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Friday, April 26, 2013

In the Doritoes

Yesterday I heard the music of Moddi for the first time. Haunting, enchanting, quietly piercing. He goes barefoot onstage before a huge crowd with an orchestra backing him. That is the true Troubadour... a man true to his strange genius and his Personal Legend. I texted my friend Nicole about it, since she had made the introduction, and she came and picked me up for a quiet walk in the park and cemetery. I hadn't realized the moon is full, which is sad for me to see - too cut off in this box, estranged from the rhythms that make us feel right in our lives.
"Do you believe in god?" She asked suddenly as we passed a few more bonemarkers. Because I do, but I'm looking for a sign."
Isn't that the way of it?
"I do now. After my time on the mountain in Arizona I do. But not the "jealous God wrathful God" of the Jewish Bible. More pervasive than that. Isn't God bigger than some personality? When I was in the desert in California I looked hard for a Him. I fasted a few days and went out into the tumbleweeds praying, seeking. There was a dorito packet I felt I should follow, so I did... and it led me straight into a bush. I picked it up and opened it, and it was empty. That's when I realized, I wasn't getting a sign. And that God is sort of the great emptiness inside all of our packaging and confusion."

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