babinscreams

Thanks, Jenn, Yes, this is a story about Doug . Recognizing, honoring, loving ourselves then sharing our unique, divine, creative expressions: this was (and still is) Doug's message. Since his passing, I've worked at this every day, made great strides and felt his encouragement, even excitement throughout. There comes amazing bliss when we recognize the self-created chatter clouding our consciousness. Doug's job was to point out the chatter, the "shoulds and shouldn'ts", the uninvestigated beliefs, the myriad ways our true nature and authentic selves are challenged to be fully present every waking moment. Toward the end, in one of those "what's it all about" conversations Doug said the ultimate state of being, the brass ring of a life well-lived was LOVE. He knew the first and most challenging phase to getting there was loving yourself. This was a huge struggle for Doug. We all saw the evidence of his personal struggle and ultimate failure to lo...

Paul, you deserve to have this relationship. You deserve to be loved for all that you are. You deserve to have all the goodness that the universe is revealing. No one can ever criticize or take away your intrinsic gifts because they are an aspect of god and no human is capable. All your gifts can now be released to the world, because you recognize their value as god-given. All your creative and loving energy can now flow completely, because there is no “you” of substance to resist. When you experience resistance, you can acknowledge that "story" that was; give thanks to that aspect of “you”. It has served its purpose in bringing you to this moment. Then tell it, “It’s time to let go, retire, and enjoy the garden that is blooming.” When you feel the resistance in your throat, while singing, stop, breathe; give thanks to that part of you that has for so long taken care of business by triggering the muscles in your body to clench, and let it go into the garden. ...

I was roused from sleep the other night by the sound of a door latch. Stumbling into the living room, I looked around; all seemed normal, though my much-loved Society Of Camera Operators trophy had been moved one foot left on its perch atop the piano. I concluded I'd left it there after dusting. The following night, the same sound, and I was up in time to see my SOC trophy spinning slightly and wobbling into place - now a good two feet left of where I'd placed it the night before! Someone or something was disturbing my sacred doorstop,and I was determined to get to the bottom of it. So, the following night, I went throught the usual routine of turning off lights, but rather than retire, I staked out a hiding place to keep an eye on the sacred boat anchor. Lo and behold at around 12:30 am the golden lady with my name on it did a quick look and shot out the door faster than an operator at wrap. I had little choice but to follow her. She headed due south on the 405, exited at...

The duality of “I” The manifest horror Within me  Proves ephemeral When empowered  By unconditional love Remembering we are one Resurrected From the ashes Of sacred gratitude.

Equinox Sunrise 2012 This morning, I satisfied a nerdy metaphysical side of my consciousness by getting up before dawn, so that I could mark the exact angle or azmith of the sunrise on this spring equinox. Civilizations throughout history have built structures that aligned with the sun's position at critical times during the year. Making something that visually marks the seasonal passage of time has been on my to-do list for awhile.  The day before,  I constructed a flat disk with a center peg, welded and cemented it into my garden.  When the sun peaked the horizon this morning, the peg cast a shadow. Where the shadow crossed the lip of the disk, I cla mped another small verticle peg for welding later. Having done this, I looked up and saw that these first rays of sunlight were also pouring right down the center of the arbored path, and at the end of it, the Yin Yang gate was ablaze in sunlight!  I had originally intended to make a rose design on that g...

Within me In this moment of seeming darkness Two forces exist: The first is analog Trapped within a faulty resistor A once beautiful sine wave Reduced to fear and noise. Echoing into perpetuity Each repetition, a copy of a copy of the last Which was a copy Corrupt and distorted, Hooking my attention Without mercy In the midst of this chorus of gloom That has convinced me all is lost An old friend Patiently awaits my attention She permeates the ocean of my being And beyond A digital construct Ones and zeros Alpha and omega Assembling and parting At the speed of light Rejoining in fearless combinations Each partnering unique, responsive In love with change In love with me A gentle cancellation of The noise The foundation of possibility this day And always In this moment of seeming darkness I let go and turn to her She is everywhere A cascade of healing waters That extinguish whimpering fear And allow me ...

Choosing an "intention" is a technique that's employed in acting, starting one's day, and (I learned yesterday) singing. In all three instances it is a way of giving your mind a task, something to distract it, so it can't clutter up the partnership between your body and the sources of creation.

The instant I become judgmental  my awareness wilts.  I become a shallow, self-righteous and predictable consumer,  void of creation,  one of the faceless flock,  blithely skipping into the abyss.    

Kathryn, I'm so impressed by your new set of drawings. You've made tremendous progress. There is a quality of observation that you didn't possess one year ago. Whatever you're doing continue to do it. It's been a challenging week for me. On Tuesday the Dr. looked at my fingers and for the first time mentioned the possibility of having to amputate the middle finger at the knuckle. The skin on the pad is quite black, and it's hard to tell if regrowth is occurring underneath. If that skin does not regenerate, the next alternative would be to attempt a kind of skin graft where they cut a flap from an adjoining finger and try to get it to grow. This would apparently disable the finger that the flap is from, so simply lopping off the top of the middle finger may be the most sensible thing to do. So my ability to embrace acceptance is being challenged. When bad things happen nowadays I instantly begin to look for the lesson contained within. I'm con...

Society of Camera Operators’  Lifetime Achievement Award  Acceptance Speech  February 19, 2012 So, last night I have this horrible nightmare. I dreamed I died. I'm standing at the gates of heaven. God is there, really tall dude. Next to him is St. Peter. God says to me, “Before we let you in, one question:  your life – how was it?” And I said, “Really good, about 95% there". And God doesn't say anything; he's just standing there looking at me. So, I guess he wants more. I say, "There’s a beat in my 20’s I was out of focus, 30 and 40’s I could have given you a little more look space on the left side of the frame, the 50’s pan to reveal was fucking awesome, nailed that, but there were a couple of relationship moves I definitely could finesse if we go again. Give me another shot at it, you’ll get perfection.” God motions for me to stay there, grabs St. Peter, takes him off into a corner, but it's like he’s wired you know: I can still hear him. He s...

I was deeply saddened by two moments from the recent   Republican Party debates: The first, the audience's spontaneous applause when a moderator sited 200 plus executions in the state of Texas during Governor Perry's tenure. The second, when a member of the audience shouted "Yeah!", followed by light applause, in response to a question asking whether a critically ill person without health insurance should be left to die. Is this behavior representative of   that many people  in this country?  Is this representative one of our two major political parties? It smacks of the kind of mob mentality you'd expect at a Black Panther rally, or the KKK, not the political organization that's controlled the White House for most of the last 30 years. Ron Paul during one of the debates When you throw in the specter of Michele Bachman suggesting that HPV vaccinations for adolescent girls in Texas is something to reject and fear and Sarah Palin opens her mouth ...

Yesterday was Father’s Day; a holiday conceived by marketing vultures, a faux holiday I’ve viewed with cynicism for years. But as I sat in a recovery meeting yesterday, my attitude made a shift, as my attitudes often change when I stop admiring myself.   At this meeting, there was a lot of sharing about fathers and fatherhood, and I began to think about my journey. This was my revelation: In February 1985, denial about my alcoholism, which had been my stealthy companion for over a decade, quite suddenly slipped away forever. I admitted my powerlessness over alcohol and began to attend meetings of Alcoholics Anonymous. People there told stories about recovery and how belief in a power greater than themselves was the second step to sobriety and a better life. I put my skepticism on the shelf and tried on the concept of “god” and “higher power”;  this was mildly uncomfortable, but the founders of  AA, knowing how prideful we alcoholics are, gave us a lot of wiggle room regar...

Dear Elliot, Happy 21 st Birthday.   Today you can now engage in new activity – legally. You can get hammered in public establishments, piss away your money playing slot machines and buying stocks, and run for a seat in Parliament (provided you can pull off the accent). Twenty-one years ago, I watched your birth with a depth of feeling unmatched. That night, as you made your entrance into the world, two distinct feelings washed over me. First, I was overcome by profound beauty; a deep primal sob jumped out of my throat. Then, I was overcome with a kind of regret and sadness knowing that you would experience pain in your life; I wanted to apologize for bringing you into an existence that would include suffering. Within seconds, these feelings and thoughts passed and for the next twenty-one years I’ve enjoyed the bliss you bring to my world. Thanks for being here. Turning twenty-one is probably the last formal occasion in which another adult, welcome to the club by the way, can of...

I attended a Good Friday Christian church service last week. A friend of a friend was playing his soprano sax during the service, and the aim was to hear his playing and then join him for dinner and drinks afterwards. Having had a fling with Catholicism a few years ago, I expected to find a few moments in the ritual service that might “fill my cup” however superficially. The music was very good, with a vocalist playing piano and our friend on sax. And that’s about where anything of value ended. The service consisted of several men and women coming forward to vamp on each of the seven statements Christ is reported to have made on the cross.  Each of these was introduced by a clip depicting the crucifixion from Mel Gibson’s Christ Movie in which JC hangs from nails, flesh gashed and bruised, his body a network of open bleeding lacerations  – he looks like a pound of ground sirloin. With one exception, a woman who reacted emotionally to her own experience of sacrifice, the ...

Dad, January 25, the anniversary of your death six years ago came and went without conscious recognition this year. I was working that day, enjoying the afterglow of an extraordinary weekend. I can imagine your being fine with that. You were never one to stand on formality. Also, letting go of you is something that I must continue to do. I still carry too much of your stuff, both literally and emotionally. This past year has brought a new house, my son as room mate, the death of my first wife, the reckless conclusion of a relationship with a good woman, a new round of confronting personal defects and spiritual growth. My gratitude for all I have, starting with my life, goes out to you and Mom - thanks. Part of my journey, my therapy, is about "re-parenting" myself. In this process, I have conversations, out loud into a tape recorder - my phone actually. It's not easy creating this new paradigm of inner bonding between the "child" in me and the "adult...

Without Beginning or End Beach chatter thinking Crashed to a close When a pair of gulls, Mates, I was sure Began to dance. Soon, every being In sight Fell into step. And my heart went whoosh. I inhaled Caressing her flesh Breathing the sighs of color And saturated moans And I thanked you god For weaving my attention Into the fabric Of divine beauty Hers Mine Yours Then teaching me It is Ours Now Without beginning or end. Her lips Took mine. I could taste The nucleus of fire Descending into blue Hot moist breakers Of Mauve Carnal thunder Rich and wet Calling me in Turning me out And in shallows Amber and pink A goddess-child danced A dance Free of time Free Now Without beginning or end             - Paul Babin

"Squeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeel!", like a pig facing slaughter. He let his shoulders fall, lip curl, posture sag, "What about me?" "What about you?" Her question was genuine. "I need you,..." "Why?" "Because you complete me, baby." "You're delusional." "That's not very nice." "Don't take it personally. We all are. Some more than others." "But, I need your love." "You have it." "But you're giving me all this harsh shit. That's not loving me." "The shit starts and ends right there behind your eyeballs. My love is what's trying to bring it out front so you might see it." "You're killing me, baby." "I think the 'you' that is spewing this drivel should be killed. It's stinking up the room." And with that, she pulled out her Glock 19 and let him have it. “Fuck Zen”, she was heard to mutter as she staggered ...

This weekend finished the second gate at my house.  I dedicated the gate to Ann.  I used  pieces of an old, circular oak table that was curbside awaiting trash pickup. I painted using oils and varnish. There are broken bits of ceramic too. When I posted this photo, people on Face Book responded favorably. One of my co-workers spoke of similar works for sale. I was thrilled by the reactions and began to contemplate being paid for work like this. I posted the following: Now, if I can appeal to the universe: "psst, hey, fate and circumstance, what if enough people became aware of my work, and found in it a value worth paying for, and I could actually cover my bills with the proceeds? What d'ya think?" I fe el like Tevia. Except he was asking to become a wealthy man. I'm already there. The wealth of joy that exists in the process of making one of these is irreplaceable. I wonder if joy would diminish when money entered the equation? " I'll make you a deal. ...

I don’t think anyone will disagree that every year  millions of guns are acquired by people in an attempt to alleviate their symptoms of fear.  Enacting laws to keep paranoid psychotics from owning automatic weapons seems like an intelligent choice; it certainly minimizes my fear of being assaulted or killed. But it seems, my fear pales in comparison to that felt by people who succumb to fantasies of “ THEM ” – the great, dark masses of conspiratorial boogie-men exploited with great success by the NRA, Islamic fundamentalists, third world dictators… all political and religious extremists. The shift in Humankind away from the compulsion to kill one another will only take place when fear yields to compassion . When inflammatory distortions spewing from the 24 hour “news” stations are seen and rebuked for what they really are: vehicles for selling product. When political leaders consistently do what’s right rather than what will inflate their own sense of power. When people’s ...

My stint in Georgia is coming to an end. And I am left with some thoughts. I was brought here to work on a movie, the latest in a series of super hero films, a franchise that's a major cash cow for a select few and the producing studio / corporation. Georgia offers huge tax incentives to film productions. And after 15 days of shooting, it's obvious the only reason to have traveled people and resources to Georgia would be to save a buck. There is not a single frame of film we exposed that could not have been captured in Los Angeles. The main set was a stretch of sandy beach here on Jekyll Island, a bridge span off the coast of Georgia. The talented greens people sunk a couple hundred palm trees into this beach, and then struggled to keep them looking like palm trees as winter temperatures dropped into the teens with wind chill. On the final days of filming, green spray paint was being administered liberally to the poor, withered fronds. We froze in abject misery  more than a c...