wrestling

w/ resurrection

“Dad, Let’s Wrestle!!” They exclaim. 17- 83 times a week. My knuckleheads, Levon & Harvey. 5 & 9 years old. And I know I’m not as special or mighty as it makes me feel (also exhausted & often annoyed). After all, little boys have hollered roughhouse rally cries since the dawn of dads. But, what is this ritual every dad has had the painful pleasure to engage & endure? Like, seriously - WTF… is it? Wrestling? Roman Greco sport? Rough & tumble hugs? Fake fighting? Tickle fighting? A dance with your threshold for pain &/or laughter?? Sure. It’s all that stuff. And more. With rules and referees, it’s one of PA’s biggest high school pastimes. Or… add planning, make-up, sparkly undies & production… Quality entertainment.

Webster says:
1: to contend by grappling with and striving to trip or throw an opponent down or off balance 2: to combat an opposing tendency or force wrestling with his conscience 3: to engage in deep thought, consideration, or debate

I mean… we all know what wrestling is. I’m not trying to be deep or over reaching here. But I am asking - isn’t it kinda ridiculous? Enmeshing bodies to the point of defeat? It’s gotta be left over evolution stuff. No? From when we had to eat things that wouldn’t let us barring bodily defeat. And then to protect the thing we just wrestled to death for dinner. However it got there, its there. In little boys.
Besides the innateness of it, when Levon & Harvey wanna wrestle I know it’s an invitation. To be ALL in. Totally present; heart, soul, BODY & mind. No phones or work obligation nonsense. “Get off your phone, Dad!! No more work!” “Dad, can we wrestle?? Can we, can we?!?!?” …no answer from me, but post haste, Levon hollers upstairs “HARVEY!! Dad said we can wrestle!” (Harvey’s halts & thumps down the steps into a perfected swan dive cannonball to the couch…SAFE!! ”LET’S GOOOOO BRUH!!!” Me: “ugh… I just have to finish one more email…” Harvey: “Oh I see, you’re scared. Baaaahhhck bahck, bahck, bahhhhck!!! Levon, Dad’s scared!!”

And what choice is mine in this moment? As the loving father I am. I, who’d die on a dime for this darling doofus’ duo… What option but to swiftly and gently kick their little punk ass butts into a tickle torture oblivion that leaves them seizing with silliness, crying for both mercy and more in the same begging breath. “More?!? You want more?? For real??? YOU GOT IT!!”.

Epic battle, hilarity then finally exhaustion goes the arc. High fives. Dinner time.

I can hear my dad, I’m eight years old, in the living room… “Ready??? ….WRESTLE!!!” He’d show me the different stances. The one where the defendant is on all fours and fights to break the harrowing grasp of his aggressor. Sometimes he’d let me break free… Other times I’d have to work for it…Every time - I loved it. The sweet victory when clenched in, from and thanks to; the arms of my fiercest foe & strongest friend. Dad. Core memory stuff. Safety. Love. Home. Everything’s ok even though it might not be.

I took Judo in my teens. Judo derived from jujitsu which is pretty fatal when executed at full capacity. Which makes practicing tricky. A simulation at best. But what if there was a gentle way? We could practice all day & never hurt each other. Enter judo. Translation: the gentle way. The martial art form developed in 1882 by Jigaro Kano in Japan is a series of grappling techniques and throws that work in tandem with a knowing partner to not only create a beautiful spectacle of badass fight scenes but also; do it gently while protecting yourself and your partner. The key? Ukemi. It means ‘break-fall’. You learn how to roll and smack transferring momentum that might otherwise break your neck. Ukemi, coupled with a skilled sparring partner to help you fall/land results in an art form almost as safe as wrestling with your dad. It’s beautiful. An unknowing partner and it’s not so pretty. Deadly even. Our Sensei learned at a little corner shop dojo in Yeadon, PA. The sign above the door said: “Aldan School of Judo: Where Life is Taught”.

In spiritual terms, I’ve been a wrestler my whole life. From as early as I can remember I’ve had a Jesus loving heart that embraces wonder, mystery, equality and compassion for the poor. But also, always ready to spar: “Really?? Some native Swahili never says the magic prayer and boom - eternal lake of fire?? Fuck that. Sorry. You’re just wrong. (& stupid!)” My styles been more jujitsu than judo… Ready to pounce and pound anything taught to or told at me seeming fake, corny or judgmental. I would roundhouse kick any low hanging fruit off the branch. Curse words!? They’re just words! Fuck off. Drugs? God made weed! Beer!?!? Brewed by Benedictine Monks!!! Let’s go. What else?? Premarital Sex? Marriage is a social construct, man. Love conquers. Rock & Roll!?? NOW we’re talking. I will U2 every last note of your CCM library Until the End of the World!

My little punk ass had spit and hell fire. They called (and still call) me a scrappy little… (wrestler). And like the particular Baptist-based faith tradition I grew up in & firmly rejected, I had certainty. As in - YOU Christians who take everything so literally are certainly wrong! I win! Thoughts like “I’m the real thinker here” or “These superficial ‘literalists’ are so f’ing shallow!” were my own fundamentalist mantras. Judging the judgy & othering the Otherer’s has been my warriors way. But, lately, when I look at my travel log, I have noticed a meandering that resembles a switchback framed in by brick walls. Lotta zigging and zagging. Lotta fender benders. But not many miles covered. And after spending a good 30 years on that road, especially given recent, divisive times and the political wasteland we’ve become I’ve begun feeling…tired. One might say “rage fatigue” has set in… and I’m ready to exit. Where’s my ramp?

It doesn’t work for me anymore. I haven’t been writing songs or reading books. More importantly I hadn’t been doing anything to support or bring positive change to our broken situation here in my country. My marriage and friendships have suffered. After all, who wants to hang out with the dude who starts every conversation with “OMG, we’re so fucked…” Danny Downer. That’s me. Time to put Danny Downer… down.

So I did.
I started a daily meditating and creative practice this past January. I was no stranger to either over the years but I got serious. Everyday. 6-7:30a. Things started happening in me. Cracks spidered in my consciousness… Light seeped through them. Songs started coming. It was like listening with noise canceling headphones that filtered out judgement and suspicion. I started reading & listening to audiobooks… I rediscovered some of my favorite writers including the great Franciscan Mystic, Richard Rohr.

Rohr talks about an all inclusive Cosmic Christ. In his book, The Universal Christ, he writes “what happened at the resurrection is that Jesus was revealed as the eternal and deathless Christ in embodied form. Basically, one circumscribed body of Jesus morphed into ubiquitous Light. Henceforth, light is probably the best metaphor for Christ or God”

Wait. Breathe. Read it again. Sit with it…

Did my inner solar motion lights just turn on?? Are they illuminating a path back to my tradition of faith? Perhaps a slower speed limit, but a path non-the-less… With weeds, scenic overlooks and all inclusive park benches big enough for everyone; Pagans, Hindus, of course Yogis, Buddhists, Quakers, Jews, Muslims… C’mon, have a seat. Atheists!? Hell yeah. Even Literal Christians, I’ll make some room for you! (gotta keep my Ukemi fine tuned after all ;) Detours inevitable, I’m in for the ride with less brick walls, a lot more wonder &, I hope, love & harmony…

You might even get away with saying I feel a fullness and love lighting up or…resurrecting(??) in me; one that’s been long mourned while entombed in anger & certainty.

Crazy?? I mean… Yes. Absolutely. I am. But, less scared. Less need for certain rightness in my positions. More interested in seeing our common oneness. The oneness this Cosmic Christ speaks of… in everything. Like Master Dylan said; every grain of sand. Every sunrise meditation. Every pile driver from Harvey. Every hysteric cackle from Levon. Every disagreement with one of God’s less graceful, Christian kids, even. Every song, every gig. Every you!

It sounds corny on the page…
Language is so limiting in the spiritual realm. I’m hesitant to say more…
Wrestling is better anyway. I’m gonna keep wrestling (try and stop me!). But maybe there’s something to that judo/gentle way stuff. Maybe we can spar without breaking each other. Maybe we can help each other at “falling upward” as Rohr puts it.

Here’s to Spring. New life. New love. New cracks in the stone.
New light shinning through.

Happy Easter.
Wanna wrestle?

xoxo,
d

April Gigs:

4/3 Hezekiah Jones @ Mikes Tavern (Reading, PA) 4/4 Manatawny Creek Ramblers @ West Reading Motor Club (W. Reading, PA) 4/5 Easter @ St. Matthew’s Lutheran Church (Chester Springs) 4/10 Neo Trio @ Mikes Tavern (Reading, PA) 4/11 Chris Kasper @ Asbury Park, NJ 4/18 Chris Kasper @ NYC 4/23 Jones Twin’s (Me & Kiley Ryan)@ Barley Mow (W. Reading, PA)
4/24 Manatawny Creek Ramblers @ Troubles End (Collegeville, PA) 4/25 Neo Trio @ West Reading Motor Club (W. Reading, PA) 4/26 Manatawny Creek Ramblers @ Linvilla Orchards (Media, PA)
4/30 Philly Nelson @ Secondhand Ranch (Philly)

** All Sunday’s 9:30a @ St. Matthew’s Lutheran Church (Chester Springs) **

PS. Beyond…
Operation ‘If Enough’ recording went GREAT!! We’re working hard to finalize the video and mechanics on the back end but remain on track for May release date.
For more info look at my last Substack.

Treebirds. New Project Alert!! I have a new EP of original music I can’t wait to share. Please mark you calendar and come out May 22 @ Steel City in Phoenixville. Stuff’s happening. Stay tuned….