Music: The Journey
By: Elliot Goldenthal
From: Frida Soundtrack
PT 1: DEATH AND RESPECT
chicago vigil for the orlando massacre
PT 2: PASSAGES THROUGH DARKNESS
mourning & contemplation
PT3: FUTURE LIFE
rebirth, hope, love, light “one tribe”
A TEMPORRAY FEELING:
I am a simple man, pale in palettes of formal education and training, often I stumble for words and my technique can be on the primitive. At the time of this writing, my tone is overshadowed by casualties, bullets and hate.
The original direction of this piece was intended as a video offering only. Created to honor the victims of the Orlando massacre that had taken place on the evening of June 12, 2016. As words wrestled within my head for voice and release, I eventually concluded I had no other choice than to set them free. Allowing them to roam as they may as co-creators for peace in flux’s of love and rage.
Many of us feel wounded, as we attempt to make sense of this deeply dark fundamental wrong that has riveted near and through innocent young bodies. We may not know how to label, understand, or harness our own emotions during these times, this is only natural. Keep in mind many are sharing these same experience and we must gently strive to be sensitive, restorative, loving and aware of each others human condition. Take pride in your sensitivities, take pride in your awareness, take pride in your ability to be a peacekeeper. These are actions of love, actions we take for the living and in honor of those who have gone.
The effects of mass trauma and emotional unrest belong to no specific age, gender, race, or tribe. As creatures of this earth we are all connected, the energy that can flourish from an intense tragedy is often manifested in emotional or an energetic density. Although this energy is not visible to everyone, it is thick enough on a sensory level that most can feel it. Think “bad or heavy-vibes.” In times especially like these again I stress the importance of being patient, kind and loving in all of our actions. Be aware of misplaced feelings within yourself as well as your peers. Post tragedy or trauma is often a time when people “act out” in ways they normally may not.
Many of these “heavy vibe” or “static emotion” energies you may sense around you have been sparked by the Orlando 49 tragedy. Along with the countless other “casualties” of gun violence who have met their fate without choice, without prayer and assuredly with little or no voice. These absurd situational moments of continual repeat seem anything but casual to me.
I made this video specifically to honor the lives lost during the “O/49” massacre on the day I ironically began my 53rd year of living. Intended as an energy transfer, less self more light. It only seemed to have backfired, pricking a temporary fury. Fractionally due to an outbreak of local violence. One day following the final video edit, here in this normally quite cluster of blocks where I reside. In what I often refer to as the Park of Oaks, a full on police shut down was enforced as yet more shootings echoed from corner to expressway. I asked the empty air and blue sky above, why and when will these reckless shootings end? In Chicago firearm violence continues to exceed expectations. I ask again asked the same questions of my God, Angels and Guides…TELL ME WHEN WILL IT END, this self dismemberment of society, when will it end?!?
Oh these middle ages of mine, toss me increasingly into fits of anger. My spiritual roots once more lapse into a dry black upheaval. My philosophies appear to be nothing more than smoke, mirrors and several hanks of question marks. Robe of light that cloaks my soul I toss you once more into my surrender fire. Drenched in the collective blood of my sisters and brothers. In hope of spiritual cure and lift. I/we must remain lustful for hope – I have begun to question this “hope” that has always saved me from depths of black. To question hope is a dangerous space for anyone to believe in, a frightful place, not made for the weak of spirit or mind. Those with a vacant conscious or the yearling of new souls. will find existing with questionable or no hope difficult to seed, flourish or be at peace in.
FROM WHERE I SIT:
Shredded tween vacant legs, and scattered head. I look down upon my trembling heart begging for attention, not rejection. I see a golden spear of light that spikes bright. Ignored by choice, I just can’t, I no longer can trust my heart speak. (I correct myself) I can, it is more that I fear trusting my heart in this moment earthly chaos. I have begun to cave, this global static is to much for sensitive digestion. My nerves have been numbed by my own routine life let alone the mounting bullets and gravestones.
I stare at my pulsing muscle of life as it gleams like gristle covered in fresh spit and one last tear. Burnt by front page news it murmurs in sorrowed tones while sucking dust off cool grass neath my feet. As I sit in my beloved Columbus Park. In a moment of quite earth solace and distorted “head space” meditation. My eyes are unable to blink, in poor posture, I wilt forward with my willow branched back. Heavy, with weight and query I continue to count the wasting hours, I loose track of minutes and light. Immobile, from where I sit, I wonder have I really given up on listening to my higher self. My higher self that dwells soft light and patient within, above, around and whithin all things. As my ignored heart continues to beg for ear and understanding. I insist that it only speaks a language of my lost “GODS” translation. You see, I have allowed my natural human experience of anger and doubt to temporarily clutter my interpretations of light and clarity. This to shall pass as they say, I sometimes dislike these slogans but … TTSP.
THE “H” WORD:
Hate is a feeling my source-self does not understand, not in any true sense of the word. Even with the acts of extreme violence used against and within my own flesh I have never come to a point of true gut “hate” towards those 11 men. Anger… YES, Rage… YES, Hate NO. Absolutely never a desire to act out in any criminal, spiritual, physical or humanly unjust way. I do not understand this craving to dismantle a human life. Or to disfigure the natural flow and progression of another persons experience with intent. I understand we all have an effect on each-other, this is part of the beautiful rhythm of our existence, this is why we are here. For us abruptly reroute or dismember a persons path is unthinkable either by weapon or word.
Tired eye’s flutter shut like pages from a book of required tween-age reading. After rest I pull up a photograph of a man crying on my phone. I, myself have exhausted almost all functions of ducts and flow. I now have become one of “them”… I have become emotionless. You know the type of man, he who shrugs his shoulders as evening news plays repeat of stories of death, wrecks, war or natural disasters. No! I refuse to be saturated with the essence of this particular breed of social disorder or personal conduct. I now liberate myself from my temporary diseased moment of void. A natural reaction to completely toxic situation induced by demon and man.
I am in shock, just as I had been as the twin towers crumbled down creating ash coated zombies. Dazed and mentally distorted as they shuffled empty eyed with pumps and wing tips in hand. One by one they passed my shop of employment as I and others much younger stood, stunned and vacant. I remember that September morning at the corner of Broadway and Houston as if it where this very second. It is the same echoed feeling that resonates when I shed denial once more entering into the throne room of remembrance of friends. Transcending in masses of static flashes from life to death. Zapping, up and out endless and fast. Some called it an epidemic, some called it a collective spiritual rise, I still do not don’t know what to call it.
That’s it! I now can excuse my moment of emotional vacancy, I am human that is all. Whatever it is, my need to fix thing’s once again begins to kick in and I cut a paper tear from one of my many journals. With a dab will do ‘ya of saliva, I place the paper tear beneath my right eye. Still numb, I bark out loud in self anger, “THIS IS ALL BULLSHIT!” and just as quickly pull the tear from my eye and release it to the elements. Looking back I laugh recalling the words “THIS SHIT IS ALL THEATER.” Speaking of my production of one. Maybe it is the essence of my emotions that are only worthy of reflection. Not the actions although I must admit enjoy the dark humor of it all.
I continued to sit in silence, self indulged almost void of self awareness. Between breaths, I vacillated between surrender, understanding, and feeling boggled by the madness of these senseless killings. I can’t release the reminders of 9/11, war, hate and long list of other tragedies dating far back as the early 60’s. The ash zombie faces of 9/11 and the O/49 are the ones I can’t shake from my mind. My rage ignites when I think of this need to constantly defend the use of guns and weapons. Oh my beautiful dutiful right, no thank you, your right is my wrong.
Stuck, I could not moderate the electric tremble of questions dodge balling my mind… Am I in a state of shock? Is this some sort of emotional overload? Am I in mourning? Is this a self pity? Am I exhausted? Over saturated by media, everything in my life/our lives? has the world gone insane? Or have I finally crossed “that” fine line, into emotional decline? Have I finally gone from being a sensitive to desensitized?
I suppose there is a global numbness that is effecting us all to some extent. Perhaps it has spliced my spirit between truth and fear, night and light. My Only Wish no matter what the case may be, as I move the “me” that is part of the universal “we” off to the side. Is LOVE, Love is all I wish for – love, we all posses it, we all desire it, we are all capable of giving and receiving it. There are no fees, no taxes, no requirements. My Only Wish – MAY THERE BE EQUAL AND ABUNDANT LOVE FOR ALL.
Love and Light Always
The Empowered Runt