Great Spirit

Our society calls it a "manic episode." I know it was not. This is good, but it's not enough. It's not enough to be alone in a realization. Our society is also built on the genocide of millions of Native Americans. I ask you. Was it a "vision" or a symptom of mental illness.
I had been watching episodes from the amazing PBS documentary "We Shall Remain," which finally establishes Native history as an essential part of American history. I was deeply moved. I was inspired by Tecumseh's Vision and Geronimo's audacity to fight for his way of life. My "vision" is another story, but I shared what I realized about mental illness with everyone I could, especially those who were suffering. Finally I felt a yearning to come in contact with people that would not consider my "vision" as something "sick" or "beyond belief," something that was normal. I realized I could only find true acceptance from Native Americans. While in the midst of my vision I felt "the Great Spirit" because this land is that spirit. Now, when I feel overwhelmed, I sometimes stop and listen to it breath through leaves, and dance between the chirps of a bird. I gain my strength to endure from this spirit.

Conceptual Art always begins with synchronicity.
I was watching "Wounded Knee"
At one point a man explained how he had to hold his friends brains in his skull after he was shot.
At that moment Lee texted: "this is so crazy learning about myself"
I had no idea what she was referring to so I could only make the parallel...
I replied "good timing" (Lee always has good timing).
Lee: "It's so messed up."
Me: "how did you know"
Lee: "Lexi and the psychic combo"
Me: "psychic is right"
Lee: "It's not who is right it's just like everything like sequence of events crazily."
Metaphysical conversations should not be attempted via text message. But it makes for great conceptual art. After this I knew it was "on."
I had been feeling rather down for about a week. I just didn't feel like my work was being appreciated. I was broke and had to apply for disability. I kept working but I felt oppressed. After watching the documentary I sent an email to: "contact the Native American Program at Harvard University." It was a plea for understanding. I was desperate. When I lay in bed I dreamed without sleeping. I sent out my plea. Then I asked God to help me get up in the morning and died for the day.
I awoke to a dream of a large white painting with Jesus lying down on the crucifix. Foreshortened, and horizontal to the picture plane.
This was my wake up call. Thanks Jesus. He's a busy guy, with everybody yelling his name all the time and calling on him to do stuff. I was honored he was even able to send that little effigy to get me up. I knew it was going to be a good day, so with only a slight hesitation, I got out of bed. I got ready and headed out to the dance complex, where I was going to hang some prints. When I walked in the door, there across from me was a large man wearing traditional Native American dancing dress. Tall gray eagle feathers stood up from his headdress on the chair next to him. I introduced myself, slightly unsure of how forward to be. His name was Don and he had come to do a traditional dance. I mentioned my vision and he said he once had a vision himself and it was very powerful. There was nothing at all strange about our interaction and our acknowledgement of this fact of life. A great burden was lifted from me. I finally had an elder to look up to. One that was alive. An artist who understood the struggle of believing in a different reality and the oppression which ensues. He danced with tears in my eyes like a great bird of prey. A phoenix rising from the ashes of a material world. Crying out against injustice.
That night I sold more T-shirts than ever, and found out Lee is part Native American. This is the reality I choose to live in. It is one that is different, exciting, and magical.

Native American culture has the power to teach us how we should be treating the earth so we do not destroy ourselves by destroying it.

Grand father

There are a limited number of concepts in the known universe,
Such that an immaculate conception
Becomes more probable
And necessary.
As the Mother of invention
Drops her veil
To reveal a face filled with stars
Billions of light years away.

I met my grandfather for the first time tonight,
With one knee planted on a stone wall,
Photographing the rolled out green turf,
A red carpet thrown from the open doors
Of Swedenborg Chapel.

It's silent bell dangled like a dew drop
Over lights which called my eyes to commune
At the alter inside,
The tabernacle
Knocking on guarded gates.

We shook hands through gasps of wind
Like your last breaths
From pipesmoke black lungs,
My lit cigarette hanging from
Your guarded lips.

You don't know how hard it was
To convene with the concept of the Good,
Now that God has been blasphemed
By countless computations
Over his name.

Now I begin like you,
With nothing,
An artist emersed in his trade
With a noble and higher cause.

Oh, You know how hard,
And you finally found me,
To tap me on the shoulder,
Just to say
"I am"

Hide and Seek

A lot has changed since I was young.
When we played hide and seek I would squat down in the the grass and cover my eyes.
They always found me.
Now I do the same
and I am invisible.

Science

After all these years
I have it down
To an
exact
Sc
Ie
Nc
E.

That science
Is called
Michael James McCaw

I have it all
Down
On paper
So you can
SEE

how I
got
here.

A Record

The problem is,
If there is no record
It’s all lost.
The thoughts,
The rain,
Each drop becomes inaccessible,
The drive-by sound of a truck,
And again.
What is there to record?
Only time,
That leaves this moment
For the next,
For posterity.

I remember the hiccup,
Cigarette face down in the ash tray.
Without this, there is no foundation.
A course as unassuming
As the first coil of a spring.
Who could know the sequence of events
Which would follow.

Sleep, and a dream,
Putting down a glass of water,
And it all ends up here.
These are the things
That could change eternity.
A cause-
Effect
And nothing is changed.
But a language is built upon these points…
Endless, inferior.
As if all this empty space
Could be filled with anything.
That it would not make a difference.
These are the things that change the course of a life.
Imperceptible choices.
One step-
A lifetime.
Death.
Searching back.
Asking
Why?
Little is known
About the effect
Of such chance events
Only because
They
Are forgotten.

A Mirror

I remember a number of years ago
Catching my weary eyes in a mirror
And with the doubling of my eyes,
And the room around me,
So time doubled as well.
I relaxed, and while staring into those eyes
That were mine but were not
(only a projection of the eyes that saw these eyes)
I witnessed:
The furrowing of my brow,
A mapping of lines across my face,
Wrinkles emanating from the corners of these eyes.
My stare broke,
And things were quite the same as before.
Except the feeling that time had increased
Stayed.

I spent the rest of the day
Putting off the things,
That the day before,
Had seemed so urgent.
I now knew I had many years to accomplish
The tasks I had set out for myself.
Finally I could enjoy a moment
Not harried with anxiety
At the prospect of
Wasting time.

And that is why,
Until now,
Glancing into that same mirror,
I have not conveyed
What happened
That day.

Paradox

The Universe is the ultimate paradox.
Without the universe there would be no "us".
Without "us" there would be no Universe.
We only know the universe through our senses
So to imagine it without our senses in the equation...

Science has tended to take the observer out of the equation
But we recognize the blunder
For without us
there would be no
Science

Society
Crawls behind
with skinned knees

What are we to the stars?
But only we can see the stars.

If we didn't break down the wave function
Of the light from a distant star
Would the star exist?

(we incl. all life)

OURSTORY

It is obvious that at the end of postmodernism there is an essential, metaphysical annihilation of all that is. Such that a new, coherent concept of reality can be formed. This can be paralleled to the enlightenment of the Buddha or the apocalypse in Christianity. Since all reality works in micro/macrocosms, we can parallel this event to the boy turning into a man, except in this case it is history turning into 'ourstory.'

Waking the Tool

In the beginning we were all dreamers
And the dream was shared by all creatures.
Then man grasped the first tool
And his hand was severed,
Spilling blood throughout time,
The rise and fall of empires,
Gods,
Beasts.
A long sigh was exhaled.
Some called it a second coming,
Others, the end of time.
And we sit at the dawn of a new consciousness,
Waiting for our tool to spit out its first babble,
Gawking at our idiocy,
As we banish our gods to death,
Starving on street corners,
Locked to incubate in cells.
We stared him in the face and spat in his pavement.
What will we teach this long awaited guest?
Once we free her
From
Our
Hands