Dwelling Places

Complete and total reliance on a "someone" you can't see is either the most ingenious decision possible or the most insane. The "invisible man." Hmmm. " I seriously contemplate this recognizing that everyday I go into a room (a chapel) with a beautifully painted wooden box and I fervently pour out my heart to the person within that box. Now is that extreme? Or what? My certainty of the rationality of my action is more certain than saying to you, "I am not a figment of someone's imagination." Those matters that deal with the ultimate question, you know, "what is the purpose, end, goal, objective of putting up with the vicissitudes thrown in our way as we seek happiness, are tricky. On one extreme is the approach I take. On the other, is the approach taken by the "atheists". I actually agree with many of them when they conclude that the God many believe in does not exist. But my problem is not so much with atheists or even agnosti

When I was in college I had a friend who was convinced I had African American blood in me. He used to tell me, "you gotta be black." My friend, Tommy Jewell, who is now Judge Tommy Jewell, a graduate of UNM Law School, used to play the trap set (drums) and I, the Conga Drums, for a group that met formally as a class at NMSU. It was a cultural enrichment class stared through the Music Department and the Office of African American Affairs. Every once in a while we'd break from the "negro spirituals" into playing a little bit of Ramsey Lewis or Earth, Wind, and Fire. Tommy loved the way I played the congas, and since that time many years ago I have continued to play them from time to time. I even accompanied one of my son's guitar recitals playing an old Santana tune. I've always loved the way African and Caribbean beats stir the soul. It's a kind of sensuality that is at once sensual, but pure; it is dance that could lead you in different directions a