The Space Between Your Ears

               I’ve be led into quagmires, forced into boxed canyons, and lost in mine for years. I could not resist  exploring inward, always; lost mostly, with stretches of clarity and peace, unforgotten.  

                1992 during a Southern Hemisphere May, the sun rose as the Dali Llama walked onto the stage of the amphitheater. It was that moment so far away from home that I heard that the place to save the planet was between my ears, that if one of us could fix that space, the earth would fix itself.

                                             Just One!

                   The dawn exploded over us sleepless would be world savers who had pilgrimaged from all over the world to represent our places, and I was the only one from Monmouth County there, to hear that sound, then and there.

                   Maybe it takes a thousand incarnations, but there was nothing pressing, so why not take a look, I thought. Why not blindly search for a spark of light in that walled off space?  Of course, there were major obstacles. The MIC was not happy with my presentation there, where I had called America fascist, in public, on the record. 

                     I survived retribution, and my community’s response to retribution, and then spent two decades trying to break into that final frontier, to begin damage control, part time. The MIC ran me ragged. 

                     I’m in there now, working that space, finally, with the MIC’s permission, a deal negotiated by others. Self interest prevails. I’m no Llama in there, where it looks like a chin(last letter upside down A) shop that bull has been tango dancing in; the damage looks deliberate and messy. 

                      I’m in, and you can be too. I’m getting stronger, peacefully looking at shards of a life not totally unexamined for a fix, or fixes. Damaged goods, yes, but at least I’m working on it. I’m in play, on the inside, part time. I’m hoping that I’m not the only one by a long shot. It only takes one of us. I’m fearlessly optimistic, but job here is big. I’m not giving up. 

Views: 38

Comment by J.P. Hart on May 19, 2019 at 1:46pm

Round ball, round world !!!!!!!
Curious & mellow RBJ? Can 'ya do inspirational international humanistic geo-political oratory like our Kennedys-Kings-Jesse-Jackson?

JPH
sleeves rolled up here in the Land of a Thousand Dances
IT wasn't quite dark...
L0;}

Comment by Robert B. James on May 19, 2019 at 2:58pm

Dr. Hart...I’m not anti human, or a go getter, and to old to be chasing tail like them young folk, none of whom were alive at 62. What would be my motivation? If the guy ain’t doing it for some doll?  

Between the ears is the final frontier, and that’s that. To boldly go where few Americans...far too few Americans have been for long enough. 

Strength through peace scales down easily to a party of one, where all mass movements have begun. I’m not selling anything except for Raytheon5. 

Id rather take a nap.

Comment

You need to be a member of Our Salon to add comments!

Join Our Salon

NEW BLOG POSTS

Leaving the Purple House

Posted by J.P. Hart on June 15, 2019 at 9:30pm 0 Comments

As Luck Would Have It

Posted by Robert B. James on June 15, 2019 at 3:04pm 1 Comment

PreOP Poem

Posted by J.P. Hart on June 14, 2019 at 1:33pm 2 Comments

Fear of Being Sentimental

Posted by Doc Vega on June 14, 2019 at 10:42am 0 Comments

Road Trip to Thunder Bay Postponed

Posted by J.P. Hart on June 14, 2019 at 10:07am 2 Comments

Kept the Memory

Posted by J.P. Hart on June 14, 2019 at 8:32am 3 Comments

Cutting Edge Not Vertical

Posted by Robert B. James on June 14, 2019 at 7:57am 3 Comments

© 2019   Created by lorianne.   Powered by

Badges  |  Report an Issue  |  Privacy Policy  |  Terms of Service