Tao Te Ching

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I remember being around 20 years old, in the town I grew up in: Visalia, CA.  It's not a very big place.  It's not very small either.  It's between those two things: small enough for rumors to bother you and big enough for it to take 25 minutes to get from one end to the other—I'm sure information was faster than the car there, even before the advent of the internet.

I fell in love for the first time in Visalia.  It was love at first sight for me—but ended up not working out.  I think back on it, and I know all the places where I made errors.  This is important to me, because I feel I have room to learn from my mistakes.  Lauren is happily married now and has children, and I am thrilled for her, deeply and truly.  She is a good person.

What's really painful is making mistakes and realizing you have made them shortly after making them.  This was the case between Lauren and I.  However, we are not defined by another person.  

While we may be defined by our decisions, partially—ultimately, I feel that we just are.  We exist I mean.  Nothing beyond that.  To put it a better way, we all come in and out of each others lives, changing one another, so that we may continue on: all the additional perceptions attached to it, are human notions.  

If we look at ourselves as purely animals, we just exist, accumulating life experience in the form of memories.  We own our past.  It is involuntary in so much as it pertains to it being deposited in the banks of chaos that are our minds.  Beyond that, we can chose to own it as a verb, which is more along the lines of accepting it, and not perceiving it as a burden.  Perhaps like cargo floating on a rive in tandem with us: effortless.

I am fascinated by the thought of how much more malleable I was in my younger years.  I could love, fall out of love, and love again rather quickly.  If I were to be honest with myself, I have become far more guarded with my heart over the years.

19 year-old me fell in and out of love with Lauren, was at the forefront of his love of music, had parents who did not encourage the pursuit of music as a career, so he felt as if he needed to find his own footing and encouragement in other places—even if that was just in the daydreams of his own head.

He worked two jobs: one during the day and one during the night.  He practiced guitar in between.  He kept trying to write songs, but found it extremely difficult to like what he wrote—to genuinely love what was being made by his own creativity.

The first song I ever tried to write was about a young girl who tried to commit suicide off of a freeway overpass.  It was a good song—I couldn't see that though, at the time.  So I hid it away, and never shared it.

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I remember discovering Dave Matthews Band for the first time, and learning all of his songs.  I remember meeting a young girl named Robin that same summer.  We loved each other in a window of time, before she moved away.  In that window of time, I began reading a book that I very much enjoyed called " The Tao of Pooh".  I was 20 years old.

It was a very beautiful interpretation of Taoism, in so far as Winnie the Pooh being a prime example of an individual who lives the Tao.  I gave it to Robin when she moved to San Jose, along with a few Calvin and Hobbs comic strip books.

In hindsight, I was more malleable in those days—which isn't to say that I am not that way now—I'm just beginning to wonder if I was living more "the way" at that time, than I am now.  

Robin was no possession to me.  She enriched my life.  Hopefully, I enriched hers as well.  We keep contact with one another, and I am friends with her whole family.  I love them all dearly.

I continued to play guitar.  I was also very fascinated with Chess.  I played a gentleman named Jason McKaughan at his house in downtown Visalia.  He was an amazing musician himself.  He was also studying philosophy at California State University Fresno.  We would play chess together.  He would introduce me to movies and new music that I had never heard of such as Michael Hedges or Charlie Hunter or "The Matrix" or "Deconstructing Harry"—to be honest they are too numerous to name.  

I began to learn how to play Michael Hedges and became obsessed with him, much as I did Eric Clapton and Stevie Ray Vaughan before that.  However, I remember showing up to his house to play chess on one day in particular and he had something fun to share with me.

He popped on a song called "Comfortable".  He asked me to name who it was.  I listened.  "Comfortable" displayed amazing songwriting.  The lyrics were incredible.  His voice had a masculine baritone quality that was very beautiful and entrancing to listen to.  I listened the whole way through without saying a word.  

When the song was completed, I said "Jacob Dylan?"  I knew this wasn't the answer, but it was the closest thing I could think of that matched the timber of his voice.  His answer was, "this is Matt Mangano's roommate at Berklee School of Music.  His name is John Mayer."  I was hooked.

Matt Mangano was also a Visalia native who had just moved to Boston to attend Berklee School of Music.  He was there to study recording and sound engineering.  He recorded John in the dorm room they shared together.  The recordings I was listening to, were those recordings.  Matt brought them back with him on summer break and told Jason, this is my roommate John Mayer.  Remember his name.  He's going to be a big star.  Jason was skeptical that this was the case, but there was no denying his talent.

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He shared numerous stories with me regarding Matt and John.  I began to follow John on my parents old AOL dial up computer.  The World Wide Web had just started.  John was present on a website he created at johnmayer.com and posted music he wrote to another website called MP3.com.  He had left Berklee School of Music after one year there, and moved down to Georgia.  I enthusiastically watched and supported his very quick rise to fame.

There were no crowd sourcing platforms at this time.  This was all between the years of 1999-2000.  Jason McKaughan would go and visit Matt and John at their place in Atlanta, Georgia.  John took Jason out to go sight seeing around the South, historical landmarks and so forth.  He brought back stories.  They were fun to listen to.  I shared John's music with people I thought would like it.

When he started to be able to afford to tour, I went out and supported his first tour solo acoustic.  He opened for Glen Phillips from Toad the Wet Sprocket.  He played a wonderful set over a bunch of people screaming over the top of his music, talking loudly, waiting for Glen to take the stage.  He didn't appear bothered by it, but having been there myself, I'm sure it was no fun to have only a quarter of the room listening to you.

Shortly there after, he was signed to Aware Records, which is what that CD up yonder is.  He went on tour with a band.  I caught him three times during that tour.  Once in San Francisco, once in Los Angeles at The Roxy, and lastly at The Coach House in San Juan Capistrano.  He came out after every show and would chat with all of us that attended.  John is a very funny guy, and was always a pleasure to talk to.  I emailed him once to ask him how to play one of his songs, and he was kind enough to provide the info I was after.

I look back on my life, and I see that around the years of 19 to 21 is when I woke up to art and how much I loved it.  I have tried to avidly support local and independent music as I find it.  I suppose John was the first musician to not be spoon fed to me by a major label?  I had never thought of this before in plain terms, but I suppose that is the truth.

My whole life, I have been living the way.  I am sure you can say the same.  That's what "Tao" translates to: "The Way."  We are all living the mystery is what I mean.  Allow me to explain myself a little better—I don't want this to be a Chinese Finger Trap.

I started reading "Change You Thoughts, Change Your Life" by Wayne Dyer.  In a nut shell, it is the "Tao Te Ching" by Lao Tzu, but with his interpretation of each concise chapter of "Tao Te Ching" which often reads a bit like poetry.  I'll give you an example:

第一章

道可道

非常道

名可名

非常名

無名天地之始

有名萬物之母

故常無欲

以觀其妙

常有欲

以觀其徼

此兩者

同出而異名

同謂之玄

玄之又玄

眾妙之門


Pretty interesting, right?  I kid.


Chapter 1

The Tao that can be spoken is not the eternal Tao

The name that can be named is not the eternal name

The nameless is the origin of Heaven and Earth

The named is the mother of myriad things

Thus, constantly with

out desire, one observes its essence

Constantly with desire, one observes its manifestations

These two emerge together but differ in name

The unity is said to be the mystery

Mystery of mysteries, the door to all wonders


OR alternately it could be translated to this, as we are working from Chinese characters that are no longer in use.  This alone is fascinating to me as language allows for so many different interpretations, especially when it has been translated from a translation.  This text is nearly 2,500 years old.  As far as I know, these both have been translated directly from the original Chinese characters listed above.


The Tao that can be told

is not the eternal Tao.

The name that can be named

is not the eternal name.


The Tao is both named and nameless.

As nameless it is the origin of all things;

as named it is the mother of 10,000 things.


Ever desire less, one can see the mystery;

ever desiring, one sees only the manifestations.

And the mystery itself is the doorway

to all understanding.


This is paradoxical thinking—and very thick.  It has the viscosity of maple syrup.  Yet, it is also simple.  We just are.  That is Tao, yet by my reducing things in simplicity of those words of explanation to you, another human being, that is not Tao.  But I digress.  This is what I was getting at in the words of Wayne Dyer:

.".. enjoy the mystery."

"Let the world unfold without always trying to figure it all out.  Let relationships just be, for example, since everything is just going to stretch out in Divine Order.  Don't try so hard to make something work—simply allow.  Don't always toil at trying to understand your mate, your children, your parents, your boss, or anyone else, because the Tao is working at all times.  When expectations are shattered, practicing allowing that to be the way it is.  Relax, let go, allow, and recognize that some of your desires are about how you think your world should be, rather than how it is in the moment.  Become an astute observer... judge less and listen more.  Take time to open your mind to the fascinating mystery and uncertainty that we all experience."

"Practice letting go of always naming and labeling."

There are many things to be interpreted from these very concise lines from the first chapter of "Tao Te Ching."  Similarly, there are many things to be interpreted from a lifetime already lived.  Beyond that, is living.  It's the present moment.  

I've enjoyed sharing a bit of my past with you.  I've also enjoyed thinking back to a version of myself that is 20 years old.  I find it fascinating that I have ran along a twenty year cycle, a continuum, in which it has begun with me reading an interpretation of Tao Te Ching (but with Winnie the Pooh bonus round), and led me back to me reading an interpretation once again, and me arriving at my own paradoxical understanding.  In the process of writing that last sentence, I also just realized that putting exclamation points on things can be construed as shouting.  However, most of the time, it just means enthusiasm, nowadays.

What a mystery!

- Mike

Running Away From Home

I think I wrote this song in 2015 or so. It’s a story about running away from home in second grade because I wanted to be a werewolf after watching Teen Wolf starring Michael J Fox. I invited my friend Brandon Kite to join me at 4am in the morning. We made it all the way to the outskirts of Visalia before we were picked up a by a Police officer. I was trying to head to Sequoia National Park because I was under the impression there were wolves there, and if I were to drink the water from a wolves’ footprint, it would turn me into a werewolf (that was info from a Scholastic Magazine).

For the record, I tried drinking the water from a dog’s footprint, first: didn’t work. At any rate, this was my Christmas gift to my mom and dad, because I never bothered explaining this story to them, when I was brought back home by the police. Not their fault. Some kids want red fire trucks. I wanted to be a werewolf (or an astronaut... or a park ranger); what can I say? This is available to watch in my IGTV and you can find on Youtube as well. There is a link in my profile for the song with my friends Frank, Tom, and Brad playing on it. I used this song to raise a little bit of money for the Michael J Fox Parkinson’s research foundation.

Running Away From Home 
Words and Music: Mike Vitale 

watching the movie Teen Wolf put the notion in my head 
that being human's boring and I'd rather be a werewolf instead 
but knowing getting bit by one could be a difficult proposition 
I reckoned that the wilderness would improve this disposition 

so we lit out at dawn for the mountains in the distance 
my best friend Brandon along in tow no doubt from my insistence 
1985 was the year of our independence 
two empty seats in a second grade class while the teachers calling attendance 

but there's no need to worry 
I've got everything I need 
a sandwich and a blanket 
and the will to succeed 
I'm heading towards the hills 
where all the lone wolves roam 
so long momma, I'm running away from home 

in order to ensure a proper werewolf transformation 
my days before departure were spent researching Scholastic publication 
and according to my sources folklore lent it several options 
all of which I applied myself to their immediate adoption 

one of which involved drinking water from a werewolf footprint 
but since that wasn't handy I felt a dog's would be sufficient 
and when the full-moon changing never came I was left with one volition 
to pursue a pack of wolves to bring my dreams into fruition 

but there's no need to worry 
I've got everything I need 
I would have asked for your approval 
but I knew you'd never agree 
I'm heading towards the hills 
where all the lone wolves roam 
so long momma, I'm running away from home 

and getting to the foothills would be a days worth of travel 
but getting spotted by adults would make my well-laid plans unravel 
and knowing we wouldn't make it far walking streets in broad daylight
we walked the inner parts of canals to keep us out of sight 

the sun was near to setting and my plan was sitting pretty 
Brandon and I had one street left to reach the outskirts of the city 
yet one small problem remained and left Brandon and I debating 
the portal that would lead us beneath the street was covered by metal grating 

but there's no need to worry 
we've got everything we need 
we can climb this chainlink fence 
and then you and I will be home free 
we're heading towards the hills 
where all the lone wolves roam 
so long momma, I'm running away from home 

and just as we reached the top of the fence a squad car changed the setting 
the officer rolled down his window and asked where we were heading 
we pointed towards the mountains and he got a twinkle in his eye 
he said, "man, that's a long ways away boys, hop in, I'll give you a ride." 

but there's no need to worry 
I've got everything I need 
a sandwich and a blanket 
and the will to succeed 
I'm heading towards the hills 
where all the lone wolves roam 
so long momma, I'm running away from home

Ye Ol' Bookstore

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When I was in high school, I used to ditch class to hangout at an old bookstore in downtown Visalia called Ye Ol' Bookstore.  It's owner and proprietor was an English man by the name of J.P. Beavers.  I learned a lot from J.P..  We had many a discussion involving religion, ethics, history, literature, chess, music—you name it.  

He taught me a chess move called En Passant and hipped me to a lot of wonderful literature growing up.  He was a very intelligent guy, and I dare say that I learned more from him than I did from my high school.  I bought many book from his shoppe (he also gave me quite a few as well).  But, the greatest gift he ever gave me was his company, his conversation, and his brain.  J.P. is no longer with us on this world, but he lives on in my memories.  This visit to The Last Bookstore with my friend Sarah, reminded me of him—specifically, this art piece upstairs.  Thank you J.P., for everything.

Running Away From Home

I was recently reminded of this time I ran away from home because I wanted to be a werewolf after watching Teen Wolf with Michael J. Fox..  Dead serious folks, I wanted to be a runaway werewolf so bad, and the runaway part was not even in the movie: that was my special addition to the special edition—my parents hated it.

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We—well, you see (*sigh*), I dragged my poor friend Brandon along for the ride—and long story short, that was the end of our friendship by the power invested in his mom and dad.  Yeah.  

If it makes you feel any better about it, I tried to pack accordingly.  I emptied out my binder, my Mead folders, text books, pens and pencils all over the floor of my closet (so as to not attract suspicion from the parental units) and stuffed a big blanket in my backpack.  I think I might have managed to cram an orange and a few bananas in the remaining space available, perhaps a loaf of bread and some lunch meat.  But, definitely had that blanket. Being warm is very important, you see.  It was 4A.M. or so when I woke up and prepared to flee the safety of my mother and father’s sanctuary; I’m sure I wasn’t thinking straight.  I was probably banking on a hunter/gatherer mentality for future nourishment.  

So, how did this all play out?  Brandon and I nearly made it to the outskirts of Visalia before a police officer found us.  He was so polite!  Brandon and I were tired of walking, not to mention hungry, and the officer offered us a ride home.  I am guesstimating that I was around 8 years old at that time. 

I’m not quite sure what I liked about Teen Wolf so much.  All I know is that I watched it over and over and over again.  I embraced all the finer details of the main character’s woes and let them parallel my own, tracing the movies subtleties until I had a self-portrait that was near perfect if not half-shabby for a kid still in the single-digit age bracket.  I felt like there was something deep down inside of me that made me special and different from everyone else.  Is this the heart of a child?  Hell, I’m pretty sure is this the heart of an adult.  Then again it’s probably just part of being human.  Maybe I just really dug Michael J. Fox.  Teen Wolf was hot off the heals of Back to the Future—but, in all fairness, as much as I couldn’t get enough of that 1980's goodness, you didn’t see me slipping off toilet seats and careening into bathroom sinks while trying to hang a clock, just to invent the flux capacitor.  Sounds dangerous and ridiculous.  Nope, I stuck to the far more plausible and credible realm of teenage lycanthropy.

I started beefing up on my knowledge of werewolves, seeking out the most renowned, accredited, and trusted sources of literature regarding the subject: Scholastic Children Publications.  I tried with the zeal of a true Michael J. Fox Teen Wolf believer to turn myself into a werewolf so that I could be just like him.  I recall, specifically, from this Scholastic publication, mention of ancient folklore that suggested drinking the muddy water of a werewolf footprint could change me (a dog print was the closest thing I could find, and it didn’t do dick).  Another method is the age-old tradition found in countless macabre fiction and Hollywood classics that involve werewolves: get mauled by one.  Unfortunately, there were no werewolves handy (as they don’t exist) and I knew that, so I let my imagination do the writing at that point and convinced Brandon that what we needed was over the hills, far off in the distant Sequoia National Forest.  There, we would find werewolves, or at worst case, wolves.  I’d absolutely love to revisit that conversation with Brandon, now, as an adult spectator:

Brandon:  “So let me get this straight.  There are werewolves over those mountains there?”

Me:  Uh, yeah.  Where else would a werewolf be?  Do you see any werewolves here in Visalia?

Brandon:  Huh.  Yeah I guess so.  Cool!

Brandon must have found something in my absolute certainty agreeable and set out with me, early the next morning, for those distant mountains.  The same ones that make Visalia such a popular tourist pitstop in lieu of their quest for California wildlife.  

We traveled almost exclusively through several canals that run through the city, below surface streets—I knew, deep down, that people would be looking for us.  After all, it was a school day, and our seats were empty in that second grade classroom.

We made a couple of pits stops.  We crawled out of the canal, at one point, to rest in a park that would later be a haven for my high school friends and I to smoke illicit substances, talk about life, ruminate on religion, discuss music and art, contemplate the opposite sex, and brainstorm on how to acquire a keg of beer for the night: you know, Teen Wolf kinds of stuff.  Go figure.

Brandon and I resumed our journey through the undercurrent of Visalia’s aqueducts, only to eventually collect at a large tunnel covered by steel grating.  We ended up climbing out of the channel and over a fence and emerging on the busy thoroughfare of Lovers Lane.  A squad car slowly crept up next to us.  The passenger-side window rolled down slowly revealing a smiling officer in sun glasses: “Hey fellas!”  He was curious as to where we were heading.  I informed him that we were heading for the mountains.  He replied, “That’s a long ways a way, guys.  Are you sure you don’t want a ride?”  How could we turn that down?  We hopped into the squad car.  We were pumped!  Neither of us had ever seen the inside of one before.  I am happy to say that I think that was my first and last ride in a police car, as far as I can recall.  Let me ruminate on that last assertion for a little longer though; I could be wrong.

NOTE TO READER:

This blog became a song.  I wrote it as a Christmas gift to my mom and dad a few years ago.  It's be latest single.  It's called "Running Away From Home."

It's available on Spotify, Apple Music, Soundcloud and all other digital streaming services right now, if you want to hear it:

 

 

A Time Machine

Every Saturday night, I play a gig at a resort in Carlsbad, CA.  The place is called Park Hyatt Aviara Resort.  I live in Long Beach, so it normally takes me about an hour or two to get there, depending on traffic, and about an hour on the way back.

I used to listen to music most of the way there.  It varies.  I normally do some vocal warmups when I'm feeling studious.  However, as of late, I've been calling my friends to talk while I drive.  It's a great time to catch up with everyone I love.

At any rate, one such conversation with one of my friends brought back a memory from my childhood. 

I attended an elementary school in Visalia called Crestwood.  I grew up right across the street from that school, which was pretty cool.  It was a giant playground right across from my house, so it was the perfect place to meet people and to engage in things to do.  Play basketball.  Play baseball.  Just play.  I really enjoyed playing sports growing up.  I dreamed of being a professional athlete for a small stint.

I was a very shy kid.  In some regards, I still am.  I try to get myself out of my comfort zone as much as possible, but, it's a constant effort to break out of that mold.  Perhaps you can relate.  Perhaps not.

I spent much of 5th grade and 6th grade recess playing football with my classmates.  I made what I thought at the time, were friends, participating in this daily activity.  It was fun.  I continued my efforts to reach out to some of these individuals, through extra curricular activities like Boy Scouts of America.  I enjoyed it very much, because it helped me to meet people and get out of my shell a bit, and I learned about survival and the wilderness. 

However, I made a mistake, as we all do, one day.  I upset my father with this mistake, and as punishment, he forced me to quit Boy Scouts of America.  The mistake I made was contrary to the code of conduct and ethics instilled in its participants.  Because of this, it affected by ability to further connect with my peers.

A few years later, during junior high, I tried my best to reconnect with one of the kids that I was in Boy Scouts of America with.  However, my efforts were met with a lack of enthusiasm.  I was bullied by this individual.  He took every opportunity possible to try and pick a fight with me.  It started as verbal putdowns, and eventually grew into physical engagements such as throwing basketballs at my head during P.E. or a shove to the ground for no reason.  I tried my best to not engage in what he wanted, which was a fight.  Instead, I just accepted the punishment and ridicule.  I didn't want to be hurt, but I certainly didn't want to be his enemy either.  I gave up and kept my distance from him, as I assumed that my absence from his life would better suit the both of us, and I was scared of what I might do if I allowed myself to become angry.  He was the son of the Cub Scout master I had in elementary school.  I wanted to be his friend, but he didn't reciprocate that desire.  So, we never became friends.

I went about life.  Found things I loved, like music.  I would see him from time to time.  We would not engage each other, even in junior college.

One day, I was talking to a mutual friend of ours at College of the Sequoias.  He asked me why I didn't talk to Paul.  I explained to him that my efforts were never reciprocated, and told the story I just told you. 

Our mutual friend, as adults typically do, explained to me that Paul had a bit of a rough go growing up.  His father was not very kind to him.  Paul's father physically and verbally abused him.

I was crushed by this information.  As a twenty year old, I looked back on Paul's behavior growing up, and realized that he was in a great deal of pain at that time.  It had nothing to do with me.  

To this day, I can't possibly process all the intricacies of what it is to be a human being—what it is to put yourself in someone else's shoes.  I try my best.  Any frustration or anger I felt towards Paul, was replaced with anguish and sympathy for what he inherited.

I'm thirty seven years old now, driving back from a gig in Carlsbad.  Music off.  I'm just thinking.  Remembering my life.  Building a time machine constructed of human experience.  This time machine can only travel to where I've been.  I travel to my past.  I have yet to manifest a future to travel to.

I've made a lot of mistakes that I regret.  I wonder how many times I have been the Paul to someone else's life, without even realizing it.  

I'm not sure that I will ever see him again.  But, should I ever, given the opportunity, I would love to get to know you.  Wherever you are, wherever the journey in life has taken you, I hope this finds you happy and well.  You deserve it.  We all do.  The future is what we make of it.

NAMM Performance at The Marriott

Hey Everyone!

I got an invitation to play NAMM this year at The Marriott Hotel in Anaheim CA on Wednesday January 22nd 2014 at 10pm.

This is the first time I'm going to be performing this brand new material from my new self-titled E.P. with a cast of very talented musicians.  I would be honored to have you there.  Full band show.  Free to the public.