Blog

King of the Fallen Cottonwoods / Home Harvest

October 14, 2014

Ollie-VER / King of the Cauliflower / Willamette MTN, Utah

Tour serves an inappropriate amount of both light and dark to the one in her care. Four and half weeks pass as quickly as an autumn evening, robust with color and careless winds that pull your heart to the mindful present moment. As that one 4 week moment passes by / through you everything that is in your surrounding is still moving, your gas company is still charging you a buck a dekatherm, your garbage still gets collected on Thursdays, your lover still makes the coffee weak and leaves the hall light on while you find hunker down on the floor of a 62 year old man that offered his entire home to you and the band while you found your ramblings through Jackson, Mississippi. And all you hope and wish for is that the two worlds can find a balance upon your return back to the world that you left behind. And for the pursuit of a singer? Of a guitar player? A drummer? A dreamer?

We returned home a mere 8 days ago. The tour took us through the Midwest where we sang for Iowa, Illinois, Missouri, and the like. It swirled us onto the Coast of the Easterners and down through the thick south. I find journaling and documenting the entire experience exhausting and have given up on writing about every moving experience. Life (in general) is moving, and to not focus on that fact is to not live (for that moment).  To work on being present in the present is presently my pursuit. Too often (so often) I will find myself in conversation, whether it through phone lines or across the table, drinking coffee, and my thoughts are not with the speaker / friend / lover AT ALL, but rather in the land of the NON-living, the dream land, focused on something that has NOTHING to do with my present surrounding. How often do I / don’t I stop to look at the magnificence of the body’s ability to keep moving / breathing / functioning. Almost more beauty in that thought alone (while staying present) than in anything else I could POSSIBLY be doing.

RETURN home to the GREAT.

Pumpkin / Butternut / Spaghetti / Swan Neck Gourd.

"Every good garlic crop needs a pair of small hands" - Hosania Butler

Tomato Tot 1

Tomato Tot 2 (Pasilla Pepper harvest)

Queen Bee / Serrano Pepper Harvest / Picklin’

The tour was beautiful and accepting. I have learned to deal with the up and the down that accompanies a man that travels from city to city, singing and meeting. Timmy, Isaac and Evan make the whole thing that much easier and have been my faithful road companions for years. As we made our journey into the final state in which we would be performing (Colorado) my heart was pulled from one end to the other. I wanted / longed for / needed to see my lover, my boy, my animals, friends and home, but all the while I knew that my days of singing for strangers night after night was about to be put on hold again. I needed something / someone to ground me. There are moments as a human being where you feel completely / utterly / wholly alone, small realizations that you, even you (yourself) can’t pinpoint where you / your mind / being begins and where it ends. Am I my body that is shaking and convulsing while singing? Or am I my mind that gets lost in the lyric and the thought of it all? Am I a balance of them both? And then when you realize you can’t exactly point to where “YOU” are you find yourself drifting further into the ether of loneliness and “self-loss”, but, BUT!!! There are pockets of true contentment and inspiration that float in that place of swirling, whirling confusion in which you can encounter a self-awareness that leads to contentment (happiness feels “AESOPY”) at least for a spell. But ain’t those spells worth it? Those REAL moments in which things feel like a warm sun on your face and the only thing to do is smile back? GOLLY, I hope so, because that is what I am living for.

I’ve always liked Boulder, Colorado. It was the 2nd to last stop and the weather was kind. We stood out back, behind the venue, when a familiar face slipped through the back door. Mr. Gregory Alan Isakov, a farmin’, Colorado livin’ singer and soul searcher smiled at us as he exited the stage door.

“Mr. Isakov” I said with a hand extended. We all shook hands and thanked him for coming out to the show. “Surely you boys have a place to stay here in Boulder..” he said with confidence. “Surely we DO NOT.” I quickly responded. Whether by choice or necessity the boys and I have learned to fly by the seat of our pants, and this particular night we had nowhere to lay our heads. “You guys should just come sleep at the farm!” Gregory responded. His quickly extended hand of friendship and kindness was something out of an Enochian fairy tale. We accepted his generous offer and headed out to the stage with a meaner eye, knowing that there was a place that we would be calling temporary home that night. The show went over well with the kind folks in attendance that Boulderanian night. We packed up and made our way to the 4-acre farm that Mr. Isakov calls home. The night was spent trying to come to an agreement on how to spin a happy balance between love and life on the road as a traveling singer man. The concept of becoming your own best friend came up and made more sense to me at that moment then I would have thought it could / would / should. The things that a human being is made to endure from the use / misuse / abuse from others are (or at least can be) horrendous and life altering. The heart / kidney can only take so much BREAKING before a man feels completely defeated. Love is the purpose I truly do believe. Finding that atmosphere in which you can keep it constant has proven to be more difficult than I initially anticipated when my experiments in love began at an early age. All of this leads back to the SELF. Finding peace / happiness in your own person before trying to love something / someone else.

“Self-love but serves the virtuous mind to wake

As the small pebble stirs the peaceful lake;

The center moved, a circle strait succeeds;

Another still, and still another spreads;

Friend, parent, neighbor, first it will embrace;

His country next; and next all human race;

Wide and more wide, the o’erflowings of the mind

Take every creature in, of every kind;

Earth smiles around, with boundless bounty blest,

And heaven beholds its image in his breast.”

-Alexander Pope

KING of the “Fallen Cottonwood” / Sir Gregory Alan Isakov / Boulder, Colorado

The night stretched out this way with different ways of coping / enjoying life on the road, and it was a much needed connection that I am in constant search of with other humans. Looking for a good conversation, a savvy phrase to live with (for awhile), a truly heart felt written letter. A true extension of self. Honest. Truthful. REAL. I have spent too long with my head in the sand.

Searcher / Fields of Colorado / Early Morning 

(If anyone cares to write a letter to me (not that you would, but if you DID I will respond.) my PO box is the following):

Joshua James

PO Box 1126

American Fork, UTAH

84003

“The mind of love…increases immeasurably and eventually can embrace the whole world.              –Mahyama Agama

King of the Fallen Cottonwoods / Home Harvest

October 14, 2014

Ollie-VER / King of the Cauliflower / Willamette MTN, Utah

Tour serves an inappropriate amount of both light and dark to the one in her care. Four and half weeks pass as quickly as an autumn evening, robust with color and careless winds that pull your heart to the mindful present moment. As that one 4 week moment passes by / through you everything that is in your surrounding is still moving, your gas company is still charging you a buck a dekatherm, your garbage still gets collected on Thursdays, your lover still makes the coffee weak and leaves the hall light on while you find hunker down on the floor of a 62 year old man that offered his entire home to you and the band while you found your ramblings through Jackson, Mississippi. And all you hope and wish for is that the two worlds can find a balance upon your return back to the world that you left behind. And for the pursuit of a singer? Of a guitar player? A drummer? A dreamer?

We returned home a mere 8 days ago. The tour took us through the Midwest where we sang for Iowa, Illinois, Missouri, and the like. It swirled us onto the Coast of the Easterners and down through the thick south. I find journaling and documenting the entire experience exhausting and have given up on writing about every moving experience. Life (in general) is moving, and to not focus on that fact is to not live (for that moment).  To work on being present in the present is presently my pursuit. Too often (so often) I will find myself in conversation, whether it through phone lines or across the table, drinking coffee, and my thoughts are not with the speaker / friend / lover AT ALL, but rather in the land of the NON-living, the dream land, focused on something that has NOTHING to do with my present surrounding. How often do I / don’t I stop to look at the magnificence of the body’s ability to keep moving / breathing / functioning. Almost more beauty in that thought alone (while staying present) than in anything else I could POSSIBLY be doing.

RETURN home to the GREAT.

Pumpkin / Butternut / Spaghetti / Swan Neck Gourd.

"Every good garlic crop needs a pair of small hands" - Hosania Butler

Tomato Tot 1

Tomato Tot 2 (Pasilla Pepper harvest)

Queen Bee / Serrano Pepper Harvest / Picklin’

The tour was beautiful and accepting. I have learned to deal with the up and the down that accompanies a man that travels from city to city, singing and meeting. Timmy, Isaac and Evan make the whole thing that much easier and have been my faithful road companions for years. As we made our journey into the final state in which we would be performing (Colorado) my heart was pulled from one end to the other. I wanted / longed for / needed to see my lover, my boy, my animals, friends and home, but all the while I knew that my days of singing for strangers night after night was about to be put on hold again. I needed something / someone to ground me. There are moments as a human being where you feel completely / utterly / wholly alone, small realizations that you, even you (yourself) can’t pinpoint where you / your mind / being begins and where it ends. Am I my body that is shaking and convulsing while singing? Or am I my mind that gets lost in the lyric and the thought of it all? Am I a balance of them both? And then when you realize you can’t exactly point to where “YOU” are you find yourself drifting further into the ether of loneliness and “self-loss”, but, BUT!!! There are pockets of true contentment and inspiration that float in that place of swirling, whirling confusion in which you can encounter a self-awareness that leads to contentment (happiness feels “AESOPY”) at least for a spell. But ain’t those spells worth it? Those REAL moments in which things feel like a warm sun on your face and the only thing to do is smile back? GOLLY, I hope so, because that is what I am living for.

I’ve always liked Boulder, Colorado. It was the 2nd to last stop and the weather was kind. We stood out back, behind the venue, when a familiar face slipped through the back door. Mr. Gregory Alan Isakov, a farmin’, Colorado livin’ singer and soul searcher smiled at us as he exited the stage door.

“Mr. Isakov” I said with a hand extended. We all shook hands and thanked him for coming out to the show. “Surely you boys have a place to stay here in Boulder..” he said with confidence. “Surely we DO NOT.” I quickly responded. Whether by choice or necessity the boys and I have learned to fly by the seat of our pants, and this particular night we had nowhere to lay our heads. “You guys should just come sleep at the farm!” Gregory responded. His quickly extended hand of friendship and kindness was something out of an Enochian fairy tale. We accepted his generous offer and headed out to the stage with a meaner eye, knowing that there was a place that we would be calling temporary home that night. The show went over well with the kind folks in attendance that Boulderanian night. We packed up and made our way to the 4-acre farm that Mr. Isakov calls home. The night was spent trying to come to an agreement on how to spin a happy balance between love and life on the road as a traveling singer man. The concept of becoming your own best friend came up and made more sense to me at that moment then I would have thought it could / would / should. The things that a human being is made to endure from the use / misuse / abuse from others are (or at least can be) horrendous and life altering. The heart / kidney can only take so much BREAKING before a man feels completely defeated. Love is the purpose I truly do believe. Finding that atmosphere in which you can keep it constant has proven to be more difficult than I initially anticipated when my experiments in love began at an early age. All of this leads back to the SELF. Finding peace / happiness in your own person before trying to love something / someone else.

“Self-love but serves the virtuous mind to wake

As the small pebble stirs the peaceful lake;

The center moved, a circle strait succeeds;

Another still, and still another spreads;

Friend, parent, neighbor, first it will embrace;

His country next; and next all human race;

Wide and more wide, the o’erflowings of the mind

Take every creature in, of every kind;

Earth smiles around, with boundless bounty blest,

And heaven beholds its image in his breast.”

-Alexander Pope

KING of the “Fallen Cottonwood” / Sir Gregory Alan Isakov / Boulder, Colorado

The night stretched out this way with different ways of coping / enjoying life on the road, and it was a much needed connection that I am in constant search of with other humans. Looking for a good conversation, a savvy phrase to live with (for awhile), a truly heart felt written letter. A true extension of self. Honest. Truthful. REAL. I have spent too long with my head in the sand.

Searcher / Fields of Colorado / Early Morning 

(If anyone cares to write a letter to me (not that you would, but if you DID I will respond.) my PO box is the following):

Joshua James

PO Box 1126

American Fork, UTAH

84003

“The mind of love…increases immeasurably and eventually can embrace the whole world.              –Mahyama Agama

A Jungle of the Heart / A Life Worth Living / The Only One.

September 22, 2014

Son / Father / Coping on Tour. Nashville, Tennessee.

Certain spells of time appear thinner and frailer than others. There are certainly those moments that link one spell to the next, making it seem like one long piece of poetry (Life and her magical mystery) that breaks and heals us throughout the course of our extremely long/short lives. My head, the spinning gift of existence, has flipped / flopped over the course of the last three months, sending me into a state of true self-reflection / actualization (atleast it SURE feels this way), pushing me into a harsh reality that we can TRULY and POSITIVELY only be responsible for our own (ness). Our own happiness, our own creation / mind / body / health / ET cetera. To place that into the arms / care of another is a dangerous and (possibly) foolish endeavor. But! what is to be said of the one who gives it away imprudently? Who is reckless in his / her devotion to the mysticism of LOVE and her many shrouds of “the riddle”?
AH!
But, I must shout:
“BRAVO! BRAVO, you courageous joker! That you detach yourself from ego and pursue the only thing worth real pursuit, OH! indeed, that indescribably gift, the dweller of the heart, the greatest drug to stimulate MAN, even her, LOVE. Go and place your WHOLE on the line, be a fool for her (love), break your body in search of the sweetness that can be her (love).”

She (love) does not have to be of the romantic sort, no, not even. She can be found in the forest (as she def. dwells in the wild), in the mountains, in the streets of Detroit, in attic of our ancestors, in the eyes of our lovers, and more importantly in the psyches of each and EV’RY one of us. OH! It is true, friend! Love, the weightless purpose of reason is inside of US ALL. I have never been one to think too much of love. I have found that emotionally I have leaned to the sensitive side of feeling but have not given more than a thought or two. Through the course of my most recent adventures life has turned me around and pointed it right at my face. “LOOK AT ME!” She would shout. “LOOK at what I am, and what I can become.” And it all resides inside, right here, on the inside of me, of you, of us.

My Boys / A True Gift / Always In Their Shadow. Ann Arbor, Michigan

Ghosts In The Graveyard / Girls of the Wild Iowan Forest. Minburn, Iowa

Arm & Angel / Crafting Hour / Mama James Art. Lincoln, Nebraska

Man & Fish / Teeth & Tackle. Bristol, Tennessee

Reyna / Barnyard / Doubled. Minburn, Iowa

Birds / Water / Soul. Clear Lakes, Iowa

I am as fortunate as I could ever imagine to be. My lot is not lot at all, but a pot of gold that I have been given. I am alive. I sing for kind people. I live with a lovely woman, a son of the GREATEST beauty. I am surrounded with animals of all sorts that play into my well being. YES! even dogs, cats, chickens and the mighty GOATS. I am surrounded my the majesty of the UTAHN spirits. I have been granted with the most BEAUTIFUL of friends of family of LIFE. If this feels like a rant, well, that is because IT IS. It is a rant. I am ranting. I am sitting here in Charlotte, North Carolina and BY GOLLY, my friends. Life is beautiful, and it is ALL WE HAVE. This moment, the one where you are reading “THIS WORD” is the only moment YOU / I / WE have. To understand and appreciate that at all times is IMPOSSIBLE, but (i believe) in it’s pursuit is found joy.
I am on tour.
I have had TOO many beautiful moments.
Here are some caught on camera.
TO the journey of life.
TO the pursuit of love and her reckless manners.

Joshua Fred James


My Heart / My Boy / Blueberry Face. American Fork, Utah

"There is some soul of goodness in things Evil
When men observingly distill it out.”
-William Shakespeare