Holy Toledo

Toledo

This smaller version of Toledo is the original

Damned if you do and damned if you don't

   Lorenzo Dow (October 16, 1777 – February 2, 1834)

You can and you can't 

You shall and you shan't 

You will and you won't 

And you will be damned if you do  

And you will be damned if you don't.

LORENZO DOW'S CONVERSION
From: The Testimony of a Hundred Witnesses
Compiled by J. F. Weishampel Sr. 

When Lorenzo Dow was under four years of age, he was already under the awakening influences of religion. In his thirteenth year he had several remarkable dreams, which led him to a state of deep conviction for sin. He made this known to his father, after which, he says: "I knew I was unprepared to die; tears began to run down plentifully, and I again resolved to seek the salvation of my soul; I began that day to pray in secret, but how to pray or what to pray for, I scarcely knew. I at once broke off from all my old companions and evil practices, which some call innocent mirth, and betook to the Bible, kneeling in private. I frequently felt for a few seconds, cords of sweet love to draw me on; but from whence it flowed, I could not tell: which I since believe was for an encouragement to hope in the mercy of God. If I now had had some one to instruct me in the plan of salvation, I doubt not but I should have found salvation."

After this he was troubled with thoughts that he might be predestined to be lost, and therefore let his hope sink; and to end his earthly troubles, he resolved to destroy his own life. His mind was changed f-from this resolve, however, and he then felt thankful that God prevented him by the influence of His gracious Spirit, from thus sending his soul to everlasting misery. He attended a Methodist meeting, where he heard sermons preached from the texts, "This is a faithful saying, and worthy of all acceptation, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners" [ 1 Timothy 1: 15], and "Is there no balm in Gilead? Is there no Physician there? Why then is not the daughter of my people recovered?" [Jeremiah 8:22]. The preacher, during one of the sermons, accidentally pointing his finger towards him, exclaimed, "Sinner, there is a frowning Providence above your head, and a burning hell beneath your feet; and nothing but the brittle thread of life prevents your soul from falling into endless perdition. If you don't pray, then you'll be damned! " He says, this came home like a dagger to his heart, and he felt afraid to move, lest he should tumble into hell.

At this meeting one of his companions was converted, and soon after, others sought and found pardon. Sorrows arose afresh in his mind, at the idea of his friends being heavenbound, whilst he was in the downward road. He says, "I went to a prayer meeting; saints were happy, and sinners were weeping on every side. I went from one to another, to know if there was any mercy for me. The young converts answered, 'God is all love; He is all mercy.' I replied, God is just, too, and justice will cut me down: I saw no way how God could be just and yet show me mercy. A woman told me that evening, that I would be praising God by next morning. I told her I believed I should be in hell before morning."

He went home that night and prayed; then he dreamed he was carried off to hell by a devil. On awaking, he prayed fervently; then these words came into his mind: "In that day there shall be a fountain opened to the house of David, and to the inhabitants of Jerusalem, for sin and uncleanness" [Zechariah 13: 1]. He says: "A thought darted into my mind, that the fountain was Christ; and if it were so deep and wide for the wicked numerous inhabitants of Jerusalem to wash them clean, why not for the whole world--why not for me? Here hope sprang up, that there was a Savior offered to ALL. I then thought myself to be the 'unprofitable servant,' and that I heard the voice of God saying, 'Take the unprofitable servant, and cast him into outer darkness' [Matthew 25:30]. I put my hands together, and cried in my heart, Lord, I give up; I submit; I yield; I yield; if there be mercy in heaven for me, let me know it; and if not, let me go down to hell, and know the worst of my case. As these words flowed from my heart, I saw the Mediator step in, as it were, between the Father's justice and my soul, and these words were applied to my mind with great power: 'Son! thy sins which are many, are forgiven thee; thy faith hath saved thee; go in peace.' The burden of sin and guilt and the fear of hell vanished from my mind, as perceptibly as an hundred pounds weight falling from a man's shoulder: my soul flowed out in love to God, to His ways and to His people; yea, and to all mankind. As soon as I obtained deliverance, I said in my heart, I have now found Jesus and His religion, but I will keep it to myself, but instantly my soul was so filled with peace and love and joy, that I could no more keep it to myself seemingly, than a city set upon a hill could be hid. Daylight dawned; I arose and went out of doors, and every thing I cast my eye upon, seemed to be speaking forth the praise and wonders of the Almighty; it appeared more like a new world than any thing else I can compare it to: this happiness is easier felt than described."

"He was restless and he was a dreamer. He was contradictory and never happier than when engaged in a wordy war. He possessed scant learning, but was a very close observer of mankind. The very face of Lorenzo Dow indicated his character. His features were both rough and delicate. It was rough and effeminate but in that face there was every mark of indomitable energy. He parted his hair in the middle and wore it hanging down his neck and shoulders and his face was radiant with kindness."
From History of Methodism in Alabama
by Rev. [Anson?] West, D.D.
February 20, 1939

" One who became famous on the circuit was, Lorenzo Dow. He was known for his wild appearance and impassioned preaching. Many a new mother inspired by his preaching named a child after him." Byron L. Troyer, in his 'Yesterday's Indiana,' relates ". . . Lorenzo Dow, best known of all the circuit riders, was a modern Elijah. When he visited Indiana, he would dash on a horse from the wood into a backwoods community, dismount, and preach with such fire and fervor he became known as "Crazy Dow."  Denton Genealogy

An engraving made by Lossing-Barrett at one of Dow's outdoor sermons

 Dow's public speaking mannerisms were like nothing ever seen before among the typically conservative church goers of the time. He shouted, he screamed, he cried, he begged, he flattered, he insulted, he challenged people and their beliefs. He told stories and made jokes. It is recorded that Lorenzo Dow often preached before open-air assemblies of 10,000 people or more and held the audiences spellbound.

Dow's fame spread, and so did his travels. He traveled on foot and occasionally on horseback (when someone would donate a horse) throughout what was then the United States. He also traveled extensively in Canada, England and Ireland, and once to the West Indies. He was usually well-received although there were exceptions.

A fierce abolitionist, Dow's sermons were often unpopular in the southern United States, and he frequently was threatened with personal violence. He sometimes was forcibly ejected from towns, pelted with stones, eggs, and rotten vegetables. That never stopped him; he simply walked to the next town and gave the same sermon again.

Lorenzo Dow was personally unkempt. He did not practice personal hygiene and his long hair and beard were described as "never having met a comb." He usually owned one set of clothes: those that were on his back. When those clothes became so badly worn and full of holes that they were no longer capable of covering him, some person in the audience usually would donate a replacement. The donated clothes often were not the correct size for his skinny body.

When he traveled, he carried no luggage other than a box of Bibles to be given away. Throughout most of his life, what little money he ever collected was either given away to the poor or used to purchase Bibles. In his later years, he did accumulate a bit of money from the sales of his autobiography and religious writings.

His singularities of manner and of dress excited prejudices against him, and counteracted the effect of his eloquence. Nevertheless he is said to have preached to more persons than any man of his time.

His influence and popularity led to many U.S. children of the early 19th century to be named after him. The 1850 U.S. census counts Lorenzo as one of the most popular first names in America.

His wife, Peggy Dow (1780–1820), was almost as eccentric as her husband. She published her journal, entitled Vicissitudes in the Wilderness (fifth edition, 1833)

Winging It - Structural Integration

Rolf Institute of Structural Integration

Winging It

The froggy bottom of oak month livid and loathing as yesterday’s mother down on her knees in whodunit logo rhythm spiraled out of the faucet like a sinister storm with sixteen epicenters gasping for breath and screaming for Saigon noodles.  I put up with it for as long as I could and then took off with some fried chicken in a brown bag and a thermos full of Lucky Lady coffee sweetened with cactus flower honey and laced with Mezcal. The honey said it was imported from an underground desert  beneath the streets of Cincinnati.  The Mezcal said it was good for everything bad and for everything good too.  You can’t believe anything you hear these days.  I had to get out of Jackson quick.

Mobile bound I hitched my way southeast in a variety of vehicles not worth mentioning except for the pumpkin scented Plymouth wagon shot full of holes on the driver’s side and perfectly suited for snoozing in between red lights.  The driver was a piss ant naked from the waist up with a good set of teeth and miniature ears plugged up with cotton or so it appeared.  I gave him the remnants of my fried chicken which by this time was smelling pretty raunchy though he didn’t seem to mind cause he was starving man and sick to death of hamburger.  I got out ten miles short of my destination because he had to make a hard left and  pigeon-toed it up the highway taking in the atmosphere as best I could without letting on that my infrared was on the blink and my wing nut had rolled down the embankment.  My luck ran out years ago but I had a hunch I would find it again in Mobile.  My endorphins were blooming.

Twitty Prist did not meet me in the morning as planned but Biggie Matilda gave me the lowdown.  It turned out I stayed in Mississippi a day too long.  Twitty took off for Memphis yesterday abruptly right after the mail came without even saying toodleloo.  Matilda was out on the balcony having a smoke with Old Lady Dick from the 2nd floor.  “I heard the door slam," she said, "and that was that.  No goodbye no see you later no thanks for everything,  no nothin'.  And she went and took my suitcase that I never even got to use yet.  My brand new red suitcase.  What a nerve.  What a nerve.  What'm  I s'pose tuh do if I wanna go tuh Vegas or somethin'?  I never even got a chance to use it.  After all I done for that girl.  Old Lady Dick here says her son Buddy saw Twitty down in front of the bus station talkin’ to some weird lookin’ guy in a skirt. She was sittin’ on my suitcase an' it looked like it was about tuh bust.  She‘s got warrants yuh know.”

Biggie Matilda

Matilda was the tallest woman I‘d ever seen.  She had to duck when she went through a doorway.  She was wearing a sleeveless lime green mumu smeared all over with big white orchids.  Her armpit hair had collected a lot of foreign matter in a variety of hues and she had an odor about her that was hard to pin-point, pleasant and putrid at the same time.  Her feet were bare and surprisingly well maintained, pale blue polish on the nails of her long slender toes.  Her hands were a different story, rough and wrinkled with short fat nail-bitten fingers, mitts, paws, anatomical atrocities.  A diploma on the kitchen wall claimed she was a certified advanced rolfer.  A photograph of a kind looking big bosomed gray haired woman hung next to it.  “That‘s Ida,” she said, and then “Have yuh ever been rolfed?” I thought about it for a minute and said “No, I don’t think so.”  Matilda thought that was hilarious.  “Aw, honey,” she said, “yud know.  It isn’t somethin’ yud hafta think about.”  And then she started clearing the table.  “Come on,” she said, “climb up here.  I’ll rolf yuh right now if yuh want.”  She reminded me of Julia Child getting ready to prepare coq au vin.  Reaching for a bottle of red wine. Salivating. 

"Why do you do me like you do?"   It was a phrase I couldn’t get out of my head, it kept ringing in there with no particular rhythm or melody that I could nail down, just dancing letters rolling across my frontal lobe marquee fashion, sometimes flashing neon pink and green making me think of a jacket I wore when I was six years old running behind the mosquito truck in a fog of DDT.  Talk about nostalgia.  Even now as Matilda tried to coax me up on her table I couldn’t shake the words loose and feared they might  become embedded  on a cellular level and I’d be stuck with them for life.  Stuck inside of Mobile, in a psyche ward dreaming about Twitty doing the highland fling with some guy in Memphis.  Matilda was scraping dried egg yolk off the table with a practically nonexistent thumbnail.   I was numb and spinning in an olfactory nightmare of insecticide and Evening in Paris.  “What the hell,” I thought, “what have I got to lose.”  But just then …………….

the door opened and in walked Twitty

The Social Self

 The Social Self
George Herbert Mead (1913)

Recognizing that the self can not appear in consciousness as an "I," that it is always an object, i.e., a "me," I wish to suggest an answer to the question, What is involved in the self being an object? The first answer may be that an object involves a subject. Stated in other words, that a "me" is inconceivable without an "I. " And to this reply must be made that such an "I" is a presupposition, but never a presentation of conscious experience, for the moment it is presented it has passed into the objective case, presuming, if you like, an "I" that observes -- but an "I" that can disclose himself only by ceasing to be the subject for whom the object "me" exists.

 The Social Self - Full Text
  Biography of Mead

Social Graces - a party in my head

 Maria Germanova
in costume for Maeterlinck's The Blue Bird

read more about Maria & Costume @ TYWKIWDBI

 I have been in love with this photo of Maria since the first time I saw it on the web while searching for vintage photos. At that time it was simply labeled "bizarre vintage". I have used it from time to time as an avatar and have also used it as a blog post picture. I would love to have it blown-up, framed under glass and hung on the wall above my piano.

Social Graces


It’s not that I am Anti-Social; I can be quite sociable when I want to be, when the time is right, when the occasion calls for it. It’s just that I don’t feel the need or the desire to socialize, and when I must socialize, I usually find it to be a thoroughly unenjoyable way of spending my time. I get the job done, you could say, and sometimes there is a smidgen of pleasure in it for me, but mostly it’s hard work. I have much better parties in my head when I’m alone and have control of the guest list. I party with luminaries, ancestors, relatives and loved ones who have passed on, highfaluting characters and broken-down bums; all have something interesting to talk about or to teach me. I am never bored or defensive because I never invite boring or offensive people to my parties. I don’t have to worry about what to wear or what to say or how to act. I don’t have to worry about being a passenger in anybody’s car. And best of all, at anytime I can announce “party’s over” and shoo everyone out.


“I have always depended on the kindness of strangers.” I love that line and I love to say it just the way Blanche does in “A Street Car Named Desire” by Tennessee Williams. It is easier for me to be sociable with strangers than with people I know and will see again. I can be myself with strangers, I can relax. Strangers can only exist in the present. They can’t be strangers if you knew them yesterday, and tomorrow they won’t be strangers anymore. The past and the future do not really exist. I like to dwell on that amazing truth and all of the wonderful truths that evolve from it. Meister Eckhart, Soren Kierkegaard and Mary Baker Eddy are frequently invited to my parties. They are my soul mates and my teachers. The three of them get along well and have the most fascinating discussions. If not for Mary, I would have had my gall bladder removed. It galls me (ha-ha) that she isn’t given the respect she deserves, and that she is discounted by people who haven’t even taken the time to read her work.


I don’t go looking for soul mates or teachers, they come to me. I believe it has to do with energy and cosmic consciousness. For example, Meister Eckhart literally fell off the bookshelf and into my hands. I caught him before he hit the floor and I am grateful that he took it upon himself to hurl his wisdom my way at the precise time that I was ready for his lessons. It was the same with Soren and Mary. They found me and I am better for it. Their teachings are sacred to me. They are healers and healing is a holy occupation. I had a similar experience of being found by my teachers while browsing through a used book store in Ventura Beach, California following a mass at the Mission of Saint Bonaventure.


I was visiting Ventura Beach and leaving the next morning for Flagstaff Arizona and the Grand Canyon. I wasn’t looking for anything in particular, just something to read on the train. I chose three books from three different areas of the store. I hadn’t heard of these three books or their authors previously, and I chose them simply because I was intrigued by their titles: “A Separate Reality” by Carlos Castaneda; “Exploring the Crack in the Cosmic Egg” by Joseph Chilton Pearce; “The Practice of the Presence of God” by Brother Lawrence. Can you imagine my amazement when I discovered that in his book Mr. Pearce, who likes to be called “Joe,” refers to both Castaneda and Brother Lawrence? Living in the present moment, that reality only exists in the present, and that Heaven, Nirvana, Cosmic Consciousness, etc. is attainable by living in the “here and now” is the central theme of these books and links them together. Joe, Carlos and Lawrence are inseparable in my mind and when I throw a party, I can’t invite one without the other two, or two without the other one. My teachers seem to come in threes. Trinities. Hmmm.

Here is an abbreviated version of a party in my head

Me: Is everybody present?

Joe: I’m here.

Carlos: Me two.

Lawrence: Me three.

Me: Ugh. That was awful.

Carlos: Not really.

Joe: It was awfully awful.

Lawrence: God awful.

Me: So, what’ve you been up to?

Joe: Not up to, but rather all around. No up, no down.

Me: That sounds Eckhartian.

Lawrence: Non dualistic, at any rate.

Carlos: Separate, but not dualistic. Never dualistic. I want to make that clear.

Lawrence: God yes. The only and the all. Do you feel it?

Joe: (Singing, gyrating, accompanied by Air Guitar) Do…You…Feel like I do?

Me: Let me re-phrase it. What’ve you guys been around to?

Carlos: Not much. Here an illusion, there an illusion, everywhere an illusion.

Joe: There’s so much to be around to. It’s a relief, don’t you think, to be around not much for a bit? We all could use a little breather.

Carlos: You’re a Space Cadet, Joe.

Joe: Look who’s talkin’.

Dylan: “I’m walkin’. I ain’t talkin’.

Me: Bob. Where the hell did you come from?

Dylan: I’m crashin’. The best parties are the ones you crash.

Me: Well, if I knew you were comin’ I’d’ve …

Lawrence: Practice makes perfect. Bob made a perfect crash landing.

Joe: It’s all good.

Carlos: Second to none. A transformation. In two eyes and out the other. Anybody got a drum?

Joe: How ‘bout a murd? It’s small enough to fit in one’s pocket yet has the capacity to fill the room with a rhythm that will rock these walls. Boom, boom boom boom, boom boom boom, boom boom boom ……………………………………………

Lawrence: That was heavy, Joe. I’m liking it. I bet it takes a lot of practice to play like that.

Joe: Not really. My heart-mind is doing it. I just sit back and dig.

Carlos: About that murd, Joe. I wouldn’t mind having one of those? Could you pick me up one?

Joe: Sure thing, Carlos. As a matter of fiction, why don’t you take this one.

Carlos: Really? Dude, I would be eternally grateful.

Lawrence: Well said, Carlos, well said. Faith, hope and charity, but of these three …

Me: Lawrence, not to interrupt, but I’ve been meaning to ask you, can we ever stop practicing?

Lawrence: (Belly laughing) You crack me up. Can we ever stop practicing? (Belly laughing) Pass the pickled herring, please.

Joe: You know what I like most about our little get-togethers? The complete absence of B.S. We don’t babble here, do we? We say what needs to be said, or better yet, it says us. Yes, it says us. No more, no less. Some people think that every question needs an answer. We, on the other hand, think every answer needs a question. It’s Mad Hatterish and very invigorating, don’t you think?

Me: I hesitate to bring this to your attention, Joe, but you just asked three questions.

Joe: So I did. So I did. So I did.

Carlos: Let’s play Lizard Brain.

Lawrence: Nah, we played that last time.

Me: Bob, play “Romance in Durango”. Please. Bob? Bob? Where the hell is Bob when you need him?

Joe: Does everybody see what I see?

Carlos: Seeing is for the Impeccable.

Me: I don’t see anything and it’s my party.

Lawrence: Keep practicing.

Joe: This is a primary moment.

Me: This is so non-ordinary.

Carlos: It goes on endlessly.

Me: This party is over. Vamoose.

Hi Ho, Hi Ho (it's off to work I go)

This is a picture of me, but not Helen.  I don't have a picture of Helen.

The woman in this picture married the brother of my mother.  I thought 

she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen.  She was so fair that

 even her brows and lashes were blond.  If you read Ghost Tour, it was to

 the farm of this aunt and uncle our dog, Laddie, was sent after chewing

my mother's shoes.  Here, we are sitting on my mother's  tapestry sofa.

The first job I ever had was dusting knick-knacks for my mother’s best friend who lived across the street from us on Andrews Avenue. Her name was Helen and she had a raised mole above her lip which I asked her about. I was 6 years old. Helen also had a deformed right index finger which I also asked her about. It got run over by a sewing machine needle is what she told me. She had short curly hair because her daughter Gladys gave her a Toni home perm every couple of months. She was plump and always wore a dress, most of which had interesting and beautiful patterns. I hated it when she wore a plain dress of one color and no pattern.

From where they sat in Helen’s kitchen they could see many of the neighbor’s houses. Mrs. Swanson, the Browns (my grandparents), the Ritters, the Lipinskys, the Donovans, and the Chambers lived in the row on the other side of the sidewalk, directly across from Helen’s kitchen windows. They talked about all of them, sometimes they whispered, and that is why they liked me to stay in the living room and do my work. Helen said “little pitchers have big ears” and I knew what that meant.

“Mrs. Swanson’s son Albert is going to marry the Lipinsky’s daughter and move to Canada, and Mrs. Swanson will be all alone. He is a Mama’s boy, you know. Grandpa Brown doesn’t like my mother visiting Helen because my mother and Helen drink whiskey, and he doesn't like my father because my father is an Italian and a Catholic. The Ritter’s are dirty Southerner’s with too many kids and Mrs. Ritter is low class for sitting on her front steps and nursing her baby. The Lipinskys are dumb polocks and their house always smells like cabbage. Mrs. Donovan is not the real mother of Melvin like everybody thinks; Melvin’s real mother is Mrs. Donovan’s daughter, Lorena.  Donald “Ducky” Chambers is a tap-dancer and probably a homosexual”.

While Helen and my mother sat in the kitchen chatting, I did my dusting in the living room. It was fascinating work, because I got to pick up and examine each porcelain figurine in her vast collection. It was a great responsibility as well, because Helen cherished all of her figurines and I had to be extremely careful not to break one. I also had to put each one back in the exact same spot it came from. That was no problem though, because I had it all memorized. I knew where each one belonged better than Helen did. She said she had confidence in me and that I always did a fine job. She paid me one dollar. That was enough to go to the movies on Saturday afternoon, buy popcorn, Jujyfruits or Red Hot Dollars to eat while I watched the movie, and still have enough money left to buy an Orange Creamcicle from the Jack & Jill man, or a comic book.

Nothing is Lost

Sir Noël Coward - The Official Website

Nothing is Lost
Noel Coward from Collected Verse


Deep in our sub-conscious, we are told
Lie all our memories, lie all the notes
Of all the music we have ever heard
And all the phrases those we loved have spoken,
Sorrows and losses time has since consoled,
Family jokes, out-moded anecdotes
Each sentimental souvenir and token
Everything seen, experienced, each word
Addressed to us in infancy, before
Before we could even know or understand
The implications of our wonderland.
There they all are, the legendary lies
The birthday treats, the sights, the sounds, the tears
Forgotten debris of forgotten years
Waiting to be recalled, waiting to rise
Before our world dissolves before our eyes
Waiting for some small, intimate reminder,
A word, a tune, a known familiar scent
An echo from the past when, innocent
We looked upon the present with delight
And doubted not the future would be kinder
And never knew the loneliness of night.