He speaks english perfectly and makes the sanskrit recognizable for me. He has given me the distance I perhaps needed to understand what Gurumayi is saying. I think my ego has been repeating the mantra, “I have a Guru, I have a Guru, I have a Guru.” That was important to me. It became important in college and continued throughout my life.
Other spiritual communities that have affected me are ISKCON and the Urantia Book, Stephan Gaskins Farm, Kerista Commune, Tibetan Buddhism though it is more a religion than a community and related thereby the books of Alice Ann Bailey who transcribed the teachings of The Tibetan, Surat Shabd Yoga, especially Kirpal Singh who was the spiritual master of my community college philosophy teacher. I have also gone to some church, the United Methodist Church. I was baptised there a little while before Bob Dylan became a Christian. I was affected by the teaching of The Tibetan in this way that I expected the return of Christ. I also became a Freemason through this influence though I think loneliness and guilt was very important too. It was after joining Freemasonry where my father was a 32nd degree mason and my mother was a Worthy Matron in the Eastern Star and an older brother had been initiated that I was introduced by my counselor at the Alachua County Mental Health Clinic to The Urantia Book, a book of truth and revelation.
My first Siddha Yoga Intensive was in 1991 at Christmas. Known as the Christmas Intensive, the theme was” I shall live in the house of the Lord forever.” Having been living in my human father’s house for many years continuously in my adulthood I made a mention of this in a pre-intensive phone call to our small center in Gainesville, Florida. I remember the nice girl who hosted the phone call evening named Maheshi. She suffered from Multiple Sclerosis. It had not progressed so very far at the time and I was feeling sorry for myself for having to live with my mom and dad. That is the ego.
My dad died in 1992. I went to the ashram thereafter. I had taken the Easter Intensive and a workshop with Ram Butler in Sarasota, Florida, not too far south from where I live and when the Birthday Intensive came up I finally heeded the call to go and meet Gurumayi. In moments our meeting was both impersonal and personal. I appreciated her smiles and appreciated meeting as an impersonal kind of thing, reciting my mailing address to her. I had subscribed to DARSHAN magazine since 1988 and taken the DARSHAN video series as well. I was impressed by the name chosen for the new magazine, a new child born of Siddha Yoga after the passing of Siddha Path. I had been interested in a Guru named Darshan Singh who was the son of Kirpal Singh, the Guru of my philosophy teacher and now Gurumayi whom I had been following as well as Baba, her Guru, since 1978 in one way or another. So meeting had already occurred really through these publications and through the chanting and meditation that went on in the centers.
I had practical pursuits as well. I took a writing course to give rebirth to my writing in 1991. I took some community ed. courses in the computer. The writing course had introduced the computer and the word processing typewriter. Both were rather difficult to learn. Mom bought me a computer in 1996. In that same year she had a DirecTV dish installed for me. I had had cable. I believed that the home where we had chanting and meditation in 1988 had cable. My ego and mind had thrown up some difficulties with the center(s). I was still smoking cigarettes then and the host made an aside about the smell of tobacco. He said cigarettes stink. It is humorous to me now but it was a bugaboo then. It continued to annoy me even when I met the man in South Fallsburg at the Birthday Intensive. He said he would help facilitate my stay at the ashram and it made me think it went so much slower because of him. I was not seeing God in Everybody, especially not in this good fellow. He received a spiritual name, Nimai, and that annoyed me. It was a name I had learned in books by A.C. Bhaktivedanta Prabhupada. I don’t remember now if it was a name for Prabhu Nityananda or Lord Chaitanya himself. These differences in traditions is something my mind brings forward. There is really no difference in anything.
I’m tired of being the happy idiot despite what the yogi/yogini says.
I have no work and haven’t had work in over a decade. Before that
part time job it was another 20 years and I was fired from that job.
Why should I be happy? I should be very sad, mad and grumpy. I
shouldn’t be easy to get along with. I should be a pain in the ass.
Why am I not? Because of the Siddha. She preaches happiness and
joy despite all outward conditions. It makes me sick. People hate
happy people as she herself said in a videotape.
“Are you one of those people who hate happy people? Do you see
people having a good time and say ‘what are they so happy about?'”
She has the support of scriptures that say the mind creates the
world. The more the mind is unhappy, the more unhappiness it
creates. Is that true? WHO THE HELL KNOWS?!!!
All I know is I can’t stand being in debt and being unloved. Nobody
else follows this cock sucking shit, why the hell should I? They want
to take me away, let them, just don’t cheat me and then lie about it.
Don’t pretend your a friend and say sorry Charly.
I’m not going to BE happy anymore. I’m going to be mad and
disappointed the way the pool hall clowns want me to be. It’s true,
I have nothing to be happy about.
Haven’t heard back from you. How’s Jane doing finding a new place. Was that for real or was that – philosophy. There is no other place, of course. Practical reality tells us different. If I can’t get $500 up by Monday I’ll be evicted. And no legal stuff just tough talk. That’s the country conservative way, you know. so is this somebody’s seva? Tim’s? I still have his phone number. Suzanne’s email is deactivated, Leonora’s too. Nice of them to be there when mom died. You know I went to Maharaji and knowledge then, in 2007. I received knowledge. He had these things called the keys that were really cool. I missed Mayi’s DARSHAN video series back then.
I was rich back then, you know? I was alone in the house with mom – so when mom died imagine how alone I felt. Should I mention my handicapped brother? He didn’t come by. The southern farmer family, they didn’t want to renew old ties. I remember when people called me Kennedy, the sense that I would find the political belief so much more important than ordinary people. The shoe’s on the other foot now, I suppose. But nobody comes to me. Nobody hangs out with anybody anymore. I remember one Easter, Suzanne, Analise and someone else, was it Stephanie or Mary, or was it no one else, just me. We had bagels and Analise had some foul. I had never eaten there before, the Bagel Factory or something. It was Easter and nothing was doing. Nothing really unusual about that.
We yearn to see God in each other, but we are not even talking to each other. I have, I’m sure you have so many pictures of Gurumayi, statues likely, I remember Draupadi’s Nityananda, that Golden Nityananda and this is his Golden Punyatithi. We have those common memories of people and things. We have realizations to reveal to each other. I have been looking through my old DARSHAN magazines. I found a Siddha Path then from 1985. There was a story by Peter Namdev Hayes who is a Facebook friend of mine about Beginner’s Mind. He wrote about wondering what he could give to Baba after Baba awakened him. He wondered how he could serve. I remembered when I first got to go to the center after losing it for a while. It had moved from down on Depot to out Newberry Road way. All that chanting with the videos, singing together and then meditating. I wondered what that feeling was when I left the Sticco house out on 42nd Ave. I got in that car which was a great blessing to me and drove home. You know for a long time I couldn’t use the car. My dad used to fix it and he was kept inside by skin cancer. There may have been other reasons I couldn’t get my little ’64 Falcon working, but I don’t know them. Suddenly the mechanics had disappeared and there was no way to push or tow the car to the mechanic. My dad, a master mechanic on the railroad, a position nobody went into very far in explaining to me as a child, couldn’t fix it because he couldn’t go outside. I couldn’t much believe that. I had been expelled by my “informal commune.” Apparently I acted inappropriately around my ex-girlfriend. Maybe it was that I was Gay interested or that I was violent in responding to violence. I had been struck on the head with nungchukas by a friend I had a disagreement with. He had had an arrangement with his girlfriend that they would only be lovers for 4 years, until she graduated college. That day had come and I thought myself a good candidate to be her new lover. He ignores that side of our relationship and just thinks I’m his friend, but when we go out one night in my car, he didn’t have a car and I gave him rides, we went to this place he didn’t like, Lillians, and when we came out he hits me in my right side. He was a bug about musical tastes and I had played He Ain’t Heavy, He’s My Brother on the Jukebox. He didn’t seem to like that. I didn’t like karate. He was a karate enthusiast. We didn’t have a real good relationship. He played guitar and I had suffered guitar lessons for 3 years as a kid. I just had too much baseball in me, I guess, too much sport in general. Guitar lessons for me were awful. I took them from 9 -12 years old and I lied, lied, lied about how much I practiced to my guitar teachers. They gave you a little soap statue if you did so many hours of practice. The first for 500 credits was Brahms. I lied enough to get that.
They didn’t teach rock. Rock was my love.
So, I got hit in the side by this friend of 4 and 1/2 years. He was a year younger than me, too, but tall, 4 inches taller than me. We went to another bar of alternative fancy, The Melody Club, after Lil’s. He, who had never been to this bar, told me there were no women there, but he seemed to have found one by the time to leave. While he was making out with this woman in the Gay bar, I took off in my car. I stopped and called out to him to ask if he wanted a ride home. A pretty stupid thing I guess since he was making out with a woman there. I found nobody and was lonely but he got mad and came to the car and when I asked him again about a ride he kicked me in the groin. I was in the drivers seat and he got his leg through the door and across the seat to kick me in the groin. Didn’t hurt so bad. He couldn’t place it with the steering wheel and all. So I took off for his home, an apartment a few blocks back from Publix on Main. I had loaned him my stereo as he had none. He didn’t like my stereo. It wasn’t the “best.” It was a Realistic, a brand he believe to be “cheap,” and unacceptable. He accepted it because I was such a good friend, having been his acquaintance since 1972. This was 1977. So his door was open and I went in and started to get my stereo together and he and the woman at the Gay bar come home in her, I suppose, little Volkswagen. He takes the pose that I am a thief and he enters, goes past me to his room and gets his nung chukas. First he kicked me in the side as I was bent and holding a speaker and then as I sat on his couch aiming toward his door to get out, the chukas hit my head. He had worked hard on his chukas to make them heavy and sharp. He was into how much pain he could inflict. He had claimed in was for his own protection and the protection of the fair sex who so loved him. He was quite proficient at getting laid I had learned and he could take all kinds of drugs without losing it, as the saying went. We had our differences. You know how we speak without words. I spoke without words to Mark in the Melody Club. I said that he sucked as I involved myself in an act that his not so highly thought of among polite people. I figure that was what got him. The hit in the side he gave me , that may have just been an invitation to study karate. Sure. The songs had nothing to do with it. He was the last word in all music as long as I knew. He replaced a nice, funny fellow at the apartment where the freshman or first yr. college student party went on. It became a second yr. college students’ party when he came along. I was cut out from a second year of this good fellow when he found a pretty woman to sleep with. Being that it was not comfortable for man and woman to “sleep” together on a single bed, the original renter of 1/4 of that Landmark apartment, costing $100.00, had to go. I had been a candidate for a place in that apt. but my father was so dirty cheap that I dared not press and I was leery myself of the libations and drugs. I was a little uncomfortable sharing a room with another boy. Even my best friend from Hawthorne High School made me feel that way. I had tried it with him and things went quite awry but that’s another story.
After being hit on the head I got out to my car but I was not to think that Mark Bennett was going to leave it there. No, he went out of his house and when he could not get into my car, he took the chukas and swung at the windshield. I was able to get out of there. I went to this “informal commune” where my ex-girlfriend lived with one of her girlfriends and the husband of that girl. My girlfriend’s girlfriend had just had a baby and that was the center of their consciousness. I got out to the “Farm” out on Hawthorne Road and it was not past their bedtime. They took a look at my wound and were aghast. The took me to the Emergency Room, the husband at the request of the wife, and I got stitches in my head. I’m sure Mark Leighton Bennett, III who was originally from Orange Park got a real kick out of that. He was always talking about putting someone in Shands.
The Center is not far from where the now defunct Melody Club did its business. Part of it is now called Spikes. There was a real big deal that followed all that about non-violence. I even heard my name spoken on the radio as being a “victim of violence.” I had it in me to do the whole Mahatma Ghandi posed and feinted at it for a while but in the end I sought the services of an elder cousin of mine who also loved rock and could defend himself very well. I had gotten a job that sort of made me a sitting duck. I was a courier for the Gainesville Sun. I delivered papers out Hawthorne Rd. and through Windsor and into my own town of Melrose. It was now 1978. The storm had been brewing throughout the year. The commune had lured me up to somewhere in Arkansas near Fayetteville, host of Arkansas University. My ex-girlfriend and her new girlfriend, the old girlfriend with the husband and their baby, Raina. I was lured up by sexual suggestion and taken as a derelict or pedophile when I got up there. I ended up in jail as they did not want my company.
I had left a job to go up to see them. Relationships are so difficult. Cathy and I had had an open relationship. I was always thinking it was still open as I saw her naked at the “Farm” often. We also swum in the waters of Gay defense. We believed in Gay people’s rights and defended them when men sneered the word Gay at us. I had had a Gay experience even though it was not me who had all the David Bowie records ever made. That was my friend Mark whose girlfriend was called Carol, or Jew if you were Mark. Funny they thought. I didn’t care but it kind of bothered me that what mattered about Bob Dylan was that he was “a Jew.” Maybe from a history student concerned with the Holocaust but my friend Mark never wrote a single paper in all the years that I knew him. So, I was up in Arkansas and good friend were not being nice to me anymore. A lot like now.
I never did get together with Carol, Mark’s girlfriend. So hippy, so cool, being possessive as hell. Don’t you think. Well, he didn’t have a car, did he, and his job was just a pizza maker at Leonardo’s. He quit that job and took one at Winn-Dixie, but he did that after. Hope this isn’t boring you. Hard to take in , isn’t it. It’s hard to say that was the beginning of my hardship but it really seems like that. People being like you did not know them to be. How does that relate to Siddha Yoga? Is the world acting as we do not know it to be. Have we got the world wrong? And yet, the world acts as our friends that we don’t understand act. Baba tells us God is within everyone but we don’t see it. I think my God would be KINDNESS. I don’t see the kindness in people. All this money that I had, the car that I owned, what good did that do to me. I was still lonely. My kick was not even meditation it was looking at TV and now I’ve come to where I can’t pay for TV and am trying to sell my TV, the big plasma that I bought, my addiction or affection for TV at its height I guess. I tried to get Siddha Yoga to make blu-ray.
Anyway, I hope you are reading this. If you are not I can post it to Edsaves77, my blog as they call it. It goes back, you know, way back. There are archives that link it to my postings at Yahoo! before and after my mom died. It’s this computer thing and my education. Current Events. Is that where it all began? I have been hearing that my favorite Current Events teacher, the Current
Events teacher of the Draft and the Vietnam War Protests, has cancer. She is retired and I’m so sorry to hear of her condition. She had moved. She has grandchildren. She’s moved to another place in Florida. Maybe Jane would be interested in this, she, my Lu LaFontaine who taught American History and English at Hawthorne and later at Gainesville High School has moved to Marrianna, Florida. Is that the name, Marrianna. It’s up near Pensacola.
So, who else was in that Siddha Path, Swami Shantananda. He wrote about Mahalaksmi, whose song I have been singing as regularly as I can. I received another song, via Swami Vivekananda and Pankaj Bhole, both Facebook friends of mine, called Kanakadhara Stotram. You can hear the Kanakadhara Stotram, a story of Mahalakshmi’s kindness to a follower of Shankaracharya’s at YouTube. I’m just too lazy right now to link. My friend wanted to see what the Pawn Broker in Keystone would give us for the TV, mount, credenza and surge protector. It was not even rent. He wanted us to bring it down so he could see it and we did. Just the TV and boy is it heavy. Supposed to be 100 lbs. approximately. 54″ plasma. Panasonic Viera. Would the center like it? I can’t just give it to you, sorry. And the Ganesha statue, out here? No way!!! I had to go into town about food stamps. I got some money last month and they needed some proof of that. I had canceled my Life Insurance Policy and received 197 dollars. Before they approved my stamps I had to get a copy of the check and take it to the office there on 16th Ave. Nice people there today, so Black. Nice woman took care of me. She spoke english nicely and processed the data well. She clearly knew what she was doing. I didn’t feel used or anything. Had the TV in the van all the way. My friend who had the Pawn Broker idea paid another visit and she offered to help bring the TV up from the van. I live in an upstairs apartment on Main Street across from a PC Repair shop. I wish he would give me a job but he says he can’t.
I was going to bring the statue and the 100 or so DARSHAN magazines I have over last night but I just couldn’t pick up the vibe. Doing business with you? It’s controversial. You’re holy, you don’t exchange currency for things. Maybe I didn’t want to drive down Melody Club Lane or maybe it was my gas problem. This van guzzles the gas. I wonder that it’s previous owned didn’t take advantage of the clunker program, but it cost me about 1,000 dollars and then I needed a transmission. Boy. I am such a BOY. I just can’t take care of myself. I need my mommy. I am so stressed out that the other night I just started crying and saying, mommy, mommy,mommy. She was my savior or as the song in Siddha Yoga goes, “my sole support.” Of course we know the Guru exist in the blade of grass or the leaves that fall. It’s a metaphysical concept. I’m a simple person, I just need my mom.
Love you all and I was glad to be able to give you all of this. I feel like maybe I cheat you when I write you. I have written Pankaj who by the way was part of an installation of a Ganesha in Ganeshpuri, I think, on Ganesha’s birthday. How about you, are you meeting Siddha people on the Net?
Oh, this article by Swami Shantananda, it was bout these statues. As a young man he loved the Catholic statues of of the angels and saints and then that fell away, but later when he came to yoga he saw these forms differently. Not creations of the mind, he says but experiences of the deep within. Excuse me getting kind of Clockwork Orange or Australian or something.
I need to send. Love you.