Secondhand Surfer

Surf~photography~journal

Mi Alma

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Enlightened False Consciousness-Reality?

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The most elementary definition of ideology is probably the well-known phrase from Marx’s Capital: “Sie wissen das nicht, aber sie tun es” (“they do not know it, but they are doing it”). The very concept of ideology implies a kind of basic, constitutive naïveté: the misrecognition of its own presuppositions, of its own effective conditions, a distance, a divergence between so-called social reality and our distorted representation, our false consciousness of it. That is why such a ‘naive consciousness’ can be submitted to a critical-ideological procedure. The aim of this procedure is to lead the naïve ideological consciousness to a point at which it can recognize its own effective conditions, the social reality that it is distorting, and through this very act dissolve itself. In the more sophisticated versions of the critics of ideology -that developed by the Frankfurt School, for example — it is not just a question of seeing things (that is, social reality) as they ‘really are’, of throwing away the distorting spectacles of ideology; the main point is to see how the reality itself cannot reproduce itself without this so-called ideological mystification. The mask is not simply hiding the real state of things; the ideological distortion is written into its very essence. – Slavoj Zizek

ideology |ˌīdēˈäləjē, ˌidē-|
noun
1 ( pl. ideologies ) a system of ideas and ideals, esp. one that forms the basis of economic or political theory and policy: the ideology of republicanism.
• the ideas and manner of thinking characteristic of a group, social class, or individual: a critique of bourgeois ideology.
• archaic visionary speculation, esp. of an unrealistic or idealistic nature.
2 archaic the science of ideas; the study of their origin and nature.

I was thinking about reality…which is not unlike pondering the truth. The more you dig into the facts, the more IT escapes you. 

The fire in my cerebral matter ignited, sitting at a local diner, T-Ray’s. The flame was sparked, when I landed here in the U.S. My REALITY was altered immediately.

My daily life went from sun filled peaceful days, to images of guns, beatings, riots, beheadings, legal rulings, liberal, conservative, bashing, fearful, defensive, arguments of sin and God. To say the least, these have been busy days, here in my living room.

There was a time when I enjoyed critical thinking, educating myself and intellectual jousts amongst my peers. And what did it all get me.

A Portobello mushroom salad and time spent with a friend, who couldn’t keep his eyes off of his BOX in his hand. Telling me to stay in the moment, as he eyed each girls legs, like they were fried and on his plate.

No time for critical thinking here.

And who cares. Most of the people, who I associate with, here on the island, believe that I was once an alligator wrestler at a local tavern called the Hammerhead. That I smuggled drugs for the Columbian cartel. When they’re not thinking that I grew up in a trailer, a poor white, black girl, who danced topless for the mob. And watch out, because I do have the ability to steal your gold teeth, when you’re not looking.

And all my life, I just wanted to know Jesus and higher education.

And there you have it, the truth, to date, this thirtieth day, of August, in the year of our Lord, 2014.

Or is it?

 

Donny’s Dead

Donny got his wings.

He didn’t die with his boots on. He was barefooted.

My Dear Donny,

We played a lot of music together. I’ve been missing that music, for a long time.

I’ve not been writing long posts. Who has the time to read them? Who has the time to write them?

But Donny’s life is worthy of words. He should have been a star/was a star. Donny was like an old time, country music legend. The way he looked, the way he lived and the way he played his songs.

He wasn’t always old and out of it. He once was a good looking man. When he played his ballads; the girls would become mesmerized. I would watch them fall in love with him, as he sang and smiled. He should have stuck to singing and never talked.

He would get himself into so much trouble. Donny was the kind of person that would test your nerves. He would push a person to their limits. He was the kind of person, who would get beat up, but would never hurt a fly. He just couldn’t get along.

He lived his life between Amelia Island, Florida and Cripple Creek, Colorado. His mother had introduced him to both. I don’t think he had a favorite. He belonged in both worlds ~  the mountains and the ocean.

I went to visit him, out west, one year. That was a true adventure, chock full of color. The same as all of my stories about Donny.

On this particular trip, I found myself in the home of Linda Goodman, the author of Love Signs. The butler let us in.Yes, the butler. Linda was in Boulder, working on another book. We went to her meditation room. He told me that he had made the stain glass there. Did he? Who knows? Donny always had outrageous stories. Some of them were true. I know because I was there. With a person like Donny you never could tell. He had no boundaries.

He once tried to talk the mayor of Jacksonville, into having a parade. Dorcas Drake, would be driven around the city, in a convertible, following police cars that were representative of Santas reindeer. What! It was a Christmas thing. I think it was a  bi-polar thing. He didn’t care it was the year that people were being shot on I-295. The city had an extreme, danger rating with triple A, due to sniper gunfire. I know he didn’t get that gig off the ground, but he did end up with a limo full of Santa’s helpers, at the Blue Bird Cafe on Beach Blvd. and all hell broke loose. That was in the early nineties, when he still had energy. Excessive doses of energy. No one experienced Christmas like Donny.

We once found a Christmas tree on a bench, took it to his apartment and he decorated it. Him and his son, Shawn. I watched. I had a picture of that tree, that showed off his room. An animal skin bed cover. All of his albums and music books. A guitar on its stand. Donny was naturally, an interior decorator. Every place he lived in would soon take on a look. Magazine worthy.

I don’t have that picture, or any of the other pictures I took of him. He would harass me until I gave him the photo.

There should be a picture of his face in the dictionary beside the word harass. He was relentless.

I once listened to him talk to a Delta Airline’s ticket agent. He wanted to change his son’s ticket for free. It took him two hours but he did it. Smiling and enjoying the entire conversation. He told the agent about his family and his aunt that had worked for Delta, blah-blah-blah. Who even has that much wind?

When I complained to my mother about him, she said, ” Donny is just Donny.” He even got to know her. She once bailed him out of jail, and held his Martin for collateral. He tried to scam her. But you couldn’t press that woman. Her picture would be beside the word, “steadfast”.

It was alway something with Donny.

I can remember looking at the toes of my boots, as I climbed the back stage of the coliseum. Merle Haggard had just opened up with, Okie from Muskogee. I couldn’t believe it. I was going on stage with Merle Haggard. Merle didn’t know it. I was just following Donny. The one time in my life, I told myself, I might go to jail, but I’m doing this anyway.

Actually, I’ve probably had that thought, many times, but not in this context.

We walked onto the stage, and I was thinking, this is what it’s like. We went to the left and sat on a box that was for the equipment. We sat there and sang along. We knew the words to every song. Merle was our favorite. We later met up with him, by his bus. I watched Donny talk to this man, like he’d known him all of is life. Merle seemed to like him.

Everyone always liked Donny, until you got to know him. He was vociferous and demanding. His pushes were taxing.

Later, he thought he would meet Paul McCartney, when he was here for the Super Bowl XXXIX. He had it in his head, that if he got the chance to talk to him, he could invite him to sing at his church. A church where he had generously, written a check to buy stained glass, for all of the windows. Of course, he didn’t have any money in the bank.

Following a fracas, at the Ritz Carlton, where McCartney was staying, he had numerous agencies, along with Homeland Security, throw down on him and haul him off to jail ~ again.

After 9-11, the world was not a safe place for Donny.

Donny ended up being barred from every church, bar and AA hall on Amelia Island.

He set a stage on fire, simulating the Jimi Hendrix Experience, at the Hammerhead Tavern, and scared the hell out everyone. He thought he was boosting the entertainment. He thought it was a compliment to the guitar player.

A local church had a sermon one Sunday, exhalting Wal Mart. I kid you not. The mega store had just given the church a large donation. He stood up and said something about it.He was escorted out of the venue. I was at the second sermon that day, and had the same thoughts, that I was told, Donny had expressed.  WAL MART. What does that have to do with God? But you can’t speak out. You scare people. You have to stick to the script!

At first, the local AA-ers, thought he was a spiritual guru. Women threw themselves at him. I thought, there he goes again, with his Rasputin ways. But, like clockwork, they turned into a lynch mob, when he lapsed into his second language, Northside Redneck. Where, “I’ll blow your brains out,” is everyday, conversational lingo. They threw him out. The day of his reckoning, I agreed with every word he had shared. The same as in the church. I just didn’t have to stand up and tell anyone.

Donny never knew who he was. He never knew the depths of his beauty. He glimpsed it, but remained like chaff.

Or, do I dare make this assumption.

Donny was a BIG spirit. Too big for this world.

Now he has flown home.

I’m sure he spit in the devils eye. St. Peter said, come on in, the bands playing,

Save a seat for me, music man, my friend ~ amen.

 

 

HEAVY Conversation

129896330971286075Do I look fat to you?

I don’t look fat to me. But, at the time that picture was taken, I thought I was an unattractive person. I thought no one wanted to know me or talk to me.

How did I get that way?

Could it possibly have been from a brother that told me I was a fatty, fatty, two by four? It was one of his repetitive tortures, that gave him a sense of power.  Or, was it from a brother-in-law, that called me lard ass, like that was my name?

I woke up to the new’s, chatty conversation about the new Scooby Doo Movie. Daphne is cursed with weight gain.

Was I cursed by people’s words?

A curse (also called a jinx, hex or execration) is any expressed wish that some form of adversity or misfortune will befall or attach to some other entity—one or more persons, a place, or an object. In particular, “curse” may refer to a wish that harm or hurt will be inflicted by any supernatural powers, such as a spell, a prayer, an imprecation, an execration, magic, witchcraft, God, a natural force, or a spirit. In many belief systems, the curse itself (or accompanying ritual) is considered to have some causative force in the result. To reverse or eliminate a curse is called removal or breaking, and is often believed to require equally elaborate rituals or prayers.[1]

I believe these vicious words, repeated to me daily became a causative force.

Today, I say to myself and others, Psalm 139:14 ~ I will give thanks to You for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.

And for those who want to inflict pain on others, with your words and actions, You will reap what you sow.

* I don’t know the answer to the Scooby Doo conflict. I only know my own experience.

7 Steps to Avoid Depression

1. Do not listen to this song!

2. Don’t listen to sad, country music ballads, ever!

3. Do not lay down in the day time.

4. Walk ~ wear headphones ~ listen to upbeat music.

5. Help someone. Get out of yourself.

6. If you find yourself unable to do 4 and 5, watch a funny movie. I suggest a Tyler Perry, Madea film. If you do not laugh, check yourself into a hospital. You are too far gone.

7. Write a blog post about how to avoid depression.

* I am no stranger to depression. As a young person, I loved to listen to sad songs and ballads, having no idea what effect they were having on me. These suggestions might sound trite, however, utilizing them has saved my life.

The Why Perspective

Photo on 8-18-14 at 11.14 AMWhy do I live in a little, bitty house? Why do I drive a rusty, old truck? Why do I have no interest in fashion, hair coloring, or a face lift? Why do I eat right and exercise? Why do I watch the morning news? Why is it, that I can’t wait to get back to Costa Rica?

Because I surf ~ that’s why?

Sortin Out Sinners

The point I’ve been trying to make to a few “good church ladies” is, I don’t think that God needs my help, sorting out the sinners.

Step It Up

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAStep It Up ROO

Taking it all in stride, Rooster is working to keep up with our granddaughter’s husband. He’s a tall one. Roo is having the time of his life, telling this walking man, everything he’s ever known about the world of welding. If he wants to be heard he has to shuffle much faster, to keep up with those long legs.

The future looks bright.

My husband came home to be by his father’s side, in his time of need.

Now he finds himself, keeping up with the young, that have their whole life in front of them.

They have a baby on the way.

A new baby is like the beginning of all things-wonder, hope a dream of possibilities.~LeShan

I have felt them all.

We are blessed.

This Is Life

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERARemember friend, as you pass by ~ As you are now, so once was I ~ As I am now, you soon shall be ~ So prepare for Death and follow me.

This is an epitaph from a relative’s tombstone. Words that I grew up with. My grandmother, mother and aunt, use to take us to the cemetery, after Mass. I guess, it seemed appropriate to visit the dead, on Sunday.

To walk with head bowed, looking at the dirt and envisioning the emptiness. The nothingness of the after-life. It looked like a weird neighborhood. The tombstones had addresses that were years; one – to the other. The personalities living on in quirky sayings, that haunted me in the week.

I took those words to heart. How was I to prepare for death?

Was I suppose to get right with Jesus. To walk and talk like him. Did I need to travel to the desert? Because it sure seemed difficult to be like Jesus in the sixties and seventies. I desperately looked for him in churches, but I only wound up pregnant.

I didn’t know. I just didn’t know.

I took this photo ~ seconds after death. I probably only caught a reflection from the light bulb. Or is it?

When I first saw the image, I knew it was the illumination of a soul, lifting, and rising out of the body.

Our souls never die. They can’t. They are energy and energy cannot die.

We are our consciousness and that is what creates our lives.

And then we die to live.

Everything that I was looking for was in me. But I had to walk my path, like the Buddha, searching for the bull. I walked and ran and fell down sometimes, when all along, the bull was behind me, following, in my shadow.

I’ve witnessed death, and come to believe ~ it’s bigger than our earthly birth.

“You never know how much you really believe anything until its truth or falsehood becomes a matter of life and death to you.” C.S. Lewis

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Seven Reason Why

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA1. He loves me, regardless of my weight. He makes me feel beautiful.

2. He loves my wrinkles.

3. He takes good care of me.

4. He’s cute.

5. He supports me in my endeavors.

6. He is good to my family.

7. He always makes sure I have a car that runs.

Thirty-one years ago, I met this man. No one else compares. Another thirty-one years would be great.

He’s a KEEPER….

 

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