Sense of Nation 

We have lost our sense of nation, our vision, our genius, our truth. The red, white and blue has been reduced to black and white, us and them, wrong and right, libtards and alt righties, jackasses and stuffy pachyderms. Across this great land, there is a creeping fog of anger and hate blotting out the purple majesty and the shining seas. 

It has been a long time since we have stood as one, each man and woman complete with their own particular sense of nation – along with the disenchanted who still choose to remain a part of this Second Land of Promise, as George Washington called it. 

The shame of being wrong, how virulently distasteful – how can compromise possibly exist in such a state of mind? There is no “wrong”. There is only this Nation and its People.  If something is said that does not match up with your ideas but it serves the Nation why strive and scream against it? Why push back against the common good? 

Our current Administration is a natural consequence of our loss of sense of nation – Populism always shows up among the fractured and the frightened.  Finger pointing, nay saying, total disregard for propriety and the law – from the top down it seeps into the bones of this country like a virus, permeating the institutions of governance, media and education.  Like hideous zombies we stagger from one contentious issue to the next, the undead rising up, and swarming over the land. 

What once was a proud democracy has now lapsed into a monstrous, self-serving oligarchy.  Money, and not the common good, is the new truth.  “We the people” means nothing anymore.  Where action is dictated, garrulous men, garbed in their fine suits and ties, proclaim their idiotic platitudes in the face of common sense and decency.  Our Nation’s children are gunned down in public schools, while the children of the privileged are set apart in their private sanctuaries, safe from any demons except the ones that are raising them. 

Where is our Sense of Nation? Have we decided that history does not matter?  How insidious is the term “fly over” regarding this land?  As millions across this country sit down tonight, and are drugged senseless by images and words that are only meant to distract and demean streaming from their TV’s and myriad screens – it is slipping away, our Sense of Nation is slipping away.

Wet Day 

It's raining - I love the rain - especially when I'm dry and warm. The earth is nurtured, the sky is scoured clean and the sun shines a lot brighter afterwards - and rainbows, oh yes, rainbows.

There is also the wonderful wet and spongy feel of water falling all around you as you saunter through the woods.  The dripping branches, the splashy puddles, the soggy kisses on your face and hands and the dampness that creeps in on you, like that hug from that one Aunt who always surprises you.

No wonder that we are baptized in water, we bathe in water and we drink copious amounts of it - we are water. Big soggy bags of it, slogging around this great green rock of ours, gobbling up all the things around us that are filled with water - the plants, the animals and the moist life giving air we breathe.  The patter of rain on a roof, snuggled up in a warm comforter, with a mug of something wet and hot, simply listening to the gentle rat a tat rapping of it dancing above us.  Today, I will give thanks for the blessings that rain brings and pray that the storms to come do not fall too heavily on anyone.

 

 

My name 

For my entire life I've heard my last name pronounced so many different ways. I can't fault folks, it's an unusual name and I've been easy and understanding regarding their attempts to say it.

So, let's review - my last name is Italian. That's right, Italian.  Just like Amerigo Vespucci - do you remember him? How did you pronounce his name? Do you realize that this Italian name is where America comes from? Funny, huh?

Dolciamore:  Dole - chee - ah - MORE- ay   - go ahead, say it a couple of times. First time I heard it said properly was in Sorrento, Italy - boy, that's a great memory.

It's actually two Italian words combined - "dolci" - something sweet, like a sweet dessert and "amore" which means love - Sweet Love.

Man, that is a classy name.

I've been told by well meaning people, relatives, strangers - that I need to change my name to be able to have any success in the performing arts. For a time, as an actor, I did shorten my last name but as I grew older I kept asking myself, " Why? It's a great name. Greatest gift my father gave me beside life itself." 

The best thing for me to do is to gently educate as I'm attempting to do here. During the course of a show, if the audience is paying attention, I simply explain it to them. Without any undue emotion or emphasis. Life's a box of chocolates, but you can't cram them down someones throat.

In the spirit of my name, I offer you this brief explanation. Ciao!

Sitting in silence 

There is something special about silence, it allows you to hear past the obvious, the deeper calls coming from across a gaping chasm. Salutations, revelations, irreverent intimations - do angels dream? Spirit never sleeps, it's always seeking to fill, to complete or to overcome.
A painter has a canvas, a white blankness that begs to be transformed.
For a musician, silence is our canvas, our mute sacred tabernacle, where creation meets joy, and rips apart solitude with a scattering and a gathering of frequencies drifting about like a flock of lost wild geese into a sonorous cloud of sound that rains down feelings upon the ear.
... and sometimes, I just noodle on my guitar, that's cool too.

Two songs in progress right now, don't know how soon before they fledge - or if they'll just stay in the nest.

Be well, my friends
Marty