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July 10, 2012    Time keeps on slipping slipping slipping away. Don't trade tomorrow for today     Papaji

So tonight I am sitting in a circle of folks many years younder than me. I am playing box drum (cajone) and looking around this circle of young faces. Rob breakes into Danny's Song and then I've Just Seen a Face. No semblance of recognition on any faces. These standards are lost on them. "Did you write that?" Ancient jungles sounded in the distance, the growls of dinasaurs growled in the background. The world moved on. Alas for all those musicians who were giggers over the years learning the current tunes and the old tunes and the standards too. How could you possibly keep up in today's world? Would there even be a place for it? There is a shift. I am not too sure I will ever play out again. I do feel I will continue to write as I heal and process but perform? I don't know. In many ways I have never felt so alone in all my life. Maybe in Viet Nam listening to the rain fall, the earth evolve, the jungle sounds in a pitch black night, poised, gun in hand, praying for daylight. I have danced on the edge of life, one foot through the veil, and known I could cross over and leave this body behind. Yet I chose to stay. Not for me though. But why? I feel there is more work to do, more love to give, more ways I can contribute before I go. Just the same, it was a good feeling to know I could have stepped out of this shell and been done with this life fair and square. I am tired. I will go to see my father soon. He is 81 years young. I can only imagine how tired he feels. If I can help in any way I will. I am grateful for my life. No one of us can truly understand what another feels, but we can appreciate our concept of what they feel. Given that I fall on my knees with gratitude for my parents, siblings and every person in my life who has given me time an love. Blessings from the depths of my soul.
Sending out the love.

July 4, 2012    "Let go or be dragged." from a refrigerator magnet at Bad Ass Coffee

   Air. It is assumed with a little effort you can gather what you need of it, release the leftovers and repeat the process as needed. For three weeks now I have been empathic with people with asthmatic conditions and any of a number of maladies that limit or deny the body's ability to partake of this practice of harvesting air in small batches. This state of being in constant shortage of air has a psychotropic effect on the brain. Everything is magnified. Sounds. Sights. Sensations. Everything takes on an almost translucent appearance. A fit of coughing is painfully intense and the entryway for air seems to collapse. No matter how hard I attempt to gather air, little to none enters my lungs. This is a somewhat disconcerting sensation. It disrupts my wa. ( Japanese word for inner harmony)
   At this moment I am enjoying a steady flow of air in and out. For about a half an hour this morning I was gasping for breath through a closed airway. Andie's and my friend, Mishap took me to an acupuncturist on Monday. I was told that lungs are the organ which hold grief. I have a soul sorrow and deep grief that is palpable and I need to release these feelings to heal. It made sense as I have been feeling a tremendous amount of undefined sorrow. She explained that I do not have to define and experience the memory of the source of sorrow. I only need to let it go. I am not exactly sure I can figure out how to do that. I remember a singer songwriter I met in Olympia years ago. He had written a song called Open Up the Flood Gates of My Heart. Maybe that is what is required for a cure. I am game. The alternative I can see is to relinquish the practice of inhaling and exhaling and I know that would anger a few people, deeply hurt others and give a few cause for celebration. So, as much as it is in my power, I choose to stay. I choose to heal however that transpires. I lay down my sorrow before the Lord and seek release. I breath each breath in gratitude taking in oxygen and releasing carbon dioxide and pain. "Be gently with yourself," she said, "in your meditation. Don't be afraid to cry." I look around at the world. I watch people struggle to get a long. I listen to the woes and wonder how to go forward. I think it is vital to learn the blessed trinity of gratitude, forgiveness and love. All three require a key element; letting go.
So I release this sorrow and grief as I used to release a dry broken piece of wood into a surging creek and watch it sail away freely. And I breath. Air.

Sending out the love



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Greg Murat is a part of the family of writers, bloggers, musicians, guitarists, poets, artists, husbands, friends, papa's, computer dudes, Macintosh guys, singer songwriters, leaders, business consultants, worker bees: all  those who wear many hats. I love to write music, prose, technical guides, verse, lyrics and poetry. This journal or blog is a release in free form and I am happy to let it all out and thankful to have the chance. I have to be reminded from time to time that people do read it so I need to filter some of what I say or change names to protect the guilty or innocent party.
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