Frustration

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Sometimes I can’t open my eyes, the day is not my friend
Some days it’s so much harder to try, than it is to just pretend
Everything comes around and always fades away in time
and all the secrets that you hide, haunt my broken rhyme

The path I see before my feet is twisting in my head
The sky may look serene and blue, but I can see it turning red
All around me there is nothing more than barren fallow ground
I’d break these chains of fear and run, but I know you’d track me down

Streams of consciousness, self inflicted medication
Scenes of bitterness, in empty meditation.
Only loneliness is true emancipation
Only everything, insanity…or maybe just frustration.

Set your focus on the prize you hope you’ll someday win
See the ending, from the point of no return where you begin
Only dreams will stand apart from where you once were young
All the anger that you keep inside until that day will come

They say the devil runs this place, and hell is what you make it
Blinding us with fear and bullshit, but we ain’t gonna take it
Give us back our nation, stop treating her like a whore
We’ll teach our children better ways, just like we did before.

A Small Part of History

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It’s hard to believe that 4 months have passed since my previous post. A lot has happened. Lots of changes. A new season. A new President. A new economic crisis.

Change is good, right? Well, maybe not all of it.

I guess I made a conscious decision somewhere along the way to sit out the election season. It wasn’t that I had no opinions…no, I had plenty. I think instead it was just a sense of frustration in the process and the inability to see any real change in the making. Which is odd, considering both the major candidates were running on a platform of Change.

But here we are, and I find myself convinced that yet another fraud has been foisted upon the unwitting American public. The press has colluded with the powers that be to render the voice of the people ineffective and void. Sure we had a choice. I just wished there was one I could get behind.

So along came election day and I prepared myself to perform my civic duty. Still, I could not decide.

Hours remained until the first results were to start coming in, and I could not make a selection. The press had convinced me that my vote was useless in any case, that my residency in Connecticut ensured that my electors would be voting for Sen. Obama regardless of my ballot. So why, I wondered, should I bother?

I decided to make a difference anyway. I took my son with me, two days shy of turning nine, and a video camera. I filmed as we drove, explaining to him that HE would be making our choice for President. As I could not decide, HIS would be the vote that would not count. OK, I didn’t put it exactly that way…

He earnestly protested, saying that he could TELL ME who to vote for, but that the law required me to actually CAST THE VOTE. Despite my attempts to convince him otherwise…that we could get permission from the election officials, and that I was sure it would be OK…I finally agreed to his compromise.

We entered the polling place, and got our ballot. I prepared my black marker to fill in the correct bubble, and bent down so that he could whisper his choice in my ear…”John McCain” he told me.

So be it…choice made. The bubble was filled in, as well as the requisite additional local choices, and we were off to the ballot reader to submit the document.

Strangely, allowing an almost-nine-year-old to fill in the bubble for our choice on the ballot was an act of treason, but depositing the completed document in the electronic scanner was perfectly permissible…and so he sent our ballot off into the void of useless votes.

Outside the polling place I asked him the reasoning behind his choice for President. He explained that he felt Sen. McCain’s service to the country in the military was the main criteria which qualified him to lead our country, and that even though most of his friends thought Sen. Obama should be President, he wasn’t afraid to believe otherwise.

Tears nearly filled his eyes the next morning when I informed him that Barack Obama would be our next President. I think he was more concerned that his friends would make fun of him (they didn’t) than anything else. But I knew at that moment that my vote…our vote…HAD made a difference.

It made a difference because my son had a chance to be a part of it. He participated in the American Experiment. He somehow could feel what it meant, and not only learned about the process, but also about what it means to stand up for your beliefs in the face of disagreement.

I doubt he understood the ramifications of the election…I doubt any of us will truly understand them for years or decades to come. But I think that he felt a little bit of what it means to be a part of history…a small part.

So now we all will sit back and wait to see what changes will come. I think we’ll all be disappointed.

Change rarely comes in drastic abundance. Change in this Grand Republic comes in trickles and drops. And while our destiny is certainly in the hands of our leaders, so too is it in our own hands. Will we rally together behind this new administration, or will we fall to bickering and blaming of the other side?

Time and history will tell.

We are all part of history. That lesson is the most important one to be learned as an American.

freedom

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Flying low, into the wind
Halfway through the mountains
Dreams abandoned and embraced
The time imagined behind.

Shadows creeping among
The red sun signposts
A hundred and sixty horses
Carry me through the fire.

The cool morning breeze
I stand naked on this rock
Darkness behind my back
The fire rises, blinding my eyes.

She called and I followed alone
Lost along The Highway of the Sun
I am too hungry to sleep.

©2008 – Jamie Gray – All Rights Reserved

inspiration

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It comes from the oddest sources. You may not even know or remember from where.

Most of the time, my inspiration comes from other people. I am inspired when I see someone helping his neighbor. I am inspired by the artwork that is created by others. I am inspired by the way that people triumph in the face of adversity.

I am also inspired by the other side of human nature. By the way that people exploit and take advantage of others. Abuse and injure those around them. Discard acts of kindness and repay others with malice. I am inspired to act…to make a difference. To try to make us all treat each other a little better.

I am inspired by nature, and the beauty that she fill our lives with…and by the seemingly belligerent actions of mankind, spoiling and defacing all that is pristine in our zeal for advancement. I am inspired by our leaps into exploration…and by the short-sightedness of our vision. I am inspired by our leaders…and by their failures to act in a way befitting their position.

I am inspired by all things, and in each there is a lesson and a source of joy. When that lesson becomes a poem, I have found a way to share the inspiration. When that joy becomes a song, I have found a way to pass the good feelings on to those around me.

When I embrace my inspiration. When I am inspired to action. When I have found a way to share my joy or my sorrow.

When I have completed the circle, only then I have honored the source of my inspiration. Perhaps I have also been fortunate enough to inspire others to do the same.

playing for the living

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Some of my neighbors have put together a community healing night on the beach. The same beach where the small boy lost his life to the waters of our lake last week. They’ve asked me to play guitar and sing some healing music. I’m both honored and horrified.

I’ve never considered myself or my own songs to be healing. No, I’m much more the dwell in my own misery type of songwriter. Ok, well…that’s not really true. But I do focus more on relationships, lost love, trouble with the law…you know, the stuff many good blues and C&W songs are born from. Maybe a couple political protest/commentary songs thrown in.

Healing will be a bit of a stretch.

So, here I am fretting (literally, with the guitar fretboard in my hands) over it. Not so much because of my own fears, but because I know there are others who are hurting. People who will be looking to me to help them pick themselves up and move on.

See, I won’t be playing songs about yesterday, but for today. I won’t be playing songs about second chances, and I won’t be playing for the dead. I’ll be playing for the living…for friends and neighbors with sadness in their hearts, who will be hoping that they can find peace…and that I can help them find peace.

Wow. That’s a lot of heavy air to make my strings vibrate through.

But…I know I can do it. Music can do it. I believe in the power of music, its ability to heal and bring forth life anew. And also the power of people…human energy. If I can tap into that energy, listen to the wind…for the song from their hearts.

If…

…then my guitar will play itself, and their energy will fill my voice.

And the healing might begin.

the future, now and then

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Every so often, I like to go and dig up some old music and listen. Really listen. I am always amazed at how different it seems now…than it did then.

Then. Where was I when I first heard that? Who was it who introduced me to it? What did I think about life? Where, back then, did I think I would be now?

Today, I’m sitting in my home office, looking out over the small lake that I am grateful and fortunate to live beside. Today, I don’t feel fortunate, as I have just heard that a 14 year old child may have just drowned.

No one knows who the child was…well, someone does. Just no one I have talked to. I don’t even know if it was a boy or a girl. Somehow, I don’t want to know. All I can think about is being 14.

At that age, there is nowhere but the future. All you can think about is what you will do…someday. When you are old enough. When you grow up. The past is just yesterday, and you think of it only because of the plans you made for tomorrow. You never think that tomorrow might not arrive.

So, it’s only 4:30, but I’m pretty sure my work day is done. My focus is gone, and this news is truly overwhelming. I’m resigning myself to reflection and redirection.

Eventually, I’ll probably pick up the guitar, for no other reason than to be one with the music of my own soul. Through each note I’ll try to teach my brain how my heart sees the world, and in some small way maybe I’ll come to a place of understanding.

First I’ll probably check on my son…I’m sure he is OK. He’s 8 years old, and most likely in front of his computer. I’m not worried. I have no reason to be worried.

Still though, not far from where I sit there are parents, no doubt in tears over the tragedy which has just occurred. A few short minutes ago, they probably weren’t worried either. For me, it is a time to count blessings. A time to number the herd. A time to be sure of the things that mean the most.

Later I’ll probably put on some old music…something that reminds me of Then. When I was 14, and the World wouldn’t wait until I was old enough…grown up. When tomorrow would surely come.

it’s about the music

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Sorry so long since my last post. The Open Mic the other night was a great time. Plenty of good musicians showed up to sit in, and it became more of a jam-fest than open mic. At our peak, we had a full band…two guitars, drums, bass, and even harmonica/vocals.

Some of the neighborhood kids joined in as well, including one kid on the violin and my own 8 year old on the drum kit. We tried in vain to get some of the girls to sing, but they were more interested in dancing. Oh well…can’t complain about that.

Even more impressive though was how equipment just seemed to show up. Some plywood for the stage, and easy-up to give us some shelter from the sun. We were without a PA for the beginning of the evening, but then even that arrived miraculously.

Most importantly, great fun was had by all…so it looks as if we’ll have to do it again soon! I’ll be sure to post a notice here as soon as the next date is determined. Thanks to everyone for all of the help and efforts to put it all together.