Discovering the Gita

 Discovering the Gita I first encountered the Bhagavad Gita through an unexpected source—Steven Pressfield’s novel The Legend of Bagger Vance . I had heard that Pressfield modeled the story on the Gita, with Rannulph Junuh serving as a modern-day Arjuna, and Bagger Vance embodying Krishna. At the time, I didn’t fully grasp the depth of that connection. The spiritual roots of the story were intriguing, but the Gita itself felt distant—like something ancient, elusive, and hard to relate to.

Years passed before I truly returned to the Bhagavad Gita , this time through the words of Eknath Easwaran. His translation and commentary opened a door I hadn’t been ready to walk through before. I found in Easwaran not just a translator, but a teacher. Though he had passed away by the time I discovered him, his voice lived on in his books, his recordings, and his gentle yet clear guidance. His book Passage Meditation became a lifeline, a method of internalizing sacred teachings through daily practice.

As I read the Gita through Easwaran’s lens, it began to unfold for me—layer by layer. I realized that I wasn’t just reading about Arjuna anymore. In a metaphorical sense, I had become Arjuna. I was the one standing in the middle of the battlefield of life, uncertain, overwhelmed, and searching for clarity. And the wisdom offered in those verses, especially the idea of detachment—not in the sense of apathy, but of balanced engagement—spoke directly to my spirit.

The concept of taking action without being entangled in the results, of finding peace regardless of success or failure, was something I desperately needed. Life had often pulled me toward extremes—hope and disappointment, effort and exhaustion. The Gita reminded me that balance wasn’t just possible; it was essential.

I won’t pretend I’m consistent in studying the Gita , or any sacred text. I’m not. But I return to it, again and again, drawn by the clarity it brings. And I hope to explore not just the Gita , but other sacred writings from around the world. I want to build a foundation of spiritual understanding—not dogma, but something deeper: equilibrium . A way of standing still and strong, no matter what the world throws at me. 

Owning the Struggle: A Reflection on Passage Meditation

Reading Passage Meditation by Eknath Easwaran has been both inspiring and humbling. His eight-point program offers a simple, elegant framework for deep spiritual practice—but living it out is another matter entirely.

Here are the eight points he lays out: 1. Meditation on an inspirational passage 2. Repetition of a mantram 3. Slowing down 4. One-pointed attention 5. Training the senses 6. Putting others first 7. Spiritual fellowship 8. Spiritual reading Other than putting others first, meditation is the easiest of the eight points for me. Sitting down, focusing on a memorized spiritual passage, and allowing it to settle into my consciousness brings a certain peace I can’t always find elsewhere. I have several passages that I use, including the Prayer of St. Francis as it appears in the Alcoholics Anonymous  “Big Book.”

The hardest part, surprisingly, is using the mantram. I want it to be a steady presence in my daily life—something I can reach for in moments of stress or quiet—but more often than not, my mind is too scattered to remember it. It’s not that I don’t believe in its power. It’s that I haven’t yet built the reflex to turn to it, especially when I need it most.

As for the other points—slowing down, training the senses, one-pointed attention, spiritual reading—I’ve made attempts at each in different seasons of life. Sometimes I get glimpses of what Easwaran is pointing toward: a calmer mind, a more present heart. But those glimpses come in fits and starts. I haven’t been consistent. Not yet.

It would be easy to see this inconsistency as a failure. But I’m learning to reframe that. This isn’t failure—it’s process. It’s what the path looks like sometimes. So I’m choosing to own the struggle, not hide from it. I haven’t reached full alignment with the practice. But I haven’t given up.

One passage from the book that stays with me is this:

“You may wonder why I recommend an inspirational passage for meditation. First, it is training in concentration. Most of our mental powers are so widely dispersed that they are relatively ineffective. When I was a boy, I used to hold a lens over paper until the sun’s rays gathered to an intense focus and set the paper aflame. In meditation, we gradually focus the mind so that when we meet a difficulty, we can cut right through the nonessentials.” That image of focus—of drawing scattered thoughts into a point of flame—speaks to exactly what I hope to cultivate. I may not be there yet, but I’ve seen flickers of that fire. And I trust it’s worth tending.

This is me, vowing to the universe and to myself: I will return to the practice. I will keep showing up. I will keep trying. Because deep down, I know the silence is waiting—and it’s worth coming back to, again and again.

Freudiana: Music, Memory, and the Mirror of the Mind

Today is Sigmund Freud’s birthday — a day to reflect on the man who cracked open the doors of the unconscious and invited us to explore what lay beneath. In honor of his legacy, I’m revisiting an album that isn’t officially part of the Alan Parsons Project discography, but certainly feels like it: Freudiana .

Originally developed by Eric Woolfson and Alan Parsons, Freudiana straddles the line between concept album and stage musical. Drawing on Freud’s case studies and theories, it dives deep into the subconscious, making abstract psychological ideas feel hauntingly personal — and sometimes even playful.

If you’ve never heard the album, you can listen to it here: Freudiana — Full Album Playlist on YouTube One song that had a profound impact on me was “The Upper Me.” Before hearing it, I’d only vaguely heard terms like id, ego, and superego tossed around. But this track made me curious. It prompted me to learn about Freud’s model of the mind — the primitive instincts of the id, the balancing ego, and the moral compass of the superego, which the song refers to as “the upper me.” It’s catchy, yet deeply thought-provoking, putting a name and a melody to the internal battles we all face. And suddenly, what once felt like academic jargon became personal: I recognized those voices within myself.

But if “The Upper Me” explores the mind’s architecture, then “Don’t Let the Moment Pass” speaks directly to the heart. This song is, to me, one of the most achingly beautiful ever written. A quiet, tender reminder not to overanalyze the fleeting magic of connection. To seize the now, even if we don’t fully understand it. In that sense, it’s almost an answer to Freud — a moment of surrender in contrast to all the dissection.

Together, these songs illustrate what Freudiana does best: it holds up a mirror to the inner world, revealing how much of who we are lies just beneath the surface. On Freud’s birthday, it feels fitting to honor a man who spent his life mapping the contours of the mind — and a musical project that gave those contours a voice. “They say that love is just a dance… Don’t let the music fade away, don’t let the moment pass.” 

The Flow of Being: Reflections on Peter Gabriel’s i/o

“Here is all your money, there is the lode, this is how you travel when you live to see the world explode.” — Peter Gabriel, “Four Kinds of Horses” Peter Gabriel’s i/o isn’t just an album—it’s an invitation. An invitation to reflect, to feel, and to consider the deeper rhythms that shape our lives. At its heart lies a simple phrase borrowed from the digital world: input/output . But in Gabriel’s hands, this becomes a profound metaphor for what it means to be human.

We are constantly in motion—receiving and releasing. We take in experience, emotion, memory, data. And we give back our thoughts, our choices, our art, our compassion. This idea of energetic exchange pulses through every track on the album.

In “i/o,” the title track, Gabriel sings, “Stuff coming out, stuff going in / I’m just a part of everything.” It’s a humble refrain, one that speaks to our place in the greater web of existence. We’re not the center of the universe—we’re part of its current, flowing through it as it flows through us.

Other songs deepen this exploration. “Panopticom” wrestles with visibility and surveillance. “The Court” challenges our impulse to judge before we understand. “Playing for Time” and “And Still” pause to reflect on aging and memory—how we process the past and what we carry forward.

One of the most evocative tracks, “Four Kinds of Horses,” explores how individuals respond to faith, pressure, and ideology. The quoted lyric— “Here is all your money, there is the lode, this is how you travel when you live to see the world explode” —suggests the moment when personal belief becomes weaponized, when devotion turns to destruction. Gabriel doesn’t sensationalize this shift; instead, he paints it with quiet intensity, showing how easily someone can be drawn into a cause, how the line between peace and violence is not only thin—it’s internal. The song stands as a haunting reflection on the choices people make when they feel part of something larger than themselves, and the consequences of those choices when carried to the extreme.

Yet this isn’t a bleak record. Far from it. i/o is full of light, warmth, and ultimately, joy. Tracks like “Olive Tree” and “Love Can Heal” remind us that love is one of the most powerful outputs we have. “Road to Joy” is an upbeat, radiant moment in the album—a celebration of renewal and hope that reflects the choice to keep moving forward despite uncertainty.

And finally, “Live and Let Live” closes the album with a call for understanding and reconciliation. It’s a fitting conclusion to an album that embraces complexity, but never lets go of compassion. Forgiveness, it suggests, is not weakness—it’s the most courageous output of all.

What Gabriel offers in i/o is a map—not of fixed destinations, but of ongoing movement. We are, all of us, part of something larger. And as we navigate the noise and beauty of this world, we can choose what we give back.

We can choose to flow with kindness. To listen as much as we speak. To grieve deeply, love fiercely, and keep creating joy—one breath, one note, one heartbeat at a time. Why this album matters to me i/o resonates with me because it’s not just about connection—it’s about interdependence . Gabriel captures life as a balanced portrait of sorrow and celebration, shadow and light. But the emphasis always returns to love, to healing, to joy. In a time when division often drowns out harmony, this album feels like a needed reminder: we are not alone. We are part of something—together.

ChatGPT and Me: Why I’m Fine Using AI to Write

 I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what it means to create something—and what it means to get help doing it.

At some point, I know I’ll publish a novel. And when I do, I also know that some people will roll their eyes when they find out I wrote it with the help of an AI. They’ll say it’s not real. That it’s cheating. That a computer did the work.

But here’s the truth: the story is mine.

I’ve always loved writing. I have a voice, a vision, and a deep need to tell stories that matter to me. But like many writers, I also have my struggles—sticking with structure, untangling timelines, finding just the right phrasing. That’s where AI becomes a collaborator, not a crutch.

It doesn’t write for me. It writes with  me. It helps me move through the stuck places. It helps me ask better questions. It offers ideas, sure—but I’m the one shaping, revising, rejecting, and refining. It’s no different than bouncing ideas off a friend, or working closely with an editor. Only this collaborator is always available, always patient, and always ready to work.

Once I started writing with AI, I gained a great deal of confidence. In terms of novels, I do have a couple of irons in the fire—projects that have quietly simmered for a long time. Having AI assist me has actually made me feel capable of taking them seriously. It’s given me the confidence to truly consider self-publishing—something I never imagined I’d say, let alone do. That shift in mindset means everything. I’m not just dreaming about writing anymore—I’m doing it.

And just as importantly, getting help from AI has helped me stop second-guessing myself. That inner critic—the one that nitpicks every line, that tells me I’m not good enough—has finally quieted down. Not because I’ve silenced it, but because I’ve found a rhythm that works. I can write. I am writing.

In the end, every sentence still carries my voice. Every twist in the plot still comes from my gut. I tweak what needs tweaking, change what doesn’t feel right, and make sure the story that emerges is something I’m proud of.

To say that AI somehow invalidates the work misses the point. It’s not a shortcut—it’s scaffolding. It helps me build what I couldn’t build alone, not because I’m not creative, but because creativity sometimes needs a hand.

So when that book finally comes out, and someone asks, “Didn’t AI help you write it?”—I’ll smile and say, “Yes, it did. And I wrote every word of it.” 

Hmm, some Youtube commenters!

*LANGUAGE WARNING!*

I’m about to go off!This is just something I need to talk about! My question is this; why are some people assholes?

I say this because of an episode of Janek Gwizdalas podcast I watched on Youtube. In it he was discussing how people were accusing him of making a cash grab, so to speak, by working with a small company to design a bass. He said that a lot of people who commented on a previous video claimed he was doing it for the money. 

Janek swears it’s not the money, but for the music that he is doing this. I believe him. 

Unless these folks can play at the same level he does, unless they work as hard as he does and have released as much material as he has, they need to sit down and shut up!

I only know Janek Gwizdala from his videos and now his music! He seems like a genuinely cool person and very real. So, what the hell is wrong with people that they have to get all pissy and attribute this “experiment” as he calls it, to a money making thing? Anyway, I can’t speak for the man, so I’ll let him do it himself!

At this point in the journey; a revelation!

First off, pardon me if I come off a bit grandiose for what I am about to post. I wish to share what I discovered, just today, about my bass playing.What I discovered is that I have made much more progress than I give myself credit for. I kept pinning the beginner tag on me, unaware of how far I’d really come. Once again in my life, it boiled down to selling myself short. 

However, that changed today when I performed my assignment for my mentor/teacher. I was a mixed bag of nerves and sheer confidence all at once. I was nervous, yet I was so proud of what I was going to perform, I knew it would go over well. Sure enough, it did go over well… very well!

David told me I have come a long way! Because I love and trust David, I know he means it, and I don’t bother to deny that he’s right!

I really have come a long way since August of 2015. I have more skill and confidence than ever. I feel free to explore what kinds of music I want to play or create. I’m not saying that I’ve arrived, but I do accknowledge just how far I’ve journeyed and I promise the universe and myself to try stop selling myself short. If I can play like I did today in front of David and not freak out, I think I could play in front of almost anyone. It has taken a long time to see myself with this much confidence and self assurance. It feels strange, but good. Strange because the negative self talk is beginning to diminish and be replaced by a sense of belief in myself! 

I finallky found something that I can tell myself that I am good at, I will be great at and both believe and mean it! My passion for playing bass has begun to flow freely and I get immense joy knowing I can finally let music flow through me.

A long, strange trip with changes!

Well, hello there! I’m back and trying this blog thing again! I didn’t fall off the face of the earth, but I did move to another part of it! As most of you know, I lost my darling Donna on October 27, 2023. Not being able to afford single life in San Francisco and thanks to a generous offer from two of my very best friends, I moved to Roseburg, Oregon on April 29, 2024. Here it is, eight months later and life has changed for the better. Now that I’m not blanketed in Donnas depression, and this is observation and not complaint, I have found the aspiring musician fully waking up and becoming an actual musician.. more or less. 

Anyway, I am focused on my bass playing journey, and have my best friend and Mentor, David Russell to help and guide me. 

Currently, due to circumstances best left unexplained, I am temporarily playing an Ibanez seven string bass. No, you didn’t see or hear that wrong! I said seven strings! Crazy as it may sound, I love it!

This means I have narrowed my social media focus to me as a bass playing musician and relinquishing the reiki and sound healing to a back burner. Oh,, hang on, the sound healing is a seperate story for another post. However, I digress. Below I will link to my various platforms on social media for anyone interested in following my journey!My Facebook page: 

Catch me on Youtube!

Here I am on Instagram!

Follow my Threads!

Well, that’s it for now! If I decide to delete my twitter and totally migrate to something like blue sky, I’ll let you know! Thanks for reading this far and joining, or rejoining the journey!