Friday morning at Starbucks, the room is a-twitter with rising and  falling conversations from tables — not unlike a tree full of blackbirds.  The sound of life, the exchange of advice, consolation, the ritual of community.  I am fortunate to be here.

My sleep of last night was interrupted by a strange early morning dream.  I lay on my back on a leaf covered forest floor peering up into the tree tops, bird watching.  At least that was my story when I was discovered by the property owners.  I understand that the subject of a dream is the dreamer.  What problem, what personal mystery was that dream attempting to unravel?

I revisited a passage from Nietzsche, Thus Spake Zarathustra XLII.  Reading the text was like taking a measure of gunpowder to my cup of coffee, in lieu of sugar: bitter, astringent, and enlightening.  The chapter is entitled Redemption.

Nietzsche’s voice, Zarathustra (ancient Iranian spiritual leader who founded what is now known as Zoroastrianism) is speaking intimately with his circle of disciples.  It is interesting that his disciples happen to be a motley group of cripples.  Their spokesperson is a hunchback. The man observes that though Zarathustra is a respected teacher, he must ‘seal the deal’ with his followers by convincing first the cripples, those of his inner circle.

“The blind canst thou heal, and make the lame run; and from him who hath too much behind, couldst thou well, also, take away a little;–that, I think,would be the right method to make the cripples believe in Zarathustra!”

To say it straight up, the game-winning-half court shot, the proof positive argument would be to effect physical healing, — starting with the hunchback spokesperson who would like his hump eliminated.

Zarathustra replies that such healing does nothing to undo, remedy the individual which one has become by virtue of life with his disability.  The greater injury for example, is not to be lame, unable to run, but that one’s vices run away with him if and when his mobility is restored……..

Moreover Zarathustra observes there is a form of disability far more hideous than the usual dysfunction of a missing eye or a crippled limb.  There is a condition when one has too much of one thing, a reverse cripple if you will, a big eye, or a big ear, or a big belly.  He then describes a huge ear attached to a bare stalk of a body, individuals who have too much of one thing and too little of everything.

Zarathustra, Nietzsche’s voice, is a man who is walking among fragments of men, men and women broken up and scattered, “as on a battle- and a butcher-ground.”   This makes Nietzsche shudder, he is a cripple among cripples.

The rumination of the discourse with his followers only prompts Zarathustra/Nietzsche to additional questions: Who am I, and who are you?

“Who is Zarathustra to us? What shall he be called by us?” And like me, did ye give yourselves questions for answers. Is he a promiser? Or a fulfiller? A conqueror? Or an inheritor? A harvest? Or a ploughshare? A physician? Or a healed one? Is he a poet? Or a genuine one? An emancipator? Or a subjugator? A good one? Or an evil one?

The conclusion:  How are the circumstances of  the present, unavoidable, the irrepressible deposit of chance cause and effect — to be redeemed/healed/transformed into a life that one says “yes” to?

How is the shit-storm of history to be fixed?

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Top of the news this morning, US military forces have killed the Iranian Quds Force Commander, Qasem Soleimani in a airstrike in Baghdad. The untimely death of any man, woman or child ought to prompt us to pause.  There is a further complication though with Soleimani’s death.  Among the Iranian public he was as popular and revered as was Elvis among Americans.

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What is life without music?  I offer this fine tune as inspiration, for your enjoyment.  Yeah, I know the video is quite raw.  But so is life.

Lyrics follow the youtube video.

Every Rose Has Its Thorn

By Poison

We both lie silently still in the dead of the night
Although we both lie close together we feel miles apart inside
Was it something I said or something I did?
Did my words not come out right?
Though I tried not to hurt you
Though I tried
But I guess that’s why they say

[Chorus:]
Every rose has its thorn
Just like every night has its dawn
Just like every cowboy sings his sad, sad song
Every rose has its thorn

Yeah it does

I listen to our favorite song playing on the radio
Hear the DJ say love’s a game of easy come and easy go
But I wonder does he know?
Has he ever felt like this?
And I know that you’d be here right now
If I could have let you know somehow
I guess

[Chorus]

Though it’s been a while now
I can still feel so much pain
Like a knife that cuts you the wound heals
But the scar, that scar remains

I know I could have saved a love that night if I’d known what to say
Instead of makin’ love we both made our separate ways
And now I hear you found somebody new
And that I never meant that much to you
To hear that tears me up inside
And to see you cuts me like a knife
I guess