Random Thoughts on Music, Spirituality + Boobs, Politics, and post-Covid Normalcy

 Here's some random thoughts that have been recently floating around in that murky mess I refer to as "my head". 

• As I listen to John Coltrane's "Interstellar Space", arguably one of his most difficult-to-listen collections of music, I continue to be more convinced that he was as much a mystic as any religious figure throughout history. He was on a quest to convey the unspeakable...something beyond the veil of our earthly perceptions...isn't that what a religious mystic does?
• I'm a believer in "the perennial truth", that at the core of all religion is a common truth.  Religious dogma tends to obscure or claim whatever truth to be their own which I consider BS. In a conversation with a friend, I was trying to explain the concept of truth by drawing on a piece of paper a dot, representing "truth", and a circle around the dot to represent any religion. As I was attempting to define a spot on the circle to represent Christianity, and another to represent Islam, and so on, with lines from the circle to the dot, representing the spiritual quest from the starting point of an early religious experience, my friend blurted out "THAT LOOKS LIKE A BOOB!!!". I ended the conversation with "never mind".....
• While I'm intentionally discreet (most of the time) in sharing my political views, I have concerns on our present state of discourse which, as I see it, is a continuation of a process in which its complicated to pinpoint the start but is probably easier to to identify more recent turning points, of which there are several.  My concern is more in the way people are behaving towards each other as they perceive and process circumstances. There is a lot of fear and people tend to respond to fear in irrational and ugly ways. However, I do take solace in the fact that, while history doesn't exactly repeat, it does (as Mark Twain said) "rhyme". While the stakes, on a global level have never been higher, people have dealt with societal ebbs and flows comparable to what we are presently experiencing (i.e. pandemic, economic/political instability).  The present conditions have unique elements but there are also elements very much the same as eras past. If you study history, you will always find remarkable examples of hope, strength, and love in the midst of such times of trial. While I fear we are at the cusp of more fearful times, I'm also hopeful of what can arise from such times. 
• As of the time of this writing, the U.S. is at the lowest point of COVID-19 cases and deaths since the March 2020, the start of the pandemic. This is attributed to either the vaccination efforts of the past 6 months (I got mine) or its all been a big hoax. Personally, having two kids get diagnosed with COVID and having multiple friends get hospitalized this past year (1 of which died), I'm saying there is no way this was all a hoax. All that said, it feels like we are starting to get beyond the worst of this (Lord, I hope so!). But I really question whether there will be a full "return" to pre-COVID normalcy. Perhaps on a superficial level, there will be a return: crowds, movies theatres, concerts, travel. Those are coming back. But I must assume that I'm not alone in being very aware of my own actions as I return to more social activities. I'm far less comfortable in crowds (never was a fan to begin with). I'm more aware of other peoples behavior and get more easily agitated to the point I would rather avoid crowds. If I hear someone cough or sneeze, that draws my attention more quickly than pre-COVID days. I suspect there will be a collective re-acclimation to social etiquette but I do honestly question if I will ever see some things the same ever again.  

LAWRENCE FERLINGHETTI - The last of The Beats

 

Growing up in the San Francisco area in the post-60's era, one was almost certainly exposed to the stories and lore of Haight Ashbury, The Grateful Dead, The Black Panthers, and The Beat Generation. Many of my generation would rebel against these "local icons" (if you will). I, for one, was suspicious of those who bragged about living through the 50's and 60's experiences and claiming that "their generation" changed the world. I, as an 80's kid, thought "whatever!".....however, as I grew older, I would be lured to learn more about those things of my local heritage and come to some level of appreciation. 

The 1st "local icon" I would come to appreciate was The Beat Generation or The Beats. It was in mundane fashion, I suppose, where an artist of my generation, The Clash, collaborated with a key Beat figure, Allen Ginsberg  on the song "Ghetto Defendant" This collaboration validated, in my eyes, Allen Ginsberg, who I knew in name only, and gave me permission of sorts to explore Ginsberg's work.  This would be my gateway into a fascination and appreciation of his work and, by association, the entire Beat movement. 

I won't go into the detail about my discovery and exploration of all things Beat. My point of this posting is to pay homage to the passing of the last core figure of The Beat movement, Lawrence Ferlinghetti, who died February 22, 2021 at the age of 101 years old.

Ferlinghetti was a poet, painter, fiction writer, and activist. But his greatest legacy (IMO) will be as a publisher and, through his publishing, a great free speech advocate. He was the publisher of Allen Ginsberg's "Howl" which would lead to the landmark "1957 Obscenity Trial". Below is a brief summary of the trial via Wikipedia:

Howl" contains many references to illicit drugs and sexual practices, both heterosexual and homosexual. Claiming that the book was obscene, customs officials seized 520 copies of the poem on 25 March 1957, being imported from England.

On June 3 Shig Murao, the bookstore manager, was arrested and jailed for selling Howl and Other Poems to an undercover San Francisco police officer. City Lights publisher Lawrence Ferlinghetti was subsequently arrested for publishing the book. At the obscenity trial, nine literary experts testified on the poem's behalf; Ferlinghetti, a published poet himself, is credited with breathing "publishing life" into Ginsberg's poetic career. Supported by the American Civil Liberties Union, Ferlinghetti won the case when California State Superior Court Judge Clayton Horn decided that the poem was of "redeeming social importance".

Its hard to imagine in this day how subversive an act it was to publish such a work in the social climate of the late 1950's. The outcome of this trial is one pivotal point that can be credited (or blamed as some do) for our current standards of what is permissible material in the public forum. 

Through City Lights Bookstore which I frequently visited when I lived in The Bay Area (and still support via online), Ferlinghetti was the most tangible member of The Beats. I never met him but being able to walk into his store where so much history emanated from and look through the selection of books that reflected the owners worldview made Lawrence Ferlinghetti real, not a historical figure subjected to be hyperbolized and exaggerated. 

With the passing of Lawrence Ferlinghetti, all of the key participants of The Beat movement are gone. Gary Snyder is still around but it can be said that he became involved with the movement in a tangential manner. Ferlinghetti was an architect of the movement. And now he is gone. 

I'm very grateful to have overcome my initial bias against the aforementioned local icons.  In the case of The Beat Generation, I discovered a love of the works of those involved and that love has been shared with my eldest daughter who has gone through moments of obsession with the works of Ginsberg, Kerouac, and Lawrence Ferlinghetti (who did, indeed, change the world). 

Random Thoughts

 Here's some random thoughts as I sit in my studio on this 2nd Sunday of Lent....which is the 2nd Lent of the COVID era....which means we are into another "year of fear"....

• A comforting exercise for me is the deliberate counting of the blessings in my life. A gratitude list if you will. At this point in my life, it is all about the people in my life. I'm very aware of how blessed I've been to have the family and friends that I do. It is also comforting and liberating to be at a point in life where "the things" in life that I used to think so much of aren't that important anymore. 
• In this past year of political and cultural strife in our country, I'm finding myself struggling between wanting to angrily lash out and completely withdrawing from interacting with anyone. Its not just fear that drives that oscillation but a recognition of the complexity of the issues and circumstances. This oscillation can be construed as "waffling" which I've been guilty of but, to be clear, there are positions I'm unequivocal about:
• Racism is wrong and morally repugnant. Be it overt or subtle, anything or anybody that does something to suppress or harm someone on the basis of their race is morally wrong. FULL STOP!
• Violence is evil. Killing is evil. Again....FULL STOP!
• Authority is never above question. Leadership and wisdom are neither mutually exclusive nor inherently linked. Be it a police officer, elected official, clergy, whatever, I will judge first on conduct, not on title or status. History is proof that the most dangerous people have had titles of prestige. 
• Music remains a pillar in my world. My taste continues to evolve but music remains a vital element in my life. 
• I'm now convinced that the "weight" of loss never gets lighter or goes away. We either get stronger or we get crushed by it.  
• I'm reading "Gandhi: The Man, His People, and The Empire" written by Rajmohan Gandhi (his grandson). This is one of the most comprehensive bios I've ever read. It is portraying Gandhi as a very complex and imperfect man who did incredible things. It is these imperfections and flaws that makes his life even more interesting. I've always admired Gandhi and have been guilty of seeing only the saintly portrayal of the man. Learning more about his flaws and errors doesn't make him any less admirable in my opinion. In fact, it makes his achievements more remarkable. 

"Growing Old Ain't for......"

 My late father would often repeat a quote attributed to Bette Davis: "Growing old ain't for sissies!"...except he wouldn't us the word "sissies" (he was a sailor. You can figure out what he really said). 

Its a cute way to describe the aches and pains that come with aging. As I can now say, by any measure, that I have more "yesterday's" than "tomorrow's" left in me, I appreciate the truth in the statement. I don't think my Dad or Ms. Davis meant it as just some sort of declaration of courage and nobility in enduring physical decay. I think they also meant it did require strength to endure change: Loss of loved ones, evolving relationships, societal changes, and so on. As we age, we of course develop a personal history of events that lengthens each day we live. The older we get, the more change we will have inevitably experienced. 

Different people deal with change differently. I have encountered people who accept change and welcome it as a means to learn and grow. More often than not, however, I've encountered people who, to varying degrees, feared change, responding with anger, and denial. Fear of change coupled with aging seems to make for angry old people.

I don't believe anyone is entirely fearless or fearful. People are dynamic creatures. But people do have dispositions, habits, and such. Chances are, if you were afraid of change in 20's or 30's, that would manifest in bitterness as life rolled on,,,,unless an epiphany or events intervened. 

In this moment in my 54th year, I can gratefully say that I have experienced an epiphany or two. I've walked through some very fearful moments of loss, pain, and despair. I've also failed miserably to do so elegantly and gracefully. I have had to evolve in my thinking on many things, including politics, religion, even music. I've had to let go of long-held assumptions that have been proven wrong or no longer relevant. I've had to accept that some things I thought so important in my younger days weren't. I've learned that my perceptions of certain people and institutions were flawed and had to acknowledge as such. Above anything, I'm continuing to realize, with varying degrees of humility or humiliation, how little control I have in the flow of life. Yes, there are things I can control (my conduct) but there are so many things I must accept as beyond my control. This is why The Serenity Prayer is such a guide for me:

I, by no means, practice acceptance perfectly. But, as the beard grows grayer, it remains my daily aspiration to do better today than yesterday....with the grace of God and a courageous heart. 

Dad was right...

My Tribute to Neil Peart, Edward Van Halen, and Harold Budd

 

2020 will be remembered for COVID-19, political/societal upheaval, and (I believe) an inflection point in our global society.  For me, however, it will also be the year we lost THREE pivotal musicians that influenced me tremendously. 

·        Neil Peart

·        Edward Van Halen

·        Harold Budd

To be clear, I know that as I age, so do my heroes. And it seems in recent years, the losses are starting to mount. But in 2020, three persons that were huge in the formation of my own musical voice departed this world. As such, I’d like to pay tribute to them.

 

2020 Random Thoughts

 Its probably a universal statement said countless times around the world: "2020 is a S#?TSHOW!!!". So, there, I said it....and for me, personally, it has. Its been trying. A few highlights:

• I was in Germany back in March, questioning the reasons why I was there as the world seemed like it was teetering towards the unknown. My questions were validated halfway through the trip when President Trump announced he was banning all travel from Europe to the U.S.. A mad dash to get out of the country was followed by 2 weeks of quarantine....and that was just the beginning of the whole world turning upside down. 
• In February, my cat Fiona died. She was sickly so it wasn't a surprise. 13 years old. But at least I had my favorite cat in the whole world, Punkin, still around....until....
• In April, Punkin suddenly died from what I guess to be a heart attack. He was a fat sucker. But he was the best pet I've ever had. A heartbreaking loss in a time where loss seems to be a constant. 

Per earlier posts, I lost my father in September 2019, 16 months after I lost my sister. All this loss has, surprisingly, taken a mental and emotional toll on me. I say surprisingly because I felt I was better prepared for death. In hindsight, that was a silly assumption. How does anyone in this society, where we never talk about death and pretend that youth and vitality are forever, cope with death when it actually happens? I must acknowledge that the weight of loss and the voids have left me struggling with fear, anger, and self pity. I could go on about this but, in short, I'm working on getting to a new normal where the void left by my Dad, sister, and, yes, my two cats is coped with. 

On a lighter note, my daughter is about to give birth to her first child, a son. This will be my 5th grandchild and I must say I adore being a grandparent. This latest grandchild will be named Bjorn Brun Imberg, the middle name being a tribute to my father. It almost seems balancing that Bjorn will be born just over a year since my father passed away. 

On a musical note, I've been stockpiling some music for release. Not sure when or on what platform but...something musical strange this way cometh.....

In memory of my father, Brun Imberg

My father, Brun Imberg, was many things in his lifetime: sailor, merchant seaman, cable car “grip man”, mechanic, counselor…. a husband (3x), brother, uncle, stepfather.…. recovering alcoholic, spiritual seeker (and spiritual “Luddite”, sometimes simultaneously) and, of course, father.  All these roles can lend themselves to seeing him in different lights and context. I suppose that’s what makes the reflection on a life so challenging.  As his only child, I’m going to share a glimpse of the importance my father was to me, though not just as a dad but as an example of an imperfect man who set an example of how to (and how not to) recover from errors and failings,  finding redemption and grace (both for himself and his son) along the way.

I am the only child to my parents. For my entire life, they have represented a binary outcome for alcoholism: life (dad) and death (mom). When I was born, both of my parents were active alcoholics. My father always marveled that I didn’t suffer from fetal alcohol syndrome. My mother would die from alcoholism when I was 9 years old. Dad, however, was led down a different path, in part because of me. As he told it, his “moment of clarity” came in 1969 after a hard night of drinking where he had passed out in the living room and woke up to see me coming down the hallway in dirty diapers, looking for mom and dad. Soon thereafter, he sought sobriety and was able to maintain it throughout the remainder of his life.

I wish I could say it was “happily ever after” when Dad got sober, but it wasn’t. My mother, likely suffering from mental issues in addition to alcoholism, would abuse and terrorize me for several more years. But Dad’s sobriety was a ray of hope for me. Even as a little kid, I knew that he was my haven from the madness that my mother suffered. Never was he more a savior than on one morning in 1974, as I’m walking to school on Noriega Street in SF, when he unexpectedly picked me  and “rescued” me from the nightmare that was life with an alcoholic mother. We went to another town to start anew. That was the end of my time with my mother who would die from cirrhosis of the liver brought on by her alcoholism within a year.

I could go on and on about all the good times and not-so-good times that came after that day that Dad rescued me but that would be laborious. All I can say is that throughout my youth, as his only child, we would share in the benefits of his growth as well as suffer the consequences of his mistakes. Again, he was a flawed man but one who kept trying to get better and who did some remarkable things that made a huge difference in my life.  

By the time I was 18, I was well on my way down a path of dysfunction and destruction of my own making. I had become an angry and rebellious person. The more self-destructive I became, the further I pushed Dad away. I know this hurt him greatly but, to his credit, he didn’t attempt to “rescue” me then as he did when I was a kid, knowing that the opposite result of further distancing was the likely outcome. He knew that I had to learn things for myself…and I would, albeit by learning from his example.

In December of 1990, my own path of dysfunction led to me being incarcerated for the Holiday’s. This would be the lowest point of my life. I had come to the realization that I was following in the footsteps of my late mother. While a terrifying thought, there was a sense of inevitability to it. But, as stated earlier, both my parents represented the binary outcome of such a lifestyle in my eyes (and yes, I’m now aware that addiction is not as black and white/simplistic as a kid’s binary perception). It was through a chance encounter with a fellow inmate that I was reminded of the path that my father had taken. And while his path was part of what I had rebelled against in my adolescences, it was something I had become humbled enough to consider while ringing in 1991 in a jail cell. 

Long story short and without going into detail, on February 9^th, 1991, I chose to start a new way of life and follow a path akin to the one my father followed when he saw me in the poopy diapers all those years ago. Again, no “happily ever after” here, largely because my journey is still ongoing. I will say that the path I chose has yielded more peace and joy than I could have anticipated with reconciliation and redemption being part of the journey.

Early on my own recovery, I had the chance to share with my father some of the finer and more painful parts of my journey up to that point which created a new dynamic to our relationship that grew and sustained for the remainder of his days in this world. We were able to have a relationship for most of my adult life that was based on substantive and impactful things: Spirituality, reconciliation, sharing of mistakes and triumphs, being friends. There is so much I can share about my relationship with my father. In a nutshell, he was my hero and I loved him.

His final week of life was spent in my home with me and my family. I will forever be grateful for this time and the gift that was being able to serve my dad in his final days. One moment that will forever be in my heart is his final Sunday. He was weakening and he knew his time was short. He had some abrasion wounds on his arm that I was redressing with fresh bandages while he sat watching TV. While doing so, he turned to me and said, “you are a good man”.  In the corner of my eye, I could see my wife, Lilian, stop in her tracks and tearfully smile at both of us. I too began to cry and told him, “you taught me”, to which he replied, “I didn’t teach you that”.  At this point, I had to lighten the mood and told him, “I’m not saying you can walk on water, but you did point me in the right direction”. He just mumbled “…. different path”.  He was never one for sharing tender moments but this one hit me hard. I put him to bed and went to my room weeping.

On September 4, 2019 at 9:42 am, my father passed away. The night leading up to his death was excruciating for me. Watching a person die is traumatic. Watching my father die….even more so. But, having a month to process his passing, I know that it was a gift to both of us: for him to be here and for me to serve him. He knew I loved him. I don’t think there was much “left on the table”.

Following his death, my cousin delivered some of Dad’s personal items to me. One item I never saw before was a coffee mug that had the following inscription:

“A hundred years from now

It will not matter what my bank account was,

the sort of house I lived in,

or the kind of car I drove….

But the world may be different because I was important

In the life of a child”

Dad, you were indeed important to your only child and I’m so proud and grateful to be your son.