Letters 1_Dark Zones: Into the Light

April 30, 2002

Hi, Mark,

As promised, here is the letter I sent to my friend, triggered by a photograph he sent me of our mutual friend Billy R.

Billy was a brilliant folk singer, country singer, and guitarist. He was a tall, handsome, black-haired, charismatic guy with a terrific voice (rather like Waylon Jennings) and a magnificent grasp of unusual special tunings for his six- and twelve-string guitars. He played in and around San Francisco. I met him in 1965, when I too was in San Francisco playing and singing my own songs in the local folk music houses. He and I did several gigs together and liked each other. He wrote his own songs too, including "Hey Joe," which later became a big hit for Jimi Hendrix and several others.

Unfortunately, Billy was heavy into booze and drugs. When I started gigging with Tim, I introduced the two of them, and Tim got Billy a demo recording session for Elektra Records. Alas, Billy couldn't handle the pressures of potential success. He got too drunk, threw up all over the studio soundboard, couldn't finish the demo, and left. A few years ago, he wrecked his car (drunk and stoned) and wound up in a hospital in a coma. His mother came out to San Francisco and got him and took him back to Atlanta, where he remains in a hospital more or less awake [at this writing], but pretty much out of it.

My friend sent me a black and white picture of Billy, circa 1962. Billy is dressed all in black, sitting on rock playing his twelve-string when he was young and strong, incredibly handsome, the future still ahead of him.

I like the picture and keep it in my files, but I also found myself feeling angry about this kind of lifestyle in general, angry about the way self-destruction is so romanticized and celebrated in contemporary culture, angry about the way marvelously bright, talented, creative people like Billy and Tim and so many others fall into the trap I talked to you about earlier in today's other e-mail. [See The Osho Basher, last letter: "Dark/Light & A New Day," April 30, 2002]

So I sat down and wrote the following couple of pages to my friend, which helped me sort out my thoughts and give them wings. To be sure, my position is not a popular one, and is certainly not widely shared among the people I used to hang out with (all of whom of course despised anybody who left the fold, straightened up, got it together and found a new way of life based on love, laughter, compassion and creativity). Nevertheless, my perspective needs to be seen and heard by others, perhaps especially by others who are just beginning to pull out of similar tailspins.

Here is the letter—

April 4, 2002

Hi, Ol' Buddy,

Very kind of you to send me a Xerox of the Billy R photo, 1962. He sure looked good, didn’t he? I greatly appreciate your gesture, and thank you for it.

The picture set me to thinking. If you would be so kind, please let me share some of these thoughts with you.

As you know, I’ve known a lot of Billy R's — Tim, Fred Neil, Jimi, Janis, hundreds of others either directly or indirectly. They all know how to do one thing well. They know how to suffer. Whatever music comes out of it is purely a by-product of natural talent, and that talent is beaten and ultimately destroyed by their love of suffering, sadness, misery and pain. Everybody loves the pain, the angst, the wallowing. They claim they don’t, but in fact they do. Feeling bad feels good.

I was that way too, so don’t get me wrong. Don’t think I’m on some kind of moral high ground, looking down a Puritanical nose at our lost, tormented and tortured poets, singers, dancers, jugglers and clowns. All I am saying is, Billy loved it, just as I did, just as the others did (and still do, and always will, forever), and he never had the inner stuff to get past it.

Why don’t more of us get tired of it, sick of it, bored with it? Why don’t more of us stop sacrificing our talent and our art, brutalizing it, exploiting it just so we can get loaded and laid one more time? Why don’t more of us respect our talent and treasure it and nourish it so we can give more beauty, hope, love and strength to this miserable human race? Why don’t more of us have guts enough to stop whining, mewling, puling and destroying ourselves, and do something honest, courageous and creative with our lives? See what I mean?

God knows, I’ve shed enough tears for myself and Billy and Tim and the rest of us. I’ve plumbed the depths of that overly-romanticized so-called “dark side,” and after exploring it at length found it merely common, tedious, repetitive, banal and highly over-rated. Everybody does that stuff. Music, movies, TV and novels base their whole trip on it.

There’s nothing new about it, or in it, nothing whatsoever, and yet how many Billy’s of the world have fortitude enough to pull out of it? How many of us take the rare, uncommon, exciting, original and extremely difficult road to mental health, creative living, artistic productivity? How many have guts enough to stop hating themselves and destroying their talent, and to turn the whole thing around, transforming it into light, love, laughter, compassion, and beauty that celebrates the best and highest of the human spirit instead of the worst and most degraded?

What is the perennial obsession with the tedium of prolonged and sloppy suicide, and the rationalization of it as “poetic heroism”? Doesn’t anybody see it clearly? Or are nearly all who play this game doomed to waste their talent, youth and sanity, ultimately to lie broken and battered and wheezing on stained sheets in some god-forsaken slime green hospital room.

Suffering is easy. Boozer and druggie pain is the ultimate selfishness. Self-destruction is stupid, wasteful, and heinously disrespectful of life itself. Billy’s life, and the life I lived for so many years, and the life Tim and Fred and Jimi and the rest of them died from, is nothing more than the Great Lie, perpetrated by corporations who sell dead poets, dead madmen writers, agonized musicians and volatile youthful morbidity in all its forms. The so-called “poetic rebellion” of the Kerouacs and Dean Moriarties, Billy R's and Lee Underwoods and the rest of them, is a stupid neurotic fantasy.

It doesn’t take courage to stay in it or to murder one’s talent or to wind up a burnt out drooling cripple in some last-stand sanitarium. To the contrary, it takes courage to look it in the eye, see it for the deluded, destructive fantasy that it is, and then make the heroic effort to pull out of it. It takes courage to affirm life with enough strength and conviction to get off the booze and the drugs and the underground music lifestyle. It takes courage to say Goodbye to the easy, familiar, comfortable, romanticized “dark zone,” and get one’s ass into gear on the hard road to change, growth, evolution and rebirth. Self-delusion is a coward’s trick, perpetrated on everyone, most of all on one’s self. Alas, I know this all too well. I've been there.

The journey of self-understanding and self-realization is the heroic venture, a journey almost none of the so-called “rebels” ever manage to even begin, much less complete. Talent is easy. It comes free with the genes. Living for love, courage and creativity is a bitch. It takes hard work to transform talent into productive genius. Burnouts are a dime a dozen.

That doesn’t mean I don’t feel compassion for my compatriots. I do. And I love them. But we could use a few more Kris Kristoffersons, Joe Pass’s, Lee Underwoods, a few more people who have visited hell, checked it out, then had enough love of life left to summon up the strength and sustained effort to fulfill themselves and their talents instead of beating themselves up until they die an early and usually ugly, pathetic, wasteful death.

Thanks again, ol’ buddy. I appreciate the photo, and you, and the gesture of sending it. I also appreciate the thoughts the picture generated. Thank you for that too.

Much lubs,

Lee

theories

May 1, 2002

Mark said he very much appreciated the Billy R. letter to my friend and wondered if Billy had every recorded any music.

He then jumped "back to the drug and booze debate," saying he thought many musicians look to their heroes, people like Lennon, Hendrix, Morrison, etc., and think that if they get stoned, maybe they too could visit the same zones and write equally great music. He theorized that the media glamorize the descent into darkness, and felt that woeful, soulful, sad songs tug more strongly at the heart. "In fact, all my favorite tunes are the insightful, slow, and sorrowful ones." He said he thought it was people's nature to see the cup half empty rather than half full, so they relate better to a sad song rather than a happy or uplifting one. Furthermore, spiritual concerns are for the most part scorned by musicians and the media, and it is easier to stay stoned than it is to get straight.

He said he had just re-read my "beautiful piece of writing" [See: The Osho Basher, last letter: "Dark/Light & A New Day," April 30, 2002] and had a few more thoughts.

He noted that I had said a fall into darkness is not a prerequisite for looking for and finding the light. He also noted that Osho says time and time again, "we are asleep." He pointed out how we are unable to rid ourselves of our conditionings; we are not aware of the Four Noble Truths; and the source of suffering is craving. "We all still want the better job/car/holiday/TV etc - and we are quite content to keep running after these goals, not realizing that once they are achieved there is another one right round the corner, and the circle goes on and on and on."

He concluded with, "It takes a special kind of person to be able to see this and break out of the circle. Osho makes me laugh [when he points out that] about the only people who can [escape from the circle] are the rich, as they eventually conclude that material gifts/goods are not what life is all about, while the poor are too concerned about where their next meal is coming from!!!"

Fear of Success

May 2, 2002

Hi, Mark,

Hey, guy, great responses to my last couple of e-mails! Seems to me all of your insights are right on.

Soulful songs, sad, slow, are deeply moving, and of course the media glamorizes self-destructive musicians rather than enlightened masters. The secret, I guess, is in being able to see this clearly, as you do, and then to be able to go your own way, moving beyond sadness, negativity and other depressive states of mind, into the bliss realms where love, hope, creativity and similar energies become a way of life. It's not a matter of denying anything. It's a matter of transforming one's negative energy into positive energy — which takes a while. No problem — one day at a time, right?

There is another key element in here: fear of success. If one happens to feel profoundly inadequate, often unconsciously so, then the demands of success, or the stress of even potential success, become frightening. In such an instance, one tends to find all sorts of reasons to reject society, materialistic values, the drug free "straight" life, and work that might lead to material well being and social acceptance. So-called "noble" values come to serve, not nobility or enlightened consciousness, but neurosis. See what I mean? Rejecting success in the name of spirituality is often a way of masking one's own deeply concealed inadequacies. Psychotherapy can be of invaluable help in this domain.

It's a complex issue, Mark, subtle and sometimes inwardly explosive. But it's worth looking at in one's self and others.

So glad to see you thinking about these things, responding, looking into them, questioning yourself and the issues. These are some of the ways in which you enable yourself to grow. Billy R never did that. Neither did Tim (in the ways we are speaking of here; I deal with this fear of success question at length in Blue Melody).

So, for each one of us individually, the question becomes: What about my own life? What do I want to do? Yes, it's easier to just stay stoned, and a lot of people do that, and in many ways I can't blame them.

But what about my own life? Am I willing to make a serious, sincere effort to realize the best in myself? Am I willing to do what it takes to evolve from seedling potentialities into a fully realized flower?

If I fear success, whether material or psychological, am I willing to look at that and take steps to transform it into courage and inner strength? What can I do to accomplish that? Therapy? Meditation? Reading? Writing? Listening to music? Talking with people who have made that journey themselves? How can I become who I truly am?

I think your "rants," as you call them, are most insightful, Mark. No question about it, keep on keepin' on!

(As far as I know, Billy R never managed to get anything out there other than a few songs that others recorded, most notably "Hey Joe." I am pretty sure he never managed to write a book. He did have writing aspirations — but no sustained discipline — part of the fear of success syndrome we just talked about. . .)

All the best,

Lee

Waylon Jennings

May 3, 2002

Hi, Mark

You ask about Waylon Jennings. Well, he just died just recently and was one of the greatest country singer/songwriters you could ever listen to. I know you didn't care for Mickey Newbury a while back, but don't let the word "country" throw you. Mickey didn't click with you, but Waylon might.

He had an incredible voice, deep heartsoul, enormous compassion — and was sometimes a heck of a lot of upbeat fun. He recorded dozens of albums during the last 30 years or so, many of his best ones in the '70s and '80s.

Along with fellow "Outlaws" Willie Nelson and Kris Kristofferson (one of the best songwriters of all country and rock writers), he revolutionized country music and helped bring it well into mainstream musical life, without sacrificing the deep heartsong quality of first class popular music everywhere. (In my view, most of today's country music is a washed out, diluted, superficial, middleclass distortion of the real thing). Waylon was independent, rebellious, fun and funny, one of America's great ones. That doesn't mean you will automatically like him, but I think if you get into his music a little bit, you'll find a jewel of a talent there.

If I were to recommend one album to start with, it would be Greatest Hits (including "Amanda" [one of my favorites]), "Ladies Love Outlaws," "Good Hearted Woman," "Luckenbach Texas" [another personal favorite], "Mamas Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to be Cowboys," and others).

Other good albums include Ol' Waylon, Dreamin' My Dreams and the fun and funky Never Could Toe the Mark.

I'd suggest you check out Greatest Hits and take it from there.

All the best,

Lee

What Is Enlightenment?

May 4, 2002

Hi, Mark,

For a couple of years now I have subscribed to perhaps the best magazine on the market today when it comes to dealing with issues you and I (and increasing numbers of others) are concerned about. It is called What Is Enlightenment? (WIE?), edited by a very bright fellow named Andrew Cohen. I just received the most recent issue (Spring/Summer 2002) and read a terrific dialogue between Andrew and the great Ken Wilber, which dealt with some of the fundamental issues I have been grappling with for a long time —

How does one reconcile the urge to transcend the sufferings of samsara and egoism with an urge to participate in the world and devote creative energy to saving the world and transforming it from ignorance, darkness and suffering into enlightened awareness? How does one reconcile the drive toward emptiness, cessation, and bliss consciousness with the drive toward helping others and participating in the world of form? How does one reconcile perfection of being with physical, psychological and spiritual evolution? Andrew and Ken have a marvelous discussion about these and related issues.

The theme of this Spring/Summer 2002 issue is "The Future of God: Evolution and Enlightenment for the 21st Century." It includes an essay entitled "Swami Vivekananda on Darwin, Evolution, and the Perfect Man"; another essay entitled "Why Sri Aurobindo is Cool"; and several other articles, plus a plethora of informative advertisements that are most helpful.

I think you might find this magazine very much in synch with your questioning mind and spiritual direction, and for sure the price is right: $18 for three issues, and, if you want to, you can have them start your subscription with this Spring/Summer 2002 issue. They also have a way you can order back issues (which I have done on several occasions, particularly Issue 19, "Can enlightenment save the world?", Issue 18, "What does it mean to be in the world but not of it?" and Issue 11, "Can science enlighten us?" and several others).

Anyway, I thought I'd pass this info along to you. Before doing anything, you might want to check them out online, www.wie.org

Take a peek and let me know what you think!

All the best,

Lee

Bach & Compatriots

May 20, 2002

[This was written to Mark in the middle of the night after I had suffered a devastating legal pronouncement about the final 100 pages of Blue Melody earlier that day. If I wanted to publish a book about Tim's life and remain legally protected, I would have to delete the pages dealing with the circumstances surrounding his death and the motivations of the people involved. I was crushed by the verdict, but had to accept it if I wanted to get the celebration of Tim's life out there.]

Well, hello my friend,

I find myself in the midst of a dark night, listening to Johann Bach's Chromatic Fantasy and Fugue in D minor BWV 903, played by harpsichordist Anthony Newman (whatever happened to him? is he still with us?), because Anthony's performance and Johan's composition are the only music that correspond to my mood at the moment.

There is a secret, you see. Even the gifted ones, perhaps especially the gifted ones, at one time or another find themselves cast into the dark night of the soul, even as they are externally committed to encouraging and helping others while they internally suffer the butchering of their own psyche. Jesus found himself there. So did Socrates, Osho, others. Attacked, poisoned, cut, sliced, yet having to help their friends make it through the night: Incredible strength.

Having not heard from you recently, I have wondered if I did not blow you away with the Billy R letter to my friend and my celebration of the late great Waylon Jennings. On the one hand, I say to myself, Well, okay, if he can't handle it, that's all right. On the other hand, I say, Well, okay, maybe he will be able to see it, as I do, as one glorious part of the magnificent spectrum of consciousness — from rot-gut emotion, to mid-range socially acceptable orientation, to higher-consciousness.

In Waylon (and Tim and Nick Drake and Fred Neil, Kris Kristofferson, et. al.), we have heartfelt soulsongs of suffering, compassion, loss, which I have loved profoundly, and understood, and enjoyed as long as I was there in that zone. In others, we have mid-range rock' n' rollers. In still others, such as Michael Stearns, Kevin Braheny, Steve Roach and dozens of other contemporary advanced musicians, we have higher-consciousness in action. Beyond them, we have the age-old eternals, such as Bach's Chromatic Fantasy and Fugue in D minor BWV 903, played by anybody at all (especially Glenn Gould's performances of Bach, if you have the inclination and time). Each one of these dimensions, represented by all of kinds and styles and levels of music are sacred, are they not?

But sometimes that point is not easily seen. There are those who fall at the feet of Bach, but disdain Waylon Jennings, and those who hate country styles but embrace rock or classical, or embrace classical but hate everything else.

Box-thinkers all.

Those who expand themselves to the point where they can feel in themselves the glorious compassion and aspiration and empathy of each generic type and style and level of music give themselves the opportunity to grow, for they are the ones who allow themselves to receive from the best of humanity, at all levels, and thus, through sympathetic, empathic resonance, experience all levels of their own consciousness: Through music to the self (as Peter Michael Hamel put it, in a book by the same name: check it out).

But, alas, I speak to you tonight like a star far away in the dark void beyond, somewhere in that vast Milky Way Galaxy, so beautiful and remote above us both. I speak to you as one who sings his own words to himself as much as to you, as one who is all but done with the struggle against stupidity, madness, the Reagan-Bush world that seems never to go away or change.

I so admired Osho. In the absolutely catastrophic attack upon his credibility that the powers of fear wrecked upon him, he did not allow them to destroy him or his sense of responsibility to his sanyassins. He did not buckle under the mountain that ultimately killed him. He gave leadership and love to the end, even while he cried to himself, alone, isolated, into the folds of his own pillow. His message: We can be more than we have been told we can be. Because of that message, my friend, they killed him.

And so I find myself in the midst of this strange night writing to you, hoping you are well, hoping you have not found yourself estranged from me because I celebrate all levels of the spectrum of consciousness; hoping you, too, are there, as I am, knowing there are valleys to be traversed, even as there are peaks to be celebrated. I find all of them worthy of celebration, peaks, valleys.

It all seems to be part of this extraordinary journey, and so, without choosing one over the other, I suffer, yes, and rejoice, yes, and find it all part of immediate, personal, general, transpersonal, cosmic joy. Might and matter and power and the eternally relative world of competition do not matter. Failure is but the great dignity of having attempted more than is culturally acceptable at the time. All of it, attempts, successes, failures, are flame-tips of the exhilarating whole.
Extraordinary, isn't it?

There ways to enjoy ourselves in the midst of the sorrows and madness. Without fear, unattached to success or failure or appearances, we can find ourselves eternally free, healthy, whole and at home within ourselves.

There are melodies, musics, voices, passions that can venture ahead of us and beckon us onward in courage. Tim did this as a Starsailor. Odysseus did this as Homer's hero. Miles Davis did it with Kind of Blue. Other artists and mystics and scientists have done it for you and me in a thousand different ways. Their names are legendary: Buddha, Lao Tzu, Chuang Tzu, Socrates, Galileo, Gurdjieff, Einstein, Heisenberg, Osho, Krishnamurti, dozens of others.

There is no path. They point the way toward psycho-spiritual freedom, but the journey itself must be embraced with solitary courage. We fly from the alone to the alone. Even as they did, so do we create our paths as we walk them. Our brothers and sisters of the past speak to us from their own lives, and their own lives speak to us from humanity's future. Do you see how they sing from the best of our tomorrows? We are free to leap as we might and fly as we will. They are there as compatriots, leaders, guides, confidants.

And so, my friend, out of the depths of the night I write to you. How strange it is, is it not? The you of you, the me of you, the transcendental transpersonal unity of it all.

Keep on keepin' on.

Lee