After witnessing the coverage of deaths by police and the subsequent legal processes in Ferguson and New York City recently I have observed, mostly through social media, that our cynicism as a nation has blinded us to a very dangerous precedent being set. We are letting our identities wash over the realities of domestic threat and oppression. What does that mean?
Let me start by sharing some events that surprised me in my relationship to the police. In 2008 I came back from a 2 month trip to Costa Rica. I had lost a small fortune in the housing market and nearly lost my mind as well. When I was in Costa Rica a girl asked to braid my hair. I let her. She was more meticulous than I expected. She told me I had to comb out the braids within 6 weeks or my hair would begin to dread. I came home from Costa Rica with my hair braided and an excitement about my new look. Even though I liked the look, I expected I would cut out soon. Once home, I kept getting pulled over by the police. At no time was I doing anything wrong. And not once did they have anything to even ticket me for. Yet, they pulled me over 9 times in a few weeks. One cop told me, "Mr. Mooney, I know you're on something. I just can't prove it, so I have to let you go." I was 'on' nothing. I just happened to have a new hair style that seemed to be probable cause. This alerted me to the fact that what I was doing was less important than how I looked. And to some of the police, I looked like an 'other'. Someone different from them and their police standard haircuts. As I examine the growing tensions with the police across the country, I see this, we have divided ourselves into the camps where we feel the most alike and that extends into where we share our fears. For example, if you fear large black men, you are more inclined to side with the police. If you have felt threatened over your life more by the the police then you might summon more sympathy for those killed by the cops. In either case, we have conditioned ourselves with our fears and justify our fears of broad-sweeping groups of people. We put those people, be they cops or races in the category in our minds as 'other'. They are other than we are. By doing this, we can easily rationalize our disdain for the group, because they are other or not me. They look different. They behave differently.
By doing this, however, we miss how we participate in the encroachment on all of our personal liberties.
By otherizing the victims in this case, we then allow for the system to create a precedent that they can kill citizens without even facing a trial. And let me be clear here, because I think this is missed by a lot of those following these case, a Grand Jury is not a trial. It is an examination of one side of the evidence, without cross examination or scrutiny that exists in a trial, and is subject to the recommendation of the prosecuting attorney. Only after the Grand Jury issues and indictment does the case go to trial. So, in Ferguson and in New York City, the Grand Juries said that, even though citizens were killed by the police, there was no need for a trial.
It is this part that is were people have become outraged. A person is killed, justified or not, and there was no trial. It is supposedly through the trial process where we determine if the killing could have been justified. By issuing no indictment, that process was circumvented.
Now, here is the dangerous part. I see people villainizing those shot, villainizing the looters. I see false equivalencies, comparing white victims of black assailants. Through all of this, those who are identifying with the cops are also supporting a system where cops are no longer held in check by the law. And I know that many of you who think you identify with the cops feel like you don't have to worry about the cops because you don't commit crimes. That is the point. The point is, that a trial is where you determine guilt. And if you, by popular support, gut the system that holds people accountable for crime, then, when you are victim to that lack of a legal standard, remember, you were part of the problem. You were willing to let the system railroad the other, because it wasn't you...until it becomes you.
Thursday, December 4, 2014
Monday, October 6, 2014
HeatherAsh Amara, Jacob Nordby and the Whole Event
In my exuberance about deciding to firewalk, I have been writing and talking about the event as if it were merely the firewalk. In doing so I neglected to realize or discuss the fact that this event is more than that. There is a book signing the evening before with the amazing HeatherAsh Amara and I assume the host Jacob Nordby, author of The Divine Arsonist: A Tale Of Awakening too. And Saturday includes an intensive workshop, CULMINATING in the firewalk and then a bonfire celebration. When I realized I've neglected mentioning these other aspects, I also realized I might be excluding people who would love to be part of the workshop, celebration and book signing but not necessarily walk on burning coals. So here I am atoning. This will be a high-vibration event. There will be a strong sense of excitement. And I encourage all of you who are curious or fans of the authors to check it out. And just to do a little house cleaning, the site of event might be changing due to some unforeseeable events. So stay tuned.
Namaste bitches.
For more, visit www.JerryMooneyBooks.com
Namaste bitches.
For more, visit www.JerryMooneyBooks.com
Wednesday, September 24, 2014
Thoughts On Fire and Faith
Once I decided to walk on fire, I felt a profound shift inside of me. Because I'm often like a friendly Saint Bernard that goes around licking everyone on the face, I know my exuberance can be a little overwhelming. In the past I would purposely squelch my enthusiasm in order to make those around me more comfortable. That seems impossible now. I want to share. I want to not just share my excitement, but I want others to experience this too. But why?
A few of the things that have had a profound impact on my personal empowerment have been extreme: kayaking, skiing and climbing (although I never got very good at climbing). When I did those things, the activity broke loose self doubts, because I was doing such extreme activities and conquering them (at least completing them without dying). An aspect that I didn't expect was how the empowerment translated into other aspects of my life. Of course kayaking would empower rafting or swimming, but what about public speaking or other seemingly unrelated activities? The truth is, it was ubiquitous. Skiing made me a better teacher. Kayaking made me a better writer. How?
By challenging myself to do what I was scared of I shrunk my fears and emboldened my courage. And what I discovered through that was that fear and courage are really at the crux of whatever we want to do. Do we lean on the fear side or the courage side? And to what degree? If you've faced down the fear of death in class V whitewater, giving a speech in front of your department chairs becomes undaunting.
So what? What does this have to do with faith, let alone fire? Here's what. When I did those various things my faith developed over time that I could do it. Practice, and execution over time gave me the confidence that I could do those things, but it was in the extremity of the action that I found the real catharsis. It was in exposing myself to my fear where I discovered my power. Learning to do those things had value. I don't want to diminish that. It fills you with a sense of accomplishment. But the catharsis of facing down your fears happens in a moment. It's a moment of do or die. This is powerful. This is transformative. This puts all of the meetings with crusty faculty heads into perspective.
This is why I'm so excited by the firewalk. The idea of walking on fire has the same principles of confronting a gnarly whitewater rapid or a ski slope with no visible bottom, but the required skill is, well, faith. You have to simply have faith that you can walk on fire and it will be okay. It's similar to the idea of skydiving in that the skill is faith, but the faith you have when you skydive is in the parachute. You have faith that the device works. With firewalking the faith you have is in yourself. The faith you cultivate comes from seeing that people have done it and those people aren't more amazing and magical and skilled than you are. They simply had the faith that they could do it, and they did it. It's easily witnessed on Youtube. People have been doing this for eons. I'm sure that any of us, with a little effort, can find someone we already know who has done it. And if we look around to find the people who have done it, we probably won't be surprised at who they are: they are the adventurers. They walk with confidence. They spend less time being tripped up by the trivialities of life. They are emboldened. The question becomes, are they me?
Namaste bitches
Find more at www.JerryMooneyBooks.com
A few of the things that have had a profound impact on my personal empowerment have been extreme: kayaking, skiing and climbing (although I never got very good at climbing). When I did those things, the activity broke loose self doubts, because I was doing such extreme activities and conquering them (at least completing them without dying). An aspect that I didn't expect was how the empowerment translated into other aspects of my life. Of course kayaking would empower rafting or swimming, but what about public speaking or other seemingly unrelated activities? The truth is, it was ubiquitous. Skiing made me a better teacher. Kayaking made me a better writer. How?
By challenging myself to do what I was scared of I shrunk my fears and emboldened my courage. And what I discovered through that was that fear and courage are really at the crux of whatever we want to do. Do we lean on the fear side or the courage side? And to what degree? If you've faced down the fear of death in class V whitewater, giving a speech in front of your department chairs becomes undaunting.
So what? What does this have to do with faith, let alone fire? Here's what. When I did those various things my faith developed over time that I could do it. Practice, and execution over time gave me the confidence that I could do those things, but it was in the extremity of the action that I found the real catharsis. It was in exposing myself to my fear where I discovered my power. Learning to do those things had value. I don't want to diminish that. It fills you with a sense of accomplishment. But the catharsis of facing down your fears happens in a moment. It's a moment of do or die. This is powerful. This is transformative. This puts all of the meetings with crusty faculty heads into perspective.
This is why I'm so excited by the firewalk. The idea of walking on fire has the same principles of confronting a gnarly whitewater rapid or a ski slope with no visible bottom, but the required skill is, well, faith. You have to simply have faith that you can walk on fire and it will be okay. It's similar to the idea of skydiving in that the skill is faith, but the faith you have when you skydive is in the parachute. You have faith that the device works. With firewalking the faith you have is in yourself. The faith you cultivate comes from seeing that people have done it and those people aren't more amazing and magical and skilled than you are. They simply had the faith that they could do it, and they did it. It's easily witnessed on Youtube. People have been doing this for eons. I'm sure that any of us, with a little effort, can find someone we already know who has done it. And if we look around to find the people who have done it, we probably won't be surprised at who they are: they are the adventurers. They walk with confidence. They spend less time being tripped up by the trivialities of life. They are emboldened. The question becomes, are they me?
Namaste bitches
Find more at www.JerryMooneyBooks.com
Monday, September 22, 2014
Best Sellers List!!!
Look what I had the pleasure of seeing today!
Number 4!!!!
Namaste bitches!
for more please visit www.JerryMooneyBooks.com
Namaste bitches!
for more please visit www.JerryMooneyBooks.com
Sunday, September 21, 2014
FREE EBOOK FOR A FEW DAYS!
History Yoghurt and the Moon will be free as a Kindle ebook for the next 5 days. You don't need to sign up for anything. Just buy the book for $0.00.
http://www.amazon.com/History-Yoghurt-Moon-Jerry-Mooney-ebook/dp/B00N992JYY/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1409676827&sr=8-1&keywords=history+yoghurt+and+the+moon
Namaste bitches
Find more at www.JerryMooneyBooks.com
http://www.amazon.com/History-Yoghurt-Moon-Jerry-Mooney-ebook/dp/B00N992JYY/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1409676827&sr=8-1&keywords=history+yoghurt+and+the+moon
Namaste bitches
Find more at www.JerryMooneyBooks.com
Friday, September 19, 2014
The Author's Paradox
I was recently asked about marketing by a fellow author and I feel like I'm a total newb in this arena. However, I understand its necessity and realize it is not as simple as beating potential readers over the head with the idea that you wrote a book and they should buy it. As such I've been delving into the discipline and wanted to share the response I wrote to my fellow author.
..... I just joined goodreads.com, so I have little to contribute as far as its effectiveness. I do share your observation that it seems difficult to reach readers. I think until one has 'arrived' it just is so. But I also think that this is a good resource to get your book out there, get it into the collective psyche of readers, and contribute to your efforts to magnetize your work. It feels like there is a paradox in selling books: there are zillions of book consumers so selling some copies should be easy. But there are a zillion books to choose from, so getting someone to choose your book seems impossible. What I'm experiencing is that people have this built-in fear of making bad choices. So it takes time to expose them to an idea before they accept it. That means that you can't just tell them, "Hey, I have the greatest thing on earth!" and expect them to pull the trigger, even if it is the greatest thing on earth. So, without some built in publicity or some stunt or providence that shines a bright light on your work it will probably take some time and effort to get people to trust choosing your book.
Let me share a story. A few years ago JCPenny was suffering from declining sales. They completely overhauled their leadership. They brought in new faces with new ideas to attempt to turn things around. What the new group discovered was that the previous sales model was insulting to their consumers. A pair of jeans that they had a price point of $15 would be on sale for 80% off...at $14.99. Everything was always on sale. In fact, if you ever bought something that wasn't 'on sale' you were really just paying for a very marked up item.
So, the new leadership introduced the truth and respect campaign. They were going to stop insulting their customers. Instead of a pair of jeans being marked down to $14.99 they were just going to price them at $15, not on sale. They got rid o the .99, because they felt it insulted their customer's ability to know the difference was a penny. So they proudly introduced all of these initiatives. They spread the word. They advertised on their new model. They worked for a new relationship with their consumers.
And....it failed miserably. It turned out that consumption was such and emotional experience that buying a $60 pair of jeans for $14.99 made the consumer feel like they got over on the store. They made a wise choice. They could pat themselves on the back for being so clever in their purchases. It didn't matter if that pair of jeans was always for sale and that was really the only price. There was no sense of intrinsic value. As such, most consumers bought, not for value or even need, but almost as a sport and buying things on sale meant they were winning.
So, what does this have to do with anything? I think it means that the uneasy truth about being an author is that until you get into the hearts and minds of readers you have to, well, get into the hearts and minds of the readers. And that typically requires more than just producing a quality product.
Namaste Bitches
find more at www.JerryMooneyBooks.com
..... I just joined goodreads.com, so I have little to contribute as far as its effectiveness. I do share your observation that it seems difficult to reach readers. I think until one has 'arrived' it just is so. But I also think that this is a good resource to get your book out there, get it into the collective psyche of readers, and contribute to your efforts to magnetize your work. It feels like there is a paradox in selling books: there are zillions of book consumers so selling some copies should be easy. But there are a zillion books to choose from, so getting someone to choose your book seems impossible. What I'm experiencing is that people have this built-in fear of making bad choices. So it takes time to expose them to an idea before they accept it. That means that you can't just tell them, "Hey, I have the greatest thing on earth!" and expect them to pull the trigger, even if it is the greatest thing on earth. So, without some built in publicity or some stunt or providence that shines a bright light on your work it will probably take some time and effort to get people to trust choosing your book.
Let me share a story. A few years ago JCPenny was suffering from declining sales. They completely overhauled their leadership. They brought in new faces with new ideas to attempt to turn things around. What the new group discovered was that the previous sales model was insulting to their consumers. A pair of jeans that they had a price point of $15 would be on sale for 80% off...at $14.99. Everything was always on sale. In fact, if you ever bought something that wasn't 'on sale' you were really just paying for a very marked up item.
So, the new leadership introduced the truth and respect campaign. They were going to stop insulting their customers. Instead of a pair of jeans being marked down to $14.99 they were just going to price them at $15, not on sale. They got rid o the .99, because they felt it insulted their customer's ability to know the difference was a penny. So they proudly introduced all of these initiatives. They spread the word. They advertised on their new model. They worked for a new relationship with their consumers.
And....it failed miserably. It turned out that consumption was such and emotional experience that buying a $60 pair of jeans for $14.99 made the consumer feel like they got over on the store. They made a wise choice. They could pat themselves on the back for being so clever in their purchases. It didn't matter if that pair of jeans was always for sale and that was really the only price. There was no sense of intrinsic value. As such, most consumers bought, not for value or even need, but almost as a sport and buying things on sale meant they were winning.
So, what does this have to do with anything? I think it means that the uneasy truth about being an author is that until you get into the hearts and minds of readers you have to, well, get into the hearts and minds of the readers. And that typically requires more than just producing a quality product.
Namaste Bitches
find more at www.JerryMooneyBooks.com
Monday, September 15, 2014
Fire Walk
As many of you know, I am a seeker. The search has lead me to many amazing places and many precarious situations. Much of what I've done has often been referred to as mistakes by others, typically, not by me. I've been arrested in five countries. I did a weird mission for the CIA. I had a brief fling with the military. All of these things have added color to my life and sometimes deepened my spiritual understanding. When that happens I feel like I have profited most.
So, a year ago I was doing a sweat out in BFE, Idaho. Afterwards I was talking to Watomi, the resident shaman. He began to talk to me about fire walking. He was a strong advocate for the power it had to burn away vestigial baggage that people lug around, hindering their lives and development. Although his words sounded true and compelling, the idea of walking on 1100 degree coals freaked me the fuck out! I couldn't even entertain the idea in a hypothetical way. It was really terrifying to me to simply think about it. Now, I want to put this in some context. I'm not simply a giant coward. I've kayaked class V rapids, I've skydived, I've skied double black diamond slopes, I've climbed 5-9 pitches...generally, I've done some pretty scary and extreme shit. This crossed some boundary, though. I felt physically uncomfortable just hearing about it. When we left the sweat, it came up between Wendy and me and I tried to converse about it in a calm manner. I gave it the same amount of credence as I would someone who wanted to talk about their run in with Bigfoot. I might listen with curiosity, but I wasn't about to swallow the ideas whole. Besides, weren't there ways to burn away vestigial baggage without inviting yourself to become the guest of honor at a barbecue?
Over the last year I thought about how the idea of walking on 1100 degree coals terrified me. TERRIFIED ME! This felt very foreign and the magnitude of my terror caused by simply imagining it told me something: I had to do this! If something caused my psyche to do Olympic level backflips, I better take a deeper look. So I did.
When Jacob Nordby posted, http://yourawakenedself.com/igniting-your-inner-fire-with-heatherash-amara/
on his Facebook page I immediately felt those foreign pangs of acute terror. I decided to stare them down this time. I decided to commit to doing it.
What was weird was as soon as I decided to walk on fire, and I don't mean decided to think about it or decided to maybe do it or decided to talk about it, but decided to do it, I felt calm and powerful. I felt the future fire burning away my vestigial baggage. I felt the hypothetical future fire cauterizing my psychological wounds. I felt the burn of the flame cooling around me. I felt the relationship between quantum matrix and observer crystallizing. I felt the power of my mental projections, my stories, my mythology weakening. I felt like I was teleported to my center and there I found calm. I felt like I found the volume switch on life and was able to turn it down.
I felt all of these things from simply deciding. I hadn't even told anyone yet. I hadn't committed out loud. Technically I could change my mind and no one would know. But I didn't. I immediately told people. I felt like telling would make it even more real, even more of a solid commitment.
Now I've committed and I feel like doing so has had a profound impact. Of course the actually walk will certainly be even more so. However, I'm so impressed by the centering and powerful effect of simply deciding to walk. Because of this, I wanted to share, so that if any of you out there experience a similar terror from the idea of barbecuing yourself, perhaps this is an opportunity rise like a phoenix.
Namaste bitches
So, a year ago I was doing a sweat out in BFE, Idaho. Afterwards I was talking to Watomi, the resident shaman. He began to talk to me about fire walking. He was a strong advocate for the power it had to burn away vestigial baggage that people lug around, hindering their lives and development. Although his words sounded true and compelling, the idea of walking on 1100 degree coals freaked me the fuck out! I couldn't even entertain the idea in a hypothetical way. It was really terrifying to me to simply think about it. Now, I want to put this in some context. I'm not simply a giant coward. I've kayaked class V rapids, I've skydived, I've skied double black diamond slopes, I've climbed 5-9 pitches...generally, I've done some pretty scary and extreme shit. This crossed some boundary, though. I felt physically uncomfortable just hearing about it. When we left the sweat, it came up between Wendy and me and I tried to converse about it in a calm manner. I gave it the same amount of credence as I would someone who wanted to talk about their run in with Bigfoot. I might listen with curiosity, but I wasn't about to swallow the ideas whole. Besides, weren't there ways to burn away vestigial baggage without inviting yourself to become the guest of honor at a barbecue?
Over the last year I thought about how the idea of walking on 1100 degree coals terrified me. TERRIFIED ME! This felt very foreign and the magnitude of my terror caused by simply imagining it told me something: I had to do this! If something caused my psyche to do Olympic level backflips, I better take a deeper look. So I did.
When Jacob Nordby posted, http://yourawakenedself.com/igniting-your-inner-fire-with-heatherash-amara/
on his Facebook page I immediately felt those foreign pangs of acute terror. I decided to stare them down this time. I decided to commit to doing it.
What was weird was as soon as I decided to walk on fire, and I don't mean decided to think about it or decided to maybe do it or decided to talk about it, but decided to do it, I felt calm and powerful. I felt the future fire burning away my vestigial baggage. I felt the hypothetical future fire cauterizing my psychological wounds. I felt the burn of the flame cooling around me. I felt the relationship between quantum matrix and observer crystallizing. I felt the power of my mental projections, my stories, my mythology weakening. I felt like I was teleported to my center and there I found calm. I felt like I found the volume switch on life and was able to turn it down.
I felt all of these things from simply deciding. I hadn't even told anyone yet. I hadn't committed out loud. Technically I could change my mind and no one would know. But I didn't. I immediately told people. I felt like telling would make it even more real, even more of a solid commitment.
Now I've committed and I feel like doing so has had a profound impact. Of course the actually walk will certainly be even more so. However, I'm so impressed by the centering and powerful effect of simply deciding to walk. Because of this, I wanted to share, so that if any of you out there experience a similar terror from the idea of barbecuing yourself, perhaps this is an opportunity rise like a phoenix.
Namaste bitches
Wednesday, September 10, 2014
Saturday, September 6, 2014
Friday, September 5, 2014
My First Encounter With God
The following story was written in 1997 and was the foundational story behind History Yoghurt and the Moon. Of course this story only represents a partial truth in what happened and the real event shaped the book as well.
Skater
It was Fall and I was in my early twenties. I had just graduated from college, but ironically I was more confused than ever. College had not provided me the meaningful insight I was seeking, let alone place me in a high-paying job. I was confused about my career, my love life and just about everything. Pressing in my mind, however, and occupying the majority of my thoughts was my confusion about God.
I didn’t even know what to call it: God, spirituality, religion. I say God now, because I feel it works. That’s not to say that other names or descriptions don’t. But for now I’ll use 'God'.
My confusion was nothing new. I had been seeking for a long time and finding nothing. It seemed the more I searched the more I merely muddied the water. But suddenly I was a college graduate. I felt like I should have more answers, more insight. After all, I had lived in Europe. I had traveled to eleven different countries. I spoke languages. I was a college graduate, damn it! I was no dummy. Yet I felt dumb as ever.
What did it all mean!? I would cry to myself. Why am I here!? I would complain. Can no one or nothing provide me some answers!? I begged.
Seemingly, I always received the same results: nothing. Damn nothing!
I went to theologians, missionaries and priests. Did I receive answers? Yes. Did the answers quell my confusion or provide me with solace? NO! I hated hearing about faith. I needed proof. I was not about to base every direction and decision of my life on faith. Oh I could have faith, if I had reason for faith. But I had no faith in the humans that were telling me to have faith. So how could I have faith in their God? How could I have faith in their God when I wasn’t convinced they had faith in their God? Plainly, I couldn’t. Their answers seemed too convenient, too controlling, and too divisive.
I refused to give up, even though nobody seemed to be able to answer my questions with any real substance. Why I should get out of bed? Why I should continue living? Those were really the questions I wanted answers to. Whether God wore a robe or had 32 teeth or was Catholic or Muslim or played bingo or liked the Dallas Cowboys, those questions were irrelevant to me. I wanted to know why I existed and why I should continue. I didn’t care much for the idea that my life was a test, and upon completion I would either fail to Hell, or pass to Heaven. How transparent. How controlling. How undivine.
Oh, I cursed fate. I challenge God. I continued down an existentialist path. The only real meaning I could find in life was finding meaning in life. It wasn’t always easy.
At this time, I took a job teaching speech and debate at a small private college near where I graduated. At that same time, a freshman or first year student as we called them, enrolled in school where I was working. He wasn’t there by accident. I saw him compete in high school and I was very impressed. I recruited him very actively and sold him on the idea of coming to a school that would embrace his eccentricity as well as brilliance. He was an unconventional student and felt that I would be accepting of his unconventional ways. He was right about that but what I didn’t realize at the time was that, although he came to me to learn, ultimately, it was I who would become the student.
His name was John, but we called him Skater because he skateboarded everywhere he went. He felt the name suited him and he embraced it. He dressed in large pants, belligerent T-shirts and sported long hair to boot. He never wore a tie, even at the tournaments, where ties were expected. He looked like a skater, not a debater. His only means for compensating for his unconventional appearance was his outstanding research ethic and his absolute brilliance. In an hour and a half he could dissolve a judge's prejudices as well as convince the judge that he was ultimately right. For these reasons I found him very compelling.
He earned the largest scholarship awarded at that school up to that point. He was successful in most regions of the country, but, despite that, he remained unaccepted within the community and especially by our director of forensics.
One Saturday in October, Skater and I headed for the coast. We both needed a break from our worlds. We quietly ate a large breakfast in Seaside, Oregon and then walked to the beach. After a while of pensively and quietly roaming the coast and inspecting its treasures, we sat together on a large rock and stared at the magnificent ocean.
The large swells of water banged against the sand. Sometimes snuggling up to it, other times raising a violent fist, then smashing the shore. The gulls scavenged the beach while avoiding the shrieking children. The rhythmic crashing of the waves soothed the both of us. The children and the birds provided background music to the metronome of the great Pacific.
After a while I felt like the environment hypnotized me. I was peaceful for the first time I could remember. I turned towards Skater and asked, 'Do you believe in God?'
He smiled and answered knowingly, 'No… I know in God.'
I sensed no conceit or doubt in his voice or expression. He said nothing else.
I spent a few moments explaining my long search and how sincerely I had looked for answers and how the search for meaning had consumed my life.
He listened very intently and smiled. He nodded a few times but didn’t volunteer any response.
As I looked out into the ocean, I began to think about Heaven and Hell. Thinking aloud I asked, 'Do you think maybe the ocean is Heaven? I mean think about it, you play all day. You eat. Your world is a playground and a restaurant. I especially think its Heaven for dolphins. I mean, they don’t have any real enemies. They are faster and tougher than sharks, but they just play and laugh and eat. What a life. I even read that dolphins used to have phalanges. I mean with opposable thumbs, but they were smart enough to get rid of them.' Continuing as if I were really smart I said, 'You see, if you have a thumb, then you can use a hammer, then you can build a house, then you can build civilizations with taxes and mortgages and student loans. You know the dolphins were smart, leaving all that stuff alone. Yep, now they just eat, and play and laugh. That’s Heaven!'
Skater just continued to nod and smile.
So I asked further, 'You know in God, huh? What does that mean?'
He looked at me, scanned my body for worth. He squinted a little and looked into my eyes. He started to talk softly. He said, 'Can you see that bird flying?' I nodded yes. 'Can you see that same bird flying in the reflection of that puddle there in the sand?' I looked and nodded yes again. 'Can you see them both at the same time?' Again I nodded trying to follow him. 'Beautiful isn’t it?' I nodded more, this time more adamantly, raising my eyebrows to show my enthusiasm. 'Do you hear the ocean?' I continued to nod and resisted the urge to interrupt him. 'Do you hear the birds? Do you hear the children playing? Do you hear all of that, while you see the ocean and the birds and the children and the reflections of all that as well? Can you see the colors of the horizon? Can you feel the breeze on your skin? Can you smell the air?'
I finally said, ' Yah, I sense all of those things but…'
He interrupted, 'But, nothing. People want proof of God. They have proof. The problem isn’t that we lack proof. The problem is that people see the proof through the wrong eyes and hear the proof with the wrong ears and taste the proof with the wrong mouth and feel the proof with the wrong skin and we smell the proof with the wrong nose.'
In order for proof to register to us we need lighting-bolts and a thundering voice scaring the Hell out of us. What we fail to accept is that we have lightning-bolts and thunder and yes they are proving the existence of God. We haven’t stepped far enough away from the idea that God created the universe for us. We are too anthropocentric (human centered or obsessed). Because of that, we can’t see our part in the universe.' He paused. He adjusted his seating. He gestured to the ocean. He breathed the air joyfully. He sat contently and smiled a large and sincere smile. He continued, 'This universe here is an art project. You see, it’s about art and aesthetics. Not judgments and contempt. We’re not looking at the universe with the appreciation of art. It’s the same damn mental block that causes all those crazies to get all bent about art, about human art. You know how pissed off you get when people start talking about censorship? You know how fired up you get about how devoid of art our modern world is? It’s the same lack of ability to see art, the same blindness to art that blinds us to God. I thought you could see it. You love art. You appreciate the aesthetics our world. Now just apply that same filter to your eyes when you are searching for answers. God is a great artist. I mean look at the environment around you. It’s awesome. We don’t associate that with God because for so many years, God has meant fear and control and Hell. Even those who don’t buy all that are still blinded by it. They don’t ingest the crap, but they still fail to see. We just don’t see the intrinsic value in expression and beauty. Everything is about acquisition and accumulation to most. That blinds us to the subtle, esoteric evidence of our creator. Who would cower to a god who was just sculpting? No vengeance. No wrath. God’s just making some beauty.'
I was very impressed by this thoughtful diatribe, but something in me had to protest at first. I interjected, 'So how does that provide meaning to life? Why should I get up every morning? Why do I exist?'
Undaunted by this most salient chain of questions, he answered confidently and reassuringly, 'That is the meaning in life. Your life, like the universe is an art project. It is as significant as anything in the universe. Make it beautiful! That’s why you get out of bed. The same reason the whole damn universe exists, to express itself, and be beautiful.'
With a zapped look I replied, 'Huh?'
He paused and pensively looked at the horizon as if to organize his words. He continued cautiously. There are two purposes of existence: The first purpose is to appreciate the sculpture. What I mean by that is this; The Creator of this universe has been creating this universe for a very long time. It is very beautiful, I mean to the atom. The galaxies are amazing, the super-novas, the trees, the reflections, the refracted light, the rock formations the girls with bows in their hair, wing-tipped shoes, music, sounds, breezes, wit, humor, zebras and koalas and polar bears and baby humans and lady bugs. I could go on. It’s amazing! Be amazed! God created a damn beautiful universe. Revel in it! Rejoice! Suck it in! Feel it! Hear it! Taste it! That’s the first purpose. The second purpose is to help. I mean, be art! Don’t just be artistic. Be art! Your existence, like the supernovas and galaxies and zebras and refracted light is an art project. Be beautiful! Be funny! Be aesthetic! Create, with your life, good art.'
'That’s it? Be art?' I scoffed incredulously.
'That’s it.' He replied gently. 'You know how much you love art. You know how much you appreciate Michael Angelo as well as Michael Jordan. Those people took their lives and created beauty. It gave meaning to your life as well as theirs. Don’t fight it. The world is full of beauty, regardless of everyone trying to ugly it up. Take it in and then provide your contribution to it.'
He motioned out to the horizon with his hand. He put his hand to his ear, listening to the waves and the gulls and the children. He breathed satisfied. He said nothing more.
I sat there. His words slowly seeped into my body. The sound of the ocean reinforced his words. It was as if the ocean were confirming Skater’s words. Slowly, my senses relented. I succumbed to the idea that the world was in fact beautiful. I could find enough purpose in that to continue existing. My body was overtaken by an overwhelming joy. I was so happy I could laugh and cry at the same time. I shivered and smiled and laughed and jumped and screamed with excitement. Skater had uncovered the meaning of life, and he let me look at it too. This was the most meaningful day of my life, and it has permeated every other day of my life since.
On the drive home he looked at me as if he wanted to say something. I looked at him with the most radiant smile I could manage. He said, 'You’ve got it. You are one of the few. But you’ll lose it too. Remember I said this when you lose it. It will help you get it back.' I smiled and continued to drive. He finally said, 'Don’t forget your sense of humor. It’s part of the reality of the universe. When you do, that’s when you get in trouble.'
I smiled and asked, 'What’s the difference between a rolling stone and a Scotsman?' He shrugged. I continued, 'A Rolling Stone says, ‘Hey! You! Get off of my cloud!’ a Scotsman says, ‘Hey Mcloud, get off of my ewe!’'
We laughed and Skater finally replied, 'Do you see how many things had to happen for that joke. Isn’t it amazing?' I smiled, nodded and drove us home.
Skater
It was Fall and I was in my early twenties. I had just graduated from college, but ironically I was more confused than ever. College had not provided me the meaningful insight I was seeking, let alone place me in a high-paying job. I was confused about my career, my love life and just about everything. Pressing in my mind, however, and occupying the majority of my thoughts was my confusion about God.
I didn’t even know what to call it: God, spirituality, religion. I say God now, because I feel it works. That’s not to say that other names or descriptions don’t. But for now I’ll use 'God'.
My confusion was nothing new. I had been seeking for a long time and finding nothing. It seemed the more I searched the more I merely muddied the water. But suddenly I was a college graduate. I felt like I should have more answers, more insight. After all, I had lived in Europe. I had traveled to eleven different countries. I spoke languages. I was a college graduate, damn it! I was no dummy. Yet I felt dumb as ever.
What did it all mean!? I would cry to myself. Why am I here!? I would complain. Can no one or nothing provide me some answers!? I begged.
Seemingly, I always received the same results: nothing. Damn nothing!
I went to theologians, missionaries and priests. Did I receive answers? Yes. Did the answers quell my confusion or provide me with solace? NO! I hated hearing about faith. I needed proof. I was not about to base every direction and decision of my life on faith. Oh I could have faith, if I had reason for faith. But I had no faith in the humans that were telling me to have faith. So how could I have faith in their God? How could I have faith in their God when I wasn’t convinced they had faith in their God? Plainly, I couldn’t. Their answers seemed too convenient, too controlling, and too divisive.
I refused to give up, even though nobody seemed to be able to answer my questions with any real substance. Why I should get out of bed? Why I should continue living? Those were really the questions I wanted answers to. Whether God wore a robe or had 32 teeth or was Catholic or Muslim or played bingo or liked the Dallas Cowboys, those questions were irrelevant to me. I wanted to know why I existed and why I should continue. I didn’t care much for the idea that my life was a test, and upon completion I would either fail to Hell, or pass to Heaven. How transparent. How controlling. How undivine.
Oh, I cursed fate. I challenge God. I continued down an existentialist path. The only real meaning I could find in life was finding meaning in life. It wasn’t always easy.
At this time, I took a job teaching speech and debate at a small private college near where I graduated. At that same time, a freshman or first year student as we called them, enrolled in school where I was working. He wasn’t there by accident. I saw him compete in high school and I was very impressed. I recruited him very actively and sold him on the idea of coming to a school that would embrace his eccentricity as well as brilliance. He was an unconventional student and felt that I would be accepting of his unconventional ways. He was right about that but what I didn’t realize at the time was that, although he came to me to learn, ultimately, it was I who would become the student.
His name was John, but we called him Skater because he skateboarded everywhere he went. He felt the name suited him and he embraced it. He dressed in large pants, belligerent T-shirts and sported long hair to boot. He never wore a tie, even at the tournaments, where ties were expected. He looked like a skater, not a debater. His only means for compensating for his unconventional appearance was his outstanding research ethic and his absolute brilliance. In an hour and a half he could dissolve a judge's prejudices as well as convince the judge that he was ultimately right. For these reasons I found him very compelling.
He earned the largest scholarship awarded at that school up to that point. He was successful in most regions of the country, but, despite that, he remained unaccepted within the community and especially by our director of forensics.
One Saturday in October, Skater and I headed for the coast. We both needed a break from our worlds. We quietly ate a large breakfast in Seaside, Oregon and then walked to the beach. After a while of pensively and quietly roaming the coast and inspecting its treasures, we sat together on a large rock and stared at the magnificent ocean.
The large swells of water banged against the sand. Sometimes snuggling up to it, other times raising a violent fist, then smashing the shore. The gulls scavenged the beach while avoiding the shrieking children. The rhythmic crashing of the waves soothed the both of us. The children and the birds provided background music to the metronome of the great Pacific.
After a while I felt like the environment hypnotized me. I was peaceful for the first time I could remember. I turned towards Skater and asked, 'Do you believe in God?'
He smiled and answered knowingly, 'No… I know in God.'
I sensed no conceit or doubt in his voice or expression. He said nothing else.
I spent a few moments explaining my long search and how sincerely I had looked for answers and how the search for meaning had consumed my life.
He listened very intently and smiled. He nodded a few times but didn’t volunteer any response.
As I looked out into the ocean, I began to think about Heaven and Hell. Thinking aloud I asked, 'Do you think maybe the ocean is Heaven? I mean think about it, you play all day. You eat. Your world is a playground and a restaurant. I especially think its Heaven for dolphins. I mean, they don’t have any real enemies. They are faster and tougher than sharks, but they just play and laugh and eat. What a life. I even read that dolphins used to have phalanges. I mean with opposable thumbs, but they were smart enough to get rid of them.' Continuing as if I were really smart I said, 'You see, if you have a thumb, then you can use a hammer, then you can build a house, then you can build civilizations with taxes and mortgages and student loans. You know the dolphins were smart, leaving all that stuff alone. Yep, now they just eat, and play and laugh. That’s Heaven!'
Skater just continued to nod and smile.
So I asked further, 'You know in God, huh? What does that mean?'
He looked at me, scanned my body for worth. He squinted a little and looked into my eyes. He started to talk softly. He said, 'Can you see that bird flying?' I nodded yes. 'Can you see that same bird flying in the reflection of that puddle there in the sand?' I looked and nodded yes again. 'Can you see them both at the same time?' Again I nodded trying to follow him. 'Beautiful isn’t it?' I nodded more, this time more adamantly, raising my eyebrows to show my enthusiasm. 'Do you hear the ocean?' I continued to nod and resisted the urge to interrupt him. 'Do you hear the birds? Do you hear the children playing? Do you hear all of that, while you see the ocean and the birds and the children and the reflections of all that as well? Can you see the colors of the horizon? Can you feel the breeze on your skin? Can you smell the air?'
I finally said, ' Yah, I sense all of those things but…'
He interrupted, 'But, nothing. People want proof of God. They have proof. The problem isn’t that we lack proof. The problem is that people see the proof through the wrong eyes and hear the proof with the wrong ears and taste the proof with the wrong mouth and feel the proof with the wrong skin and we smell the proof with the wrong nose.'
In order for proof to register to us we need lighting-bolts and a thundering voice scaring the Hell out of us. What we fail to accept is that we have lightning-bolts and thunder and yes they are proving the existence of God. We haven’t stepped far enough away from the idea that God created the universe for us. We are too anthropocentric (human centered or obsessed). Because of that, we can’t see our part in the universe.' He paused. He adjusted his seating. He gestured to the ocean. He breathed the air joyfully. He sat contently and smiled a large and sincere smile. He continued, 'This universe here is an art project. You see, it’s about art and aesthetics. Not judgments and contempt. We’re not looking at the universe with the appreciation of art. It’s the same damn mental block that causes all those crazies to get all bent about art, about human art. You know how pissed off you get when people start talking about censorship? You know how fired up you get about how devoid of art our modern world is? It’s the same lack of ability to see art, the same blindness to art that blinds us to God. I thought you could see it. You love art. You appreciate the aesthetics our world. Now just apply that same filter to your eyes when you are searching for answers. God is a great artist. I mean look at the environment around you. It’s awesome. We don’t associate that with God because for so many years, God has meant fear and control and Hell. Even those who don’t buy all that are still blinded by it. They don’t ingest the crap, but they still fail to see. We just don’t see the intrinsic value in expression and beauty. Everything is about acquisition and accumulation to most. That blinds us to the subtle, esoteric evidence of our creator. Who would cower to a god who was just sculpting? No vengeance. No wrath. God’s just making some beauty.'
I was very impressed by this thoughtful diatribe, but something in me had to protest at first. I interjected, 'So how does that provide meaning to life? Why should I get up every morning? Why do I exist?'
Undaunted by this most salient chain of questions, he answered confidently and reassuringly, 'That is the meaning in life. Your life, like the universe is an art project. It is as significant as anything in the universe. Make it beautiful! That’s why you get out of bed. The same reason the whole damn universe exists, to express itself, and be beautiful.'
With a zapped look I replied, 'Huh?'
He paused and pensively looked at the horizon as if to organize his words. He continued cautiously. There are two purposes of existence: The first purpose is to appreciate the sculpture. What I mean by that is this; The Creator of this universe has been creating this universe for a very long time. It is very beautiful, I mean to the atom. The galaxies are amazing, the super-novas, the trees, the reflections, the refracted light, the rock formations the girls with bows in their hair, wing-tipped shoes, music, sounds, breezes, wit, humor, zebras and koalas and polar bears and baby humans and lady bugs. I could go on. It’s amazing! Be amazed! God created a damn beautiful universe. Revel in it! Rejoice! Suck it in! Feel it! Hear it! Taste it! That’s the first purpose. The second purpose is to help. I mean, be art! Don’t just be artistic. Be art! Your existence, like the supernovas and galaxies and zebras and refracted light is an art project. Be beautiful! Be funny! Be aesthetic! Create, with your life, good art.'
'That’s it? Be art?' I scoffed incredulously.
'That’s it.' He replied gently. 'You know how much you love art. You know how much you appreciate Michael Angelo as well as Michael Jordan. Those people took their lives and created beauty. It gave meaning to your life as well as theirs. Don’t fight it. The world is full of beauty, regardless of everyone trying to ugly it up. Take it in and then provide your contribution to it.'
He motioned out to the horizon with his hand. He put his hand to his ear, listening to the waves and the gulls and the children. He breathed satisfied. He said nothing more.
I sat there. His words slowly seeped into my body. The sound of the ocean reinforced his words. It was as if the ocean were confirming Skater’s words. Slowly, my senses relented. I succumbed to the idea that the world was in fact beautiful. I could find enough purpose in that to continue existing. My body was overtaken by an overwhelming joy. I was so happy I could laugh and cry at the same time. I shivered and smiled and laughed and jumped and screamed with excitement. Skater had uncovered the meaning of life, and he let me look at it too. This was the most meaningful day of my life, and it has permeated every other day of my life since.
On the drive home he looked at me as if he wanted to say something. I looked at him with the most radiant smile I could manage. He said, 'You’ve got it. You are one of the few. But you’ll lose it too. Remember I said this when you lose it. It will help you get it back.' I smiled and continued to drive. He finally said, 'Don’t forget your sense of humor. It’s part of the reality of the universe. When you do, that’s when you get in trouble.'
I smiled and asked, 'What’s the difference between a rolling stone and a Scotsman?' He shrugged. I continued, 'A Rolling Stone says, ‘Hey! You! Get off of my cloud!’ a Scotsman says, ‘Hey Mcloud, get off of my ewe!’'
We laughed and Skater finally replied, 'Do you see how many things had to happen for that joke. Isn’t it amazing?' I smiled, nodded and drove us home.
Thursday, August 28, 2014
CELEBRITY ENDORSEMENTS
The following video illuminates the celebrity divide surrounding History Yoghurt and the Moon
http://youtu.be/Owbt_8N46BA
Namaste Amigos
Find more at www.JerryMooneyBooks.com
http://youtu.be/Owbt_8N46BA
Namaste Amigos
Find more at www.JerryMooneyBooks.com
Wednesday, August 27, 2014
History Yoghurt and the Moon has been banned in these countries:
Being History Yoghurt and the Moon is a controversial book it was inevitable that it would be banned in some countries. Here is a video showing known places of its censorship:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-MQjCBXmTV4
Namaste Amigos
Find more at www.JerryMooneyBooks.com
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-MQjCBXmTV4
Namaste Amigos
Find more at www.JerryMooneyBooks.com
What they're saying about History Yoghurt and the Moon in China
Watch to see what they're saying about History Yoghurt and the Moon in China.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o_lETSdlWAM
Namaste Amigos
Find more at www.JerryMooneyBooks.com
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o_lETSdlWAM
Namaste Amigos
Find more at www.JerryMooneyBooks.com
Tuesday, August 19, 2014
Why does there have to be politics in your story?
People have asked my about the necessity of politics in History Yoghurt and the Moon. Does the story really require politics?'
I know many people hate politics. They see it a cynical topic that divides people unnecessarily. And essentially I agree with that. But I also think there in a naivete around politics as well. By being ignorant to the way that we organize our society is to be accessory to the crimes of the power elite. I would simply like people to understand that the wedge issues they concern themselves with ultimately distracts us from creating society in a way that is beneficial to all. People don't learn about the machinery of politics. People don't tend to understand that the rhetorical tools that are used to divide us are very sophisticated. If I can shed some light on how people see this, perhaps I can help create more participation, more thoughtful decisions and subsequently a more functional and compassionate society.
Mostly though, politics were part of this plot. John needs to be made into a terrorist. The way terrorism is utilized to manipulate through fear is part of the background story. Without politics this element of the story would be not be able to be told. And even though the satire reflects my personal views, it was directly borrowed techniques that the news uses. Ultimately it was challenging to satirize the talking heads because they have become the satire. It's no longer an exaggeration. I lifted examples almost right out of real reports.
And finally, I think it's entertaining to hear these ridiculous reports in a fictional context. That way we can appreciate how ludicrous they are without being devastated by their actual impact.
Namaste amigos.
Find more at www.JerryMooneyBooks.com
I know many people hate politics. They see it a cynical topic that divides people unnecessarily. And essentially I agree with that. But I also think there in a naivete around politics as well. By being ignorant to the way that we organize our society is to be accessory to the crimes of the power elite. I would simply like people to understand that the wedge issues they concern themselves with ultimately distracts us from creating society in a way that is beneficial to all. People don't learn about the machinery of politics. People don't tend to understand that the rhetorical tools that are used to divide us are very sophisticated. If I can shed some light on how people see this, perhaps I can help create more participation, more thoughtful decisions and subsequently a more functional and compassionate society.
Mostly though, politics were part of this plot. John needs to be made into a terrorist. The way terrorism is utilized to manipulate through fear is part of the background story. Without politics this element of the story would be not be able to be told. And even though the satire reflects my personal views, it was directly borrowed techniques that the news uses. Ultimately it was challenging to satirize the talking heads because they have become the satire. It's no longer an exaggeration. I lifted examples almost right out of real reports.
And finally, I think it's entertaining to hear these ridiculous reports in a fictional context. That way we can appreciate how ludicrous they are without being devastated by their actual impact.
Namaste amigos.
Find more at www.JerryMooneyBooks.com
Saturday, July 26, 2014
How did I come up with this plot?
With such an unusual plot within History Yoghurt and the Moon I am often asked, How did you come up with this story? I wasn't sure how to answer this question at first. Should I delve into the nature of consciousness? Was this the product of arduous research and motivated inquiry? None of that really. The only answer that really satisfied me was this:
When I was in first grade my mom threw a birthday party for me. There weren't a lot of kids in the neighborhood, but pretty much those that were showed. And to be honest, I don't remember a great deal about the party itself. What I do remember, is that a kid that lived at the bottom of the hill brought me a carving kit. I'm sure his mom bought it as he was invited to my party. I didn't know him well and remember even being surprised to see him. This was the best gift, however. It was packaged in a neat box with interesting designs. When I opened it there were, what looked like, 4 small logs and a plastic knife that was barely the rival of the utensils you get in the plastic tube when you eat at KFC. The logs were made of a soft, brown, rubbery substance which were molded to look like wood with bark.
My seven year old mind figured you carved on the rubbery logs until they were gone, but you safely improved your skill as a whittler. What I discovered was that when I applied the knife to the logs, the rubber came off easily, but with a slight amount of resistance to create the sensation of really whittling. What surprised me was that once you carved into the log's center, there was a hard plastic figure, an alligator or a shark or a dinosaur. As a seven year old, those animals had my full imagination and it was very fun uncovering the plastic figure inside the rubber log.
The truth is, though, I wasn't really carving. I was, in the truest meaning of the word, discovering (removing the cover from) what was already there. I didn't carve the alligator or the shark or dinosaur. I removed the rubber that was obscuring the object inside. This was packaged as a carving kit. I knew that I didn't carve the toys, but I liked doing it non-the-less.
So what? I feel like this is how I came to the story in History Yoghurt and the Moon. I wrote. My writing was equivalent to carving (really scrapping) those toys. The story was in there and by writing I uncovered it. The more I wrote, the more the story was revealed. I would get vague insights into the direction of the plot, but until I got closer, the details of how things would unfold were as mysterious to me as they are to the reader as they read it. As I did this I was reminded of Flannery O'Conner saying, "I write to discover what I think." I think (discovered from writing :) that she said it perfectly.
Viva mas amigos
Find more at www.JerryMooneyBooks.com
When I was in first grade my mom threw a birthday party for me. There weren't a lot of kids in the neighborhood, but pretty much those that were showed. And to be honest, I don't remember a great deal about the party itself. What I do remember, is that a kid that lived at the bottom of the hill brought me a carving kit. I'm sure his mom bought it as he was invited to my party. I didn't know him well and remember even being surprised to see him. This was the best gift, however. It was packaged in a neat box with interesting designs. When I opened it there were, what looked like, 4 small logs and a plastic knife that was barely the rival of the utensils you get in the plastic tube when you eat at KFC. The logs were made of a soft, brown, rubbery substance which were molded to look like wood with bark.
My seven year old mind figured you carved on the rubbery logs until they were gone, but you safely improved your skill as a whittler. What I discovered was that when I applied the knife to the logs, the rubber came off easily, but with a slight amount of resistance to create the sensation of really whittling. What surprised me was that once you carved into the log's center, there was a hard plastic figure, an alligator or a shark or a dinosaur. As a seven year old, those animals had my full imagination and it was very fun uncovering the plastic figure inside the rubber log.
The truth is, though, I wasn't really carving. I was, in the truest meaning of the word, discovering (removing the cover from) what was already there. I didn't carve the alligator or the shark or dinosaur. I removed the rubber that was obscuring the object inside. This was packaged as a carving kit. I knew that I didn't carve the toys, but I liked doing it non-the-less.
So what? I feel like this is how I came to the story in History Yoghurt and the Moon. I wrote. My writing was equivalent to carving (really scrapping) those toys. The story was in there and by writing I uncovered it. The more I wrote, the more the story was revealed. I would get vague insights into the direction of the plot, but until I got closer, the details of how things would unfold were as mysterious to me as they are to the reader as they read it. As I did this I was reminded of Flannery O'Conner saying, "I write to discover what I think." I think (discovered from writing :) that she said it perfectly.
Viva mas amigos
Find more at www.JerryMooneyBooks.com
Wednesday, July 9, 2014
Embarking...
The wending course of my travels and pursuits have currently positioned me as not only the proud new author of my most recent creation, History, Yoghurt and the Moon but simultaneously required I engage in the modern world of sharing. Apparently we share through the blogosphere and I'm here to engage in this pursuit.
My first blog is deliberately obtuse, because I'm really just learning the mechanics of this medium and I want to provide a stream-of-conscience blow-by-blow description of my experience.
Namaste amigos
Find more at www.JerryMooneyBooks.com
My first blog is deliberately obtuse, because I'm really just learning the mechanics of this medium and I want to provide a stream-of-conscience blow-by-blow description of my experience.
Namaste amigos
Find more at www.JerryMooneyBooks.com
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