A Year in Erik's World

The Buddhists have a rule of thumb: whenever you say goodbye to someone, do it as if for the last time… for it may very well be the last time. I wish I’d observed this rule of thumb with Erik Kleven (pictured far right). Surely I’d see him around, I thought. He was ubiquitous in the Sacramento music scene. When he played bass in my band he was also playing in about four other bands. He was always in demand. How could you miss seeing or hearing him somewhere someday? We take these things for granted.

Then my sister called with the news that at 3:00 Sunday afternoon Erik was killed driving to a gig when a Volvo coming from the opposite direction crossed the lane and hit him head on. Instantly someone who routinely touched countless people every day and night had vanished forever. Such incidents jar us awake (briefly) to the fact that we are like the smoke curling from one of those American Indian cigarettes Eric used to smoke. In a twinkling, the slightest whiff of breeze can scatter us to the winds.

Time and circumstances can also remove someone from one’s life. I moved to the coast and started writing a book and when I heard about what happened it dawned on me that I hadn’t seen him in a decade. It didn’t matter. Once you’ve gotten to know this guy he’s like something lodged in your chest. The news knocked the wind out of me.

He was always a bit of an icon for me. The bass player of choice for the local musicians I admired— musician's like Shelley Burns, Henry Robinett, Chris Webster, Jessica Williams. As we got to know each other he remained an icon— the consummate professional, the bemused older brother with the knowing smile, quiet and self-possessed. The boys in the band had their rock and roll dreams. Eric already had what he wanted— family, a good gig teaching bass and tuba (He called it the “blow bass”), his books, his maturity, playing music with his friends.

Once I groused to him that though the band had gotten tight enough to record an album we weren’t making enough money to make that album. He said, “It’s not about the money. It’s about the music.” It was certainly true for him. Though I always made sure my musicians got paid a decent wage (even if I didn’t) Erik worked for a number of bands in which creative satisfaction was often the only remuneration.

Of course, he was right. Our rehearsals were just as much fun as the gigs— the joking, the camaraderie, the common determination to fuse our talents into something extraordinary. Exciting times. This was Erik’s life 'til the day he died.

In my mind it was more than a band, of course. It was my music support group. That group provided a defining experience for me. Erik will always be a part of who I am because of it. I’m sure many others could say the same. In this and other ways, he lives on. Let the Eric sightings begin.

I am currently working on an album that includes many of the tunes I played with Eric. I find myself listening to tapes of our live performances to remember how he played those bass lines. Always straightforward. Simple. Elegant.

I feel so fortunate to have a few studio quality recordings of us playing together. I remember he always turned the treble knob of his bass to zero so the engineer could never “funkify” his sound. And I remember he always nailed his track on the first take.

If we’d have known that Erik was going to be taken from us so suddenly I’m sure we would have cheered a little louder after each song he played. But it wouldn’t have mattered much to him. He wasn’t there for the applause. As he said, “It’s all about the music.” He was a very Zen character. If the rhythm was right, he would have been gratified by the sound of one hand clapping.

Erik was like the beat he kept. Rock steady.

Trusting Your Inner Mystic

An important thesis of the book The Gospel According to Jesus by Stephen Mitchell is that the New Testament, far from being a faithful retelling of the life and words of Jesus, has been compromised by the agiprop of the early church and that the actual sayings of Christ, this great light unto the world, need to be separated from the smoke-and-mirror-speak of the ancient theocratic hustlers that weasled its way into the text.

Mitchell wasn't the first to "cherry pick" The Bible. Thomas Jefferson also attempted to de-churchify The New Testament. The result was a slim volume that some call "The Jefferson Bible". He sent a copy to every member of Congress. Then there was "The Jesus Seminars" in which numerous scholars and historians tried to separate the historically accurate sayings and doings of Jesus from the frequent inventions. Mitchell's efforts rendered about thirty-two pages that reasonable people could actually be expected to believe.

Think about it. there's no way the New Testament hangs together without some serious editing. How could the same spiritual master say, "Relax. God's gonna take care of you just like He/She does the lilies in the field because God cares for you with a love that is absolute in its purity." and then cackle menacingly, "but if you don't take Yours Truly as your personal savior My Dad and I are going to make sure you writhe in agony for eternity! Ha ha ha ha ha!" This kind of inconsistent character development always happens when you give the publishers too much creative control.

Of course the fundamentalists fume that you can't mess with the Holy Writ of God!" It's all Divine Revelation, after all!" they'd assert. "Therefore to edit is to second guess the word of God. How do we know the Bible is holy? Because, dim wit, it says right there on the cover... 'Holy Bible'. God said it was holy and that's all I need to know. How do we know God said it was holy? Cause the Bible said God said it was holy and the Bible doesn't lie. God said it doesn't lie. It says it right there in the Holy Bible."

Circular arguments should be consigned to the circular file.

It's just hard for me to believe without question in a book that says if a family member ever suggests it might be relaxing to play finger cymbals and sing "Hari Krishna" once in a while that you should immediately "...kill him [or her]...strike the first blow in putting him to death...since he has tried to divert you from Yahweh your God..." Does this sound like the insight of a divine being interested in promoting compassion and tolerance in the world? Or does it sound more like the pronouncement of a jealous prayer cloth vendor worried about the fickle nature of market forces? Read Deuteronomy 13:7-11 and judge for yourself. Is the oldest profession really that of the sex worker? Or the sect worker?

It would be so much easier to have somebody with a real certificate from God Herself just tell us what to do. Unfortunately God didn't award anyone with such all-seeing authority. Look carefully. That Yahweh signiture on the bishop's certification? Too frilly. Nothing but an excellent forgery.

Some people feel utterly incapable of discerning what's true from what's false. In fact we all feel this way from time to time. But that doesn't mean we're doomed to such a fate. Most insanity is temporary. There's no such thing as original sin. In lieu of Divinely Approved Mediaries, we are not forever alienated from the heart and mind of God.

Jesus said we are God's children which means he believes the blood of the divine is flowing through our veins already. We are more holy than any collection of pages bound by the hand of man. So since we are God's children, we show trust in Our Father by trusting in the gifts he gave us, By knowing we have the power to discern what is true for ourselves at any given moment.

The results, of course, will vary depending on how connected we are with the clear light of unsullied perception at that moment. This is why we must practice open-mindedness. Work to understand the foibles of our old thought habits. Watch it all intently without attachment to "self". It's a big responsibility but nothing the child of a divine being can't handle. So...don't shift your responsibility to others no matter how lofty they may appear.

Sometimes the truth will be, we need council, and sometimes it may even be we should simply do as we're told for awhile. But it will never be that we should abandon our God-given inner knowing to do things that are clearly wrong. We don't slaughter innocents because a war has been deemed holy. We don't hide behind the flag because our victims accidently wander into our free fire zone.

When the Bible preaches cruelty, remember that that adjective "Holy" that appears on the cover is really just a four letter word. It's not legally binding. God gave us the power to discern, to "cherry pick" that which we know in our gut to be true from that which we sense instinctively to be misguided. To deny this power is to deny God's genius. What messages from life, from any and all books resinate with your inner mystic? Which ones don't? Claim your divinity by honoring your inate wisdom. Open your heart as much as you can while opening your eyes as much as you can. You may not possess perfect prescience at every moment. But we must still practice and trust in the brilliance of our own attentiveness. That attentiveness will always be more omniscient than blind obedience.


a couple of footnotes: 1. The beautiful painting of Christ meditating is by Swami Tadatmananda. They're for sale on the internet. 2. When I use the term "God" I am speaking in the most general terms about the transphysical intelligence of which all is formed. I am not talking about some Omnipotent white alpha male with long whiskers and a penchant for robes and vindictive pestilences.

Cafe at the Heart of the Cosmos

Sitting in the Café Trieste knowing I should develop a theme for my next blog post, I am resistant. I am too at ease on my day off to impose any particular meaning on the surrounding phenomenon. I'm of a mind to just be with it. Merely witness. See the coffee aficionados cued up at the bar to order their drinks— such an amusing line up of the usual coffeehouse suspects, some in camaflage, others in tie-die, leotards, jeans, barets, hoop earrings, hiking sandals and even a Greek fisherman’s cap (haven't seen one of those in a while). All these cultural remnants and raments that refuse to go out of style. Just be with it. Be with the pictures of Pappa Gionni, the founder of this little institution. Witness him hobnobbing with many of the great Italian artistes of our day Lawrence Ferlinghetti, Francis Ford Coppolla, Pavoratti.

There are the ubiquitous Latino men taking care of business behind the counter and the scene in general, quietly keeping California, the world’s sixth largest economy, humming (when white men aren’t mucking it up with sweetheart deals like energy deregulation).

Just sitting here being Being... amidst the stained wood, painted bricks, rafters, cultural clutter and John Coltrane blowing jubilantly in the background—a bohemian dream. Don’t think. Drink your coffee. Don’t even be here now. Just be (irrespective of any considerations of time and place or individual identity) Be leather jackets and lace undershirts. Be swirling conversatios. Be frenetic sax solos and ride cymbals. Be squeaky doors and the sound of clinking cups, rumbly refridgerated cold cases full of pastry. Be grey beards and henna hair and muffled traffic noise.

Every phenonomenon is the tip of the iceburg of the infinite processes of the universe—the culmination of 15 billion years of continously incredible dumb luck (or brilliantly designed good fortune). Witness another enthralling variation on God’s master plan unfolding in the 360 degree sensurround theatre of the moment. Who knew this latest sequel to the Big Bang could be such a pleasantly engaging experience.. so as long as you’re up, get me a refill will you? Why rush of when we're already at the café at the heart of the cosmos?