What Craig Should've Done 5 Years Ago

Holy Shit.

The idea is you're supposed to be able to look at this image without it moving. I can't do it, with or without my glasses on. I get closer to it not moving without my glasses on. Is that because of astigmatism or insanity? Take a look at it and see if you can see it without it moving. This is whoa-hella-cool.

On What Would've Been George Harrison's 69th Birthday...

I finally did it. Thursday night, my Tatus and I went to The Tattoo Factory in Uptown (Chicago) to get my dream tattoo, the Hindu "OM" and the Christian cross, as drawn by George Harrison underneath his signature (autograph, if you will, on the cover of his last album, "Brainwashed," see blog "Cuts You Up").

It's on my right wrist, the same arm I used to cut methodically and pathologically when I was acutely insane and not medicated.

In researching my tattoo, I wondered and actually marveled at the sight of the Christian cross next to the Hindu "OM" in George's signature, given George split from the Catholic church as a young man and converted to Hinduism, which he practiced for decades. It made me wonder, "Could George have embraced Christianity before he died?" and I found numerous web sources that point towards this theory. The cover of "Brainwashed" wasn't the first place I'd seen Harrison sign his name with both an OM and a cross in the years prior to his death.

Attempting to explain to my fellow practicing Christian friends and family, I had to explain my understanding of the "OM" and what it meant to ME and why I chose to use a symbol of Hinduism in my tattoo. Few understood or accepted it. To me, the OM is chosen as a mantra in Hindu chanting so much because it represents the soul's unity with God, connection to God. I'm a practicing Christian, however, hence the cross beside it. Many Christians are aghast, like my mother, son and brother. They don't understand that symbolism is very important to me; representation of my feelings and ideas and credos via visible or emoted illustration is my thang.

My personal experience with wondering if Harrison was beginning to accept other faiths goes back to 1992, during his tour of Japan on a double bill with Eric Clapton. When he sang "My Sweet Lord," after the chants to the various Hindu gods, he sang "Om Christ" and "Om Buddha." (I apologize that there's no video of it online and I just have it on my iTunes; otherwise, I'd provide it as an example.)

A biography of The Beatles was written by author Bob Spitz (page 567) in recent years that claimed the following about Harrison's lifestyle during his final years:

"Later in life, he would become a vegetarian, consult an astrologer, and devote himself to Transcendental Meditation before embracing traditional Christianity."

When questioned as to the source of this information, Spitz claimed that he couldn't divulge the source per an agreement with the Harrison estate. What's a little off-kilter is that George became vegetarian WAY earlier than towards the end of his life. Of that much I am certain.

I came across this guy Bob's blog that says essentially the same information I just shared, which can be found at http://drbobk.blogspot.com/2007/04/george-harrison-conversion-to.html.

His blog was from 2007, 6 years after the former Beatle passed away. (I found his blog whilst looking for a larger picture of the "Brainwashed" cover for my tattoo artist.) Certainly, the songs on "Brainwashed" contain references to both Christianity and Hinduism, and I must say I like the opening track, "Any Road," which ends the last verse with "Bow to God and call him 'Sir' but if you don't know where you're going, any road'll take you there."

To me, anyway, that implies that Harrison had found validity in other world religions, including Christianity, though he still held tight to his Hindu beliefs, which is fine by me.

The "Brainwashed" album was a collection of songs he wrote over the course of the last decade of his life, so his lyrics and songs are as varied in their praises as the choice of dishes at a Lutheran potluck. "P2 Vatican Blues (Last Saturday Night)" glibly odes his lapsed Catholicism, "Pisces Fish" mentions the Pope, while the title track ends with a lengthy Hindu chant. Harrison's faith is all over the map on this record.

Perhaps Harrison converted over to Christianity or at least thought he'd give it a try before he died out of a "Holy shit, what if *I* was wrong and *they* were right? If so, and I've got this tumor in my brain and I'm going to die and I'm a practicing Hindu, I'm up the creek without a paddle." One thing is for sure: George Harrison wanted people of all creeds to live in peace and harmony together. We'll never know and the Harrison estate isn't about to divulge such a personal detail about George, nor should they feel compelled to.

The bottom line, as you're well aware from my previous blogs regarding religion, is that we'll never know until we die what becomes of our soul. We can believe all we want to believe in Christ or Buddha or the Hindu gods, but as I've said before, until someone can prove me otherwise, which is humanly impossible, we choose to embrace whatever faith works for us. Harrison was a perfect example of that in his life. He frequently said, and his widow, Olivia, regaled it in the HBO documentary about George, "Living in the Material World," that George essentially spent his whole adult life preparing himself for what would become of his soul after he died.

My prayer for George is that his soul is resting peacefully. Do I hope, as a Christian, that he accepted Christ as his Savior? Yes. Do I believe he's in Heaven? Yes. I know wherever George's soul might be, he's found harmony with God because he worked so damn hard to get it.

Am *I* going to Hell because I have an OM on my wrist? No.

George, we wish to God you were still around amazing us with your creativity, spirituality and offbeat personality. We miss you and love you. All of us, your fans, across the globe.

From "Stop the Violence Against Women and Children" on Facebook...

Abusers are NEVER what they appear to be....
They are contradictory by nature:
~The perpetrator can be (and often is) someone who most people think is one of the nicest people they know.
~Not all drug addicts or alcoholics perpetrate abuse.
~Just because somebody is well educated does not mean they are not abusive.
~Abusers come from all socio-economic groups: poor, middle class AND rich people can be perpetrators of abuse.
~Guilt cannot be determined or dismissed by whether a person is religious or not: their actions may contradict their religious beliefs.
~Similarly, a lack of faith (atheism) does not equal a lack of morals or absence of emapthy.
~Not all violence is conspicuous- Some abusers may seem to be placid and passive. Many abusers use indirect threats and degrading analogies to instill fear and erode self-confidence, rather than simply using their fists.
~Just because someone is angry a lot doesn't mean they are violent or abusive. In fact, most abusers do not need "anger management" (though they may claim to). WHY? An abuser is not an abuser because he has chronic anger - he has chronic anger because he is an abuser. Abusers do not "lose control" in anger when they abuse others - they use anger to maintain control and continue their abuse.
~Looks can definitely be deceiving: Just as we cannot judge someone for their looks, we also cannot judge them by their presentation: not all abusers wear a suit, and many victims have tattoos.
~The sweetest looking people may be far from innocent, and the meanest looking people are not always culprits: The huge, hairy, scary looking biker over the road is a friend of mine, and is one of the least offensive people I know: his wife of many years confirms all the time that he is the sweetest, most caring partner; his 3 boys are confident, polite, caring, kind to others and verbally assertive, as is his wife: he is a fantastic father and husband. The lawyer who lives next door to him however? Well, we all worry about his wife....

OK so we know that abusers are NEVER what they appear to be, but how do they do it? Answer = Power!
One of the hardest things to comprehend about domestic violence is the power factor: the power the perpetrator has over the victim! The bruises that you may or may not see and the bangs and crashes and yelling that you hear are usually only the tip of the iceberg. Emotional abuse is the core issue in any form of abuse. Most victims would never tolerate from a stranger the abuse that they endure from a family member or significant other. The emotional hold that perpetrators have over their victim(s) is invisible, both to the victims and to everybody else. That is the power of the perpetrator.

Where's the LIGHT?
As powerful as some bullies, abusers and criminals may be, just like the common or regular bully, abuser or criminal, they fear the Light: they fear exposure and loss of that control that makes them powerful. Take back that control by taking control of your own behavior! Only you can do anything about it. Get help to RESIST. Ask for HELP and INFORMATION!!!!"

Books I Missed When Luke Was Young

Ash Wednesday.

"Dust we are and to dust we shall return." --Genesis 3:19, Psalm 90:3

When I'm an old lady, like 95 years old and still pierced and inked, trotting around (I've told friends already--if I get to the point where I need a walker or a wheelchair, just put me out of my misery and shoot me or let me die of lysteria after drinking out of the Ganges River), and I come to my dying day, my son, at age 12, already knows what to do with me.

I think the above verse, prominent in tonight's Ash Wednesday service, is a FANTASTIC advertisement for the act of cremation, which is my wish. I know I've blogged about this before, and it's doubtful I'll ever change my mind. I don't want a public viewing of my corpse, or a traditional Lutheran funeral...

...unless it's like my late father-in-law's offbeat Presbyterian funeral, which I have on DVD if anyone wants to see it (I should probably give that back to Craig someday if he doesn't already have it). THAT was a send-off, by golly to a guy I loved to, well, DEATH. It was a Dixieland Jazz funeral, and Craig's dad, the late Rev. Dr. J. Gordon Bechtel, was the minister at the church. It was certainly sad and a sudden, an awful loss for our family, but as funerals go, it rollicked. Presbyterians don't do wakes, which was fine by me, as aforementioned. It was upbeat and celebrated the man's life with a delicate mixture of grieving, which was appropriate. But mostly, we celebrated Gordon's life and love and what he contributed to the world. Too many funerals are such downers, ya know?

Luke knows I want a memorial service with lots of music that celebrates who I was in my life. The woman I ultimately became. Filled with people who loved me, people I helped (i.e any of my patients), my grandchildren, anybody whose life I touched in a positive way. Stuff I loved. Bible verses I highlighted in my confirmation Bible. "My Sweet Lord" with the chants to Krishna left in it. Somebody competent to do a drum and percussion solo. Don't send flowers. Donate money to my favorite charities, whatever they may be when I'm an old hag. Don't make casseroles and take them to Luke's house. He's not nuts about casseroles and his wife'll handle it.

I'm learning to slowly shake the deep fear I have that I will die young. I know exactly where it comes from--it's from losing a parent who was young when he died. Losing other loved ones before their time. Losing one of my best friends at age 42 (the same age my dad died, ironically). Enduring poor health. Too much heavy fun, as my ex-junkie friends and I call it. Kate asked me recently how old I want to live to. I told her something like "I dunno, 85-90, something like that." She thought that was a crucial detail in my psychological makeup.

Anyway, tonight, we heard from the Pastor that "Ashes remind us of our human frailty and mortality. You (God) are eternal, but we are limited in our days." That's certainly true, which is why I just wrote the paragraphs above. But, as we learned in church tonight, ashes also remind us of our condemnation for sin (for which we were communally forgiven, woot!), our dependence on God, our humiliation and repentance. The church and Pastor were donned in black--black paremants (those fabric thingys hanging off the altar and pulpit and on Pastor's robe), which I could've sworn in the past (of couse I swore in the past!) were solely used on Good Friday.

We started learning about Jonah, one of God's prophets, whose story I admittedly have forgotten since my days at St. Paul Lutheran School, who's got a whole book of the Bible that I admittedly haven't read in like 30 years. But what I got out of the sermon tonight was that he was kind of a cocky fucktard who ignored God calling to him directly and sat on his big boat and vegged out for a while instead of doing what God wanted him to do. I gathered that he ultimately got cool with God (cool enough to get a book in the Bible), but it was a tough road as a prophet. I'm not a prophet by any stretch, but I ignore God when He's screaming in my face on many an occasion. When he's making things blatantly obvious to me, and I'm off being my own cocky fucktard. Everyone at church calls me Job, the dude who survived immeasurable suffering and pain and never lost his faith in God, and that's sort of me, but the more I learn about Jonah's disposition, the more I relate to him.

The photo above shows the ashes I received tonight at church. I wanted to be in Pastor's line, as there were 2 lines in the front of the church, one with Pastor and one with an Elder of the church. I tried to position myself in Pastor's line but I messed up the whole circus and Luke was like 20 feet ahead of me in the Elder line, and I gave up and got in what I like to call the "Smudge Line." Pastor was imprinting lagniappe crosses on his set of foreheads and I looked like I'd spent the afternoon working at Jiffy Lube. It's semantics, though, as I wasn't up there to "look good," I was there to repent and be humble before God, reminded of all those things I mentioned above. When we got back to the pew, I looked at Luke and Ma, and sure enough, they too had smudges instead of crosses, looking jealously over at Pastor's side of the church. Not only all of that, but I connect with Pastor, and felt it would be more special to get my ashes from him instead of random Mike the Elder who I think is kinda strange.

I texted my Tatus the picture of my smudge, and told him I wondered if the smudge was payback for all the Hindu rantings, chants out loud at home that drive Luke insane, and how I downloaded the Bhagavad Gita onto my smartphone before I downloaded the Holy Bible. Hell, if I was Catholic and ever got to be a patron saint, which would be unlikely since, for starters, I see no point in repetitiously saying Hail Marys in exchange for your forgiveness, I'd probably be the Patron Saint of People Who Uttered The F-Word Too Much and Was Known For Running Out of the Sanctuary Yelling "Hare Krishna!"

What's with Catholic confession, anyway? You confess all the sins you've committed and the priest sits there and ranks them in order of their eminent evilness and then tells you God will forgive you if you say, for example, 14 "Our Fathers" (we call it "The Lord's Prayer") and 128 "Hail Marys" and then your sins will be forgiven. But they rank sins, as if one sin is worse than another. It doesn't matter if you took the Lord's name in vain, committed adultery, ran over a squirrel whilst driving to work and didn't apologize to anyone for it, or if you were John Wayne Gacy. Sin is sin is sin, and, at least we Lutherans, believe that if you truly repent of your sins and honestly ask God's forgiveness, you will receive it, no matter how awful that sin may or may not have been. I just can't wrap my head around that whole bag.

Don't even get me started on the whole concept of KARMA.

So by this time tomorrow, my Tatus by my side, I will have 2 tattoos, one of the Sanskrit symbol of the "OM" and the other, the Christian cross, as I said in the blog "Cuts You Up," drawn by my late favorite artist, George Harrison. Friends, family and fellow Christians (and my brother) are susurrous over the whole OM thing, because the OM is the most important Hindu symbol in their religion, which is why it's used as a mantra by so many Hindus. But to me, it's just something in Sanskrit that means exactly what it means: oneness with God, a connection in your soul with God, and is smaller and more tasteful than tattooing "My soul is connected with God" across my whole arm. Wanting the cross? Oh, everybody supports that. I could tattoo crosses all over my body and nobody would look at me weirdly. But a HINDU symbol? CALL THE HEAVENLY GUARDS, ONE IS ESCAPING OVER THE GIANT WALL! SHOOT ON SIGHT WITH ANGELIC DARTS!

We went over this when I first started blogging again. In those blogs, I said that *I* believed God was God was God, with many faces and many names, though I am a practicing Christian and believe personally that Christ is indeed my savior. I just don't discount the cultural validity of other world religions and their place in contemporary society and also historically. So if any of you think I'm going to Hell for my permanent OM on the wrist, YOU need to listen to Christ a little harder. Christ taught acceptance and understanding, not exclusion and uppity-ness and egotism about Him being the Son of God.

Stay tuned for my next blog, which will explore the theory that George Harrison accepted Christianity shortly before his death. There's a lot floating around that suggests that.

She's Fought Them All...and Won.

Yoko Ono is 79 years old. She recently celebrated a birthday and I just came across this recent photo of her wearing boxing gloves. Could she look any better? There's aging and there's aging WELL. She's regrouped a new incarnation of the Plastic Ono Band, with son Sean Lennon by her side, and most recently played a live gig over New Years' with my friends and yours, The Flaming Lips, which was a pairing made in Heaven (though I couldn't physically attend).

Pretty far cry from when Beatles fans who hated her (and EVERYONE seemingly hated her, but John loved the fucking hell out of her) called her the "ugly Hawaiian" who was stealing a married man and breaking up a (far cry from) happy family.

(Kate would tell me I look in my track suit (that she gave to me) the same way Yoko looks in her track suit, and I'd take that as a VERY high compliment. It's not a suburban mom-ish track suit. It's a bitchin', work-it-girl, very New York type of track suit. Oh! It's the track suit in my profile pic!)

A lot of people simply equate her with an ear-piercing lack of vocal talent, when nothing could be further from the truth. She's capable of delicate soprano harmony, she plays multiple musical instruments, her music has been re-mixed by some of the world's most prominent club musicians and her albums have topped the Billboard dance charts for the last few years. She draws, she paints, she does fantastic artistic installation pieces and has been a fighter for world peace and awareness her entire adult life.

She continues to fight and this photo of her in the boxing gloves was just such a fantastically powerful image for me, I had to share it. She's always been my inspiration, she follows me on Twitter (uh, she follows a lot of people), and I love the woman to pieces.

When John was acting like a dope while they were married in the mid 70's, she shipped him off to Los Angeles with their young, pretty assistant to keep him company and told him he couldn't come home until he was ready to be a fucking grown up MAN. She said something to the effect that it was becoming obvious that the whole world didn't want them working together anymore, and his immaturity was simply too much for her to handle. She said, "I just wanted to think straight, 'cause I couldn't think straight anymore."

Two strong personalities like John and Yoko in a marriage would bound to be tension-filled at times, I would imagine. Especially two serious artists. Over the years, they would dabble in heroin use together, try primal scream therapy, clean up, write and perform albums together (her participation was far more interactive and upfront than, say, McCartney's inclusion of his wife Linda on basic keyboards and backing vocals when he toured with Wings). As I said, they separated for a year and a half.

While they were separated, they would communicate via phone a lot, each telling the other about dismal dates they'd endured, projects they were working on, and, essentially, John would beg to come home. "No, you're not ready yet," Yoko would tell him. Yoko lives and works on instinct, and her instincts and abilities as an empath are nothing short of amazing.

Seeing one another backstage at an Elton John concert, they locked eyes, talked a little, and got back together. Soon thereafter, their reunited front would produce their son, Sean, after Yoko, during their relationship suffered multiple miscarriages and all the doctors at the time told her she was too old to carry or have a baby, at 43. She proved the doctors wrong. Once again, the Lennons proved the world wrong.

Her intuition was very strong before John was murdered. After the release and subsequent success of their final album together, "Double Fantasy," in 1980, work was stressful, the press was stressful, managing being parents of young child and running a number of business ventures were stressful, and Yoko suggested to John that he and Sean go back to Bermuda to chill out for a while; that she'd take care of things in New York. (John had gone to Bermuda with Sean to ultimately write all the songs that appeared on "Double Fantasy" that he brought home from his vacation.) But this last time, John refused. He refused to leave Yoko's side. Maybe Lennon's murder was ultimately inevitable, but Yoko surely must've just been like, "If you'd just done what I suggested and left town...." or something. But the universe had different plans for John Lennon and Yoko Ono.

Yoko continued to fight, however. She fought to maintain the Lennon legacy and estate in the manner that not only her husband would've wanted but also to always respect the fans and not just to put product out for profit--she has been hugely generous to many philanthropic organizations, while the fans were able to enjoy new and unreleased tracks and songs and actually get to SEE John's likewise amazingly whimsical artwork in public for the first time ever.

(Hell, somewhere I still have my John-drawn naked John and Yoko embracing stationery that I would only use for VERY special correspondence that I got at a Lennon art exhibit I saw in 1990 in Chicago. Perhaps some saw it as overkill of the Lennon legacy, but she licensed Lennon's children's artwork for a baby/nursery line RIGHT when Luke was born so his whole nursery was done in John Lennon animal drawing renditions. Luke loved his John Lennon rattling bunny so much that Craig and I bought an extra one to swap out JUST IN CASE Luke ever lost his, which he never did, and now is a raggedy, worn, barely surviving anorexic bunny whose face is falling off. Bunny #2 is still relatively white-ish looking and far fluffier.)

Anyway, I sort of got sidetracked there, but I must say that Yoko Ono has imbued in me, personally, confidence, mindfulness, has shown me vision, hope, that a woman CAN do anything she wants, have anything and anyone she wants if she is SMART, and because of her, I want to be a better artist and a better fighting badass. I hope to be, at age 79, as rockin' and riotous at Ms. Ono.

Bless you, Yoko.