Drew T. Noll © 2022, all rights reserved

Sunday, May 22, 2022

The Scream

I want to scream every time I think about relieving myself. What is this damn machine I’ve been stuck between?! My cells are conspiring, my path is obscured, and my teeth need to be cleaned?! It’s just not fair that I signed on for a life-changing path, a cairn or cornerstone to admire in pathetic undertones of the unknown. There is a plan, I feel in the soul of what I brought with me, but the feet of this thing I ride in have another design entirely. There are vibrations propelling me into this strange and viscous place, time dilating then expanding and becoming null and void because of its birth, because of mine being me…

I spew forth matter that has no relevance, not matter at all. What matters is the meaning behind the expulsion of fluids, the excrement left behind in this world of ‘no matter.’ Whatever… I chose it, supposedly, when I was under the duress of wonder, wandering in a place I can no longer remember. So, the corner of chaos that I once knew no longer exists, and just rots in my memory floating about and stinking to high heaven. It’s not about that, I know… but, holy hell—it sticks to this skin as I expulse the refuse clinging to its core, forevermore... At least that’s what I think when I think of it, the being that began before—there is really nothing more.

Wednesday, May 4, 2022

Post Conceptualism

We have built our mind’s eye to the point of blindness. There are a few coughs and spasms, still, but in essence we have moved onto a realm where each individual is aware, and pissed off at the world’s refractory-insanity. We believe in mankind and at the same time we spit in its general direction, all the while stuck between what we think and what we believe. We laugh at ourselves, but not really, begging the question as to what was funny and what we now see. The corporate shadow engulfs us all, money begging our attention, yet we know deep inside that once upon a time a soul moved the entire scene. We are all blinded by our own enterprise, blinded into knowing, and totally unable to see…

Tuesday, April 26, 2022

Conversion Court

My background is a secular one, but as a child having been surrounded by quite a few churches strewn about. When I was very little, however, there was a time when we were forced to go to Sunday school; we were disturbed by every moment of it. It was a different era, you see, where children were seen but not heard. So, I guess you can only imagine it if you didn’t share this same experience in some form or another. After coming of age and attending art school, however, my mind told me to push all the limits. Nothing was ‘off the table.’ At least until the year I was propositioned by, both … my favorite female and male teachers, to take our relationship to the next level; not in an obtuse way, mind you, but very respectfully and considerate of my feelings and blossoming desires at the time. Thankfully, I had already met my soul-mate and learned enough under-grad-world-religion to know that I was actually a Jew born into the body of a Goy. I loved growing up as a non-Jew, but not as much as having ultimately found my people-dom.

It’s a complex thing, “people-dom.” I came from a ‘people,’ but I became aware of another, and possibly a more suitable people. I had already traversed Christian theologies, from Episcopalian as a child to Jehovah’s Witnesses as a young adult. I even explored the local Hare Krishna Temple to be sure of my path, but ultimately, after reading from cover-to-cover my father’s (exploration into other realms in collage) Khumash, I found something that resonated with my soul. The Five Books of Moses spawned everything in the western world, I told myself at the time. The underlying philosophy of Judaism didn’t attempt to deny or omit other faiths, I told myself at the time. And, at the time, I was ready to build the world into something that made sense to me, and (I told myself at the time) could maybe make sense to others.

I converted to Judaism in LA. My parents came to support me. I dunked under the water and came out anew as I connected to the Creator of the Universe using mere words to do so. Then, as I stumbled forward into the unknown, I spent the next 20 years trying to understand the people-dom I had joined. Finally (but not really), I let go of my ego-driven attempt to control my growth in the world … and I moved to the Holy Land only to be dunked again. Then the real metamorphosis began. But, I found myself becoming so far away from my childhood roots that I almost forgot. Yes, then the world submerged into corona-lock-down and I had space to remember. I visited my brother last week, whose children are steeped in Baptist theology, and I broke bread with my uncle Bob (yes, Bob’s my uncle), and I listened to the faith and love they espoused. I could finally listen and be comforted by their belief in their faith. I could finally understand that we are ‘ALL’ ONE; and, I finally understood, in that moment, something that I hadn't from the beginning. I finally knew that I was a Jew.

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Wednesday, February 16, 2022

HOME ZOO

Fur growing up upon my floors, I sweep and vacuum it but it keeps building up … little doggies and kitties gather in corners where life in our house won’t disturb, and gathering can continue as days move together to form months, even years. Our white dog, Bongo, once brought into our home, has since vanished to other realms. He left looking into my eyes as I cradled his head in my lap, petting his fur, all the time knowing that it would never mix again with the black fur back home, to end gray and unseen, and then gathering in corners until our time was at an end. The black fur is Dude’s, and always has been, at least during our stay here in what we refer to as the middle of the east on our planet. Dude was our first dog in the Holy Land. Then Fat, born inside a dumpster, showed up looking for food and a night well spent. Pizza followed soon thereafter, as a cat that would be indoors, but in the end … just … wasn’t. 

After Bongo replaced us with thought-clouds of wonder, we found Putzky the dog wannabe on a beach. She was born to a local Arab family down the street, but we colonialized her outright with smiles, cash, and the real potential of a healthy long life, and being. Her mutant features were of no concern. Then, a few years later, Loonie was handed to us via our young son, who God-willing will betroth quite soon. The zoo we live in has grown, mostly, from year to year, and with the blessing of Hashem may one day unfold again. That growth has extended to the wonder we feel looking around us from time to time, realizing our fortune, understanding our place and the responsibility it holds, and its sting. A gift we were given is obvious, as is written, but the awareness of such is something that can shine far beyond our understanding. 

Training new members as they join our pod is a complex endeavor. We have more than one human, but each member strives to be together. The only known ending for each and every story is that the animals within are the ones that know truth. The humans in our pod have a sense of where it will end, but it’s the animals that determine where the energy will grow and descend. Like lightning rods pulling down the love that we need, the animals in our life teach us to breathe. They teach us to love, not only them, but each other … indeed. There is a love with conflict between male and female in our realm, the dogs here sense it and can make sense of prophets from beyond. The animals in our life can tell us the things we don’t know. The dogs ‘begging what we can’t know’ give us a window to see each other and to then grow. 

Ahhh… enough with the rhyme, enough with this twaddle and mow! The grass is not greener just because we seem to think so. I started a new project drawing my thoughts as they sewed humor, unfolding with … obvious ebb and a flow. Once we received a new cat, cute as could be, she displayed behaviors unknown and never (by me) seen. MMeeOWww… on and on. Her tail was a pointer poking down, rubbing fur raw as she plowed down into it all. Crying up to the heavens, Loonie echoed way down below. Our new cat was in heat and we just didn’t know. Pizza the boy winked at us all, he knew how to call, but we did not know... Up into the attic she crawled, Pizza in tow, around the house, all willy-nill, she drew him out and the rest of us saw. It wasn’t until we understood that the cat we had been gifted was not spayed as we thought, the owners from before saving money as their unwanted cat flew out their door. 

Shabbat evening was coming, a time to shut down, and we acted once we knew. The new cat needed fixing to blend in with our zoo. The animals around us all knew, but we humans had to stew for a spell, thinking it over and processing all things new. Then with the clock ticking before the sun went down, we raced to repair the damage to our own family realm. There was time before our day of rest was protected; there was time to fire up the engine of things built in the world. In the town that I live there’s a road that wanders down, ending abruptly at the edge of the sea and the end of what’s known. The sun settled down there as I sped home before lighting, and it wallowed for an instant, the sun, with Loonie meowing softly, begging a ride back home. The sea roiled as I watched from afar, red-orange spray sizzling and sputtering out, as the sun wept for the day’s last time. Loonie yawned, like nothing had happened, but then as I descended down the Conqueror’s Road, I wondered if I had time to get home. I turned on the Wheat Road … then followed the plan down to below. I made it, we made it, and our zoo was complete once again, without chaos in tow — a brand new Shabbat Shalom. 

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Tuesday, November 16, 2021

Life

It’s moving so fast, damn, sailing past me as I run to do its bidding the whole day long. It’s as if my head was not my own to hold onto, while standing in an alley in front of my house; where a conversation ensued about construction planning. With my head already hurting from trying to squeeze coronafied students into a form that had already come, the English with my wife was the most familiar thing to grab. Hebrew flew in hesitant spurts between the four of us, a Christian, a Muslim, and two Jews pretending to belong. Arabic poured out into cement bonding the air between them … and a plan was formed. But, my head was still flying overhead, not mine at all. So I left to walk to work through the ancient ruins left behind. Past the sparkling white tower, evil lurking inside, I kicked through the gate leading down. A new sewer had also been planned, so diggers pounded in step with each footfall descending, each step stolen from a world gone wrong. Guilty for leaving my wife home, I thought about how to mold young coronafied minds into healthy beings to lead the way into a future unknown. I thought about my own sons singing a life of their own. And, I thought about myself and the path that I’d shorn. I sang along walking until I found it, a place needing attention, a place to be born.

There’s a certain shape that speaks to me, a shape that elevates the world and defies gravity at the same time. It’s hard to give over the idea of what I’ve seen, but to try I could say that there are edges unworn. In everything we see, whether up, sideways, or down, there’s a pattern of being, and all at once being born. The rocks strewn about have been sewn by a heaven unyielding, with time filling in between and stretching out into our norm. A chip here and a roll-down there, dirt uncovering and then spilling out guts of the world, the stones tumble down. So on the path I move upon I stumble down, looking and waiting for inspiration born, on my path to work well shorn. Breathing deeply and stopping time, I find one or two stones. A base emerges from beneath the brush and then stones reveal themselves one at a time. Into my mind I eject myself as my ego rips out tendrils undone. I move silently into a realm without me being strung. Plucking my cords and tickling each string, my song then erupts into one. Time stops for a moment each time, and I lift my life up to gather up strength to sing down. For, the world beckons each moment and then it moves on. 

Down into the glen I weave my mind, stepping down with each grin I sing to the world all around. A fountain spurts out from the ground there, water living and moving down, sound all around; trickling down. Canals have been opened and dug in, letting the water move around, dropping into a world unknown, and eventually disappearing into mind. And, I follow it all back to work, where minds open wide to receive the next world coming down. Yes, coronafied minds only need moisture to bloom, and to blossom into one. We are all looking back as we think about now, but the future is growing always more young; everyday it becomes. The cacophonic cultures that I witness all around only inspire me to build. That’s the world we all know, a place where anything is possible and everything is undone. We live in a world where life lives in every moment but will never be won. We live to begin and to end, a life to be lived and a life forever worn. Like a coat with many colors or a grey one that shone, life is a gift from the heavens beyond. We live to have life and that is all that will come, nothing exists beyond. So live on and on, until 120; we believe will be won, until ... we all are witness with One.

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Wednesday, September 1, 2021

The Shekinah, Corona, and the Tower of Babel

Iceland is melting. At the beginning of the summer my wife and I took advantage of living in Israel by traveling abroad as the coronavirus waned in our country. In Iceland they also had a lull in viral infections, so we hastily made an itinerary and quickly earned our vaccination post-grad degrees. Then we jumped onto a plane bound for Europe. Arriving in Iceland via (a very) German passport control in Frankfurt, we received our campervan and headed to the foot of an erupting volcano. Thanks to wonderful friends in Israel with connections to wonderful new friends in Iceland, we spent our first night near a pasture of horses across from the home of our neighborhood-volcano-guide for the day – such a blessing! This was the beginning of a two week trip "driving the RingRoad," finishing up with the Golden Circle. Our trip included cooling magma, exploding mantle, falling water, frozen trolls, melting glaciers, land dwelling puffins, extinct herring factories, turf houses, the real discoverer of the American continent, moss-covered craters, and even flying water! There was a lot of other stuff too, but we have a long way to go here, so…

Nimrod is known for his tyranny, probably the first of such in the history of all the land. Tyrants are determined by a check-list, but for the sake of expediency I would like to focus on one aspect of a probable tyrant’s resume – Me. When I have an idea it is totally mine, regardless of where my influences come from. And… that is what I want to say to the world – that it’s mine. We all get caught up in the idea of monetization of such and such, and of so and so, and of all the demerits therein; however, it’s only a temporary flux of evaporation in influence. What “Me” is really all about is MY opinion. What “I” think is what I want others to think; casting my opinion and collecting followers (wink, wink) is what builds MY world into something more than me… with a lowercase ‘m.’ Opinion builds the individual one at a time into giants of none, no matter, just … done. Referentially: “In my opinion…” as I raise my head above others… you get the idea. ‘Opinion’ is a reckless adventure seeking ‘luck’ when there was never really any such thing to begin with.

Some may not believe, but for the sake of argument of MY point: God created the world using self-surgery to inflict a finite reality envelope sublimated within the ineffable Infinite. We understand this more readily when using the nomenclature: Mother-Earth (or Shekinah). The world we understand around us is filled with biology and physics, finite reality expressing itself with complete abandon. When God created our realm She split off from Him and She prospered, filling the envelope that They created with all that we know and that now is. We live here, in this place created, all of us, and we seek understanding and distinction, one and all. This is the nature of us in our universe, filled with notions of Me becoming One.

Then we got hit with a damn coronavirus and began to understand ourselves better. The virus stripped away the rough edges of our lives, causing some to pass over and others to mourn their loss, causing others to cling desperately to themselves as … um, what they understood to be themselves was slowly ripped away day after day. This is awareness of My reality experienced, felt much the same as those living and building for Nimrod, building a city to support him aloft, as he convinced us all that we were doing it to be closer to God. What more could we think at the time—that we were doing it only for him? And … if so … what was to become of Us, the royal We?! Our opinions became diverse, many views with One mind, and all because we stopped thinking of the present’s effects on the future, but dwelled upon, instead, the past – I think this because, “It was said by so-and-so (now deceased), so I will stick to my opinion because I know how to be.” But this is just perpetuating a tower built in the past by others, says Me. And that is just My opinion squirting again, you see…

In Iceland talking with locals, one of the explanations I heard about the idea that a troll once waded out to drag in a ship, only to be caught by the morning sun unaware, and subsequently causing the entire parade to be cast into stone for all of time, was that: Icelanders don’t necessarily believe in trolls and people hidden, it has just become relevant in ‘our time’ to attempt understanding of the traditions of old, giving them the respect that they deserve … and thereby keeping them going. This makes the most sense to me, with a small ‘m,’ because the idea is not necessarily an opinion. An opinion would be something like: “If you don’t understand what I’m saying it’s because you are lost and confused, maybe even evil-inclined and selfish beyond my interest in even interacting with you, ever. In my opinion you are beyond repair, flotsam and jetsam for all of time.”

The weather in Iceland was so pleasant that we were surprised. When asking others about it, since we expected to be cold and wet with most everything we did, the locals all agreed that it was not only unseasonable but obtusely perfect for the touring that we were all doing. We were happy in each moment thinking about how lucky we were, but all the time knowing that luck didn’t actually exist. It was only an opinion of those in a moment where things seemed to align, and not reflecting reality of any kind. The Shekinah is perfect, as God is, was, and always will be. All things in all of time have already been calibrated and seen. Luck is only an illusion of ignorance willing happiness or the reverse, building chemicals to inevitably squirt down the line. “Global warming is only a meme!”

While hiking a melting glacier with our guide, a Bahai man who once lived in his holy land (Israel), between mention of glacier trolls and locals of old that had fallen, but luckily survived, My opinion rose up unaware of my mind down below. I got excited after hearing about the epiphany that occurred by the leader at the time. I got excited about a group of people that all came together to understand that We are all One. But, when I expressed my excitement about it to our guide, he became surly and pained; he expressed thoroughly to me that: “It was not something from men, but from God!” stated all the while with a finger pointing above. And it was true. We all live in the same envelope, experiencing the same Me, so how could it ‘not’ be? In another conversation he said that man may have changed the climate in our land. We can see the record of days come and gone, and today we sit at a time when the current trend just may keep going … melting the world down one degree at a time.

However... an opinion is an attempt to build a tower of Me. Is this from fighting the edges of My known space, or is it an inherent desire to cling to the Originator of our realm? And then more questions are asked with answers not sung… We keep living forward without singing our footsteps; we live in the past. We live there because we knew not to wrestle with each step, while we skidded sliding in over marks made thousands of times—every-time. Looking back is an attempt to build a tower of Me, just like an opinion. Mine. And that is how I know that God is what I think She/He is, Me: the small one wanting to be BIG.

So… I think I’ll just focus on me, the small One. That way, in the end, I might just end up BIG instead. Now, it’s only MY opinion, mind you, but I think Nimrod’s tower may still exist today. Babylon has long since gone, but we babble about nothing day in and day out, all the time. Our voice just seems to have gone. We all seek the One, but in doing so stumble upon Me, or at least MY feet trip under blocks placed before … by me, with a lowercase ‘m.’ That’s how I know we’ll be okay, and that thinking this is not just another opinion. In every new year we have a chance to connect with the real ‘me,’ the One deep inside. If you’re still thinking it is luck, you’re wrong. The beginning is much the same as the end, and it is only time that stretches out between. Tyrants come and go and always will, but each is primed by Me stating MY opinion, again and again. Yes, I agree, this is a lame ending, but: to summarize: We should all just get along, and to do so WE must stop being Me for a moment long enough to be mine. That’s how to be One.

Happy New Year, and may You be written into the Book of Good Health, Long Life, and Pure Joy to come!

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