The day started out bleak, in a weather sense. There’s nothing wrong with bleak. Why should it always have that depressing stigma placed upon it? I am an earth-tones guy; I love gray. And, doesn’t bleak offer the hope for the Sun? We can have no hope, without first, suffering despair. That sense of hope is implanted in us, by the despair we often see; we must see it first. I agonize for people who have never suffered; the least of happiness never touches them That is why the poor are often happy. They know the least of the happiness. The poor sing, and dance, at the least of the happiness. They know true joy! Their form of world is, usually, a very simple life. Their toil is the basic thing that the wealthy doesn’t do. The poor rich, they don’t even know the joy of simple work. When the old grow older, they go back to the Earth; they garden, take precious care for their ground. It is a natural fact of the life we live; going back to the Earth.
I tried religion all my life, but found no solace in it. Then I studied the Indian Nation’s culture. It was like a diamond, laying upon the ground, that had been there all the time. I found a God. Though I am solid-Irish, the Indian way revealed to me the things that make us, us. The AWE of God!

Air, without which, we cannot live; we have no air-we have no life. The first thing we did, as humans, was breathe the Air. We must protect the air we breathe, or we parish! It’s as simple as that!

Water, we drink to sustain us; we can not live without Water. We are the Water! We come from the Water, of our Mothers. That is why the Water comforts us in times of bleak. If a human is depressed, they often go to Water for comfort. Some even seek the water as a means of ending the bleak. We must protect the Water, or we parish; it’s as simple as that!

Earth is that home we live upon. It is the floor of our world. It grows what we need to sustain our living lives. Without the Earth, where do we stand? The Earth is our Mother; it is she, who has us here; it is the Earth; it is our only home. We must protect our Mother, the Earth, or we parish; it’s as simple as that!
Air, Water, Earth-the AWE of my God.

Joesblog6

I thought bugs died when the air got cooler! I suppose there’s some fancy-pants, brain-overload, physicist out there going to explain the rudiments and fundamentals of bug-dying, now! Well, I don’t want to about hear it! I’m a sick man, damn it! Hey, if bugs do die in the cold, how about spraying some CO2 in there? Wouldn’t that help? Damn, a new drug; I’ll make millions. Then I can afford not to be sick again! Boy, you know, you just can’t beat the American dream.

The Flu-it creeps into you like a dirty bomb; then bam! I can’t go anywhere, I can’t do anything, and I can’t have any fun! (Gee, that sounds familiar). It hit me like a sucker punch. I was totally, incapacitated! I thought about wiring myself to the toilet, but somebody around here might get a little pissy (pun) about that.
Well, someone made my list today-my shit list (hey, a pun, I believe)! Whoever did not bother to reload (and I’m not kidding) the toilet paper roll, has made my A-list! They are top-of-the-charts, asses (gee, another pun!). Now picture this: you’re on the toilet, with a cold-case, emergency-landing, lost-the-winning-lottery-ticket, running-down-the-leg, case of the scurry-hurries! You sit down on the toilet and, in this case, let it fly! The agony is just this close (I’m pinching my fingers together), to absolute child birth! Yeah, yeah, I know, my wife said there is nothing to compare with child birth pains. Well, I’m here to say, “there is too”! She asked me:
“What are doing in there?”. So I told her.
“I’m having your baby; God, that is painful!” She smiled; oh, I know she smiled! Even though she wasn’t in the room, she smiled! I know what this is; it’s pay back! What a travesty; what injustice; what an abomination; I was not amused!
“Hey, hon’, can you get me some toilet paper?” she burst into laughter. I mean, a real gut-buster. She came back with tears in her eyes from laughing, and handed me three rolls of fresh, white, soothing, ass-burning, toilet paper!
“Oh thanks hon’,” I said, in that gut-churning, Flu-pained, voice. SHE STARTED LAUGHING AGAIN! What is this shit! (good God, another pun; somebody slap me!).
“Well,” she said, “when you pull nine pounds of humanity through your pee hole, you’ll understand.” God, she got philosophical on me, and my pain. All because of a simple, stupid remark! I mean, I am a Veteran of this nation; I had the “GI shits; and I am in pain; I fought for her right to say that! Don’t I deserve some sympathy? I smoked two packs of cigarettes with each kid we had! Didn’t I suffer too? I had a hell of a hangover from celebrating; didn’t I suffer too? I handed out so many cigars I didn’t even get one; it was my kid! Isn’t that worth some sympathy?
“Hey, where’s the justice?” I asked her.
“It’s going down the toilet right now, honey,” oooh, she laced those words with sarcastic venom.
“Hey, I wrote you a sweet poem, and this is what I get in return!” I was afraid to scream for fear of bringing on another spell of ‘you-know-what’.
“That was a precious poem, sweety, and I love you. But, you’re so cute when you are mad, and in pain. Besides, you will get over the Flu soon, and you’ll be fine. But child birth pains are not even on your scope.”
“It was the greatest pain we will ever suffer,” I told her... in a very weak moment.
“Yes, it was, every time,” she smiled and kissed me. I got her!
“My bugs are your bugs, honey,” I said.

joesblog6

Cantkiya (The Lakota word for "love").

We memorized the moon as if it was where we were going.
Two lovers, clinging their lips together,
strangling in the night, for an eternity,
only to breathe when, if we didn’t, we could surely die of the love!
If it rains, let it! There is no one to tell us to shame the time! Let us be drenched by rain.
If Winter comes, let he wind take us;
let us be renewed by the snow;
a soft virgin blanket to rest upon us,
after the fire has taken us away.
There is no surrender in what you want from love;
there is only the desire to be free to love.
Here's to love; here's to being swept by the constant joy
of your face in my brain.
When I went away, I was gone from my life!
I had nothing to keep the night quiet;
I had nothing, but the strange fear that I would not see you again.
You are the sound of hope;
you are that whisper in the breath of the Air.
I am a human in the world;
I was not meant to be in life, without you.
In a world gone mad,
my only hope was for someone to share this ravage with me.
Someone who felt like I do; someone who felt like you;
someone to hold memory, and share it;
someone to go with me, like a terrorist,
as we would blow the sky open;
we would ride the clouds; we would french kiss the Moon;
we would find the answer, so simple, and blue.
Nothing can fight the love between us!
We are the charge of the great warriors;
we are the hope of the world; we love;
we have that strain of pain, and ooze,
that lifts all the world to us!
For just this moment, I am King, you are Queen,
of the stars; we love;
we will touch the fingers, hold the breast;
we will fold open the great gateway to rapture!
Here, on this place of our Earth, I, you...
we will take forever in our hands;
though it is a mere flash of moment;
we will lay in our lives for this...this freedom together.
We have loved; we will love; we do love.
I love you, Diane,
Happy Birthday,
Joe

The kindness and peace of one man. He came to Earth, some think, through a cosmic virgin birth. Perhaps that is so, so be it. However he arrived doesn’t really matter to me. He brought to a world gone mad with hate, a sense of goodness, and mercy. He walked the human Earth and said the words that people believed in; the words that brought a comfort to the poor, and peace to all humanity. The greatest Christmas song ever, is a song written by a Pagan, like myself, Jackson Browne. It is called “The rebel Jesus”.

“The streets are filled with light, and the music of the season; and the merchant’s window are all bright, with the faces of the children. And the families hurrying to their homes, as the sky darkens and freezes; will be gathering at their hearths and tables, giving thanks for god’s graces, and the birth of the rebel Jesus.”

There is no time, on Earth, that makes us think of giving and goodness, like Christmas.

“They call him by the “Prince of peace”; they call him by “the Savior”. And they pray to him upon the sea, and every bold endeavor. And they fill his churches with their pride and gold, as their faith in him increases; but they’ve turned the Nature that I worship in from a temple to a robber’s den, in the words of the rebel Jesus.”

Who says you have to give money to a someone else, to believe in him. If I have no money to give, am I less than they? Would he turn me away from his church? Wouls he not love me?

“We guard our world with locks and guns, and we guard our fine possessions; and once a year, when Christmas comes, we give to our relations; and perhaps we give a little to the poor, if the generosity should seize us; but if anyone of us should interfere with the business of why there are poor-GET THE SAME as the rebel Jesus!”
“But pardon me if I have seemed to take a tone of judgement; for I’ve no wish to come between this day and your enjoyment. In a life of hardship and Earthly toil, there’s a need for anything that frees us; so I bid you pleasure and I bid you cheer, from a heathen and a Pagan;
on the side of the rebel Jesus.”

Every day I pray that I may walk with the his intent. There was a reason for the man to walk and speak. He was a Prophet. If he comes again, will we hear him; will we listen to him; or will we do as before, and kill him?
I am a heathen, and a Pagan, "on the side of the rebel Jesus".

joesblog6

I have walked the miles of hurt in my life;
I have seen beyond the joy in the edges of my eyes.
What is it that we want from this?
Do we all expect to grow the wings to fly?
NO!
Someone has to stay and care for the ground.
Some body has to stay, and be willing to grow.
Who is it that keeps the hand upon the plow?
Who will toil about the kneading Earth?
Who will it will go to fight the war; who is it will go, kill, and die,
for words that are spoken; words beget war!
Speak! Speak the large words that tells us to kill another,
whose only fault is where he stands!
Speak!
But for geography, you will die!
Stand there; the bubbles of bombs will silence your place, killing your life!
But if you stand here, the sky is power blue;
because you’re the ones the bombs came from!
What if they are not your enemy?
What if they are a quiet people living in their own kind of peace?
Everybody wishes to be where the bombs come from,
rather than where the bombs go!
It’s one of the seven sins of envy!
Only the hope to survive, wants death not to find them;
they have no war to bring here.
They are the poor, the sad, who have seen this so many, many, times.
We go to them with our swords
because The One says that God told him to go.
Orders the nothings to kill, young, old, and the life-giving,
with an ungodly blasting, blowing, boastful-going,
making their eyes see the their world tear apart.
Who are you that can rain this horror upon others,
sitting in their own kind of peace,
wondering why you hate him so?
Who are we you to thunder his brain;
who, God, are we that look, but never see what we do, in your name?
Who are we to seed the ground with smoke and fire?
We, who give war to you, give you gift of the our power!
Mere words will give you our war, like we would give you bread!
Our power, that sends you to hiding, marks our name, to bind our kingdom’s flaws!
We will be done, on this ground, when we bring you to us!
All the edges, of all the eyes, are upon us, as we go about your business.
The eyes watch, as we burn down the heaven,
they who only live in their own kind of peace.
We watch, they watch, you watch, in a criminal turn of the head,
as we become God, in a judgement of the innocent!


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