Cabazon – a poem of sorts


View of Cabazon from Placitas, NM




Bulging motion cauldron cloud of stone

Patchy layer of brief life paint

Boils against the swirl of mist

Caresses swift changes of sky

And seasons

Sleepy knuckles on the skull of earth

What do you ponder?


Promontory above the sweeping distance

Falling, sliding into basin of the eons

This flea of life across the flash of moment

Longs to feel your numbness

To the march of time

Your wisdom of silence


From Poems of the New Old West

Copyright©2002, Jack Purcell

Growing cojones as a means to end discrimination

Jack wrote this in March, 2006:

Hi blogsters:

I’ve been reading a number of blogs and having my mind boggled.

Seems there’s a lot of whining going on in a lot of areas, but imprisonment is a major one:

  • Blacks rightfully noting that the prisons are mostly full of blacks, wanting something to be done about that,
  • Hispanics believing Hispanics, particularly illegals, are profiled and targeted for more searches than other groups and not getting a fair shake in the court-system because they’re Hispanics,
  • Native Americans doing a LOT of whining because a lot of them are in prison for reasons they consider unjust,
  • Muslims concerned something similar to WWII Japanese American camps will emerge if there’s more terrorism in the US,
  • Political dissenters being concerned they’re the next target.

I’ve got some news for you, brothers and sisters.  This isn’t an ethnic problem.  It isn’t a religious problem.  It isn’t even a political dissent problem.

This is a problem of a criminal justice system left the pavement and gone airborne.

You blacks, Hispanics, Native Americans, political dissenters, Muslims, those prisons are also full of whites and Asians.  If this is going to be stopped you have to begin to realize there’s no percentage to fragmentation…  strength is in unity.

To end this prison problem we have to quit sending people there.  Those juries aren’t all white.  Many include several ethnic groups with whites as a minority.

All it takes to keep a fellow American out of jail is one jury member of any race, religion or ethnic group to say NOT GUILTY.  Period.

If you blacks, whites, Hispanics, Muslims, Native Americans want this problem solved you’re going to have to start saying NO, one at a time.

You’re going to have to say NOT GUILTY

  • when that woman is being tried for selling herself on the street, whether she’s guilty or ain’t, whatever her race.
  • When that man who got caught with a packet in his pocket or a bale of jade in the trunk of his car comes before you.  Regardless of his skin color.
  • When anyone comes before you as a jury member for any victimless crime.
  • And you’re going to have to keep on saying it no matter what the other jury members think about it.

And when a cop, a judge, an attorney comes before you

  • accused of manipulating evidence,
  • planting evidence,
  • lying on the witness stand,

you are going to have to say GUILTY and hang on to it until the other jurors agree with you so they can go home, or there’s a hung jury.

When a cop comes before you for

  • beating the hell out of someone in custody,
  • raping him/her,
  • killing him/her,

you are going to have to say GUILTY and tell the judge you recommend the maximum sentence.

When you have a friend, a relative, a co-worker serving on a jury for a victimless crime, explain to them you’re going to spit in their lunch, give them a dose of clap, put a black-widow spider in their desk drawer if they vote to convict.

As for other matters involving religion or politics, there’s time to deal with that when the time comes.

But for now, prove you have a brain bigger than a walnut.

Start looking past your own skin color, religion, ethnicity, and develop enough cojones to fucking say NO.



Another Side of the Coin- Mel King

Jack wrote this in March, 2006:


The hoopla about the dead cop in Tijeras got me thinking about my old friend, Mel King, and another dead cop just down the road from this one in Mountainair, New Mexico, in 1987. 

That one changed Mel’s life in a multitude of ways, for all the remainder of it.  I posted this on another blog December 21, 2005, the anniversary of his death:

If I ever write another book, Mel King will have to occupy a few chapters of it.  I’ve mentioned him a few times on this blog, but mostly, I’ve not been able to write much about him at all.  I’m still digesting what happened to him.

On one of the threads recently the discussion drifted to the War on Drugs.  I suppose if I’d never met Mel I probably wouldn’t have thought much about that issue, would never have bothered to form an opinion about it.

But in many ways, Mel was a product of that war, from the time it began during the Reagan Administration, he was one of the adversaries.  It changed him from a small-time marijuana growing woods-vet to a wealthy man.  When the ‘war’ drove the price of jade sky-high he was approached by a number of ranchers in the area, asked to teach them how to grow weed in quantity.  He became their broker, as well as a grower.

The War on Drugs involved Mel in a major felony arrest, confiscation of much of his property, caused the mysterious death of a police officer, got Mel targeted repeatedly on America’s Most Wanted television series, and constant harassment by the FBI, State Police and local police for the remainder of his life.

They wanted to believe he killed a Mountainair, NM, police officer because it was the only construction of the facts that didn’t expose the rotten core of the War on Drugs.  If Mel didn’t kill that cop, another cop, or cops, almost certainly did.


Shortly before he was murdered in December, 2004, he showed me an anonymous, hand-written letter accusing him of killing the policeman and threatening to come balance it all.  The undertone and nuances of the letter suggested it was written by another member of the ‘policeman brotherhood’ who wanted to even things out, not because he knew the dead cop, but because a person doesn’t get suspected of killing a cop and get by with it.

It’s time I began writing down a few things about Mel King anyway.

Mel King was a major, financially successful marijuana grower and large-scale broker in New Mexico for many years.  During that time he was also a long-term heroin addict.  (He first became addicted to morphine while in the hospital recovering from wounds he got in the Marine Corps in Vietnam).

The only way Mel got away with what he was doing for so many years was by being considered a complete maniac, and by making certain the authorities got their fair share of the proceeds.  He drove around in a VW van with bullet-holes in the windshield from the inside

When he got busted in 1987, with 150 pounds in his house it was because he made himself too big a nuisance to be allowed to go on.  He was attracting too much attention.

But even so, he never came to trial.  That 150 pounds of high-grade vanished from the evidence lockers.  The empty bags with his evidence numbers on them were found in the home of the policeman who made the initial stop during his arrest.  But someone murdered that policeman, probably for the marijuana, which is how they happened to find the empty evidence bags.

While he was in jail awaiting bail, Mel resolved to turn his life around.  He freed himself from heroin and when he was released he started a successful furniture business, did his best to stay clean for the remainder of his life.  Succeeded in being a trustworthy, successful man and one of the best friends I’ve ever had.

mel and kentai2

Mel and Kentai

During the years I knew him, Mel was a deeply spiritual man.  He was honest, guileless, hard-working, sincere, courageous, and in many ways, wise.  We prospected a lot of canyons together, talked of many things over campfires listening to the wind in the pines.  He was also my partner during Y2K.

Mel and I disagreed on many things, but he believed, as I do, that he knew what happens to a man when he dies.  He never feared death and he never believed he’d done anything in this life to give him any reason to fear it.

I believe he was right.


Ask Old Jules: God Speaks, End of World, Is Life Cheap, Racism/Bigotry

Harper, TX 2010 123

Old Jules, do you believe that GOD speaks through others?

If so, God speaks through too many others to allow any sense to be made of it.

Old Jules, what would you do if the world was going to end in 10 minutes?

Scratch the cats behind the ears, put on Leonard Cohen singing ‘Closing Time’ and go outdoors with a pair of binoculars to see whether I can spot some Christians being raptured out.

Old Jules, why is human life not cheap?

It’s cheap sometimes. Cambodia for a while, the Stalin era gulags, Spain during the Inquisition, Hitler’s camps, the Mongol invasion, the 100 year war in Europe, China during the Japanese invasion and later during Mao’s Cultural Revolution.
If it’s not cheap where you are not it’s because you are lucky in time and place.

Old Jules, what is the most interesting thing you know?

That there’s no relationship between knowing something and it being true.

Old Jules, ever fallen in love with the IDEA of love?

I believe you’ve identified one of those rarely recognized differences between women and men, as generic creatures [keeping in mind there are exceptions to the stereotypes].
Women, almost all women, do.
Men don’t.

Old Jules, aside from death and taxes, what else do you think is bound to happen in life?

Any time you find a used wheel barrow for sale it will have a flat tire.

Old Jules, what’s the difference between racism and bigotry?

Racism is just a particular manifestation of a larger human mental trait, bigotry. Bigotry exists more-or-less universally among humans, though they deny it for the most part and only recognize it in others than themselves.

Old Jules, what about you has inspired another? Has anyone made a gesture, read a book you recommended, voted differently because of you?

In 1967, I had a DUMP JOHNSON ’68 bumper-sticker on my Nash Metropolitan. Johnson heard about it and decided not to run again.

Practical, changes through energy work, good, bad and ugly: (part two)

Almost every culture in human history has been well aware of energy-force manipulation potential by humans.  They’ve recognized both the positive, and the negative applications as well as the ‘choice’ factor by the person using the energy.  Some modern cultures still do.

  • Not more than two decades have passed since the last ‘witch’ was killed by unanimous community consent on the Zuni Rez.
  • Five, or so, years ago a school bus full of Zuni youngsters on a field trip across Din’e lands were thrown into such a state of terror upon sighting a Navajo ‘Skin-Walker’, that several had to be hospitalized.
  • One of the darker, unspoken secrets in Navajo country during the last generation is the growing epidemic of ‘Skin-Walkers’, proliferating throughout the Rez.  Why it’s happening remains a mystery because most Navajo won’t even speak of it among themselves, except in whispers.
  • On the Din’e Rez a violated piece of sacred ground of the Old Ones, near Nageezi, which happens to include a roadway intesection, has been the scene of more Navajo deaths than any place since the Trail of Tears to Bosque Redondo in 1864.  Din’e families continue to use it and continue to die there, despite the fact it only needs cleansing by an energy worker and removal of certain artifacts to another, similarly sacred piece of earth elsewhere.  Why?  Because the Din’e have lost too many pieces of the song of life to trust anything anymore.  What once was simple is now beyond understanding.

However, what interests me most is purely practical application of energy to positive ends based on a value system almost everyone professes to embrace, though few practice what they preach.  Either as nations, or as individuals.

I was leading into some thoughts of other applications of energy work, more imaginative than that of the ‘hit man’, unarguably positive on a much broader scale based on reduction of capabilities for the application of physical force.

This entry’s getting a bit long, but if there’s interest, maybe I’ll discuss it more in some later entry.

Best to you,



– Practical, changes through energy work, good, bad and ugly: (part one)

Jack wrote this in February 2006 when he was a member of several online metaphysics groups, including Reiki and other types of  energy healing:

Morning blogsters:

A couple of days ago in the comments section of one of the Metaphysics 101 entries it became obvious to me there’s a lot of confusion about the potential for energy work.  Partly it’s because there’s so much sweetness and light humbug associated with it among the practitioners.

The long history of persecution of energy workers in the Christian world has probably caused some over-reaction toward the other side.  A lot of Reiki Masters, for instance, have been trained to believe (and have believed, or profess to believe what they were taught) that the energies they use for healing can’t be used in ways contrary to what they might perceive as ‘positive’.

Similar beliefs are found among Silva practitioners, EFT workers, most dowser/healers, and others who wish to draw an inseparable boundary, both for themselves, and for those who know what they do, between themselves and those on the ‘other side’ of metaphysical practices (ie. black magick, et al).

It simply isn’t possible.

Many energy workers know this, though most will never say so in an open, public discussion.  But there’s a sound reason the use of metaphysical energy, energy conversion, energy projection requires a solid understanding of the disciplines involved.

The pablum approach, including any belief that energy projection/conversion can only be used for ‘good’ is a sure-fire means for neophytes to do a lot of damage, possibly to themselves, almost certainly to others.

On the other hand, there’s such a broad base of growing knowledge circulating about how to do it, I believe it’s time the entire picture (to the extent I know it) comes into view.

There’s no way anyone can control the mindset of certain groups of Pagans and Wiccans (and worse) who are out there playing around with spells and energies, using them to get revenge on ex-husbands and boyfriends.  They know enough to do it, but not nearly enough to respect it.  Kids playing with loaded firearms.

I know a man of some fame and repute for doing many positive energy tasks, healing, and much teaching, who’s also an energy ‘hit man’.  When a particularly despicable homicide happens, say, to a child, and when the authorities can’t do anything about it, he locates the perpetrator by passive methods, then simply ‘goes down and removes the life energy’ of the killer.

(It’s not me doing this, so I don’t have to figure out what opinion I have about his choice to use his capabilities this way.  Though you’d probably recognize his name, he ain’t advertising that piece of his action.)


This blog entry is too long.

How about this:

Consider that last bit as the end of an entry.  Take a break.  Go outdoors a while and ponder.  When you return you’ll find another entry just below.  A shorter one that doesn’t tax the attention span of blogsters.

If you don’t believe me, just take a peek.

It’s there already for when you return.

(Continued tomorrow instead– Jeanne)

The more it stays the same

Jack wrote this in June, 2006:

I hadn’t watched Easy Rider (Peter Fonda, Dennis Hopper and Jack Nicholson, circa 1968) in three decades.

When I saw it again this past weekend I appreciated it again for the first time:

Nicholson: You know, this used to be a helluva good country. I can’t understand what’s gone wrong with it.

Hopper: Huh. Man, everybody got chicken, that’s what happened, man. Hey, we can’t even get into like, uh, second-rate hotel, I mean, a second-rate motel. You dig? They think we’re gonna cut their throat or something, man. They’re scared, man.

Nicholson: Oh, they’re not scared of you. They’re scared of what you represent to ’em.

Hopper: Hey man. All we represent to them, man, is somebody needs a haircut.

Nicholson: Oh no. What you represent to them is freedom.

Hopper: What the hell’s wrong with freedom, man? That’s what it’s all about.

Nicholson: Oh yeah, that’s right, that’s what it’s all about, all right. But talkin’ about it and bein’ it – that’s two different things.

I mean, it’s real hard to be free when you are bought and sold in the marketplace.

‘Course, don’t ever tell anybody that they’re not free ’cause then they’re gonna get real busy killin’ and maimin’ to prove to you that they are.

Oh yeah, they’re gonna talk to you, and talk to you, and talk to you about individual freedom, but they see a free individual, it’s gonna scare ’em.

Hopper: Mmmm, well, that don’t make ’em runnin’ scared.

Nicholson: No, it makes ’em dangerous.

Three young men searching for America who found it wasn’t what they bargained for.



Whitey Will Pay

Jack wrote this in April, 2006:

Hi blogsters:

Hope you’re all giving yourselves plenty of challenges, making lots of decisions that lead to growth experiences.

Things have gone quiet around here, owl-wise, though the hawks still soar overhead days.  And the coyotes still howl on the mesas.

Just finished a short trip to western New Mexico on an old-new trail of the Lost Adams Diggings.  Rough trip in some ways, because it brought to mind memories of a lot of other trips into that country with men now dead.

But it was physically a reminder of how old this vehicle’s becoming.

Climbing and unclimbing mesas, digging and scraping samples from streambeds, toting them back out to work them down into concentrates for closer examination, all just become the tap on the shoulder gravity gives a man insisting he slow down.

The trip didn’t answer a lot of questions, but it created enough to cause me to know more trips in there will be required.

Ahh.  Adventure!

Meanwhile, back here in the village, the rich old man up the hill behind me evidently has an enemy.   Someone decapitated a rabbit just before Easter and left it on his porch.

Might be because he’s rich and cantankerous, or because he’s said to be miserly and difficult to collect from if a person’s only a mere workman.  Or it might be because he’s all the above, which a number of old villagers are, but also he has the distinction of being an Anglo.

The accident of birth that gives a person ancestors who spoke English and had pinkish skin is a difficult sin for the majority of New Mexicans to forgive.

The Hispanics, who hold all the power, speak the same language as the Conquistadors, Cortez and Coronado, but see themselves as having been robbed of their conquests and rendered downtrodden by white-skinned invaders from the East.

The Native Americans generally just know someone conquered them, but because we’re all born innocent of memory,  have evidently forgotten who did the conquering.

For a while I occasionally used to drive around in a borrowed truck with “WHITEY WILL PAY” bumper-stickered on the tinted glass back window.  As a whitish sort of fellow, I found my feelers a little ruffled with all the thumbs-ups and raised-fist salutes I got from Hispanic and Native American types.

I generally don’t feel I’ve done anything negative to Hispanics, nor Native Americans.  My conscience is clear.

I had a distant kinsman mountain-man who wandered into Santa Fe around 1805, and was held captive for 20-odd years by the Spaniard government (ancestors to the folks who are here today), but I don’t hold it against them.

Let bygones be bygones, I say.

Fact is, old James Purcell’s problems ain’t mine.  I was lucky enough to be allowed to find problems of my own.

His didn’t happen to me.

Same as when Onate cut the foots off all the adult males of the tribe of rebellious Acomas in 1600 something-or-other, which makes Acomas do a lot of whining and complaining today, it wasn’t me did it, and it wasn’t people alive today it happened to.

You don’t hear me complaining about not having the same rights and advantages of Native Americans, no free health care, never having to have a steady job my entire life, being born into a wealth of land I pay no taxes on.

You won’t hear me complaining I can’t open a casino.

And you won’t hear me complain because my distant pore old mountain-man kinsman, James Purcell, got thrown in the hoosegow just because he came to town.  Didn’t do nuthun but be an English speaking man with white skin.

I was born naked.  Those aren’t my troubles.


6.5 billion reasons to live TODAY

Jack wrote this in February, 2006:

Hi blogsters:

I saw a post on the Reiki group I mentioned yesterday, someone wanting all Reiki Masters to take a specific day for a world-wide healing project.  Try to cure every ailment human beans have in one fell swoop.

Guess I’ll take a pass on that one.

Saw on one of the blogs the previous day that the world population has reached 6.5 billion.

I’m not overly fond of the human genre.  My general feeling is that 650 thousand would be a more salubrious number of souls to occupy the mudball, though I’d be pleased enough with 6.5 million if I didn’t have to live in close enough to see what they were doing.

On the other hand, 13 billion’s all right.  That would happen a decade from now if humanity prospers.  It’s okay by me because I feel 100 percent confident it won’t happen.  A long time before 13 billion human numbers will come nearer to reaching 650 thousand.

This certainty is based more on gut feel than anything else.  I suppose there’s a segment of the younger population who can fathom 26 billion souls, or 52 billion squeezed up here, elbowing one another when they’re my age, clogging the highways with quantum RVs, playing golf and watching television.

I can’t.

Everything I know about the way the life-energy-matrix on this planet works and has always worked tells me otherwise.

More likely there’s a surprise brewing out there in the life-soup somewhere between here and 13 billion humans to do a bit of culling.  I’d call it a tragedy if I weren’t certain all you humans will end up in another life afterward.  One where they don’t have television, most likely.

If some of you blogsters are accomplished remote viewers, take a peek at anything you find interesting after 2012.

Just my thought to brighten your day.

You folks who are spending your lives on autopilot figuring there’s plenty of time to get your affairs in order later might want to do some thinking about that.

The number of times you get to circle this star in a lifetime doesn’t count for much.  If you live to be 90 without doing anything besides watching television and worrying about what might kill you maybe nothing will.  You’ll just die without something killing you.  


How are we doing here? from Jeanne

Jeanne and Jack

Just wanted to check in with Jack’s readers. Here’s what’s happening on my end. I’ve been going through old files nearly every day, culling material from previous blogs, poetry, and the Q&A site that I think make good blog entries. At this time, I have posts scheduled ahead two or three times per week up through June of 2021, and I am not nearly through looking at the material I have. I have another month or so of free time available to me to keep doing this if I feel like it.  The blog will always be here, even if I stop adding more material.

Some people might wonder why I am doing this. I’ve thought about that some, and of course it’s more for myself than anyone else. I’m not willing to let his words die, and it helps me a lot to have those words in my head as I get used to not having him around the way I like. I always thought his writing and ability to think were unusual talents, and I know you regular readers feel the same.  I don’t have what it takes to put together a book about him or a book of his writing, so the blog format is easy and as permanent as I can make it. Also, it helps to have something to distract me during these terrible times we are going through.

Even though he’s not responding to comments anymore, I enjoy reading your comments and will try to respond to them or answer questions.

You readers are helping me through a difficult time, and I appreciate it.