The Dowggie Blog

… is God’s.

I’m not the message. I’m merely the messenger.

It just passes through me. And it’s… Rapture.

Rapture.

Played a gig in Pampanga last night. The event was billed as Love-a-palooza. Of course, as is the usual way of the world, some of it was more about money than about love but the world takes time to catch up.

Clark Air Field. Big gig. Concert-type gig. Valentine’s sh_t. The usual. =)

Cast of thousands in the audience. Cast of hundreds among the artists. Saw a few old friends backstage — Jack Rufo, Mike Bay-as, Mong of ChicoSci, Diego Castillo, to name but a few.

Made a few new friends, I hope… Kitchie Nadal among them. Love ko na siya’t ang kyut-kyut niya. Suplada ng slight… pero ok lang dahil malamang stressed out ang lola. O baka dismayado pa rin siya sa buhok niya sa mga Mcdo Twister Fries ads… he he he. Hindi sa kaniya bagay ang kulot. =)

Feeling ko baka tibo ang lolah… kuro-kuro lang po… kookoo… kookoorookookoo. Kadyot lang! Kadyot lang! It harts! It harts, yu know! =p

Anyway…

Beautiful gig.

An almost full moon hung in a dark purple sky.

We were onstage. A number of kids — grade-school-age-but-out-of-school-youths, prepubescent kids, teenage kids — were in the audience. Right in front of the stage. Skarlet sang. We played.

It was beautiful.

Ego exeunted.

Energy flowed.

Clarity was present.

Gazed up at the sky… the script is written there, you see. The music charts I read are written in the sky.

The Holy Spirit manifested.

God spoke.

The hair on my arms rise as I write this and tears are in my eyes.

Rapture.

Is here.

Now.

An open heart sees. The ears of an open heart hear.

(A dowggie’s nose sniffs. Dowggie tongue lolls.)

Rapture was present last night, the eleventh of February, 2006, the year of The Dog.

I felt it in my bones. Felt the hair on my arms stand. Felt The Sacred Samting pass through me. Electric.

Sang in a voice not my own.

And touched people’s hearts. Could see it on their faces, read it in their eyes.

The number of people "out of the matrix" grows. Machines beware. Our number is growing. 

After our set, we were encircled by kids. (I dislike the word "fans", but I guess that’s what they were. I prefer the word "friends", though. No such thing as a stranger… just a friend you haven’t met yet.) 

Shook hands with all of ‘em. A few asked for guitar picks. Gave away all my picks. Jim Dunlop Jazz 3’s. Expensive picks but what the hey…. Also one red Ibanez pick and one blue one. Those were my personal picks. Yung mga nakatago sa wallet ko. Ubos.

A pretty girl approached, wanting to meet me. We shook hands. She asked for a guitar pick. Since I’m a sucker for pretty girls, I gave her the very pick which has been my favorite for the past few months. The very same pick I used onstage. Plucked it from between my Nimfa’s strings and gave it to her.

(Oh… Nimfa’s my guitar. Her name’s Nimfa Banocnoc, The Queen of Jazz… and I’m Bogart Banocnoc, The Vyutishyan Of Vivop. Vaaaggglaaahhh!!!)

As I tell my daughter, Ava, I believe in emptying my cup. It comes back full.

The truly beautiful part is — a number of teenage kids said that the music inspired them. Inspired them to listen to jazz. Perhaps even to play jazz.

Did my job. Score one for the dowggie. c",)

But here’s the thing, the truly beautiful part…

I wasn’t the one who did it. I wasn’t even there.

Ego exeunted.

Clarity was present.

God manifested.

I’m not the message. Merely the messenger.

All honor and glory is God’s.

Love to the Universe,

Woof. c",)

Tonight, as I do most every night, I read my daughter a bedtime story. As is my wont, I changed the material up a bit. We ostensibly read Jack And The Beanstalk… read by Papa Dowggie, however, it became Teddy (Bear) and The St.-Paul-Stalk. =)

The guy who sold Teddy (Jack) the magic (bullsh_t) beans became a St. Paul nun. The giant who lived in the clouds became el gigante — the greedy giant who thought he was God.

The hen who layed the golden eggs became a parent-of-a-St.-Paul’s-student. (St. Paul’s Paranaque bleeds us parents dry with their frivolous, unscheduled — dare I say un-Christian? — miscellaneous expenses.)

See, the basic problem with monotheistic religions is this: these religions all claim ownership of The One True God. Ha!

Bull-effin’-sh_t.

Here’s the secret…

Yes, there is only one God.

But that doesn’t mean there is one God, exclusive. It means that there is one God, inclusive.

Jesus, Yahweh, Allah, The Tao, The Force… these are all just different names for the same God. One God.

Inclusive.

This may be an elusive truth for some… but hey, John Lennon got it.

Imagine there’s no heaven… nothing to kill or die for… no religion too.

Please understand, however, that I’m no anarchist. Ain’t no punk. I’m a jazzy jedi dowggie. c",)

I don’t preach anarchy. In fact, I’m not preaching at all.

I’m just sharing a truth I wish we all could see. The God I believe in embraces us all. Equally. Excludes no one.

Everyone is a child of God. Christian, Muslim, Jew, Nazi, Zoroastrian, Sufi, Taoist, Buddhist, Jedi… everyone.

We’re all talkin about the same thing, the same God.

The sooner we all realize that, the sooner our world will be heaven on earth.

Woof! c",)

SP Paranaque, I say unto you — hah! You may have my daughter’s ear during the day… but I have her ear before she sleeps. I read her her nightly bedtime stories. He he he….

The Jedi Dowggie saga unfolds. c",)