Imagine deep within your soul you want to give gifts to the world..but then life happens and you get tired.
Imagine having the passion of a Content Creator but not knowing how to put your thoughts into words.
What am I protecting? Is this modesty.. its own form of honesty?
In order to be a popular platform poster you need to “post every day” or at least a few times a week.
Ah
That might not work then.
Where is the passion I’m looking for? Where is the spirituality I once had or the zeal for living life as if this life is a rare commodity?
How do I take life for granted so much? How do I lounge in carefree boredom narcolepsy or not? Am I pregaming my midlife crises, getting ready for it, double fisting it?
Seems like a me thing to schedule such a thing rather than to be surprised by it.
Well why on earth am I surprised that there’s no element of surprise when I feel like I already know what the book of my life is about..like God and I deliberated and threw the book at me?
Sometimes I feel like I have some crystal ball or a blueprint to my life in my subconscious mind. I don’t want to see it. I don’t want the left hand to know what the right hand is doing. I’m tired of it. I’m tired of watching my movie from the outside.
Life and the enjoyment of life seems rather to be that the eyes and the ears and the nose would hear, see and smell what is here or at least whatever senses we have available to us. So strange that even Spiritual Doctors have remarked on sense “All knowledge comes through the senses.” Good job St. Thomas Aquinas for being like the Doubting apostle in your search for faith. I feel that heartily.
So there is that darkness in the soul of understanding (nous) to wit my life gives reference that I keep remembering that I don’t know and I do know. Part of me know my spirit though living in my body and not separate has separate agencies, faculties and ‘abilities’. I find it hard to be a gnostic because I’m an earthen vessel and yet though trying not to be “too heavenly minded to be of any earthly good” I find myself trapped between worlds, like a ghost with a preternatural stain on the ink blot tests of the collective unconscious of this age.
In my heart I watch kingdoms rise and fall revolutions turn and the sun set many a year. The ages of time acquiesce to an Apocalyptic dance that never seems to end. All of this is beautiful and is a verdict to my and the worlds mortality. I hope that I can learn lessons of this knowing that “the spirit gives life and the flesh is of no avail.” so that perhaps life can come to my dry bones again.
The usual trifle of a mastermind is their undoing but there is a mastermind of daunting courage, accidental lack of ego and yet an individualism that “seeks not its own.” yet “lacks nothing” and is “perfectly equipped for every good work.”
‘The usual trifle of the Mastermind is the ‘truffle’ of the Mastermind. Wishing to escape the watching eyes of commoners presumed swine that are in their common simplicity the sign and signat of that primeval connective singularity of all beings the mastermind alone presumes to be the all seeing eye..and yet..”the spiritual man judgeth all things and yet is judged by no one.”
This is Yin and Yang, Light and Dark, Batman and Robin.
Shadows have the tendency to reveal the truth.
Just as Sherlock Holmes might make a game of wits with a man of wits similar and the chess game that interweaves as we see consciousness show mysteries, that is the mystery of evil and the mystery of good.
How does one of similar temperament and comportment as another choose evil or good?
How many of us truly ever meet our archnemesis?
The arechtypical mastermind is not entirely evil and vile.
The Benevolent Ego of the good Mastermind absorbs into the all.
Whilst being an individual self he is at the service of all.
While being egoless he has become all.
While the evil mastermind secures his fortress the good mastermind makes a glass house.
Through accountability is wrot tranquility for accountability is “to be known” by another name.
The evil mastermind secures his own house. When the good leader rules he secures homes for all.
Two houses all and all and great the potential dirges for if either were to fall and yet one shares generosity with urgency the other clenches stones and gold alike.
Like a dark prince of shimmering, ethereal and uncreated light so is the rarity of this egoless gift to humanity.
He/she calls back the valor of the medieval knights of lore. He is victorious and powerful and has found the white stone with his name on it. His name will never be blotted out.
May we all strive for such egoless truth of existence.
Around ten years ago or so I was going through my own “Love Supreme” conversion.
I had touched a darkness in my life that I didn’t know I could touch and I contacted a vital life inside of myself that I didn’t know I could contact.
Contrast. Light and Dark. The Logos that fills all things.
And yes I was truly jiving to some Coltrane as was I also giving Christ control again through the subtle and perhaps unwitting spiritual leadership of the mixtapes of my good friend Jonni Greth.
Having a taste for the Avant Garde, Jonni being raised in a very EVANGELICAL background had embraced Christ deeply but almost seemingly in spite of the spiritual milieu and atmosphere about himself. This I always respected and even if he didn’t know it it often made me receive helpful wisdom from him almost as if he were some closed off Jedi hermit.. Which for a hermitic like soul like mine made for an attractive candidate.
If that had not been enough he also had the gifting to express those life experiences of the ‘solitudinal’ heart through song.
Jonni Greth introduced me to Daniel Johnston and copious amounts of outsider art and music, the depth in the like which I was clearly hungry for and yet through all of this our friendship showed me a sense of desire to nurture the artist in me, something I often felt very few people in the world tried to nurture.
But in the years around 2009 existential miracles happened in my life. Some precipitated by a life fallen away from my faith at the time, being caught up with by youthful indecisions and the untimely wreckedness of far too much imbibing (of various substance); the God of my youth began to become something and better yet someone to me again.. the presence of an old long lost friend.
Somewhere between breakups with people I didn’t honestly date but merely had deep emo college infatuations with and the sentiment that some sort of Aspergian colored cloud contrasting between genius possibilities and social catastrophes was my plight, I would finally, somehow, gain a notch in my proverbial life belt.
All of my fellow musician friends knew me as ‘that dude who would probably never get ahead or make anything worthwhile happen with music’ but slowly, somehow, like the slow tick of the oil drip leaving my white Chevrolet Astro van dry, a dry artist through experience and near caveman from primordial goo level emerging, I came seemingly out of nothing into existence for the first time.
“I had a panic attack in psychology class but with the guitar on my back no confidence lacked.” (Excerpt from a song I’m working on.)
But indeed it was true. One day a college infatuation of mine, whom I had been sitting behind in psychology class on the first day of class, having a panic attack when the teacher merely called for me to introduce myself, would be the girl I got the confidence to sing my song I wrote for her in the parking lot there at Pensacola Community College (as they used to call it).
She said “How is it that you have panic attacks to introduce yourself but behind a guitar your so confident?!”
A song Hosea was born. Next was Bay Leaves. Next “crap!”.. one day in my inner battle to remain atheist I had my secular humanism lead me back to Jesus (we’ll save that one for another blog. Hyperlink will be updated!)
Then another day walking through the mall like an anthropologist studying people and buying nothing as I often did, I walked into a Ross Dress for Less and stumbled upon a fortune cookie paper that read as follows…
“You will make a name for yourself in the field of entertainment.”
Things slowly got weird. My car almost broke drown one day on the way to a fund raiser for a Church Hippy Coffee Shop known as the Ole Mug at the Genesis barn in Foley, Alabama but I was all out of money “bless my heart!”
So I stopped by a Tom Thumb right down the road from ‘Flora Bama Bar and Grill’ remembering my guitar in the back of my on-e Chevy Astro Van that was sitting in the seat of my road side salvaged, leather lazy boy for easy back seat sleeping (if I so desired) and with a glint of proverbial providence and road magic went inside and made my pitch to the manager.
I said “sir I am out of gas and I have no money but I have a guitar in the back of my van and I would be more than willing to buy gas if I made some money out on the curb.”
Finding this a different kind of request and looking somewhat amused he accepted my request. I played my heart out in the middle of that summer day and by the end of an hour or so I made 35$! I bought some gas and got at least half a tank and saved the rest for Taco Bell and some as a momento. The fund raiser was over by the time I got to Foley {Isn’t it Ironic}.
The one time event turned into my semi regular gigs on the Gas Station circuit round playing at any gas station or public place I could until one day I thought I might take a chance..again.
I walked into the City Grille in Gulf Shores, Alabama that was newly opened and asked if they ever had live music. They said that they had been looking into doing it but had not booked anyone yet and then asked me if I would like to be one of their first. I WAS IN!
My job was music! One gig turned to 2 turned to I’m playing all week and I was finally good at something..something before that among my friends I was the worst at. Friends had moved away to different parts of the country but even as far as Salt Lake City Utah the word was out that Dillon was writing music and somehow it didn’t suck! What a novel thought!
As time would go by (around 11 years or so now) I have seen my song writers hermit syndrome go way way deep.
That first year and a half or so on the Gulf Coast and I was quickly finding myself drained.
Notwithstanding the facts of my lifelong undiagnosed sleep disorders and other maladies of which I only knew so much.
I was an originals artist in a world ruled by cover singers and it mystified folks how I even got out there as an originals artist ‘gettin gigs’
in the first place.
Though my song writing instincts are deep and most definitely instinctual and though my songwriters hermit syndrome is even deeper I could only say succinctly that I never could have begun getting out there without ‘finding my supporting cast’.
Donation
I have been working really hard to tell stories that stir heart and brain into a frenzy that says...perhaps there is more to all of this!?
Here is the grimey fun part!
Blogging, writing, music and art are not only my passion but they are also how I am seeking to make my living. Any donation big or small is greatly appreciated. For any one dollar donation I will send you a download code for one of my songs! 12$ donation and up and you qualify for my 1 year premium subscription which includes access to premium content, previews to comics, novels, freebies and more! Any support is greatly appreciated! Thanks!
$1.00
James Dillon broxson is an artist, musician and content creator. He is married to his wonderful wife Carolina originally from Venezuela and has a beautiful baby girl with her named Eliza. For enquiries email shastat78@gmail.com
Musings of a Picture Frame Conversationalist. 