OPERA ON THE BUS

There is a certain serenity one feels from time to time when the universe opens itself up to you and shows you all of it's possibilities. There are minute cracks in the seemingly perfect order of things. God and the universe are perpetual and harmonious bodies in motion, and occasionally they pause ever so briefly and allow us a glimpse into the stillness and vast, endless realms of opportunities to accomplish and construct nothing.

All that is required, is to sit quietly, and permit the cascade to envelope us.
Small fragments and momentary exposures to our own souls is all we can absorb at any given time. The complete inability to accept all that is fortuitous, and eternal, is more than we can spiritually deal with. If we should be so bold and egotistical as to add intellect into the fray, I'm sure the threads of our limited capacities would suffer irreparable harm. God understands this, and still sees fit to love us without condition or judgement. These brief interludes serve to remind us that we should, and must allow peace and humor into our lives. It is not necessary to analyze it, nor find anything other than the willingness to accept the imperfections of all things and persons as perfection.
Our input is neither solicited, nor needed. I believe God smiles and laughs as broadly as the smile of a clown's bordering of white on red face make-up, whenever we accept our own limitations, and understand that our purpose here is one of fundamental selflessness, and an awareness of all that is good in the world. I believe this is joy.
Recently I experienced my own divine revelation on a bus in an impoverished area in central Mexico, and if with your indulgence I would humbly relish the opportunity to share it.
It is not uncommon for street artists to ride public transits, in the hopes of earning some pesos to put food on the table, so when a woman dressed as a clown got on at a stop, I wasn't overly surprised. At the onset of our trip our beautiful and talented mirth maker was entertaining children, with balloon making and facial gestures only kids and the simple minded,(myself) find amusing. It wasn't until a couple of miles had passed that we would be fortunate enough to experience the hidden behind the make-up, true talents of our performer.
Seemingly without provocation from anyone on our bus, our clown, our muse , our angel, burst into an aria Pavorotti would have been hard pressed to follow. All of the passengers on the bus, including our driver, and the small children, sat as quietly as church mice during a mid morning mass. Not an easy task for such a normally over enthusiastic, and overt people as Mexicans.
As we listened without a sound the bus driver still continued to make his stops, and as people came on they passed through their world and into ours, and were also overcome and became quiet themselves. When the bus reached its stop, our clown departed and collected whatever money poor people could spare, and walked down the street as if she were on her way to visit the mayor. No one on the bus seemed to find this unusual, or out of the ordinary in any way, and they all left to go about whatever business they needed to deal with. It was only myself that was taken by surprise, and I felt envious of their ability to experience this joy without muddying up the water by over thinking what was just another moment in the day.
The universe opened, And I was there.

OUT OF OZ

The wind was scraping the prairie dry. It was from the east, menacing, devoid of compassion, determined, willful, sly.
This was Kansas at the end of June, and some of us were prepared to die.















This was the land of Dorothy, Auntie Em, Toto, the Scarecrow, and Tinman. A harsh landscape where the threat of tornadoes and bad politics are never far from the horizon.
Kansas seems to have never been able to establish a sound footing on the terra firma of these United States.
Like the cousin no one wants to play with at the family reunion because of an abscess permeating from their lower lip. And just like the inflicted family member from those bygone days, Kansas withdrew into itself, put some salve on it's lip, and sat in it's complacent, geopolitical corner of the park and cried.
Even it's closest relatives , Uncle Colorado, Grampa Oklahoma, and Auntie Nebraska weren't able to console the pubescent youngster out of his self indulgent pouty funk. Nor could the older cousin Missouri, freshly returned from the peace corp, manage to pry the tear soaked hot dog bun from the hands of the young Kansas.
Kansas rode home that day in the back seat of his country alone. His father, the colonel from Texas, apologizing to the rest of the states, for his son's introverted behavior, promised Grampa Washington that Kansas would be enrolled at the nearest military academy in Texas. The Colonel, drunk from Lone Star beer and Cousin Kentucky's bourbon, and while guiding the family station wagon out of the park and down the dusty road of history, raised his can of Coors to his wife, the beautiful Utah, and remarked...........
Hell of a reunion this year wasn't it mother.
Kansas cried.

"I HEAR YOU SINGING IN THE WIRES
I CAN HEAR YOU IN THE WHINE
AND THE WICHITA LINEMAN IS STILL ON THE LINE"

JIMMY WEBB