"Hay ah iy ya hey iy ah hey..." / Perpetual war with rumors of peace of heart and mind

Waking up this morning, remembering voices in a time of war in the early 1990s, I heard the words "rich man's war" in my mind.

RICH MAN'S WAR

Hay ah iy ya hey iy ah hey...

Rich man’s war
industrial streets, class lines
money talks, turning language to paper pieces
rich man's war free man's society.
Raging violent insecurity
nuclear man, nuclear woman
unclear how to act.

Rich man's war
Pershings cruising Europe.
America Russia
governmental nuclear views
industrial allies cutting the world
as though they cannot see blood flowing

Rich man's war
Central America bleeding
wounds same as Palestine and Harlem
Three Mile Island in El Salvador
Pine Ridge in Belfast

Rich man's war
the poor, starving for food
starving for land, starving for peace
starving for real.

rich man's war
attacking human, attacking being
attacking earth, attacking tomorrow

Rich man's war
thinking of always war
thinking of always war.

With machines for ancestors
new unborn generations
chemical umbilical chords are only wiring
in your electrical progress
human lives burnt offerings to the god greed
with lies for ancestors

There is no truth in some futures
rulers of minds feeding next generation's souls
to the control machine.
Sacrifice ritual for the proper technology
with isolation for ancestors

There is only the present bought by the credit material uses
forging chains binding you to destruction
compliments of your deities
the industrial priest.

Hay ah iy ya hey iy ah hey...

No more than neon flash
trying hiding in neon mask
have to face who we really are
at some point we had no choice.
Distant star distant light

In real world we are human being
in shadow of real world we are
being human.

Neon mask for neon flash.
Distant thunder distant cloud
passions reign
drenched in possession
what we take is hard to do
what we do is hard to take
some ones are crazy or maybe we take turns
dreaming about some kind of life we say
"it could have been different".
But it wasn't because we weren't
no matter what, it turns out the same
a lot of things we said weren't true
industrial stories in an electric instant
neon mask neon flash neon flash.

Thing is nihilistic desires
civilized gone insane
didn't imagine it turning like this
some things start good and go bad
some things get bad and stay bad.
Are we caught in between living a lie or
not living at all?
Eliminated choices lost in dreams we let go
memories we never got to have
something else to think about...
Waking up in industrial society
surrounded by angry days
going through motions
of not being.
Wanting the best but not expecting it.
Surviving paid for in dreams
feeling like a world alone
serving god with the devil to pay.
Feeling like something in no place
what goes on in hell anyway?

Thing is, it has to do with heart.
we have to understand what hearts are for
before we can get back to heaven or paradise
or the power in our mind.

Hay ah iy a hey e ya hay...

 

10 years ago meets Mandala #24 on Bodhi Day 2016 and they listen to John Trudell

Ten years ago this morning I began blogging, taking a new direction in my life, having found myself going in circles that were getting smaller and smaller.  My plan was to post a 40-year retrospective of my art work, one day at a time.  I was wondering if I would ever be able to do any art work again.  I was unemployed and unemployable.  

Now I have been self-employed since August 2015.

On December 4 of this year, I completed "Mandala #24: For Kael," from a series that I started in September 2014, which was when the desire to create returned and has remained to this day.  In the center of my most recent mandala is a photo of a man flying through the air on a snowboard.  He is the son of a friend of mine.

It was a year ago on Bodhi Day, December 8, that John Trudell died. Today I am again grateful for John Trudell's voice with its healing message of survival against all odds.  I am grateful for the blog friends who have shared these years with me.

John Trudell's Vision and Wishes

It must have been in 1983 or 1984 that I first heard John Trudell's strong clear voice while waiting for a Bob Dylan concert to begin and during the intermission of that concert in Vancouver, British Columbia, and soon after I bought a copy of the tape he had made with Jesse Ed Davis:



Along with:



On December 8, 2015, I learned that John Trudell had died.

December 10, 2015 -- Open letter from the family of John Trudell:

“We know all the people who love John want to know about plans and how to pay their respects. John left clear instructions for his passage and for what he wanted to happen after he crossed over. He did not want a funeral or any kind of single gathering. He also did not want his family to write a standard style obituary or ‘toot his horn.’ He didn’t want to tell people how to remember him.

“His wishes are for people to celebrate life and love, pray and remember him in their own ways in their own communities.

Read more at http://indiancountrytodaymedianetwork.com/2015/12/10/open-letter-family-john-trudell-162719