Fear and Not Loathing

Panic is back.
Goddammit is how I honestly feel about it, but I try not to speak like that.  I battled it for years and years and for a while I thought I was out of the proverbial woods...only to  find myself in the dense understory of it once again.
This much I've learned: extreme emotion, of any variety, pleasant or otherwise, translates in my mind somehow as panic.  Had a wonderful meeting with family and friends?  Somehow on the way home, the mind races instead to holy shit sixty five miles an hour is way too fast for a person to be travelling!  That bridge probably can't even hold us, and if I try to drive over it I'm sure to have an immediate and terminal heart attack and die at the wheel, sending the car careening through the barrier and plunging to the depths below!  I'M RESPONSIBLE FOR EVERY SOUL IN THIS THING AND I DON'T THINK I CAN CONTROL IT ANYMORE...I CAN'T EVEN BREATHE!

Yeah.  Not such a great way to experience life, let alone a simple drive home.  

I'm a pragmatist and more and more an utter realist, somewhat to my own chagrin, and I've been wondering how much that effects the disorder (condition?).  I've read plenty on it, it's link to depression and diet, and in the past I've seen healers of dozens of stripes: psychiatrists, psychologists, hypnotists, acupuncturists, Kabbalistic energy healers, shamans, scores of New-Age type folks in between...a panoply, let's agree on that.  I've been told that the 'why' is second place prize material; the 'what' is the golden ring and it's implementation (treatment, actually) paramount.  
And so it's been of sheer intrigue that I learn that it is apparently genetic as well, and this empirically found at that.  My natural father, it seems, has long suffered from debilitating anxiety and panic, to the point that he's unable to drive a car outside of his city.  I had the pleasure (not so sure that's an apt descriptor, really, but let's go with it) of speaking at length with him about it last week and discovered that his descriptions of triggers and experiences mimic mine to the minutest detail, his words spilling out as though he was able to quite literally speak my mind, my exact thoughts.  
It might have been unsettling to the point of discomfort had I not long ago identified at least a part of myself as a 'seeker', and therefore of the ilk that can oddly (in a macabre sense, perhaps) appreciate puzzle pieces, even if just perceived as such (ha!).  I listened intently, studying his body language and facial expressions, watching for some gateway to a deeper meaning, a window to my own fractured psyche.  And true to form, something quite remarkable did occur.
On the way home I was crippled by panic to a degree I hadn't felt in decades.  

So that experiment went south on me.  Now I'm home and in my familiar surroundings, the waves of everyday anxiety quietly roiling beneath the covers of my mind, but with the strange uneasiness that I'm no nearer (and in fact perhaps further) from anything like an answer to my nervous questions.  Of course, as my wife will tell you, as with anything I address, that old pat answer pops up: the theological implications are staggering!  Yup, it's back to the diaphanous realm of faith I suppose.  
I feel like, maybe just for me, if I had a stronger faith that I was cared for and looked after, that some God wanted, really wanted for me to go on, to live freely and joyously, that I'd feel that much better.  Mortality has maybe everything to do with this, and I'm feeling acutely mortal.  I have my family, my children, my marvelous and beautiful babies...I have more than I had ever imagined for my life.  I'm scared to death of even missing moments with them, of not being present for some poignant flash of time.  And this fear, this being scared to death (catchy vernacular, that) has me frightened to the point of believing that the end is just around the corner at any given moment. That..is...insane.  I can't think of any other way to put it.  The inability to continue living out of the fear of death.  We all die, and of course how many Rinpoches need to remind me of the necessity of acknowledging the value of 'dying well', having a relationship with the inevitable?  Cripes, intellectually I get it...I freakin' get it!  But there's a disconnect with waking reality somewhere, and I can't help but feel deeply that it has to do with faith, my faith, for me.  (I'm certain there are atheists that don't know panic and have wonderful lives; I've already crossed the threshold into the miasma of uncertainty...)  

And so I suppose the next quest begins, a deeper journey into faith.  About three weeks ago the adage rang clearly in my mind: when the student is ready, the teacher will appear.  I await the teacher, and wander for now with a mind and heart open to receive the message that will carry me through this forest.  What a gift to my family, and what a gift to my children in the future.  The gift of watching my body language and facial expressions for some peace, some modicum of safety, and receiving it in full.  
Full enough to drive home with the windows down, the radio playing, and smiles on everyone's faces.  

May the God of your understanding shine upon you, friend, and ensconce you in all the love and power of One that made the universe...and you.  'Cause the world just wouldn't be the same otherwise.  

Lost

Great God, friend, how I've changed.  I now have five children and three hundred and twenty two thousand gray hairs.  If it's any consolation whatsoever: I've missed you.  How did I ever have so much time as to contribute to this..? 
No matter.  I hope to speak with you soon. 

Knowing

And you, night: I recognize you now. Every day, from Court Street to beyond 125th Street on the ACE and often back, after walking atop the bee hive vibration of a hollowed out spine of earth and iron, I see you. In that soot-patinæd steel projectile we sway and lurch in perfect unison, eyes never once meeting, for years?, but our shared space and witness to humanity at its pinnacle of mundane, to labor, to rest, to labor again.

Maybe you were sad

one day.

I couldn't have known.

For all that we share

in the vacuous space

under the dirt and concrete

and asphalt and mortals

whirls in tunnels and passages,

wet and dank and unseen,

silent but for the ephemeral gnashing

of steel on steel,

hastening ever.

Maybe you don't want to know,

and perhaps

I don't either,

the depth

and meaning

of events and news and wonder and droll.

Maybe I do.

And maybe that's why

I feel...okay

hurtling, as we do,

seeing you there

every day, from 125th Street

and beyond Court Street on the ACE,

and hopefully back.

Midnight Contemplations/Errata, in Conclusion with a Touch of Sadness Somehow

Haven't seen this side of midnight in some time.
No worries, the photo is many years old.
It's been said that it's quite possible (and perhaps all too often palpable) that one can feel alone in a crowded room. I've been performing involuntary empirical studies on the subject lately and I can attest to its validity. And then the gosh-durnedest thing occured to me...again: resentful though I may have been, my dad's 'words of wisdom' keep coming up. Oh, and proving true to boot. (That's the clincher.) Tonights episode fruited another gleaming jewel in said crown with the long ago and far away utterance, "Artists aren't happy people, and maybe when they become happy they stop being artists. They thrive on misery and suffering." I greatly disliked that one, and now I see that my distaste lay in my own myopia: I simply hadn't accrued the experience in life to grasp the concept.

I finished writing the lyrics and music to a song tonight that has been dangling, netless and weary, for several years. I kept thinking, "I'll have the time sometime. I'll make the time sometime." All that crap. Anyway, tonight, alone and frustrated or angry or sad or whatever the hell I was (likely all of the above), I finished the song. It's quite the lamentation in the end although I'm not certain it was meant to be. Don't get me wrong, the melody veers at times toward melancholy, but the impact of what came through me tonight was great. For me, at any rate.

Too much this, none of that, very little of the other stuff, all abutted with silence and aloneness. Lonliness and lamentation sure to follow in whatever form pleases ones muses. Mine answered with song, and for that I'm grateful.

There's little point to any of this, dear one, but for me as a means to regurgitate some emotion lest I get clogged. (Hey! What a catchphrase: Blog to Unclog!) I know this, but I'm glad it's here, any time, day or night.

I'm glad you're here too. I hope you know that.

Cutting Diamonds

Many years ago (in excess of 15....whoa) I wrote a song that began with the lyrics, "I said the winter was hardest on me, you said you knew, and without those same excuses, what would I do?" Prescient prose, really, considering its still somewhat miraculous that I come out the other side of February every year. This year I've fared...well, I've fared. When gaunt, hollow-cheeked sailors arrived back in some Spanish port after three years at sea, no one was concerned with the question of how they fared the voyage, and so I'm not entertaining the inane query regarding this winter either. Those that haven't grave tidings are simply miserable in my world this winter. Were it not for the children I may have leapt into the Doldrums of the Horse Latitudes myself. I have muttered the word 'fuck' more in the past month than I have in years...cumulatively. This winter has been hard on me. You knew. Excuses, I know.
When my projects for work tanked before Thanksgiving, you may recall that I was racing about, trying to maintain a family of six humans by any means available. The only means at the time amounted to my current full-time work; to say these means are meager is to call the Lake Erie a nice puddle. The wage is not even nearly enough to support a family, and to supplement I'd been working seven (all seven) days a week. Helps make the winter wonderful. At any rate, after several weeks of this and the mounting, ominous feeling that the condition was not soon to change, I freaked on God. Lost my shit. I screamed and cursed until I very literally lost my voice. I came home and cried really hard on Marcy. I told her that if this is what the deal was between me and God then I wanted out of the contract.
A couple of weeks later, Marcy was scheduled as worship leader at church, and so I was needed in attendance in order to contain the children. I had not been back to St P's since Don left, and the cleft had only widened with time. (Read: I was not pleased to be there.) The children sitting/sleeping contentedly, briefly, I perused the bulletin. The silent meditation read (loosely): Failure is a part of all this. To take this in stride and remain in faith is where discipleship truly ends or truly begins. I ruminated on this for three days before I had a deeper understanding of why it rang my bell so loudly. (I'll assume you probably get it right off the bat, and will spare you the exegesis.) The next morning (every morning from 5:30 to 6:30 is my study time) I opened a particular interpretation of the canonical Bible at random and read. Sixteenth chapter of the gospel according to Luke. Bounced off my frontal lobe like a four inch rubber ball. I read it again; I mean, this is what I opened to, this is what is meant for me. In the end I've now read five (yup, 5) interpretations and still pretty rubber ballish, although I get glimmers I suppose.
Anyway, many twists and turns later (trust me, you'll want to be spared this tome, including my self-inflicted thesis, "What the Christ Jesus Puports to Know Regarding God"...top of the bestseller list, to be sure), and I'm bringing you right into today, I've been spending my study hour back with the Buddha. Drawn like a magnet to an interpretive selection on the esoteric teaching The Diamond Cutter, I've been almost late twice now for my reluctance to put it down. Funny, when one considers that I've had the book for several years now, and have even begun reading it twice before. I suppose now is the time.
Okay, so as I was saying, I read something this morning that has resonated very deeply with me, all day. I hope it resonates with me for a lifetime. Please do allow me to share with you. (Don't concern yourself with any forebearing context. Really.)
"...like watching a pink lotus in a pond near our monastery in India, rising from the only thing that can sustain it-a mash of mud and debris. The metaphor is cherished by Buddhists-Can we be like the lotus? Can we swallow the pain and confusion of life, and thrive on it, and use it to become one of those rare jewels of the world - a truly compassionate person?"

I am officially blown away. Maybe I just needed to hear it in a different prose, a different tone...I don't know, but it speaks directly to me and asks me to check my inner reality, which is always a good thing. I mean, I do try, every day, and strive to be a truly, genuinely compassionate person. Maybe its just that I feel like my roots have been in the shit lately and this is someone saying, "Hey, we all get in it brother....the question is do you have what it takes to move on to the next level now?" And maybe all I needed was to be a) reminded that my situtation is not remarkably unique, and b) gently told that the shit underneath can maybe just be the rich humus of humility and helplessness needed to make some other part of this flower grow.

I dare say I'm not what you'd call 'thriving', but I hope I'm presenting the best lotus I can to the world, earnestly, and genuinely. I hope this one stays for a while. I hope to grow on this one.

In a dream

....I have boundless energy. I carry enormous burdens without wincing, my brow not furrowed when eyes cast to God.

...I know what you need, because you are so important to me. I know what I need, and oblige. I'm important to me too.

...money is a concept more than foreign, an entity no more considered than pants on a hamburger. Home is underfoot and the floor is as granite: unwavering.

...I live with the sure knowledge, not needing recognition or description, that I am God...and God is I. We are one seeking ourself.

Errata:

I thought of my mother the other day. I was having lunch by myself on the job and found myself speaking to her. As I questioned why I would do such an ostensibly absurd thing, I found I was more truly asking a louder, deeper question: "If you're around, if you even have the faintest of consciousness to any of this, please let me know." At the precise moment I became aware of what I was asking so deeply, I noticed some movement to my right. I turned in my chair to see a mouse, standing, staring at me, just out of arm's reach. Moments into the encounter, as dissonance flooded my mind, the mouse ambled behind some wood. "Hey, little friend, you needn't be frightened of me," I entreatied, "come on over. I can share my lunch with you." At that, the mouse walked quietly over and sat directly beneath me in the chair. Psychically stammering, I cut a piece of tortilla and dropped it to my left, whereupon the mouse gladly picked it up and scurried behind a plastic pail to eat it.

I left the mouse some rice, beans, and more tortilla in the container placed on the floor and went back to work.

The container was washed clean by the time I left for home.

Rob Base and DJ E Z Rock

What, pray tell, does Rob Base have to do with any of this? I'm so glad you asked!

They created the ever-prescient song Joy and Pain, the gist of which is, not a big surprise, the omnipresent duality in life...."sunshine, and rain" as is sung. And so it is with not a little unclarity that we commemorate the passing of my mother on this day, two years ago. We had a strange relationship that felt to me often that just calling on the phone was to stick my hand blindly into a basket of rattlesnakes. Perhaps not the most pleasant of images, but apt nonetheless. She had baggage that predated my birth, baggage that weighed so very heavily on her daily, baggage that I somehow managed to get packed into apparently from the moment of birth. I have not unwound the ball of emotional yarn even nearly yet, what with all the knots and snarls.

At our worst, I feared her more than any human on the earth, and her proclivity for emotionally filleting me was second to none. I was the bag she beat on, the dog she kicked at the end of a bad day. I never reached the apogee of hatred, per se, but rather remained bewildered and groping in a haze of constant surprise (naïveté on my part, to be sure).

Nor do I think, presently, she necessarily hated me, which offers some comfort. My mother was a devestatingly sad and injured soul wandering this earth, and I was merely a reminder of many sad and injurious years of her life, and it has taken many years just to understand this part, and now to begin to unravel the truth that that was not my fault. Powerful stuff on those days I can remain in that vibration.

I look back with some genuine fondness nowadays. She was, after all is said and done, my mother; I was of her flesh and blood and bone. Being a parent, I understand that there are profound implications of love that run deeper and broader than any human spectrum can comprehend between a child and its parent, and she most certainly posessed that love as well. And perhaps now that I am a modicum wiser, a bit more sure of myself, I even miss her. I loved her profoundly always on earth, and I love her even more now.

To my mother: we never had it easy, and we did the very best we could with the strengths and weaknesses we had. I hope you look as fondly on me and my family as we look to you. It was an honor and a real blessing to be with you at the time of your passing, and I thank you for allowing us to be there. I love you so very much, and I am working diligently on genuine forgiveness. I hope you're well and learning all you need in the loving hands of God, in tender Mercy and infinite Grace.

Joy and pain, sunshine and rain.

Hard time with this ship.

Okay, here we go. The seas are rough, brothers and sisters, have no doubt. Why must this world be like this, you may find yourself asking, to which I've come to respond, "It's not the world, it's society" that shapes the crests and deep-bellied troughs. Staring out over an ocean of mediocrity and expenditure of energy to increase capital for wealthy capitalists, and the ebb of economic tides sends us plebian crabs skittering for any ort of paying labor we can manage to grasp in our atrophying claws. The neap of available workforce delights the hungry gulls on the shoreline, a workforce wide-eyed, scared, and lost in the twilight of confusion and fear that has obscured the warm sunlight of security like pollution being pumped from the factory stacks inland.
I don't like the idea that now we work for medical benefits, job security, and lowered wages in exchange for a bonded family and joyous life. "Are you willing to work 60 hours per week?", "Are you willing to work nights, weekends, and holidays?" These ubiquitous queries are, and with full intention, emotional tenderizers preparing the unfortunate candidate for the fires of the oven.
Wanna jump on the big American cruise ship of capitalism? Get ready for a harsh dose of spiritual scurvy, mateys.

The breakfast was a rousing success, with total net donation to the family over $700. The event was covered by no fewer than five media sources, including the two newspapers in the area, and we all had a really great time doing it. We served more than our goal of 100 people and hope to make it a regular event. Feels pretty good!

We kept the children home from school on Tuesday so they could witness all the history unfolding with us at home. For all the bane attached to the television (not the least of which from within these very walls), we were very grateful to have had access to the events of the day from the warmth of our own home. Amidst all the tears of peace and joy, the cheering and clapping and general hooting and hollaring, I think we all came away with something that will live like Emily Dickinson's bird of poem in our hearts for the rest of our lives.

Let's carry this pervasive energy of hope and compassion for as long as our spirits are able.

Sharing the Dream

Don't forget that in revernce for the late Dr. King, the holiday celebrated as "Martin Luther King, Jr. Day" was established as a national holiday (day off from work) in order for Americans to be of service to their communities and beyond.

Anyone local can come to St. Peter's from 8 until 11 in the morning Monday, where Marcy and has organized a pancake breakfast under the auspices of the Youth Group. The idea being that one should have a hearty breakfast prior to undertaking a day of service. 100% of the proceeds will benefit the family in Chatham that lost their home to fire recently. With an infant and two older children, the total loss has been even more devestating for the family to bear. Many local service-providers and retailers have generously donated thus far, with both financial capital and locally-grown/produced goods. More than a hundred are expected, and we'll be ready for even more, so don't be shy!

For my friends more far-flung, what a terrific opportunity to show gratitude and Grace in action. Rock on! Change is the popular contemporary mantra, and all change starts from within, so why not get out there and help someone else. God knows we all need to...nothing, absolutely nothing, compares to the feeling of selfless giving, and Monday is the opportunity to just get on board and do it...and all in the memory of a gifted and brilliant leader.

Have a blast out there with your friends and neighbors!

Like Tubing the Approach to Niagra Sometimes

On an early Queen album (as in, 1973), there's a line with a modestly triumphant tune that goes "Funny how love is everywhere you're bound to be...", and it gets stuck in the reel in my mind every now and again, and tonight was one such evening.



Elephants. Our son is passionately fascinated with them, has been for possibly eternity. As I was saying goodnight this evening, I noticed he was crying, and when I asked him what was going on, he burst out in tears and pointed to a cartoon of, of all things, two presumably Neanderthals (literally) hunting a mammoth. It's a kids' book ostensibly, so the images were highly stylized, with googly-eyes on the mammoth, the hunters' no different. But tragically, deeply effected he was.



Truth is: I punted. I mentioned that it was just a cartoon, and when that went over like, well...lead...I went to the door and called for The Mom.



She's good, very kind and infinitely compassionate, and spoke with him very briefly but effectlively. Then she had the chore of explaining life to me. Ha! At any rate, I gathered up an elephant that she had given me for Christmas years ago and headed upstairs. It's beautiful: all legs, trunk, ears, tali and neck are articulated, and it is hand-hewn from a single block of wood, festooned with tapestries and jewels (in paint). It was given to me as a marionette, but upon gazing at it hours after receiving it, I cut all the twine from it to set it free. It actually completely altered the creature.



So anyway, I went upstairs and made the point that the elephant in my hands represented the Indian elephants that are regarded as dieties and exalted with passage and jewels. After describing how they live, I shared a short moment from personal experience with one of my greatest teachers. He made the point that life was vastly less complex if only we do the next right thing. I said, "How do I know what the next right thing is?" His reply was classic Chris-ism. He said, "Just do what's in front of you."






Like it's just that simple.

At any rate, I explained that what that means for us is that we have a choice at nearly every turn to decide: do we want to be ivory-hunters or do we want to view elephants in awe as gifts from God? We discussed that it's not always easy, that we all stumble every day, and that it's about progress, not perfection. Blah blah blah. But sheee-it, did it get me thinking.

Love when that happens.

I'm giving my notice at work on Monday. Marcy has been offered the greatest compliment in that they've not only extended her position, but are currently creating an even greater one for her. She has steadfastly pushed me to move on some other things, and now some are moving toward me as well. I'm fucking miserable at this job. I once again have been put in nearly impossible, no-win situations and shit on for even being there. Problem is (and I have a high threshlold for discomfort in this regard) I end up carrying this sack of shit home with me. The kids are typically in bed by the time I get home, but I wake up ready to chew through the wall, which isn't really that great either. The children have moved so far away from me anymore, and Marcy often just goes to bed to avoid a tirade. At the same time, here comes this glorious news ("news") that the unemployment rate is approaching double-digits, the market is set to fall, pandemonium in the streets and bedlam at the door.

But here's the thing: I've lately been realizing that A) my priority is to be a husband and father, first and foremost, B) I won't get another shot at this, i.e. the kids will never be young again, and C) what am I going to have to look back on when I'm 90? Pay stubs, or relationships with my family full of Grace and Love? And what of the fear? The fear is that we'll nose-dive and crash financially and end up living in her parents' basement or something, I guess. But of course, the current picture is nearly that bleak anyway. And add in how the question was posed to me last week by an esteemed teacher, "Sounds like the choice between Faith and fear.....and what would happen if you took 'The Leap' anyway?"

Indeed.

I'm taking the leap. I love my family way too much. I love my life way too much. I do not believe that God has intended for me (or anyone, really) to be bound by shackles of money, that imaginary, illusory commodity we've all agreed means something. My hands tremble still, to even utter the notion, but I want so much to have my family back, and when push comes to shove, I suppose yes, I am more willing to take The Leap than live in fear and misery.

Life is getting better by the moment, this I do believe. I do believe that Grace is available if only I'm willing to receive it. Happens all the time. All the time, and without fail.

I don't always know what to say or how to respond in this world, and certainly that applies to my own children. I never got the instruction manual. But my love for them is ferocious and empassioned, and I will wear it like a crown and mantle while protecting them like a lion. My wife is perhaps the greatest of blessings in my life. She is strong and wise, and soft and quiet. She guides me and helps me to strive for greater than what my limited human mind can grasp. My love for her is eternal and brighter than the sun.

I am a good father, and I am a good husband, and my legacy will not only be that, but that I lived in Freedom and Gratitude. I am but a servant, forever filled with humility and awe, and I ain't servin' money.

May we continue to know the Prescence of God in all we do.
Let's revere the elephants and show gratitude in our days!
Most of all, may we all tread the path of Light with Love in our hearts and minds.

Smoke and Mirrors sans Mirrors

So as I began to expound in reply to one of Zee's entries on Sunburstgem, I realized I had a lot wound up in this ball of yarn in my noggin.
Oh, the gloom and doom and dire forebodings of the market collapsing and giant corporations tanking and people running mad in the streets. All with the basketball sized pill that the Detroit Three execs rolled up on Washington to plead for money...in their own private jets. Paying taxes this year, anybody? Anybody?
The deal is this: what is the effect on me, lower-middle-class tax bracket guy? Well, at first I thought: not much. The price of fuel is falling which seems like a good thing (I try my very best not to entertain my most cynical thoughts as to that ridiculously volitile market and the reasons driving that farce). I'm not seeing too dramatic a reduction in sales at work, and a lot of folks are saying they're not really aware of any downward trends there, either. But a large factory recently closed in Hudson, just down the way, and that may be a sign. Hmm.
Here's what I've concluded, and in this order (I say that in truth as well as because it kinda makes me chuckle...I don't know why): regardless, and I mean 100% regardless of authentic, genuine experience of the world around us, the media is throwing this market-collapse shit at us like rabid chimps on Ex-Lax. No kidding. It is very nearly impossible to escape the storm of harrowing "news". So as the casual observer of my authentic world, I see a lot of smoke but can't even smell a fire. And so it is with consciousness, I believe: an energy has been generated by this tidal wave of media reporting and whether we choose to hear it/see it/read it/belive it, it's there, it's here, all around us and seeping into our very psychic pores as we merely exist contemporarially. Why this miasma? I'm not sure. Oh I have ideas, but then again you probably do too. Suffice it to say that someone (read: small groups of people) are benefitting heartily from chasing this population of buffalo off the cliff, and even more money is changing hands by the day. This, my friends, I believe.
It's really too bad that it has to be this way, too. But there again, if it is, then surely it must be meant to be so. That's what Faith would have us believe, and sometimes that's bitter and enormous and downright painful....but it's as near Truth for me as I'm able to give anymore. Marcy and the kids and I, animals too, are going to make it, our lives and our life together are amazing, every day, and I really honestly and with all my heart believe that we'll spend the rest of our earthly days with our hearts neatly nestled in this miraculous Truth. We've (collectively) been through the crucible and, sometimes, we think that we just may be there again and again, and that's becoming more and more okay with us.
Marcy and I have come to a very different place with each other. We laid in bed and discussed life the other night. How we ended up where we are, how we need to improve on our situation. How we're going to move through this to the next level, and how we're going to carry the family. Who are you? Remember when we got married? What a glorious time! We were so in love, and so carefree. I still love you madly and God knows I wouldn't want to do this with anybody else. One in billions to me and I'm so very grateful for you in my life.
Our life is fantastic, very much like a fantasy. We have each other, we have our beautiful babies, and we share our space with some pretty amazing sentient beings. Would I do it all over again? In a heartbeat, even on a bad day, and they've been plentiful. All that shit, all the pain and the heartache and the excrutiating pain of loss and lonliness, all so remarkably hot in order to forge this amazing life. Well done, God, well done! We wouldn't turn down a few good breaks, but we get it! Wonderful! Not orgasmically giddy or delusional with abject, laughing happines, but a quiet knowledge that as my understanding (Faith, I think) grows, just to that extent does my inner peace and warm, easy joy. What a wonderful gift. I am really, truly humbled to even consider it.

Oh yeah, that miasma? I'm guessing it'll always be there. But so will my Bella, coming home from school with pictures she's drawn of us as a family with her response to the question inside of "What are you thankful for?" being just the word God surrounded by all different colored hearts, fluttering around the word.
The media will tell me that the darkness has descended on the world market, and Casen will still bring home another Good Citizen award, I have no doubt.
My baby will wake up and awaken me with a big, awkward kiss and we'll play bonk until she's ready for a diaper change. My wife will love me for this soul that lives inside me, with all it's glory and pain, and will show me for all time that it is a Truth. My animal friends will remind me that I can make the biggest difference in the Universe today, right now, by choosing Love.
And God willing, that's exactly what I'll do.
Thank you for your time and consideration and all your wonderful, loving thoughts. It is all given back tenfold.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wtjs0L5Gxlc
The above link, if it works, is something I've found so inspirational as to pull me back from some depths as of late. May it be so with you!

Into the Mystic

I've almost gotten beyond random spells of sobbing with heartfelt joy. There are cynics among us, and some of the suspension of trust and myopic faith in any one politician is not misunderstood. Here's the deal with me and my deep sense of hope and happiness: (you may have suspected a rave at this juncture, I suppose....)

First, we now have voted to become a part and participant in the world in which we live. We have voted to become members of the global village, and I do believe that Barack Obama understands that and all the implications of his being elected to pursue that end. I believe this of him.

Hand in hand with this is that we are experiencing a variety of sensations as a direct and profound result of Obama being elected. We no longer need to live with the fear, however subconscious, that any dissent of the actions of this government is 'unpatriotic' and, of course, worse: punishable. We no longer need to feel the weight and chilling dampness of this shroud we've worn for eight years or more now. We've been freed from the seeming interminable gloom of the obvious lies and the callous disregard. We no longer need to feel embarrassed to be American. On the contrary, seems like most of us are feeling pretty freakin' good about being American right now.

Perhaps I'm overly optimistic, and perhaps a bit naive, but there's so much more at work here, so many things vastly bigger than this superficial stuff. There is something afoot amongst us, those of us who choose to be open to it. We're giddy. We're breathing. Sobbing randomly and getting excited chills. I am, and I don't think I'm alone.

The bottom line is that (as has been said more eloquently) Obama could do nothing and something is still vastly different. Are you with me? It's a sense that something has been freed, given way, and is among us. It's good. It's wonderful. Something very, very big has changed for the better. Think 'genie from a lamp'.

I am so grateful for Barack Obama, and I say so unabashedly. My family is grateful. I, personally, feel hopeful for the first time in a very long time. I hope you allow yourself the opportunity to drop at least a peice of your armor and let some in. Even if for a moment, think optimistically, dream, hope the best of hopes. Set all your best wishes for yourself, this country, and the whole beautiful world on rafts and set them afloat in this. Seriously. It's part of it, I'm sure. I'm sure of it.

He says, "Yes, we can", and personally, I believe him.

Yes we can.



This is just a random photo from
when we went to the mountains
a couple of weeks ago. That's all

Yes we did, and Yes We Can

"Life is beauty and sorrow"

I've lived my life thus far, at least for the past 30 years, with the largely disclosed knowledge that my mother did not love me. The repercussions have been, to put lightly, staggering and the implications as they pertain to who I was and who I have become were something of a malevolent, smoldering forge; this knowledge become creation via crucible.

And I whipped the proverbial horse of this bizarre turn on into the depths, wrestled the demons of the fray, and emerged battered and less than victorious but never fully vanquished. As of late, and since my mother's passing more than a year ago, I've struggled much more privately, due largely in part to needing to be more 'complete' for my family, et al. Now and again my mind would wander the empty streets of the burned out boroughs that were those times remembering. Remembering and not understanding. And at times I would rack with wails and heave in anger and frustration, "how could you do that to a child? What would possess a person to behave that way? Why me? What did I do?" The synapses fired and the water frothed and the frenzy was soon underway. It took days at times to recover.

And very recently something tragic and beautiful happened. Marcy has taken a ten-week, full-time job in order to help alleviate some of the crushing debt we carry, and to help with the times that we gather change from the cars and the house to buy a loaf of bread. Glorious times, and I'm very pleased to say that as far as we can tell, the children have no idea whatsoever. But I digress. So Marcy began this job last Monday. Her mother and father have agreed to help by watching the baby during the day and picking the older kids up from the school bus. Very gracious, and certainly no cake-walk...they're in their mid-70s. I have been going to work a bit later so Marcy can leave the house at 7 a.m. and I can take care of getting the kids to school and the baby taken care of and all that. Poop diapers at sunrise, oh yeah.

And about midway through the week I became so depressed, so very down, and I couldn't pinpoint why. Seemed nothing was bringing me back to the surface, not even the old tricks. I was really struggling with the vortex of this new reality swirling about me, consequences and motives not of my devise, that everything that was now taking place as the new norm was counter in every sense to what I hold dearest in my life. I am a father and a husband, first and foremost, and I can and have become a mad bear when impeded in either case. The new scenario: we're dirt fucking poor and deeply in debt; my job keeps me from my family all but two days a week and doesn't even cover our bills; my wife is now away from our 8 month old daughter from sun-up to sundown; my kids tell me that life is so much crappier since I took this job and that they miss just having dinner with me.........

and there I was, driving my baby to my parents-in-law's house, and the emotions had reached the boiling point and were threatening to blow the lid off. Reaching back into the carseat I felt my baby's little hand grasp my finger and give it a kiss, cooing something all the while. I began crying. I thought, "It shouldn't be like this. I don't want it to be this hard, I'm doing so much that this shouldn't be happening...I just don't get it..."

Then the queerest thing happened.

I remembered something.

I was quite young, 5 at best, and my mom and I were living in Kentucky sitll. We had moved from a tenement apartment with no front door (someone even stole our dog one day) to the backseat of my mom's blue Buick Skylark convertible. It had no rear window, and once it had dusted snow in on us as we slept; I squealed with delight...my mom cried.

So I was maybe 5, and my mom was wearing a pantsuit, her hair down (I used to cry when she put it up). I didn't fully understand what was happening. I was put down in a room full of other kids my age on a floor made up of tan and orange stick figure people. My mother chatted quickly and nervously with one of the older women there, in their green aprons. She bent down and gave me a kiss and began walking out the door. Walking out the door! Well, that's crazy! Why would my mom leave me here? Must be some mistake. Holy shit! There she goes past the window!

And suddenly I remembered with frightening vividity the agony. The pounding on the windows, screaming. The aides pulling me from the window as I kicked and screamed. My mother, her pace quickening to a near run, her hands to her mouth. She was crying. And I just know that she sat in her car and cried till she thought she would die. Her heart broken, that would be the longest day of her life. And all this with the knowledge that this was life now, this is how it was going to be.

I caught a glimmer of that anguish, and I've begun to know the weight that is The Change. And with this pain and frustration, anger and sadness, comes the blossom that is the very genesis of it all, the seed that is Love.

Without some pretty intense love, I wouldn't have such a strong emotional reaction every day; without this love, I may not really care what happened as long as I was taken care of. But that's not how it is. My love for that baby comes from a place so much deeper than I alone am capable of generating that I am certain it is a pulse from the Universe, or, as I prefer to phrase it, the Love I have for that baby is a reflection of the Love of God. Way bigger than me, of that I'm sure. And likely just as big as it was unavoidable for my mom.

I don't relish in discomfort, and I don't look forward to hard times and harder lessons, but by God I'm grateful for the lessons that come with them. And by Grace and diligence I hope I'm able to truly learn these lessons.

Brothers and sisters, we'll never understand God so we may as well give that one up. Let's have Faith that we're not impossible coincidences and think, feel and act Love in this life.

The Love is there, it's just a matter of being open to it.

I love you and I think you're wonderful. Keep up the good work.

Post Script Oblige': A thousand thanks to my brother Adam, without whom I couldn't share this. Not only did he send along a functioning CPU, he paid for the freaking shipping. How cool is that?

Thank you, Adam. Thank you.

Lactose Intolerance and the Weight of Touch

What a week. No worries, I'll barely scratch the surface here.

I will add that I keep dreaming about my old truck. It's been quite pleasant, really. I visited her a few weeks ago...still sexy. Too bad she's a drunk.

Anyway, I drove much bigger trucks in NYC for a few years a while back. It was tough, and I really wasn't the epitome of driver I think, given my interactions with the many I interacted with. Not to be construed as a perjorative judgement, mind you, just a different lifestyle with numerous other lifestyle choices, that's all. At any rate, I've been...well...bothered by one of the drivers at work, and perhaps this outlet is a letting go. Okay, I'm hoping this outlet is a letting go.

Here's a guy, mid-20s, hates life and thrives (and I mean Thrives...yes, capital T thrives) on misery. Bitches about everything. Everything, no hyperbole. I know full well, after having the opportunity to observe this character, that most of this, likely all of this, comes directly from his parents, probably imitating his father; if his father was the only role model for this male, it logically proceeds that he would be heavily imprinted as his father. And it's too bad folks have to live like that. I mean, I'm of the opinion that God has given us this opportunity to learn, and we ain't learning much by repeating, much like we won't get much out of "Gimme Shelter" off the original vinyl pressing if the record skips. skips. skips. The woman singing backup so deftly steals the song from any of those guys, and it only really comes through, filthy and grungy and nasty, on the vinyl. CDs and even cassettes were remastered to eiiminate the soul, er, I mean the background noise.

But I digress.

If the record skips, and the repetitive loop keeps playing and playing and playing, one would never have the opportunity to have their hair on their arms bristle upon hearing it. On vinyl. So it is with us, and with enjoying our gift from the Great Mother/Father, the Universal All, the Big Love. God gave us this life, here, now, as an exquisitely generous gift. I think it was Sogyal Rinpoche who recollected a brilliant teaching from the Knowing Buddha: to live as a human (to be incarnated as such) is an opportunity much like a turtle blindly swimming through the center of a life-ring cast in the middle of the ocean. I think of that one from time to time and it still resonates. And such is my belief on the creation of one's own life: I am here to live a life of my own making, based on my own book of experience, footnoted with gratitude to my teachers along the way.

Long way around the park, but now back to the driver.

Poor kid. He's never just left. Drove. Gotten in his car and driven out of state. Far away. Alone. You know the kid. Just almost zero life experience, and it's pitiful. Not in a sarcastic or deriding sense, in the sense of the ease with which I and others conjure pity for his plight. It's life-myopia, and it's a dead end, he just has no idea. And I bear pity in mind to a point, and that point was reached quickly just the other day when he pulled in with his six year old son (yes, he has a son). First of all, as a heavy smoker, he had just pulled a seven hour run with his young son in a cab of thick gray cigarette smoke. But to be honest, that wasn't even the saddest part. He later explained that since his son is lactose intolerant he and his "old lady" feel "a little guilty sometimes" when they go out for ice cream and he can't have any.

Am I alone in feeling put off? Really put off?

I'm currently human, so I ask for guidance, ask to become a bigger vessel. I'm trying.

I have an experiment for you kids at home to try. Go more than a week with no human touch whatsoever. At all, no brushing past, no handshake, nothing.

Then receive a hug. Hold hands with a dear loved one. The touch is as expansive as the universe and probably as powerful as well.

When I was an impatient greenhorn, thinking I'd had all the tutelege I needed, I built this wall. In a day. The guy with the excavator who was to come and back fill and grade the area behind the wall was going to be two days later than we had agreed on, leaving me...well, impatient. I finished building the final four feet on a seven foot height in remarkable time. It was beautiful. Imposing, straight as an arrow's flight. One of the blocks at about knee-level was a fraction of an inch out on one corner, so I tapped it with the back of my fist.

What you see above to the right is the result of impudence, impatience, wanton disregard for what I knew all along was haste, and yes....what you see is also the result of touch.

My baby daughter continues to be a profound teacher of extraordinary merit to me. She has lately been working with me on touch.

The lesson only began to break through the cloudy skies of my waking consciousness when I was, well, half asleep.

My most beautiful and exalted wife had just about had it a few nights ago. Our little angel has gotten into the interesting habit of waking every hour or so. All night. Vociferously. I wake most times and try in vain to help, but my wife does absolutely take the brunt of the waking and the labor of nursing and coddling and all else. I've begun to become a modicum more helpful in that I take the baby for early morning walks down the road, or scoop her over to me and coo and such to quiet her. My wife, my Iron Woman, has taken to sleeping on the sofa at some point during the night between wakeful jags.

That said, I just couldn't get that baby to relax and go to sleep the other night. Exasperated, I laid the down pillow over her from the chest down...and she stopped crying immediately. Interesting. From then on, I've been laying my arm across her while curling her little body into mine, and it most certainly soothes her, although it's as of yet far from infallible (the blanket still on the sofa, bags still under all adult eyes). At any rate, it got me thinking about touch, and the incredible power it holds. What Grace, that we wield such power for goodness, for love. The blessings of touch are divine, and I hope to not forget this lesson.

What a great baby.

Of course, I may be a little predisposed to a certain opinion.

Wow. There's a babble. Feels nice, though, and I certainly appreciate getting it out of me. Zee, assuming you'll feel this even if you don't read it, thank you for your wise words. The blog is like an old friend, always there and a great listener to boot.

Hope your vessel is growing exactly as quickly or as slowly as you're ready for at this point, brothers and sisters. I do firmly believe that God will never give us more than we're ready to handle, and that we can hope for and acheive great things for ourselves and those around us...if we just ask.

"Do not think so much.

Surrender. Believe.

Unprepared, move out to the world and testify.

The words will come. Serve.

From now on service is kingly.

There are no more kings."

-excerpted from a poem by Barry Hannah, inspired by the Good News of

Mark.

And verily I say, there are no more kings.

Service. Touch. Smile and laugh with.

What a wonderful gift, this life.

Thank God.

(Thank you, God!)

Still Rowing, With An Option to Drift

Such a fascinating array of choice in this life, wouldn't you agree? After getting other peoples' responsibilities very unceremoniously dumped on me again (and again and again) yesterday, I consulted (okay, unloaded) with my other half, my most trusted and intimate confidant and guide, and after much consideration and discussion recommended that I remain quiet. HA! Remain quiet?! Why I... Well, that just might work, I thought, and I totally see where you're going with this. Okay, cool.

So quietly I entered today, and finding the whole family awake and ready to begin the day at 7, we decided that it would be a good time to follow up on some unfinished business. Kids dropped off at park program, we headed to Social Services. We've been hoping for (and indeed counting on) assistance, at least for food or oil.

I don't know when the last time you hung out at your county Social Services was, but I can attest to the...the, um...flavor maybe? of the experience. It was exhausting, no kidding, to keep the protective armor manifested around us, Charlotte especially, although she seemed to be having a good ol' time as always regardless of atmosphere.

At any rate, seems like there were quite a few able-bodied younger folks of questionable moral fiber and intention there, and that was discouraging, but the judgement is not for my role, and I'll leave it there, in mind and blog.

When we were finally called in, the counselor reviewed our budget (bills, lease, check stubs, etc) and declared that we, (and I quote) "make way too much money". I was a little surprised (we were just barely over the limit), and Marcy's face actually fell. I queried as to what that actually meant, and she replied that in New York state, the law requires that a family of five not make over $2,110 per month in order to receive assistance. Chagrined, we remained silent, stammering, to which the counselor provided some information about rent being $620 per month, to which I exclaimed, "We'll take that apartment!" Case in point, we lived (a family of five, mind you) in a pretty shitty town (drugs and drunks on the sidewalk) in a falling-apart, spider-ridden, ceiling-leaking broken-toilet wall-cracked mold-emporium hole in the freaking wall for $720 per month...and everyone agreed it was a steal for that cost. Upon leaving, we were a little deflated to say the least.

My beautiful love of my life was actually quite shaken, and it crushed me, kinda winded me, to see her like that. I silently asked for help.

The meditation I had read this morning came quickly to mind. Allow me to share a snippet: "Our decision to give love, then, can be a calculated one - we already know the results. This shouldn't be our motive though. Wondering what we are getting out of giving to others can be a hindrance to our peace of mind because we're missing God's point. If we concentrate on the giving, the receiving will take care of itself. Today I will try to give unselfishly."

I wondered how for only a fraction of a second before the news came. An elderly member of our congregation (and a woman whom I'm a deacon for) was taken back to the hospital yesterday, only days after suffering a mild heart-attack.

My wife, I would like to say yet again, is so remarkably soulful and connected...she got it immediately. We were off to the hospital.

Such a wonderful time. We visited and laughed and Ruth (the woman in the hospital, for those of you playing along at home) held Charlotte's hand and they giggled together. Ruth spoke often of her love for children, and how she would've had many more of her own if they'd had the money to allow it. After a while a nurse came in ane mentioned that she was going to run some more tests, so we once again offered that we lived only about 10 minutes from her house if she needed anything, and that I would stop by again soon if she was still in the hospital.

As good as it felt (and it felt wonderful) to have visited, as though we were there for her, it got extra-wonderful when we decided to stop in and see if Joan and Pam, two nurses who helped immensely with the birth of Charlotte, we in in the maternity ward. As we were opening the door, I mentioned how incredible it would be to see Dr Hines, the man who I credit with not just delivering my Angel Charlotte into this world, but also without question the man that saved Marcy's life. (Didn't hear about the daring and wrenching life-threatening birhting? Still brings tears to my eyes and sometimes makes me shudder still.) Needless to say, he is nothing short of a hero in my book, and I basque like an adherent in his presence, and his presence is radiant and beautiful on its own.

At any rate, who was the first person we see upon entering? You got it, Dr Hines was at the table, and we both said simultaneously and ecstaticallly, "There he is!" Laughing, he came over, amazed at how Charlotte has...well, thrived. I have all the more respect for a man who can let all the guards down and give and receive enormous, warm hugs, and that we did. We spent a while together, yakkin' away and getting his encouragement to have another baby (we'll see about that one...), and left feeling like we were walking on air. What a wonderful day it had become!

I've written well beyond what I had intended for this evening, so I'll truncate the rest of the day by adding that I then helped wash and pack some greens at a friend's farm and laughed until I cried with his 5 year old son, visited some other friends on their farm, then worked like it was the end of days in the office until my incredible love came for me and made me go eat pizza with her. It made the workload and the late night in the warehouse vastly more bearable to say the least, and I may even have enjoyed myself a bit in the process.

I guess when I'm really on it, when I'm really attuned to higher intentions, which is really a long-way-around saying 'when I'm open to hear God' (feel God, intuit God, whatever...), it's like stepping somewhere else entirely on the perimeter of the circle. The situation is the same: we're hard-core, sad-ass broke, and the bills that have accumulated in the past months are still piling up; my job requires long hours for minimal pay and zero acknowledgement; I don't spend nearly enough time with my family and I'm not sure how we're going to make it even before the winter even sets in! No shit! But the perspective changes drastically when I'm open to being moved to another part of the circle. The light is different, the perspective has changed. My family is amazing; I have more in them than I ever thought this life had in store for me. The love my wife and I share is worth many lifetimes. I am clean and sober, and can say that I haven't taken a drink or an illicit drug (still rock the aspirin now and again) in more than 7 years. 7 fucking years! C'mon, man, that is some Grace workin' right there! I enjoy my path back to God and the results of my search are my rewards in themselves. Ya know, it boils down to simply (ha ha) being reminded of what's truth, of what's real, what's actually important in this life. Not that crazy shit-storm of fear and ego and society, that'll be there whenever we want to tune into it. Some pretty crappy shows on the television...doesn't mean I need to watch 'em. Think I'll listen to the radio, take a walk, play frisbee with the kids. I won't be able to do that in another seventy years and time has a habit of sneaking around the backside when we don't pay attention. Bills'll get paid eventually. The present is the time to dance with my beautiful wife in the kitchen, let the kids know what love is all about.

Today was a good day.

I Never Feel Like Chicken Tonight

In a world of odd images, this one gets some caliber of merit in my book. Look at this thing. Just odd.

And so it is, sisters and brothers, that sometimes there arises a strict intercession of credo, a jumping-off point, even when we may be inclined to cognitively feel as though we've traversed said chasm.

And so it is sometimes, too, that the event arises as a dust-dervish: silent and invisible, save for that which it pulls in from without. And indeed perhaps it is in these times of quiet and relative calm that decisions are to be peened into shape for use at a later time, for a later event.

Perhaps.

But that's just covering my ass.

Really the events that transpire at this point are very much like dust pulled up in the vortex of that dust-dervish. Maybe spray hurled from the perimeter of the eye of a cyclone. The sea is basically calm, the horizon obscured by thick fog and darkened skies.

Row row row your boat...

Lightening illuminates the troubled, pendulous clouds and the low, throaty growl of thunder washes over the vessel.

...Gently down the stream...

A furtive glance about the boat. Am I alone? Where am I and how did I get exactly here? Rocks and crags. Serpents and marauders. The mind wanders into dark crevasses, cold and eerily dank, where it knows it should not go.

Merrily merrily merrily merrily...

The night may soon close in, constricting and alien. At this late stage, who will come for me? How will someone find me? This voyage is not what I had envisioned, although to be fair, I hadn't envisioned anything at all. I was sold a ticket when I was quite naive, and now have no choice but to find my may. The sail is rent from top to bottom, the oars have been pitched in the earlier tumult, the rudder is splintered and worn. She creaks at the whisper of gale, and she's waterlogged and tired.

...Life is but a dream.

Life is but a dream.

Profoundly wise and virtuous teacher, as I regurgitated fears upon him one afternoon, asked me if I knew the song. "Yeah? How does it go?"

I sputterred, likely blushed, "Oh..."

But no. He pursued until I indeed sang it:

Row row row your boat,

Gently down the stream.

Merrily merrily merrily merrily!

Life is but a dream!

Smiling at me, he may have witnessed the corners of a veil being lifted.

I have some really uncomfortable decisions to make. I need to provide for my family. I've really got to learn the lessons right now.

I've deleted a billion words and will summarize with this: Things are tough, but God has never forsaken me, and I don't think God will now.

Mohammed reminded us that the sparrows never feared for not being provided for.

The disabled man at the Healing Pool at Bethesda told Jesus he couldn't get to the pool because no one would carry him. Jesus responed, "Take up your mat and walk."

Take up my mat indeed.

Row row row my boat, gently down the stream.......

And Brett called too!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=urt2cy7AqFs
Dreams are some shit, huh?

Off-gassing and cumpulsory physiological jettisoning of the daily flotsam or inter-dimensional passage through the veils of heavy carbon-based reality? That's one for Sagan and Steiner to posit and discuss; as for me, I make statements like, "Dreams are some shit, huh?"

The link above is an homage (if not something more direct) to one such dream. Brett felt really poorly about something, emotionally I mean, and he spent a bit of time trying to convince me that he was actually fine but I was so not buying it. Then, or perhaps even throughout, I don't recall, the song above played. Played predominantly, actually. One way the Universe (God, if you prefer) works (in my opinion, anyway) is that from one ort of information or experience an entirely different universe is created. Granted it's to a greater or lesser degree, but the fact remains, and this Carole King snippet is a prime example to illustrate.

Heavily wafting through my dreamscape is 'So Far Away' by Carole King. Upon waking, I can't recall for the life of me what the song was that I was hearing, but on the radio that morning in the office I hear a different Carole King song and think first, "That is so awesome!" because a) I haven't heard a Carole King song on the radio, let alone that station, in what may be years, and b) it's what I personally nowadays gratefully take as a sign of Synchronicity in the Universe. (If you don't that's your prerogative, but I beg you to indulge in it's magnificent reality some time: it's intoxicating)

The next thing that happens (after being not at all subtly reminded of the presence of God in my life and thereby lifted to a higher vibration) is I see Greg in the warehouse (nextdoor to the office) and feel inclined to engage him in conversation regarding this song I dreamt of but can't remember. He can't pull any out of the air from 'Tapestry', but fondly recalls the album. Who knows where his mind wanders and therefore his outlook and whole day changes! See where I'm going with this?! Very cool stuff.

So now Greg and I talk a lot about...that's right! '60s and'70s music! Nice. Plus this morning it was still on my mind so I start looking on YouTube for Carole King songs to jog my mind and lo and behold there it is, jumping out at me (last night's dream included bike riding with Alton Brown who decided to try his hand at improvisational comedy before a weary audience that included an apparently bored polar bear...but that's neither here nor there). After I listen to it a couple of times, I continue to explore some other favorite artists, including Alana Davis, who I haven't heard from in over a year. Wonderful! I'd forgotten how talented she is, and recalled that I hadn't listened to her cds in some time, so I pick a couple out of the rack and listen to them on the way to and from work. She's so good. Good music, I'm happy!

Oh, and Brett called and he's okay, and I felt like a yoke had been lifted from my shoulders. All good.

It goes on and on, as though our collective conscience is really just a big pool and our thoughts ripples...kinda cool. Won't even get into manifestation here, but let's not forget what they even mentioned in elementary school for cryin' out loud: "manifest destiny". Break it down and think about it...how'd that one get past the machine's radar? LOVE IT!

There's a ramble for ya, and by God thank you for being there....even if you aren't. I'm talking collective here.

I'll be preparing for a cleanse soon, so as to better attune to my purpose as a conduit of God's Love in action; I'm looking forward to it.

In the meantime, hope you enjoy the song/video. Carole and Sweet Baby James are wonderfully youthful and...new I guess is the word I'm searching for. Perhaps it will effect you and your day/evening. Who knows?

Those questions are second prize anyway. The winner is in the being.

Remember Extreme?

Come on, remember, "More than words"? Yeah, I know, most groan when forced to consider the song, but the portent holds yet. Above is a picture from the past week, when we all spent a few days in Pennsylvania at a family reunion. Charlotte was so happy to meet her distant cousin Claire that she, no kidding, gave her a big kiss. She was just ecstatic. The lessons I was granted are still unfolding, and this was most certainly a blessed event of the highest vibration...so much so that I still need time to consider and reflect and (soon, I hope) assimilate all that I was given. Such emotion, such wonder and depth...I hope to share with you soon! In the meantime, I thought the photo spoke some deeper innocence and truth that I could hardly wait to share, so there you have it.

And speaking of deeper innocence...HA! These guys were great fun. My wife gets such kick out of how I always sneak off with dogs wherever we go.

May you continue to feel the presence of an all-loving, ever-present Parent God as you wend through your days, and I hope to share some more time with you soon.