Unreflected Me

Note: This is an archived site. All articles and sections were written for specific audiences, for particular purposes. Without the proper context, a given piece can be puzzling or off-putting. Ditto for the various sections. Please only read what is directly recommended to you. This is a first draft, Unedited…. “If you know that I am an unbeliever, then you know me better than I do myself. I may be an unbeliever, but I am an unbeliever who has a nostalgia for a belief,” said Pier Paolo Pasolini. That might help readers from La Fabbrica di Nichi here. Avoid too much literal translation below, please. SPECIAL NOTE TO Sinistra Ecologia Libertà: This piece was written prior to my writing to you on January 12, 2011. It is my firm conviction that you do not want — nor need — any association whatsoever with Barack Obama, and I urge you to… dissociare from him in all public statements. Firmly, clearly, ideally giving reasons why. Whether or not you associate with me. I can give you “reasons” upon request. Io do questo consiglio non richiesto con tutto il devuto rispetto… con tutto rispetto. Io voglio mostrare rispetto per Nichi Vendola. Ma… il adesivo da paraurti dice… George W. Obama. Ben detto! Scusami il mio italiano. I recommend the following post, God Head Full of Chickens, as an almost necessary companion piece to this article.

Unreflected Me
Dedicated to Francesco Rosi’s spirit, and the possibility of working with Nichi Vendola, to the prayer that he is what he appears to be….
by Ox

“Est-ce que j’ai dormi, pendant que les autres souffraient? Est-ce que je dors en ce moment?” — from the author’s favorite author… from En Attendant Godot

“For whom, for what, was that bird singing?” — from Orwell’s 1984, when Winston and Julia are hiding, listening to and watching a thrush perform a miracle… in reverence.

I’m not into ignoring the implications what my buddy Nick Turse tersely addressed in a recent article. Ditto respecting about 1000 other pieces hanging in the Drafts section of my computer (where I save similarly powerful insights into what’s coming down). I’m not a victim of Ostrich Syndrome when it comes to such fare. In fact, I stick my neck out far and wide to make sure I don’t miss any of the tricks, risking whatever to honor those who gamble everything on there being a few souls out there to spread the word and act on their words. Following a fresh paradigm.

I am not into documenting myself to death. I am not into demonstrating and discussing myself and others to death. I am into making a difference. [The highly tainted electoral arena is attractive at this juncture only because I want to be nonviolent and legal.]

Recently, I told a friend of almost sixty years that it sometimes seemed that the only thing that mattered was being in each and every ongoing moment, and making sacred the memories we might leave behind, making sure that something beautiful resonates in the souls of others.


What I will say next might very well be misinterpreted by adherents of orthodoxy and dogma within the Roman Catholic Church. Ditto for followers of Islam and self-assured Buddhists of various stripes. Ditto for the Baye Fall member from Western Africa, all-knowing atheists, cynical quietists and art-for-art’s-sake artists, et al. Everyone’s likely to take me the wrong way. Yet I must use the language that follows. I am obliged to spread my wings, and pour forth this torrent of song.

Let me say for starters that I’m pretty sure you won’t know what I’m talking about when I refer to God. Or The Son. Or the Holy Ghost. I cannot tell you why — somehow — that resonates with me. I can tell you this, though, even a hard core atheist like Pier Paola Pasolini would embrace the spirit of what I’m all about with my allusions. Even a believer in Hindu Rashtra would move with me in solidarity if he/she… understood. Beyond myth.

For in the face of the Indifference of Nature, I invent a meaning. And that meaning — once known — must be beautiful to one and all. [Pause.] It is why I am here on earth. And it is a meaning, a blessed invention, given to me, no reflection required.

Just about every morning, I get down on my knees to God:

Thank you for everything.
Thy will be done.
Thank you for my health.
Thank you for the health of my loved ones.
And thank you for the health of their loved ones.
Thanks for everything.
Thy will be done.
In the name of the Father,
the Son and the Holy Ghost.

[Inexplicably, at this point I cross myself. It has zero to
do with the Roman Catholic Church, by the way. Can you
put that together? Can you process such an odd gesture?


Few requests anymore. Once in a blue moon.

Some lucky person, some fortunate organization… maybe a country… like Bhutan (with its concept of Gross National Happiness)… perhaps the Vendola campaign… will connect with me. Someone, some group will be smart enough to make use of my energy… which is all about making a positive difference in this world. In the sense that — if all else fails, as it is likely to do — beautiful memories will be left behind. On which others can build something. With which others can fail, fail again, and then fail again better. [Pause.] What we leave behind, our legacy does not have to be toxic garbage.

For that me in the mirror, as we all know (or will learn), stops being reflected, inflecting. Always much too soon. And its Source begs to be honored, expressed.

I don’t have much money. I don’t need, nor do I want much money. Who does, really? But I can certainly — easily — generate funds for others if they have their hearts, heads and souls in a healthy place. That mundane stuff is a no-brainer.


Does anyone out there truly understand what it means to immediately put an end to George W. Obama Syndrome? The need to do so. Does anyone feel the urgency I know in my bones respecting Mother Earth? Or are all my readers content to simply fight the good fight, stroking themselves, acting as if we have no deadlines? Thinking that activism today is — for all practical purposes — like it was in the 30s and 60s, say. When we didn’t have deadlines looming like we do in 2011.

And others, not active? Is there anyone out there who actually believes that they can escape their obligation? That they can escape in any sense of the word… the horrid momentum touched upon in my previous post, or what’s in the Turse link provided above?

I am not asking you to look at the Man or Woman in the Mirror. Rather, I am begging you to glance at what you cannot see reflected.

A new paradigm for action in solidarity is demanded. And one will only see that, see what that might be… if the unreflected me is reflected upon.

Contact the author at 831-688-8038 in Aptos, California or via aptosnews@gmail.com. For those for whom all the lyrical blah blah above doesn’t resonate, I ask you to contact me for a very grounded discussion of http://www.zcommunications.org/false-paradox-reflections-on-the-americ an-profits-jobs-disconnect-by-paul-street and the like, pocket book/wallet issues for Italians, Americans, et al. At present, The Left and the average apolitical citizen worldwide are discombobulating and demoralizing themselves, moving at an arthritic snail’s pace toward… nowhere. The author is available to work 24×8 (twenty-four hours a day, eight days a week) on anything worthy of collective heartbeats. Italy is poised to create a watershed in history. Una sforza en la storia. Maybe he’ll be able to team up with resilient souls like Mr. Sangermano. [Pause.] To begin by getting rid of the bullets. Other laughs for the Vendola camp and everyone upon request… to maintain our sanity.