Name: William's Mix 20041002 I am sitting in a room by Spineless Books
Duration: 1 h 1 min 36 s
Description: "I Am Sitting In A Room," by Alvin Lucier, with John Cage, Uncle Bonsai, David Bowie singing Jacques Brel, and the Monks of Doom singing Frank Zappa.

Spirit descends into matter with the help of Air, Fire, Water and Earth. Rumi says, "Though fire, air, earth, and water all seem dead things and only elements, yet they are servants; they work for [the One Breath] and they always obey [the One]!' (Mathnawi I, 838)

Flute improv by Miguel Medina from SingingTreeFlutes. Download and share this MP3 at will.

Descent of Spirit into Matter

Spirit descends into matter: the dance of the elementals

Here is one simple but powerful verse of a song by Randy Scruggs and John W. Thompson, as sung by Beautiful Chorus and then arranged by the Unlimited Artist, working through Chandrananda Bahar and all of the Unseen Beings who support the upward spiral of evolution.

Sing, speak, intone, hum, move, dance along as the Spirit moves you.

Sanctuary
Please prepare us [me]
To be a sanctuary
Pure and holy
Tried and true
With thanksgiving
We'll [I’ll] be a living
Sanctuary for you/You.

Sing/speak/etc. “Amān”—Arabic for sanctuary, protection, peace, harmony—and “hu”—the One Breath of the Unlimited Artist. And/or anything else that uniquely moves uniquely you in the moment of experiencing this musical prayer.

You may wish to move progressively through an offering of sanctuary—first, for yourself (what does that look and feel like?). Next, perhaps, for your circle of special Beings. Followed by all those experiencing pain and suffering of whatever kind and in need of refuge.

Another possible contemplation is of an offering of sanctuary to the millions of fellow beings living with war and genocide the world over, including those on the list below (from Wikipedia). Add any and all that are missing. Add all creatures. Why not add the All of Everything to the prayer for peace and sanctuary. May all travelers return home safely as we walk each other home.

Iraq
Yemen
Afghanistan
E. Turkistan
Palestine
Lebanon
Congo
Somalia
Nigeria
So. Sudan
Ethiopia
Colombia
Myanmar
Ukraine

Sanctuary

DOOR

[Words and music by Paul Kotheimer.  Amplified acoustic guitar and vocal by Paul Kotheimer.  Recorded at home in 2011.  Released on THE KILOGRAM OF GOLD.]

	Temping

A rock.  A rock: A clump of rock, spat out
from molten mantle to the dusty crust
or fallen from the barren void of space
to this, our squirming, fornicating Earth,
just sits there--whether frozen in some peak
or ground to sand and mixed with muds and moss,
inanimate, inert, outside of time,
in spite of eons and their vastness.  Now,
from time to time, that's how it seems, to mind
and to persist while nickel after dime
go trickling past to fill the two weeks' take
one calls one's take-home pay.  It's dull,
in other words.  About as dull as rocks.

Some days the photocopier will change
its metered wheeze into a song--
a minimalist techno-pop lament,
like Nine Inch Nails, but pianissimo.
At times, the wear and tear on pallet jacks
backed in the corner near the loading dock
will make a little installation piece:
Still Life With Microwave.  The Lost & Found
at the reception desk will overflow:
Dickensian details, compulsive lists
of human attributes fit for Flaubert:
One brown glove, deeply worn; an envelope
with post mark 1996; ear phones
with one of their foam earpad things detatched;
a plethora of hand-held gizmos; phones;
a shawl; a watch; umbrellas of all kinds; 
and so on and so on, 'til Five O'clock,

but not today.  Today is just a rock,
a chunk of hematite or dolomite
or granite flecked with iron from the moon.
A thousand million years of sitting still.
And then a coffee break.  And then the same.
Then lunch.  Another billion more.  The sun
exhausts its fuel, subsumes the planet Earth
as a red giant, melting all of this.
I vaporize.  Then go out for a smoke.
Then back again.  Another billion years.
The galaxy thins out into the void.
Four fifty-nine.  Four fifty-nine again.
Four fifty-nine again.  Four fifty-nine.
Again.  Again four fifty-nine.  Again.

The gods relinquish Form and Formlessness.
The Cosmic Embryo aborts Itself.
The Universe Is Not.   --Four fifty-nine.
It never was, began, or ceased to be.
There's no such thing as time, or space, or rocks,
or paperweights made out of plastic rocks
that keep the time sheets on the boss's desk
from floating off into the yawning void
before they're tallied up and double-checked,
submitted, filed, paid out, deposited,
and spent.  And spent.  And spent away.  Outside
the building where I work these days, there sits
a sort of charming piece of public art:
A statue, human size, a mannequin
parked on a bench, in thought.  The regulars
in my department, as you might expect,
have given it a name.  They call it Bill.
Bill knows what time it is:  Four fifty-nine.

It's still four fifty-nine.  Still is.  Still is.
Still is.  Four fifty-nine.  Still is.  Again.
Four fifty-nine.  Four fifty-nine.  Again.
Again.  Again.  Still is.  Still is.  Again.
--And so on 'til it's Five.  And then, the end.

Good night, Bill.  Good night, plastic rock.  Good night,
reception desk and Lost & Found.  Good night,
lamenting, plaintive photocopying
machine.  Good night, Still Life with Pallet Jacks
and Microwave on Loading Dock.  The Earth
is long since dead.  The sun's collapsed
into a pulsar at the trailing edge
of some uncharted spiral arm, and time
and work and jobs and money don't exist.
It's Five O'clock.  I'm taking off.  Good night.


Temping

"I Am Sitting In A Room," by Alvin Lucier, with John Cage, Uncle Bonsai, David Bowie singing Jacques Brel, and the Monks of Doom singing Frank Zappa.

Eclectic Seizure on BSR Providence

William's Mix 20041002 I am sitting in a room

Chisel-Tip Lullaby

[Words and music by Paul Kotheimer.  Guitar, vocal, upright bass, and mandolin by PK.  Recorded at home, 25 Nov 2015.]

*******************LYRICS:
					
I've got a pocket knife and a royal blue chisel-tip.
We drew a picture of the sun with us around it.  We were just one blip--a blue blip.
Let's pour our pennies out all over the floor,
& turn the crank, and lift the little metal door on the gumball machine--
(Look, Dad! I got a yellow jelly bean.)

My chisel-tip and I, we took a selfie by the Boneyard Bridge.
Let's print it out and cut it up and make collages to pin to the fridge
In which a tidal wave is crashing to foam on Lake Michigan.
Just another turn and we'll be back home in the station wagon.

It's time to say good night.  Pick up your markers. Put your jammies on.
We had a little blip out in the sunshine.  Now it's up and gone.
Come on, let's tuck it in and give it a kiss
and then maybe tomorrow there will be more of this,
only one day older.

13-14 Nov 2015



William's Mix 20041002 I am sitting in a room

Spineless Books

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