Gypsies, Tramps & Theives



Monks MusicThe redneck launched a new radio station this week … “Shipping the 70s to You“.  Its lovely really … All 70s all the time.  I think being the cRaZy DJ has been on his bucket list awhile so its really wonderful to see him get to create something so dear to his heart.

There is something very cellular about music.  It makes us remember a time in our lives … good, bad or otherwise.  We may not remember what we had for dinner last night, but odds are we remember all of the lyrics to an old song when we hear it on the radio.  Or at least we can mumble-croon the tune along with the beat in a way that makes us think we are singing.

I came of age in the 70s, though I hardly know what that phrase really means.  I was certainly a blue jean teen around that time, with a lot of angst and very little apology.  I had opinions with hard and fast beliefs about how things were and who I was in the world.  As I told my Freshman this week, College is a time when you get to really concentrate, build and defend your opinions … and that when she reached my age she would question their veracity and let them go.  To which she informed me the latter would never happen and I smiled to say exactly my point.

Indeed one of the important life lessons we learn (re-learn and forget again) is to tease out those opinions, values and  overall ambiguities that were given to us by our parents.  Sometimes those codes were imprinted at such a young age we may not even recognize that they were handed down to us.  Certain aspects of our personality seem so ingrained that we regard them as etched in stone.  When in fact, all of our stories are written on rice paper and can be seen through quite easily if we hold them up to the light.

Even our vocabulary holds a certain attitude about how we see the world.  I remember my grandfather use to sing old southern hymns like “Old Black Joe” … though he told me not to tell anyone about it or repeat the song.  All I knew at the time was that it seemed odd juxtaposed with Dixie or Swing Lo.  But I came to understand that my family grew up in a certain time, with certain beliefs and that I could love them, without over analyzing any of it.

Yet still I find thoughts arising in my monkey mind that have heirloom seeds.  This morning for instance, I was mediating at the koi pond and noticed a young couple in a very large old van who were going through the blue recycling bins in the ally behind our house.  They young woman was quite petite and had to stand on her toes as she leaned half of her body over the bin to reach inside.  She handed the cans to her husband who placed them in a small broken laundry basket that he carried back to the car when it was full.  I watched them out the corner of my eye as they slowly canvased all of the neighbors trash.  And I was quick to realize that in my head the word thieves was bouncing all around my brain.  “Those people are stealing city property!  We pay for recycling service and the city makes money from the things we throw away in the blue bins.  If the police come by they will get caught!”

I noticed the judgement rising like steam from a hot head.  I wondered if they were going to be brazen enough to open MY blue bin because it was not actually “parked” outside in the ally but tucked away a bit behind a cinder block half wall in front of my garage.  Its not the first time that I’ve seen people scouring for resources in the ally.  A few women actually came over when they saw me behind the gate and asked me permission to go through my trash.  And, yes I always said that it was fine.  Sometimes the young mothers had their children in tow and it always broke my heart.

But as I sat there today in front of my pond paradise looking at the perpetrators in the trash lane … a thought rose in my mind and I went inside to wake the redneck.  I fully understand that the word redneck as used in this country by the comedic elite and other better-than-thou-northersnobs is intended as an insult.  And I sometimes bite my tongue when I refer to my soul mate in this manner, but truth is it is a term of endearment that he uses to reflect on the best parts of himself and an otherwise unfortunate upbringing.  So I use the term with pride and compassion for his path.  In fact, there was a time when a young middle child of five would wait outside the back of the market for the delivery truck to stop and carry in the fresh food for the day and then dash inside the trailer when no one was looking to steal a loaf of bread so that his siblings could eat.  Perhaps it was this story that sparked my mental mission this morning and I tapped the sleeping prince at the foot of the bed and asked him if it was alright for me to take a loaf of bread and a package of deli ham to the young couple who were going through trash in the ally.

With his approval, I quickly went to the kitchen and grabbed a couple things in my arms.  I took the items outside in the ally and I could see their van was full of cardboard and other items.  The young woman smiled at me as I approached her.  I met her eyes and said “Would these help?”  And she answered happily “Yes, very much.  Thank you.”  Nothing else was said, I smiled back and nodded then darted back to my koi pond wondering why I had tears in my eyes.

I don’t have much opportunity to help people in my helpless and housebound story about myself but when I get a chance to look at my own conditioned mind and move in a direction that takes me ever so briefly on a different dirt path  (or tree lined curving street) … there is a brief feeling of ease within the disorder and for a moment the song in my head sounds like Bliss.

 

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