Saint Mary’s Cemetery–Oswego County, New York
“1992 was the 100th Anniversary of my Great-Grandfather’s death. He had left Ireland during The Famine Years in 1848 and had crossed the North Atlantic to the green fields of America. He was buried under a fine Celtic Cross in a little churchyard just north of Syracuse. His name is engraved in sharp and bold letters.
“PETER CAVANAUGH”
Buried Under Six Feet of Dirt and Ten Feet of Snow – 2/14/07
He Wasn’t Going Anywhere “
When you realize that consciousness is constantly transforming, there’s no such thing as a person. There’s only the universe behaving as a person.”–Deepak Chopra–”Larry King Live”—-January 5, 2009
“Uncertainties of Life”
A Rock ‘n Roll Mystery
By The Universe
As Peter Cavanaugh
Having found salvation from starvation in the green fields of America–Last Will and Testament of Peter Cavanaugh. Fulton, New York. May 1, 1889
“I, Peter Cavanaugh, aware of the uncertainty of life, do bequeath seventy-five dollars to the Church of the Immaculate Conception, fifty thereof to purchase a statue of Saint Joseph.”
117 Years Later. Church of The Immaculate Conception--Fulton, New York. (2009)
Having miraculously attained his 68th birthday against seemingly impossible odds without atonement– Last Will and Testament of Peter Cavanaugh. Oakhurst, California. September 8, 2009.
“I, Peter Cavanaugh, aware of the uncertainty of life, stopped going to Church as soon as I could.”
This would have been puberty, give or take a few squirts.
Oak Room Bar--Oakhurst, California--"Home of Dangerous Drinking" (2009)
After that I only went socially, meaning when my mother would know if I didn’t
“Conscience” is a combination of the word “con,” or “against,” and “science,” meaning knowledge. Let’s keep that in mind.
This is absolutely my Last Will and Testament, but it doesn’t mean I’m about to drop dead. Perhaps so. Maybe not. I believe to be at all is to be always, to be anywhere is to be everywhere, and to be anything is to be everything. That’s it. Thank you.
We’re all here together.
In This Place.
And we’ve just arrived.
“Well, Ma, maybe it’s like Cassy says. A fellow ain’t got a soul of his own, just little piece of a big soul, the one big soul that belongs to everybody. Then it don’t matter, ’cause I’ll be all around… I’ll be everywhere.
John Steinbeck–”Grapes of Wrath”–1939
Goddamn!
Do I believe in God?
Sure!
How else could I write, “Goddamn?”
A fine gentleman named Pun Plamondon sent me the following:
“Peter – I heard your voice on many trips…I assume it was the radio…Perhaps not. You set the standard.”
Pun Plamondon was the White Panther Party’s Minister of Defense in the late ‘60’s. Someone blew up a CIA office in Ann Arbor, an explosion which eventually blasted Richard Nixon out of the White House. Pun made the FBI’s 10 Most Wanted List. He eventually wrote an excellent book called, “Lost From The Ottawa.”
Pun Plamondon (2009)
“Soon the discussion got around to my alcoholism as we continued to smoke. I explained to Louis my inability to stop drinking. I repeated the advice given me by my friends in the alcoholic’s association, that I must find a higher power, God or some such, and find a spiritual center to my life if I was ever to recover from alcoholism . I explained that I didn’t believe in God or any of the religions with their narrow-minded, intolerant philosophies and exclusionary doctrines.
“A higher power? he said quizzically, rubbing his gigantic chin again. “They must
mean, The Great Mystery. Gitchi Manidoo. Great Mystery. Some say it means “Great Spirit,” but our people always say, “Great Mystery.”
There was no fanfare, no drum roll or clap of thunder. Just a bright light somewhere near my heart, an opening, enlightenment..
“A mystery?”, I stammered. Incredulous and flabbergasted. “A fucking mystery?’ “All this grief about a fucking mystery?”
“It’s always been a mystery,” Louis answered. Since the Anishnabee were first placed here it’s been a mystery.”
Goddamn!
Anishnabee?
How about the Nemedians, Firbolgs, Milesians, Picts, Celts, Glasraighe, Fomorians, Partholonians, Firbolgs, Ui Bairrche, Lagain and Tuatha De Dannan, who established Tara, the ritual inauguration and burial place for the ancient Kings of poor little Ireland?
And our Cavanaugh tribe, the Chennselaig in Leinster?
Yes – all of the Emerald Isle – Itself buried in a sliver of time ten thousand years ago under a mile of ice?
A mystery.
My Uncle Vince had taught me of Ireland. Named after his grandfather, he was the coolest man I ever knew. I was over at his house one day. He was reading aloud from “On the Heavens” (350 BC) by Aristotle:
“It is not once nor twice but times without number that the same ideas make their appearance in the world.”
“See for yourself, Peter.”
He passed the book.
Symbols. Lines. Strange designs. Ancient Greek.
Vincent Cavanaugh Buehner is named after Peter Vincent Cavanaugh. At birth this tiny new Vincent received the ragged old Vincent’s dog tag from World War One. It says, “Vincent Cavanaugh”. He’d lost his “Peter” years before. Little Vincent has ten
cousins.
May I present Katherine, William, Cooper, Joshua, Owen, Elise, Riley, Allison, Maximilian and Asher?
With Vincent, these are my grandchildren – the first Irish-American Peter’s great-great grandchildren.
None of them may read “Local DJ” until they have completed medical studies and finished law school.
May 6, 2009 at 9:34 am |
Reading your writings requires the ability to separate the wheat from the shaft. Yes, in your case, the shaft. I have never been able to do that. I just accept what you say to be the gospel according to Peter. I am somewhat disappointed to read your reference to some “Great Mystery.” After all, aren’t you the one who convinced me years ago that “What is … is. And there is no need to look any further.”
Here’s looking at you.
May 6, 2009 at 10:11 am |
And here’s looking at Grand Blanc.
“What is … is. And there is no need to look any further.”
Exactly! That’s the mystery! It’s all right here! In This Place!
Excellent!
A Plus+
Good man!