Friday, October 12, 2012


God Bless our Wounded Warriors. We need to take care of these folks and I have gotten involved with a very unique and wonderful story. How could I NOT?

A friend of mine in N.C. sent me a message on Tuesday this week and demanded that I write a song about the Mustangs for Warriors Project and Jim Thomas, master horseman and American Veteran. He was leaving Silk Hope NC on Monday October 8 and taking the better part of 10 days to ride two mustangs (that were wild 3 months ago) down the highway to Clemson S.C. to the Extreme Mustang Makeover. Over 300 miles!

I learned all I could about Jim and his mission. A few thoughts trickled from my pea-brain and I typed into my iPhone. My brain spit back a few melodies that sounded in my head like a Toby Keith acid trip - cartoon patriotic shock-and-awe.

I evaded.

I had not had a shower in over two weeks. Haven't I revealed the finer aspects of my mid-life crisis yet? Well - it got interestingly interrupted by having to remodel our bathroom. So I am showering at the gym, the neighbors and my mother-in-law's (visual). So, I have had a shower, just not in MY shower. So I overheard that my MIL was out of town in Wisconsin and I decided to have some one-on-one time with her bath. It was glorious up until the moment, thirty seconds in, where an Alan Jackson "Drive the Itty Bitty Little Man" beat came pouring out of my noggin. iPhones a flyin' and hot water running off my elbows - I sought out the record app and the notes app simultaneously while realizing that I had been showering with my glasses on. Which explains a lot that I won't get into. I called my friend Fred and left a message, "dude, we have to go to S.C. next week to shoot video of this guy on a horse. I am writing the theme song in the shower."

A half a verse later I was cold, wet, and feeling washed up.

I dried off my novel clean body and my glasses and headed home and to bed.

I lay down at 11:13pm. At approximately 11:13 and some change the lyrics to the chorus came to me. Okay - I am awake now. Went to "The Hole," (basement office)and turned everything on. At 3:39am - I had written and recorded the tune below. I am proud of it. And proud to be acquainted with Jim's story, the Wounded Warriors, and proud to be the dirty American I am.



Now, Cowboy Jim - it ain’t about him
Give any man a shirt off his back
Sergeant major vet in a black Stetson hat
He works ‘em with a gentle tack (you know …)

A wild mustang ain’t so hard to tame
If you whisper and you follow through
Three months to train with an elbow sprain
Jim, why do you do whatcha do?

It’s about the ride
It’s about the freedom
It’s about doin what’s right for the one’s who fight
For our believin’

It’s not about me
It’s not about you
It ain’t about the blood
It’s about time, it’s about love

A wounded warrior is a prized possession
Our black and blue, red white and blue
It's all about love and that answers the question
Why do they do what they do?

Big ol smile, doin 300 hundred miles
Two ponies, in worn out boots
October rain storm on this Carolina morn
Jim, why do you do whatcha do?

It’s about the ride
It’s about the freedom
It’s about doin what’s right for the one’s who fight
For our believin’

It’s not about me
It’s not about you
It ain’t about the blood
It’s about time, it’s about love

Yeah, push comes to shove
It's about time, It's about LOVE...

© Brian Hilligoss, Brother Briar Music 2012, SESAC

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Friday, August 17, 2012


Those of you who have followed my blog know that most of what I post is original madness. The passage below I plucked from the September issue of Sun Magazine today and found it simply beautiful and thought provoking.

I am not that familiar with author, Megan McKenna, but plan to change that as I begin examining the parables of Jesus more closely in seeking more anchors of truth.

An Excerpt from Parables: The Arrows of God by Megan McKenna

"There was a woman who wanted peace in the world and peace in her heart and all sorts of good things, but she was very frustrated. The world seemed to be falling apart. She would read the newspapers and get depressed. One day she decided to go shopping, and she went into a mall and picked a store at random. She walked in and was surprised to see Jesus behind the counter. She knew it was Jesus because he looked just like the pictures she'd seen on holy cards and devotional pictures. She looked again and again at him, and finally she got up enough nerve and asked, 'Excuse me, are you Jesus?' 'I am.' 'Do you work here?' 'No,' Jesus said, 'I own the store.' 'Oh, what do you sell in here?' 'Oh, just about anything!' 'Anything?' 'Yeah, anything you want. What do you want?' She said, 'I don't know.' Well,' Jesus said, 'feel free, walk up and down the aisles, make a list, see what it is that you want, and then come back and we'll see what we can do for you.'

"She did just that, walked up and down the aisles. There was peace on earth, no more war, no hunger or poverty, peace in families, no more drugs, harmony, clean air, careful use of resources. She wrote furiously. By the time she got back to the counter, she had a long list. Jesus took the list, skimmed through it, looked up and smiled, 'No problem.' And then he bent down behind the counter and picked out all sorts of things, stood up, and laid out the packets. She asked, 'What are these?' Jesus replied, 'Seed packets. This is a catalog store.' She said, 'You mean I don't get the finished product?' 'No, this is a place of dreams. You come and see what it looks like, and I give you the seeds. You plant the seeds. You go home and nurture them and help them to grow and someone else reaps the benefits.' 'Oh,' she said. And she left the store without buying anything."

Friday, June 15, 2012


in the box - tidy, controlled, and safe
in the box - everything has its place
but I can't find anything
in the box - I am resourceful
in the box - I see myself
in the box - love has its place and is always there. I see it
in its box
in the box - I am grounded
in the box - God is with me
in the box - is home

out of the box - loose, free, and wild
out of the box - nothing has its place
so I always know where everything is
out of the box - I create
out of the box - I AM myself
out of the box - love can be anywhere
so it is everywhere
out of the box - I fly
out of the box - God is IN me
out of the box - is not home
it is where I live...

Copyright 2012, Brother Briar

Thursday, April 5, 2012

Light Through My Window

Three a.m.
Alone on the sofa with my thoughts and a terry blanket from my twelve-year old son. Recommended it as the “best in the house.”

Light through my window.
A view seldom contemplated these days,
yet forged into my memory from another time.
As a boy, being sent to bed earlier than self-prescribed I would peer out from my single bunk trying to make sense of night time mystery.
Tonight, in the wee hours before dawn, my blankie and I cling to each other.
Old hackberry tree limbs reaching, clawing over the neighbor's roof,
Scant leaves of early spring, silhouetted by moonlight giving backdrop to their host's frozen tentacles.

Light through my window.
A white washed pane’s edge reflects the mood of the night outward, vertical and brilliant.
Finding its brightness amidst the darkness and shadow-woes like a silver stake.
Slicing as a beacon behind which I lay; stirring from my crushed feather pillow.
I lie curiously and wonder what lurks beneath the ledge of brick mould upon the grass and leaves, out of sight from my gazing.
Against the foundation like a spy on a mission, perhaps, some furry creature steps or scurries out of my view on their way to harass a nocturnal neighbor.

Light through my window.
Dimly the backdrop casts color now, of pinks and grays.
Is the new day dawning so soon or my eyes giving way to accepting the night's true hue?
The glow from the street lamps from a block away, I believe.
Reflecting toward the cloud base and then mirrored down and picked up by my north facing, constant pane.
Call those dark ones out of the forest to my window.

Light through my window.
A portal set for me to capture the night, its secreted residents, in wary doses.
And yet, I imagine its force as a destination for that world outside.
The lower pane’s whetted outline still shimmering. Beckoning.
“Come look at the boy inside!”

Light through my window.
My stomach growls. My forehead perspires. Awakened fully from my mind’s carried-away adventures.
The night doesn't sleep nor do I. Only the Sand Man, apparently.
I must forage and act as those reaching limbs in the darkness, craning mine to hover peanut butter and jam.
Feeding my soul and the boy inside - me.

Tuesday, February 14, 2012

Wack, Wack, Wack! (children's story)

This is a children's book that I wrote a few years back. Now - with narration, original music and stereophonic sound!

Wack, Wack, Wack! (children's story) by bhilligoss