I AM THE WATCHMAN: I SEE HUMANITY IN ITS DIVERSITY AND ITS SIMILARITY

Whenever and wherever I’m busking I always have to be people wary.  One time I was strumming in the middle of a grocery store parking lot in broad summer daylight over the noon hour and a guy took a swing at me -- I saw it coming and ducked.  What unfolded today at VALUE VILLAGE was just as unnerving, but even more bizarre.  From my viewpoint it all began when a gentleman with a goatee and wearing a tam dropping a fin into my guitar case.  For the purposes of the story I shall nickname him Beatnik.

“Awesome sounds, man” he said.

Immediately following Beatnik’s generous gesture a younger guy and his girlfriend stopped and chatted, and then both tossed some toonies into my case.  The girl was wearing a derby hat.  For the purposes of this story I shall call them Super Heroes.  When the Super Heroes were walking to their vehicle they noticed a dog barking in the front cab of an older half ton truck.  The temperature was hot and the windows were rolled up tight.  The young guy opened the truck door, and then shut the truck door.  (I’m thinking he was attempting to roll down a window but gave up.) The girl disappeared momentarily and then stuck a hand-written note under the windshield wiper, after which the Super Heroes simply got into their car and drove away, no doubt to save the day elsewhere.

Then the owner of the truck came out.  He was a big, big man and had what seemed to be a week of black whisker growth on his face.  He was dressed in a black jacket and jeans.  He was noticeably overweight, and had on a black cowboy hat.  For the purposes of this story I shall nickname him the Cowboy.  Cowboy grabbed the note off the windshield, read it, and threw it to the ground.

Then Cowboy looked around.  IF LOOKS COULD KILL!

“F**k!” he yelled at Beatnik who just happened to be standing beside a bicycle right next to Cowboy’s truck. “Keep your f**kin’ hands off my truck!” Cowboy yelled.

“F**k you!  I never touched your f**king truck!” Beatnik hollered back.

Then they both moved toward one another.  But wait a second … the Beatnik retreated a bit, grabbed the chain-lock for his bicycle and in lasso fashion started swinging it over his head as he walked toward Cowboy.  (This is fitting I guess, considering he was going to fight with a cowboy.)

I had to intervene.

“Hey man, he didn’t do it!” I stated to Cowboy as I walked toward the both of them.

“F**k you!” he yelled at me.  “If you saw who did it why the f**k didn’t you stop it!”

“I didn’t stop it because I thought they owned the truck,” I said.

“Big f**kin’ help you are!” he said.

“You got the wrong guy.  I saw who did it.  It wasn’t him,” I repeated.

“Well f**k the both of you!” he said as he charged toward me. I gulped. “Now my f**kin’ dog’s gonna die because some asshole locked my truck!”

“You don’t have the keys?” I asked.

“I left them in the f**kin’ truck!” he screamed.

And so on it went until Cowboy disappeared into the mall to buy some tools to unlock his truck.  I helped him a bit when he came back out and not so surprisingly …. he had calmed down.

I AM A WATCHMAN.

A WATCHMAN (in the bible) monitors the prophets.  I’m certainly not that guy … but I am a WATCHMAN (in a buskspot), and I, too, monitor the profits (pun intended).

My act of being a watchman is observing the hoi polloi and their interactions, usually without their knowledge.  Being a watchman involves picking up on idiosyncrasies and trying to guess THEIR stories.

SIDEBAR:  Whenever I’m busking I’m thinking that my potential consumers are thinking … Hmmm … this guitar guy looks normal … he’s fairly articulate … he seems congenial … hmmm … I wonder what HIS story is … that he’s reduced to this … busking on the sidewalk.

Being a watchman certainly helps pass the time.  The CHAUCERIAN PARADE of characters marching by my space could be endomorph, ectomorph, or mesomorph.  Some of these passers-by could be smart, some could be dumb, some really are interesting, and some are really very dull.  And of course, some are happy-go-lucky and some are sad-faces.

As a watchman I see a variety of people in their day-to-day costumes.  Of course, I see beatniks in tams and cowboys in cowboy hats and super heroes wearing derbies, but I see many, many others, too.  I see jocks sporting football jerseys; I see biker dudes with chaps; I see gangster wannabees with their bandanas.

As a watchman I see moms and their children shopping for deals at Value Village.  As a watchman I see people talking to themselves on their smoke breaks.

Being a watchman I am able to observe humanity in its diversity and its similarity.  This particular act of observation from my buskspot is not voyeurism, nor is it stalking.  Simply put, this act is only a detached observance from the vantage point of a busker.  (It’s kind of like bird watching really … if comparing beings to birds is appropriate.)

Meanwhile back at the ranch … where a raging cowboy is attacking an innocent beatnik for the collateral damage of a couple of super heroes. The cowboy was in a rage because somebody, attempting to save a dog from heat stroke, locked his keys in his truck.  The beatnik just happened to be standing beside the cowboy’s truck.  The super heroes thought they were saving a dog; instead, they caused a commotion. 

LIFE IS FILLED WITH SURPRISE … 

BUT AS A SEASONED WATCHMAN 

(I am a faux busker remember) … 

NOTHING IN LIFE IS A SURPRISE.

Life is filled with surprise.  Those marching in my CHAUCERIAN PARADE this week:

TRAVIS AND BEAUTIFUL IZZY AND TRAVERS

NATALIE, MY FAVORITE DOG LOVER, SENT ME THIS PICTURE

 

SELF AT WORK (LITERALLY) COVERING TRACEY'S DESK!

STEERING OFF THE VANILLA ADVENTURE EXPRESSWAY: CRAZEE NOT

RUNNING INTO THE SUN

The SASKATCHEWAN HIGHLAND GATHERING AND CELTIC FESTIVAL was in full kilt this morning in Victoria Park – and those bagpipe blow-toned drones really did drown my thrumming attempt at the FARMERS MARKET right next door.

My strategy to overcome such was not complicated.  I packed up my bag and went looking for a place to hide … setting up my buskspot at SHOPPERS ON BROAD.  SHOPPERS was quiet (an understatement when compared to Victoria Park), and the pedestrian line thin.  Whenever given this lack of consumer circumstance I tend to wool-gather whilst I thrum, and my theme is the usual recurring one of the road genre.  

I love the road theme!  I love that stranger-come-to-town scenario where my Walter Mitty imagination explodes into a life that so far is moribund, explodes into that life of me being a traveling minstrel!

My long desire is to be an international busker, having notoriety only to those who read this blog.  I’m not waiting nor wanting to be discovered for a bigger stage; I mean after all, there is no bigger stage than the planet!

I want to steer off that vanilla expressway, and not follow the social crazes that I’ve been prone to do to date.  I, along with the rest of the hoi polloi, can’t seem to stop comparing myself to my peers.  And according to Jess Ferreras (May 21, 2016), this is such a ruthless comparison, a notion that is daily enforced not only in work and recreation, but also in our social media. I mean, really, doesn’t everyone who is friend-farming (FACEBOOK) have the tendency to twist and promote their rather mundane routines into achievements unique and spectacular!

Following are my notions of what represents the vanilla expressway zeitgeist, the one on which I’m most familiar and experienced and have so far stayed the course, and now after achieving success in this ruthless comparison, I am wanting to steer off onto the roads less traveled by, abandon the current crazes, and simply follow my the sun and … my heart:

• AN IMPRESSIVE JOB

Having an impressive job seems important.  And not so surprisingly, it seems important because it is important.  Being in a work environment which you love is great, but certainly not experienced by the middle-class majority members who moil and moil and moil some more.  This moiling brings the necessary income to have life accessories of course, which include three to six weeks of yearly vacation and at career completion, a Cadillac pension.

I’m still in the workplace, fortunately in a job that I love.    

• NEW VEHICLE

Practically everyone I know who after landing that impressive job buys a new set of wheels.  Vehicles in my clime and locale are essential.  My city is not big enough to offer a slick and ready transit service, not like the services offered, going west to east, Vancouver, Calgary, and Toronto.  My city, Regina, does not have the population base, and therefore the tax dollars, to provide more than bare-bones bus schedules in limited areas, other to and fro downtown. Anyone having to get anywhere seems to need an SUV or a sports truck or sports car.  Sedans have become vanilla, even for those in the vanilla.  Fortunately for me, I live right downtown.

• NEW HOUSE

Once the children arrive in thought or in the flesh, it’s time to find new digs.  And these new digs, especially with children in mind, really should include the back yard (to throw a ball) and white picket fence to contain the play area. Whenever children are in the mix, this means having the common sense to afford the extra space to accommodate them.

Houses truly do become homes; whereas, rented apartments are just that, rented spaces to sleep and shower in.   
  

• FANCY RESTAURANTS

Everyone feels the necessity to experience some seemingly sophisticated evening of song and dance; this is especially true for couples who have children.  Before the children, when the lovers were single, going out to bars whenever is the norm.  Once the kids arrive, everything has to be planned but … also experienced in the terms of social norms.  Fancy restaurants or neighborhood brewpubs are definitely the trend for the younger generations of emerging adults and for the older generation of those wanting to stay young at heart.

• COTTAGE AT THE LAKE

It’s not uncommon for any resort area to have row upon row, from lake shore to lake view properties filled with families in summertime Saskatchewan.  Every weekend (and I’ve been there) loading foodstuffs and booze to take to the cottage at the lake.  Every weekend when we owned our cottage at the lake was not a sandcastle weekend.  Factoid:  Every weekend I would fix the place a bit, mow the yard a lot, and get ready for company.  As a family we certainly had good times down at the beach, but the cottage was really a rustic version of our urban home.  It was, to the children’s chagrin, not as good a place as for indoor recreation as was our home in the city.  And as the children grew older, especially in their adolescent years, were just as wanting to stay in the city and hang out with friends, rather than experience the family-fun times at the lake.  I’m told this is not uncommon.  I’m told that in their later adolescence and emerging adulthood, THEY want the lake cottage to themselves to entertain their friends, not really encouraging the parents to be present.

• URGING FAMILY TO STAY CLOSE TO HOME

And yes, everyone, including our kids, generally speaking, grows up and gets a job.  This is so great.  When the kids have grown and gone, wouldn’t it be treacly great for every one of them to get an impressive job with three to six weeks’ vacation and a Cadillac pension and live right within the same city as the parents?  And wouldn’t it be great if the kids and grand-kids gathered every Sunday for an afternoon visit and evening dinner at the grandparents’ abode.  This is what we strive for, to limit our children, too, to the locale and expressway stay-near-home adventures … that everybody who is normal seems to adhere to.  It’s a stay-near-home lifestyle that is predictably free of family sorrow, rather safe in any physical and metaphorical aspects, and is especially seldom filled with challenge or surprise.  A stay-at-home life time adventure can only lead to a life of really limited adventure.  Your kids have their own lives -- let them live it without the parent all-knowing bias and guilt-ridden interference.

• A RETIREMENT OF GOLF AND ARIZONA

When the day comes to toss the necktie and spend the last few decades of life trying to score less than par … that is the day you can finally set your drive on auto cruise.  I just hope that day never arrives for me.  Golf has become the most favored middle-class craze of choice, its popularity rising constantly these last two decades.  I do think the popularity of golf is in direct correlation with the baby-boomer retirement phenomena.  This is really a no-brainer.  People, who are getting longer in the tooth and bigger in the belly, find a certain solace in the game of golf.  It’s a soft exercise (if driving around in a golf cart and getting out eighteen times to swing a club exercise); it’s competitive (with others or for the more cerebral, for within yourself), and it’s an opportunity to experience the wind and the rain and the sun (although rainy day putters are rare).  And where better to putt than in Arizona, this is especially true if your principal residence is in Saskatchewan, Canada.  In Saskatchewan, our golf season is short, short.  Spending winters in Arizona certainly adds the greens to your winter. 

This is not for me!  I don’t want same ol’ same ol’ convention and norm and restriction.

I WANT MORE.   

But wanting more ain’t easy.  Wanting more could really mean suffering the consequences of leaving a locale (for certain), or depending on the relationship, leaving a loved one (maybe).  Wanting more means a wistful willing to exit the conventional with-it. 

Moving on from anything, especially anything of convention means a certain sense of loss, a sense of grief, or at the very least a temporary depression and the rest of your life second-guessing.  These, not surprisingly, are the notions that have been en-grained in the general wisdom of the nature of life.

To live is to suffer is the skinny of Zen.  Striving to stay within the confines of social convention and striving to stay within the accepted notion of common-sense, means not seeing the bigger picture.  It means not seeing the picture of LIFE, and not LIVING A LIFE.

Seeing the bigger picture, especially when the nest is empty, gives one the opportunity to choose a lifestyle based on personal dream and desire.  Actually living and being a player in the bigger picture means resisting the urge to put one's life on auto-pilot, and resisting the temptation to be seated in the economy class seats right next to the Joneses.

While you are still raising your children, for their sake it is probably socially important to follow the zeitgeist, keep rolling along doing the best you can for yourself while accommodating those dependent upon you.  But when your kids are grown and gone ... there is little reason not to believe in your dream and little reason not to live that lifelong road dream.  

Steering off that vanilla adventure expressway is not easy, but anything in life worth having is not easy.  You only live once and only for so long, both literally and metaphorically. Even when blazing trails off that vanilla adventure expressway there will be good days and bad days.  Even so, just keep in mind: 

SHOULD YOU STEER OFF THAT VANILLA ADVENTURE EXPRESSWAY ...   
YOU ARE THE NOW THE ONE WHO IS WRITING YOUR OWN SCRIPT!

Those marching in my CHAUCERIAN PARADE this week:

SELF AND HONETTE (DAUGHTER OF MY FRIEND, MARYELLE) AT SHOPPERS ON BROAD

PARKING AGENT, HARPING MARK AND SELF

BEAVERS ON MY BIKE RIDE ALONG WASCANA CREEK

TRAVERS AND FRIENDS FROM FRANCE, TURKEY, RUSSIA, AND AUSTRIA ON A BOAT IN AMSTERDAM

I WANT MORE: THE EXORCISE OF FRUSTRATION

TRAVERS FOLLOWING THE DREAM IN THE FRENCH ALPS

Busking at the Regina FARMERS MARKET today I met a fifty year old hippie flower-child, Betty.  She said I represented the kind of life she’d be dreaming about for quite some.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Well look at you, man, you the cool wandering minstrel just comes to town, plays guitar, then moves on to another town and plays guitar, then moves on again.  It’s the kind of lifestyle I dream about.  It’s not that I want to play the guitar, I just want to travel.”

“And what’s stopping you?” I asked.

“My husband … He’s fifty going on eighty.  He thinks I’ll get over this wanna-travel phase … trouble is … it’s getting stronger and stronger.”

“Have you discussed this seriously with your husband?”

“Not really.  He’s fifty going on eighty.  He doesn’t like to travel.  He wants to sit at home and tinker in the garage, or go have coffee with his friends in the morning, or go have beers with his friends at night.  I’m not saying I’m unhappy.  I mean after twenty-five years and three kids I have to say that I love the guy.  He’s good and my life is good.  I just want more.”

Betty does not really know me.  Betty does not know that I am a faux busker.  Betty, when she sees me thrumming on the sidewalk is really seeing someone else.  Betty sees Neil the busker, the cool busker with the bleached shock of messy hair, wearing the tight white t-shirt, faded blue jeans, and black marching boots.  Betty imagines Neil the busker as a stranger who comes to town with a guitar … a handsome guitar-slinger … lingers for a day or two or three … then moves along following the sun, riding out one day at sunset.

“You’ve got soul,” she said.

“Hmmm … you’re wrong there,” I said, “I’ve got no soul.  I’ve no faith in anything and therefore I’ve not got a soul.”

“Oh, you’ve got soul,” she said. “Your soul is what you are at your core.  Your soul is the core of who you really are, that place in your heart where you are happy and at peace.  Sometimes you need people who recognize that soul for what it is.  And sometimes you need people to build back some of that soul, to help you find that soul that has been lost for whatever reasons.  Sometimes these people offer you joy in bringing back that soul with nothing expected in return.  Sometimes you need reminders, like old friends for example, to take you back when your soul was free to do stupid things, to take you back to adventures you did before you were judged not to do those things.  I never realized how restricted I had become until I woke up one day and decided … I WANT MORE!  Busking, I believe, does this for you.  You’ve definitely got soul, and I’ve most of mine.  I am about to get mine back.  For the rest of my life I WANT MORE!”     

Betty does not know that in my real life, I represent Corporate America. Betty does not know that I am never on the edge of starvation or a warm bed.  Betty does not know that my busking is purely recreational.  Betty does not know that my busking persona is NOT me.  And Betty does not know that my busking persona is … really … the person that I want to be.  Betty does not know that, unlike her fifty-going-on-eighty husband, I am really a narcissistic adolescent who shares a similar dream, as hers, of the future.  Betty thinks I am living the dream.  Betty does not know that I, like her, am still dreaming the dream.  Betty does not know that, like her, I WANT MORE!

Betty also does not know that over the years I’ve thought about this, and thought about this, and thought about this.  And over these years the only way I’ve come to grips or terms with this far away thinking is through the philosophic lenses of EXISTENTIALISM, ZEN, CARPE DIEM, PHENOMENOLOGY, KARMA, and now thanks to Betty, SOUL.  (As you are now aware, dear reader, this is seriously on my brain and the older I get and the more I think about it, that once blurry line betwixt my reality and dream has become rather bright.)

FACTOID:  MY STARK REALITY IS … I AM RUNNING OUT OF TIME (I’LL BE SIXTY-FIVE YEARS OLD THIS MONTH) – I HAVE TO VERY SOON KICK-START MY DREAM INTO MY REALITY … OR CONTINUE TO HUNKER DOWN SAFE AT HOME AND WATCH THE WORLD GO BY UNTIL THE DAY I DIE.

FACTOID:  I’M LIKE BETTY -- I WANT MORE.

I WANT MORE. I want to be an international BUSKER, a WRITER (blog, books, and songs), a TEACHER (university), an ARTIST (guitarist and portraiture), and a private practice HYPNOTHERAPIST.

Hmmm … and here are some thumb-nail philosophic interpretations that make it all sense to me why I WANT MORE.   

EXISTENTIALISM is the notion that we are constantly creating values for our personal reasons to exist.  We, and only we, define our own meanings for our lives.  For some of us it is our work; for some of us it is our family; for some of us it is faith; for some of us it is our recreation.  As the years roll by and the wrinkles roll on thicker and thicker, I tend to define my meaning more in my recreation than my work.  (I do not consider university teaching and private practice work … simply because I enjoy both so much.)

ZEN is typically translated as absorption, an awareness of each moment.  For Zen followers, each moment sustained is enough, until the sustaining of moment upon moment upon moment becomes first and second nature to living.  To live is to suffer – this is the skinny of Zen.  If you know what it's like to love someone ... you know what it's like to suffer.

CARPE DIEM literally translates as pluck the day.  Carpe Diem used to be my favorite theme when I was studying English literature at university.  Ah ... plucking the day was like plucking the fruit when it was ripe, seizing the moments of joy and running with reckless abandon with nary a concern for the future.  Carpe diem is adventurous and oftentimes daring.  Carpe diem now for me ... is too derring-do, too dangerous for me to seriously consider as a life purpose.

PHENOMENOLOGY is psychologically complicated (not that the others are not so). For my understanding I believe that imagining the connections in coincidence, the ability to link certain people with certain events at certain times, is a personal construct.  For phenomenology to work for me reality consists only of objects and events (phenomena) as they are perceived within our personal consciousness, and these phenomena are not of any design independent of our consciousness.  I fancy myself a phenomenologist ... I've lectured on Phenomenology a hundred times, at least, in my university classes. 

KARMA, on the other hand, is acknowledging the significance of coincidence, and that coincidence is in reality, following as effect from a cause.  Simply defined, what goes around comes around seems the skinny of Karma.  I know that if I treat others with respect and dignity, they usually return this social gesture in kind.  Knowing this ... am I sincere in manipulating the Karma?

SOUL, according to Betty, is the very core of one’s being.  The true and unclouded nature of the individual is who a person really is.  And for any persons, the person they really want to be is the soul speaking out.  Betty stated that friends were good for the soul because they helped awaken a spirit that is oftentimes locked away and hidden within ourselves.  This could very well be … but an awakening leads to an awareness of frustration, the reality that most of us are not living the dream.  Most of us, once our soul is awakened, will decide to settle for just dreaming the dream.  Living the dream takes considerable gumption with considerable collateral damage.  Betty’s definition of soul sadly brings me back to Zen … To live is to suffer.  Another thing about the soul ... a soul is usually defined in terms of being contained in a vessel of flesh, and when the vessel reaches its demise, the soul drifts on.  The big question, of course is, drifts on to where?

This crazy thinking is not really crazy thinking.  I’m going to frame and explain this I WANT MORE mantra in another setting.  I want to this frame this explanation into one of my favorite pictures, that of hockey.  And then naturally I want to frame this picture with a snapshot of my favorite hockey player and best friend, COLBY WILLIAMS. 

COLBY SKATING FOR THE WASHINGTON CAPITALS

Colby used to play for the PAT CANADIANS, a TRIPLE “A” hockey club in Regina, Saskatchewan, Canada.  COLBY WANTED MORE.  While skating with the Canadians, Colby had earned a try-out with the REGINA PATS of the Western Hockey League – he didn’t make the cut.  COLBY WANTED MORE.  Colby returned to the Pat Canadians and a year later was again invited to a try-out with the REGINA PATS.  This time he made it.  Colby then played four years with the PATS, eventually developing into their number one D-man, and even being assigned as the Captain. Still … CAPTAIN COLBY WANTED MORE.  Just last week, my best friend Colby Williams, signed an ATO (Amateur Try-Out) contract with the HERSHEY BEARS of the American Hockey League.

Here is what MR. HOCKEY (GORDIE HOWE) said about the HERSHEY BEARS.

Everybody who is anybody in hockey has played in Hershey.

After the ORIGINAL SIX (BOSTON BRUINS, CHICAGO BLACK HAWKS, DETROIT RED WINGS, MONTREAL CANADIENS, NEW YORK RANGERS, TORONTO MAPLE LEAFS), coming in as the seventh oldest professional ice hockey organization in North America … is the HERSHEY BEARS!

I know Colby.  Colby plans to continue developing as a hockey player.  Sure, Colby is on the roster of the Hershey Bears but … Colby still WANTS MORE. Colby wants to play in the National Hockey League (NHL).  Colby is getting close.  He’s been drafted by the WASHINGTON CAPITALS, hence his opportunity to sign with their affiliate team, the Hershey Bears.  Colby will continue to hone and ply his hockey skills while chasing his dream of playing at the biggest hockey show, the NHL.  Whether or not he ever gets to the show doesn’t really matter.   

COLBY  WANTED MORE.  

COLBY FOCUSED ON HIS DREAM ...

FOLLOWED HIS DREAM ...

AND IS STILL WANTING  MORE!

Marching in my CHAUCERIAN PARADE today:

DELORES OF D'LICIOUS TREATS (FARMERS MARKET NEIGHBOR)

LARRY THE KID ... GOING WITH THE GRAIN (FARMERS MARKET NEIGHBOR)

 

HOLLY ... NOSH .. NOURISHING WHOLE FOOD TREATS (FARMERS MARKET NEIGHBOR)

YIKES!  A DRONE (WITH EDDY THE PILOT BESIDE ME AT THE MARKET)

DEANNA, ABORIGINAL ADVOCATE WITH REGINA PUBLIC SCHOOLS 

EDDIE, A CONSUMER AT THE FARMERS MARKET, AND PAST BAND MATE OF STOMPIN' TOM

EDDIE'S SIGNED GUITAR

DEO, A LONG-TIME BUSKING CONSUMER AND FELLOW HILL RUNNER IN WASCANA

DEO TOOK THIS PICTURE THIS MORNING ... LOOK MA, NO FEET!