Montello Alpaca Company

Everything is going to be o.k.

2013-05-12T11:40:00.001-07:00

Everything is going to be o.k.

God was right after all. Everything is going to be o.k. Even if your in a war, and then you loose a child, you can't find a job, you have no family, no friends, are all alone, it is going to be o.k. Even if you can't feed your family, when your wife leaves you, you are homeless, or in jail for the first time with no one to call. No matter what life throws at you, even death, it will be o.k.

Everything is exactly the way it should be, exactly how it is, working just the way it was intended by the one. When I had my moment of seeing, and subsequent moments after that I saw that death really is an illusion, and that it is like waking up from a dream. After the storm of life settles, remaining awake in the dream can be heaven on earth. It is only when we fall back into ego that we suffer. Heaven is here and now, awakening is game that is played to forget that.

I laughed hard for a long time. Everything that happened to me I did to myself. Everything that I did to others I was only doing to myself. I know that no one is really hurt, and nothing is ever lost.

I have three teachers I have been studying under, Adyashanti, Eckhart Tolle, and Alan Watts. I have never met any of these men personally, Alan Watts persona is no longer embodied of course. I was drawn to these three more than any other teachers.

I would really love to find a personal teacher that lives around here. I mean someone who is a little further along that can assist me in some of the hurdles that often come after any awakening. Like Adya says, after awakening there is a process, and that is where the real work begins. There are some danger of a post awakening super ego, among other things.

I wonder how many of those Pharaoh's or Emperors who built empire actually came from some guy who had some kind of awakening experience and thought he was God, or at the very least talked to by God. If you have ever heard Charles Manson talk you would see that he talks like he has had an awakening that was co-opted by his ego. I am saying this to acknowledge that I am being cautious and proceeding slowly.

I am going in and out of focus. Mostly when my eyes are open, I see from my human body. When my eyes are closed, I feel as one. I have had a few moments that sucked me in for a bit, but for the most part I have been working through them pretty quick. Like five to ten minutes, that is pretty good for me. I used to spend days fuming over stuff. Thus far I have not had complete aperture closure as Adyashanti describes it.

The feeling of dwelling as one with God is essentially the same thing Mormon's call the spirit. So in that sense I think Joseph Smith is right, stick to the spirit and you can't go wrong. There is a new understanding of being in the world but not of it. Being in the illusion, but not believing it anymore, not getting caught up in it.

I have compared awakening to death before. However it is also like birth. The act of labor is similar to the awakening process. Often awakening is associated with a dark night of the soul experience, this is very much like a woman hitting the wall in labor, it is your darkest moment, your deepest despair, it is the brutal tearing away of all that is false in you.

For a first time mother you may not really know what to expect. At first you don't quite know what is happening but you can tell that something feels different. Then the labor pains begin. At first it is manageable, but then the process intensifies. Life starts ripping away your false identifications one by one.

Some people have short labors, some people have long labors, and some people die in their labors before the birth happens. There is a lot of different kinds of birthing experiences. Some women can have painless deliveries, some have it hard. So to I imagine there are a lot of different experiences leading to awakening.

When the pain gets very intense then we see what we are really made of. Many people want to escape it, numb it. Many women run to the needle to avoid the pain, many doctors are quick to proscribe things that often complicate the process. Many people in life run to a drug or some other thing to try to deal with this. But a wise laborer knows that the numbing can slow down, interfere with, and even complicate the natural process.

My awakening was brutal. It just got more and more painful until I finally let go, and realized my ego has no control whatsoever. I quit, I gave up. I was exhausted and could not go on. There is no doctor to take the baby out for you. There is no one to bail me out of this one. It is wake up or die, ...and then wake up. Yet somehow, just like a woman in labor, I found the strength to give it one last push. One last push each time until finally the baby comes.

Enlightenment

2013-05-04T12:44:00.002-07:00

"And it came to pass that it was for the space of many hours before Moses did again receive his natural strength like unto man; and he said unto himself: Now, for this cause I know that man is nothing, which thing I never had supposed." - Pearl of Great Price: Moses Chapter 1 Verse 10

I saw for myself that man is nothing. I woke up from this dream of life and saw myself for what I really am. On April 28th, 2013 around 9 or 10pm in the evening, I had a moment of enlightenment. The veil that separates me from God was lifted and I saw all of existence and God as as one whole and complete entity alone in existence.

I saw that God created life for enjoyment. All life takes place inside the body/mind of God. Life is like a virtual reality game that God enjoys very much. Essentially your body is just an avatar for God. It is set up so that each time God is born into a body it forgets what it is. This separation is all an illusion created by the game. In reality, all people and all things are one. God, all life, all people, all of existence is one conscious entity of pure intelligence, love and consciousness.

Some funny and amazing implications to this. You are God fooling itself into believing it is a human. Imagine the relief one experiences when one wakes up and see's that in fact they are not a human, but God. It is a terribly funny experience I think God does not grow tired from. Death is like waking up from sleep. Nothing in life is lost. No one in life is lost. All of life is stored forever like files on some kind of eternal computer inside of God. Not even a hair of your head shall be lost.

Life is the experience of God fooling itself into believing it is a person. God finds this to be a terribly funny joke on itself, and it gets a kind of satisfaction from life like one would get from a good dream, movie, or book. This truth will be revealed to all at some point either through death, the last laugh, or through awakening before death, and then again after death.

Some Guru's have taught that there is more to awakening than this. I am open to seeing that. However for the most part my impression was that life is just a game without much more meaning or purpose than that. I saw that life is where God likes to rest and play from time to time. There seems to be some kind of relief, rest, or dreaming value to the life experience beyond mere entertainment.

I don't know if I will be posting as frequently as I have been now. I don't know what the future will bring. There is a post awakening process that I will be engaged in fully.

Thanks for reading,
Geoff

This is Where the Gods Hide

2013-04-30T18:08:00.002-07:00

Something happened to me today(Sunday). I started writing this post on Sunday but have not been able to finish it. It is difficult. I have been attempting to write about it for days now but I have not been able to say it the way I want yet.

It started out like every other Sunday, me hanging out with my two Cats. I can’t go to church yet, it is too painful. I look at the happy married couples and the small children and my heart aches too much for me to stand.

There are songs I associated with Garrett’s funeral. One of them is The Scientist, by Coldplay. The other is Wake Up by Arcade Fire. I haven’t listened to either of these songs voluntarily for 3 ½ years. I am listening to one of them now, Wake Up, by Arcade Fire. I still can’t see pictures of Garrett, but this is a sign that things are getting better. I can enjoy the song. It is still a little sad, but it doesn’t hurt so bad. I like the lyrics, they are very non dualistic. I like the feeling and the vibe.

Everyone I met today was like seeing a part of me or some reflection of my own life or my own story. I could identify and connect with everyone. A strange event occurred and I suddenly was attracting a lot of people into my life. People calling me out of the blue, old friends, new friends, acquaintances etc. I got invitations that filled my day, and some for next weekend. It was very strange how all at once it was.

On the way home from this amazing day of connecting with people and meeting new friends and old friends I got a call from a new acquaintance who invited me to his house to meet his family.

It wasn’t cold out so we sat outside and talked. I was with perfect strangers yet it seemed like old friends. They looked more familiar as the night went on like friends, then family, then as a part of me.Then it happened.

I don't know what to call it. It was very much like a veil had been lifted. The people I was watching sort of melted away and for a moment I experienced oneness. There was no other at all, and the illusion of it was revealed to me as other melted away.

Even my vision blurred into one massive image of brilliant light in some kind of senesthesia. The other melted away and there was just one, just center. I saw that I am that. I saw that there is only one thing, and the other is an illusion, like some kind of game or joke. It was like I saw my reflection against the still surface of the universe, what I saw as other was me. My mind can not comprehend what it is, which is also why it has been so hard for me to write about. How can I explain it if I don’t ‘understand’ it myself?

I leaned back in my chair after this experience and looked around at the faces of those around me, and thought to myself, "Ahhh, so this is where Gods hide. In faces of those around you. In the forgotten dark corners of the world. In the places you would never look for the truth, places decent people won't go. In every moment all around you is heaven on earth for those who see."

The Clouds Part

2013-04-27T20:29:00.001-07:00

I just wanted to share two quotes from Thich Nhat Hanh, a friend recommended his writings to me, and I am glad I looked into it. Thanks.

Below are two quotes I wish I was familiar with as well as people around me would have been familiar with before Garrett died.

“When another person makes you suffer, it is because he suffers deeply within himself, and his suffering is spilling over. He does not need punishment; he needs help. That's the message he is sending.”
― Thich Nhat Hanh

“When you plant lettuce, if it does not grow well, you
don't blame the lettuce. You look for reasons it is not
doing well. It may need fertilizer, or more water, or

less sun. You never blame the lettuce. Yet if we have
problems with our friends or family, we blame the other
person. But if we know how to take care of them, they will
grow well, like the lettuce. Blaming has no positive
effect at all, nor does trying to persuade using reason
and argument. That is my experience. No blame, no
reasoning, no argument, just understanding. If you
understand, and you show that you understand, you can
love, and the situation will change”
― Thich Nhat Hanh

Stories from my Mother.

2013-04-22T18:51:00.003-07:00

My Mom has a lot of her own crazy stories. Some of them are easy for me to believe, and others are not so easy. After you get to know her a bit you get a better idea which ones you can believe and which ones you can't.

Originally from the Ozarks in Arkansas, my mother moved to the sunny beaches of San Diego California at least before high school. I wonder if my parents knew where each other were from before they knew they liked each other. I wonder if it was the south that my parents both recognized and appreciated in each other at first, maybe not even realizing it.

My father like my mother moved from Mississippi to the same place as my Mother in California some time before high school as well. Did they have accents? Did they stand out? Did they talk like Californians? I never knew until now how much that southern thing shaped who and what I am.

There is surface culture, like language and maybe mannerisms, or dress. Then there is the non surface culture, a certain set of values, a certain unspoken belief system. Both my parents being from the south, southerners, who spent some years on the Sunny beaches of California before they started having us kids.

One story of my Mom's that she was at the beach and floating around with some kind of inflatable device and a small child with her. This was not too long after Jaws came out for the first time in 1975. I was born in 1977. I can't remember which kid my Mom said she had. Anyway, a shark attacked her. Her motherly instinct kicked in and she bit the shark hard on the nose.

Then she realized it was a dolphin, a playful one. Or at least it used to be, before my Mom bit it on the nose, mistaking it for Jaws. I was in San Diego, not to long ago. I saw dolphins swimming very near to the people wading in the water at the beach one day.

Here are some stories my Mom tells about me. Some of them I remember, and some of them I don't.

One I remember. I saw a TV show where a guy escaped from prison by pretending to hang himself, when the guard see's what happens he opens the door, then leaves with the door open. The guy then gets down and runs to freedom. So I gave it a try by tying a rope around my chest and under my arms.

We lived in a house with two stories, so I slowly lowered myself into postion, and immediately terrified and horrified my family. Now my Mother says I was not 5 years old when I was doing stuff like this. I remember a lot about being 6 years old, so some how maybe someone can figure out the real dates and ages of all these things.

My family was first horrified, then relieved, then angry. Mom was pretty mad at me for that. As is the case with my family, we were moving again. So this time when I decided to hang myself from the bannister, my mom and a real estate agent walked in on my dead corpse hanging there in the middle of the main entrance.

I don't remember this part but my mother says the real estate agent lady screamed. My Mom was in shock and she was also trying to figure out how to convince the woman that it was indeed ok. "Should someone call the police?"

"No Ma'am I promise he is just fine. He has done this before. Hold on one second. Geoffry!! you get down right now!" No response. I was in it for keeps. So my mom looks at my older sisters standing by, and like a captain giving orders to pirates, she says, "Cut him down!" I guess they had to cut the rope off the last time too. So my sisters jump into action and with huge delight filled faces they scurry about their work. In a moment, a loud thud was heard throughout the house. It was the sound of my small body hitting the floor, limp and motionless. I stayed in character, and didn't move.

My mom still hadn't been able to convince the real estate agent. So then my Mom got real mad. You can tell when she get's mad. She yells "Geoffry you get up from there right now and go to your room or I will make sure your Father gives you a real spanking when I get home."

I jumped up. collected my rope, and went to my room.

The real estate lady was still in shock. My mom tried to finish showing her the house we were tyring to sell, but she was so shook up after that she had to go early, or at least that was the idea I got from the way I heard it told to me three dozen times over my childhood.

There was another time when I went out into the street and just laid in the middle of it motionless until someone would come notice me. The first time I did it my Mother saw me. She says, at first she was worried, but when she saw me laying there she recognized my 'dead face' so she knew I was faking it. She yelled at me, I got in trouble.

One day my mother looked out the front window and saw a large crowd of neighbors all gathered around. She got that feeling and ran out to see what had happened. It was me, with my 'dead face' in the middle of a huge crowd. Everyone was asking "Who's child is this? Did anyone see what happened?" My Mom said she was to nervous about the crowd to admit she was my mother. So she just backed out of the crowd and watched from a distance. After a while, I jumped up all of a sudden, and scared the cud out of the crowd. I yell, "Ha ha I fooled you!!" then I run away back to my Mom.

She said, she kept looking back and it took a good 5 or ten minutes for everyone to clear out. At one point there was just a couple people standing there just staring at that spot. She was hoping no one would call the police. Folks in the crowd were still processing the whole dead child thing, that they were not able to switch tot he ha ha ha joke part of it that quick.

A story I sort of remember is The Great Vaseline Escape. My mother would often have to grab my by the hair to stop me from running into danger or just away and into trouble. One time I was really testing her patience in the grocery store. She grabbed my hair, and I slipped right out. It worked! I should really let my Mom tell these stories in her own words.

Accidental Discharge

2013-04-19T19:53:00.001-07:00

AD, another story about a cat in a dogs world. In the army, when you fire your weapon when you were not supposed to, it is called an accidental discharge. It is something that should not happen. ...at least under most normal situations. That is what the Army calls it, I am serious, accidental discharge, so we say AD for the abbreviation.

I was an almost news headline in the 2002 Olympics. I was in the 1st and 19th Special Forces Group out of Camp Williams. I was new to the unit. I had only been to two or three drills with them. We had been activated due to security operations for some of the events.

I would do armed patrols with a team of guys. Our senior enlisted was this Air Force Para jumper guy who retired from active duty and joined the Army national guard as a retirement thing. It was rumored this guy was in Mogadishu when the Black Hawk down incident happened. All his subordinates looked up to him in awe. He came across as confident but not arrogant, and that made him charismatic to a lot of us.

One night he pulls us together as we are cleaning our rifles after a patrol. It is like a scene from a movie, he steps in to give the young soldiers some wise words. "Men, listen up here. Now it's important for you to know that if your out there on patrol in the snow and you fall over and jam your rifle into the snow, you have got to clear the snow before it is safe to fire the weapon. You have got to pull the bolt back and blow down the barel to try to melt the snow. But if you try to fire the weapon when the barrel is jammed with packed snow or ice, you could easily have a serious misfire." Then he gave us sort of a macho nod and turned and walked away. "Thank you sargeant!"

I know I was glad to get such good winter warfare tips from a guy who got his combat time in Mogadishu. I saw Ridley Scott's film Black Hawk down and I don't think there was snow there, but whatever the guy must know what he is talking, at the least because he says it so well.

So for some manning reasons I was reassigned to a different watch group. It was mostly with guys who were not even from my unit, they were from Montana. Nice fellas really.

The very first night on duty with my new watch section I was assigned to the very top of the mountain. I was by the ski lift. I couldn't see any other soldiers around me. We had these little phone booth heater boxes. Some of you know what I am talking about. Its like a closet you can stand in when it is really cold to warm up, they have big windows on them.

We were given snowshoes. I had never used them before but I figured it must be as easy as it looks. I wasn't going to sit the whole watch in my safe warm little booth. I was going to be vigilant and professional. I wanted to be the good headline that said "Plot Foiled! Lone Soldier Saves Olympics!"

I figure out how to put the snow shoes on and I start patrolling my area as ordered. I suppose I could have just stayed in my hut the whole watch. That is probably what the other soldiers did. I was a fanatic though, a true believer, hard core, gung ho son of a gun. This was my third chance at special forces. My first was when I failed the swim test to be a Navy Seal, the second was when I had a date for the Q course but then I went through my first divorce and never made it.

Then I ended up moving to the Utah after that and into the sister unit of the Washington 19th SF. I was being the most professional I could be. Taking the job seriously, and following orders and all that. I wanted to get a Q course spot in the Unit.

Our orders were to patrol the area. The huts were only to be used for warming up. I was walking on the top of some world famous ski lift I am sure. I could see the light of the lift house through the trees from my hut. I walked around on the slope for a bit, then I walked into the woods, at night, and alone. I had a radio, and and an almost loaded weapon.

Walking in the woods was a totally different experience. The snow was soft. I fell over twice. Both times managing to spare my rifle from getting any snow packed down it. It is very hard to get back up in snow shoes, in deep soft snow without getting snow all over you. I did my best.

As I started back towards the ski slope, and eventually my hut, I fell again. I was headed to the hut that I planned on spending the rest of my watch just sitting in, feeling as if I had done enough in the name of defense, there was no need to be a hero after all.

So when I fell the third time, I got snow packed into my barrel. Luckily, I had a combat veteran's advice on a situation like this. I pulled the bolt back to release the door to the chamber. You know the place where the bullet shell comes out of. I put my mouth over the hole and blew.

Nothing happened. I even look down the barrel of my own rifle just to see. It is still clearly plugged pretty good. I was taking this whole snow packed in the barrel thing pretty seriously. So I blew harder.

The bolt slipped. I wish I had remembered then that when I pulled it back to continue blowing a bullet would fling out into the snow. If it were a movie, this scene would play out in slow motion.

"NOOOooo!!!" me screaming in slow motion voice. The bullet swinging around in the air in a trajectory much faster than the outstretched hand that is trying to catch it.

Puff! it lands in the powder. I didn't even bother trying to look for it. The snow was at least 5 feet deep. I am not even 6 feet tall.

Right there, loosing that one bullet was enough to give me hell for the rest of my career. There was going to be an investigation, inspection, interrogations etc. I knew I was in big trouble. I slowly turned back towards the slope, and sturdier ground. I was headed back to the hut to radio in what happened. My weapon was such that if I pull the trigger it is going to fire a bullet.

I fell again and my back hit the snow hard. Then I fired three rounds into the ski lift. It wasn't more than 10 yards in front of me.

That was the first time I knew what it felt like to kill someone.

Now I am going to get into trouble before watch is over. I didn't even bother to look into the lift. I knew what was in there. It was some old mechanic with his pants hung past his crack lying in a large pool of his own blood. He won't be playing Santa this year for his grand kids. No I didn't need to go in there.

Besides, this way I don't contaminate the crime scene. I kept walking right past that lift and towards my hut. I should have stayed in the darn hut. Why do you have to be the hero all the time? Now there is no way out of this. I am going to jail for a long time. A man's voice came from behind me. "Hey, excuse me. Did you hear a gunshot? Was that you?"

"Yes sir. It was." I looked him in the eye as if I was standing on the gallows with a rope around my neck. "Were you in the ski lift?" To my great relief he says yes. He was younger, and skinnier than I imagined, but I got the but crack thing right. The bullets must have gone over the lift. Thank God.

"Hey you better be more careful there fella." He says in all seriousness then turns and walks away. He was completely oblivious to how close he just came to death. I realized how close I was to death. I thought, maybe no life in jail after all.

It turns out I am the real threat. It also turns out that the PJ who allegedly served in Mogadishu didn't know what the heck he was talking about. Snow packed down the barrel of the weapon wasn't that big of a deal. Mine fired just fine. And the blowing down the receiver thing? It doesn't work.

Instead of headlines of praise I would be getting headlines of infamy, "Who is the real enemy? Al Qaeda or US Army?" or "The Soldier who Shot and Killed Bob the ski lift guy gets 20 to life!" Not the kind of headlines I was hoping for. If I am lucky, I may get the advantage of the Army's public relations department. They may be able to put some spin on the headlines, maybe even cover it up all together. After all this was a political event meant to reassure the American people of their safety after September 11th.

I had been through some tough spots before, but for this one I heard taps. I finally got back to the hut, and radio contact. The blizzard was so bad it was really affecting the radios, the message has to be relayed to the bottom of the hill where our supervisors were sitting in heated tents. I could hear the silent airwaves light up with chatter. I heard someone say my name over the radio. Whoops. That was a breach of security.

Before I knew it I had some captain ride up on the ski lift walk up to me and take my weapon away, and berate me and demean me. I didn't know him at all.

From that moment on every couple hours that went by I went up at least on rank in the chain of command. This was early in the morning, by the time I got to lunch I was talking with a very senior officer in the Utah Army National Guard. The higher up in rank they were the nicer they were to me. This guy was very nice and also interesting to talk with.

After he was done asking me questions he said "Don't worry I have already heard enough of the situation before I got here. I am pretty sure you did nothing wrong. I am sure even Audie Murphey has had an accidental discharge in his time. From all accounts you appear to be a very good soldier. Relax. That's an order." I did relax. This guy was pretty cool.

After speaking with the civilian cop who questioned me he convinced the cop that this wasn't really necessary to call the news. Sweet, the cover up I was hoping for. The General was so darn charming it was hard not to do what he suggested. The cop said it wasn't his job to call the news. They shook hands and the cop departed.

The investigation found that I did nothing wrong. In fact, the General even made the captain who took my rifle apologize to me for the way he spoke with me and how he treated me. It turns out he was the one that blasted my name over the radio. He got in trouble for that too. How freekin cool is that? How often does that happen?

It was Generals like that that helped us win World War II. I didn't get in trouble, and the jerks did. The only thing I can think of is this General was one cool cat. I wouldn't reveal his secret. He is a cat in wolves clothing.

The investigation became something of a mess. Records indicated I wasn't qualified on the weapon in over a year. Someone had made a forgery of my weapons card. It was a wide spread problem with so many units being activated all at once. I was supposed to have been qualified on the weapon within 6 months of active duty. I got my bosses in trouble because they were cutting corners. Because of what happened to me they got caught. Not only was I the idiot that fired his weapon, now I became an unintentional whistle blower. My career in the Utah Guard was over.

My bosses, the ones I just got in trouble, didn't even know me yet. They denied I was in their unit a few times before they realized that indeed I was in their unit. None of them knew who I was, and after the incident they only knew me as the jackass who can't keep his finger off the trigger. Needless to say, I didn't last too much longer in that unit.

I would not be going to the Q course after all. Another dream dies silently. Even though I had the best intentions and didn't do anything wrong, I knew I wouldn't have another chance to fulfill that childhood dream.

But you got to admit it is a funny story.

Jennifer McDougal

2013-04-18T21:08:00.004-07:00

It the fifth grade, I loved Jennifer McDougal. I would buy her candies on valentines day, and appropriate gifts for every holiday. I would constantly subject myself to rejection from her.

One valentines day I took flowers to Jennifer McDougal's house. Somehow I found out where she lived. I brought two buddies with me. They stayed across the street and watched while I approached the door.

I was nervous. Since we weren't at school I thought she may feel a little more secure and friendly. I was wrong.

The wicked ugly stepsister answered the door. It was stunning because there was just enough resemblance to Jennifer McDougal to be visible, but enough difference that you could see how unfair the the genetic pool had been to the older half sister. If Jennifer McDougal was a man she would be her older ugly half sister.

I was polite.

I asked to see Jennifer and the stepsister said she didn't want to see me and that I should leave. Then I asked her if she would at least give the flowers to Jen. She said no, she wouldn't. She slams the door closed and locks it, and walks away from the door.

I place the flowers on the doormat and walk away. Before I can leave the yard, the stepsister opened the door and rushes to me and shoved the flowers back in my face and pushed me and told me to leave and get off their property. As I was walking away she was pushing me.

When I got onto the sidewalk I protested her pushing me. "I am off your property! This is the sidewalk, the sidewalk is public property!" At this point I don't know if Jennifer even knows I am here. I am thinking maybe this sister is jealous and so isn't telling her sister about me. Then the half sister pushes me over, and I fall and land on my back.

As I am laying on my back staring up at this viscous female character my friends were laughing pretty hard at the whole scene. I wonder if their laughter didn't in some way egg her on. Like she was glad to be pleasing somebody in life.

When I fell down, two books from my backpack fell onto the sidewalk. She grabbed them and threw them into the drain gutter on the side of the road. They were expensive books.

I yelled at her, she pushed me again. Then she punched me right in the face.

My friends started rolling on the ground laughing. I was in shock. Then before I could say or do anything she punches me again, hard.

"Oooowww" I could hear my friends yell in sympathy pains. They stopped laughing. They scream "Hit her!! Hit her Geof!! Hit her!!" I had had enough of a beating. It didn't take much for me to see I needed to defend myself. I punched her back. It landed on the side of her face.

Stunned a bit she took a step back, shook it off and put her fists up.We exchanged multiple punches to the face, or at least aimed at the face or body. I was in a full on fist fight with a girl.

She was a good fighter. She was larger than I was, and so it could have been a fair fight. Frankly, I was getting beat up by her pretty bad. I started swinging for my life. I threw this right hook for her face, she pulled back and I missed her face. As she was arched back from dodging my punch, my fist landed on her left breast.

It was a lucky accident that I even managed to hit her at all, let alone a tender developing breast. I had no idea that was even painful for girls. Besides, I wasn't aiming for her breast, I was aiming for her face. She stepped back and I hit her breast instead. Lucky I did.

Just at the moment my right hook pushes off, as if in slow motion, Jennifer McDougal comes to the front door, just in time to see me punching her sister in the breast. Then her sister collapses in agony on the black asphalt of the street. Her hair draped, covering her sob soaked face.

Jennifer McDougal came running out to embrace her sister. She didn't see the rest of the fight where I was bloodied and bell rung from her sisters assault."My sister, My sister! Oh my gosh! You A@$%Hole!" she screams.

My friends had retrieved my books from the drain gutter some time when I was getting pummeled by Old Ugly. When the fight got bloody they knew we would have to make a quick escape, so they scrambled to get our stuff together.

I grabbed my two books from my friends and put them in my backpack. The three of us walked away leaving the two girls in the same spot as where Old Ugly first went down. I stopped walking.

I turned around and started to walk back towards the girls. My friends look at each other in confusion.

I picked up the mangled and broken bouquet of roses. I walked up to Jennifer McDougal, who was still holding her crying sister. Without saying a word, but looking deep in her eyes with all the intensity and clarity of the moment I threw the roses at her feet. Then I turned and walked away. I never pursued Jennifer McDougal again.

Time went by and as things go in my family, we moved. This time from San Jose and on to a series of moves over the course of a few years. I ended up in a High School in Lassen County in Northern California. It had been six or seven years since the fifth grade, and then Jennifer McDougal moves to the very same school. Of all the odds.

All grown up, still hot, Jennifer McDougal in the flesh. It was a strange experience for me. I was surprised at how uninterested I was in her. I had moved on the day of the fight.

I could also tell that she was mostly seeking to attach to something familiar in order to feel safe. She thought she liked me, but really I was just a warm fuzzy security blanket for her. I knew what she was going through. Welcome to my world. You know, I moved 9 times in high school alone, I was on my own for each one of them.

I denied her that attachment. I thought it would be best for her to learn the truth sooner than later. People talk about attachment issues. The Buddhists say we shouldn't attach ourselves to things or relationships. Others say we should have normal healthy attachments to people.

Anyway, for whatever reason it was, Jennifer McDougal was now chasing me. I was curious, fascinated even, but I made it clear to her early on that I had moved on. It was like she didn't even care about the fifth grade when I punched her sister back into pre-puberty. I think I even remember having a conversation with her about the fight and she said something like she never liked her half sister anyway.

About three months after she got to Lassen High Jennifer got herself a security blanket alright, a boyfriend. She was pregnant and showing before the end of the year. It wasn't me.

I am the class of 1995. That little baby of Jennifer's that could have been mine would be 18 years old now. I will be forty in four years. I am still waiting to grow up. I feel no better off than when I was in the fifth grade.

Well, maybe we are better off as children anyway.

The Greenhouse

2013-04-18T18:44:00.002-07:00

So I went to the Greenhouse today to feel it out. I am not sure if I want to work there, or if I just want to go there and ask questions, and make contacts, or just enjoy the plants.

If I work there I can't just stand there and take it all it. I have to stay busy. If I just visit, then I can walk around, get to know the staff, just stand there and soak it all in.

I talked to one of the people who work there. It turned out to be the son of one of the two owners. It is a family business. He told me how it started as a hobby of his moms. His dad was a farmer, the large urban lot that the greenhouse was located on used to be just one of many large fields of the family farm. There is a Harley Davidson motorcycle shop across the street from the greenhouse today.

I thought about the ten acres one day in the future when it is surrounded by paved streets with streetlights around it. I thought about how I wanted to hand down my greenhouse business to my own son Gabriel. That can still happen.

I loved being in that greenhouse today. But would I love working there?

I am feeling this one out slowly. Maybe I will go back again.

What is left?

2013-04-17T17:22:00.000-07:00

Who am I?

Who writes these words? ...my ego mind? my heart? ...or both?

What am I?

What thing is me? ...is it the brain? is it the heart? or both?

What do I really want?

to be? to love? to know?

I don't know what I want. to be, to love, to know.

I don't know what to say. What to write.

What is left?

A Female French Journalist from New York.

2013-04-16T17:19:00.001-07:00

I shoot like I publish. I pull the trigger first, then I clean up the mess afterwards.

This is how this woman described herself to me, French, Journalist, New York. She had me at woman. Those are some powerful words each on their own, pretty cool all put together.

Anyway, I wrote her an email a while back. As a matter of fact I will just paste in the email I sent to her below. I do realize now looking back on it how dramatic I make it sound. I suppose I was still grieving mostly, for all of it. Still grieving the loss of my son, my marriage and kids, my dream, all the blood sweat and tears I put into making it work.

So I took the email that I sent her and reworked it for the blog here.

//Jennifer,

Perhaps this is not the story you want to hear. I still hope the story ends with a happy ending, but right now it is a very tragic time. There is so much that happened to us that we never published or spoke of to anyone even till this day.

I am writing you from a small bedroom that I rent in the city of Orem, 3 hours away from my ranch. I am unemployed. I have been out of work for almost a year now. I think the unemployment more than anything is the reason my wife has filed for divorce.

I can't find a decent job. I had a sales job for three months or so but it hardly paid my own expenses, let alone my families. The company that hired us canceled their contract and I lost my last underpaid job. My wife and the kids have been living off of her parents since I lost my old job last March.

When I got back from Iraq, I wanted to run away from the problems of the world. I just wanted to escape to the wilderness and live a simple life. Grow/raise my own food, and live happy with my family. It wasn't about being rich, it was just living a less stressful life. It was not less stressful than being in Iraq.

I wanted to escape the oppressiveness of modern life. I wanted to escape the fate of working 20 years in a job that would leave me in combat zones and away from my family nine months out of the year.

I wanted to make a living doing what I loved. I wanted to raise a family, be a good father, and growing plants. I wanted it now. I didn't want to wait to until I could afford it. I knew if I waited I would never be able to afford it. I jumped for the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, and landed flat on my face, in the mud, with broken bones, and then trampled on with horses, and then birds started pecking me. Then distant thunder.

I made a small shelter off grid that was relatively comfortable to live in year round with very little energy input. It was relatively inexpensive to build. Earthbag is just too labor intensive for enduring for just two people, with one being pregnant a lot.

It can be built for a lot cheaper that what I did for the first run. There is a lot of things I learned construction wise from this at least. Also, I can develop a plan for two grown men, or one man and two women. No offense but we are talking shear physical building power. This is very labor intensive. I imagine that some women may do the work of a man.

The space we had was perfect for a couple. The other 300 square feet we wanted just didn't get built. But I did provide some shelter.

Then the baby started crawling. Then the house got small. I couldn't build as fast as my family was growing. The hardships of trying to get a working homestead up and running can not be exaggerated.

I wanted so badly to break free from the demands of modern society. I did not want to go in to debt, but chopping fire wood got harder and harder each year.We had to finish the house.

There is a cost you must pay. I did not have a large enough budget to complete the project. I thought I could leverage labor and resourcefulness to make up for the difference. I ended up paying the full price by loosing everything.

I lost a child, I lost my wife and kids, I will most likely loose the house in the divorce, I lost my health for a while, I lost my faith, I am in debt now, I feel as if I have lost everything at once.

I am alone, and bewildered as to what I am supposed to do. It's like I am seventeen again.

Gaining the independence I wanted from the homestead is either for wealthy people who can afford to buy what they need to make it work, or for the very poor who have no other options but to live a very hard life.

I will do whatever it takes to try to get it all back, meaning raising my family in peace living a simple life. I feel like I am struggling to survive now.

When I look around and see what options are available to me it makes me so desperate. I have only one goal now, make lots of money in whatever way by whatever means is available to me.

So that is where I am now. There is so much more to the story as far as what my wife and I endured while trying to go off grid. If you are still interested in hearing more let me know.

Thanks,
Geoff//

So that is what I sent her like over a month ago. I honestly was not expecting her to reply. I thought I sounded to crazy, and very desperate for money. Which I was, and am.

Then she just wrote me. It was nice to know she was still interested,

// Hey Geoff,

Would you still talk to me over the phone? You story is a reality for many people who try to go off the grid and I would be honored to learn more from you. How are things doing now? Could you get a job? I hope you're o.k. and please be aware I don't have any judgment on your situation. Let me know if you and your girlfriend are o.k. to talk with me.

take care,

Jxxx//

Maybe she doesn't really read my blog. That's ok. I guarantee the first thing I am probably going to do if I have a girlfriend is blog about it, she means Ellen of course.

Anyway, I was glad to see the story still had wheels. I think it can take off.

So, yes. I would be happy to talk to you on the phone.

Geoff

The Wolf Inside

2013-04-15T20:07:00.002-07:00

I know it's been a bit heavy on the cats lately, so here is one for al'yall K9 lovers out there.

I was talking to a friend.

She said some cool stuff. Among which was the following:

//.....An old Cherokee is teaching his grandson about life. "A fight is going on inside me," he said to the boy.

"It is a terrible fight and it is between two wolves.

One is evil - he is anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego." He continued,

"The other is good - he is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion, and faith. The same fight is going on inside you - and inside every other person, too."

The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather, "Which wolf will win?"

The old Cherokee simply replied, "The one you feed."//

I told my friend that I think my evil wolf ate my good wolf. I am just one bad wolf now.

She wasn't sure if I was kidding or not. She told me that that's not how it works. There are always two sides wrestling good wolf, and bad wolf, yin and yang. Even if one is smaller, it has to be there.

I really do feel like my bad wolf ate my good wolf. I was sort of at peace with that for a while.

Now this whole idea that there is just some weak old skinny hungry good wolf hanging around inside me has got me rethinking the universe.

Why does anyone want to keep an old skinny hungry old evil wolf dog around anyway? If you don't like the wolf put it down, or give it to someone who wants to feed an evil wolf.

I guess I just think if someone has to take care of two dogs, then feed them both the same. Be fair. What if one dog is like a Saint Bernard, and the other is like a Chihuahua? Just feed them fair is what I am saying, treat both them dogs good no matter how you feel about them. One if those two wolves were your kids?

Why do humans punish humans for just being human? What other animal punishes itself for being what it is? All the other animals accept themselves completely. and without any kind of hesitation. There isn't any second guessing or mental dialogue going on. There is no narrative. They just do what they want and don't bother making excuses for themselves.

Perhaps the grandfathers words can be interpreted as in the boy is the one who feeds the wolves. Then it is entirely different. It is saying treat others how you want to be treated. It is basically saying feed the wolf inside me that you want to deal with. If you want my good wolf, feed my good wolf, if you want my bad wolf feed my bad wolf.

I mean if my grandfather said some stuff like that to me, I would know that he means to warn me! Isn't this summarized of a polite indian elders way of saying, "you better stay on my good side kid."

Who feeds the wolves? Does other feed my wolves do I feed my own wolves, or both?

The other thing, is why are the two wolves fighting in the first place? Seriously, is it because someone was feeding one wolf more than the other? Dogs are pretty keen on that kind of stuff.

Is it possible that these two wolves can get along? I know lots of people who have two dogs and they get along. Why are these two wolves fighting? I mean has anyone seen you tube lately? You got squirrels sleeping with cats, and cats licking dogs, and dogs loving ducks, and all kinds of other stuff, why can't these two wolves just get along?

Is there such a thing as evil animals? Or is that just humans reflecting on animals? Why was one wolf evil and one wolf good? What makes an evil wolf evil? Are they born that way? Do they choose to be evil?

If you are of the opinion that there could be evil animals, then perhaps it is not so hard for you to believe in evil people. I don't believe I have ever seen an 'evil' animal. So the whole two wolves thing is based on that whole thing.

In the Moment.

2013-04-12T18:08:00.002-07:00

Sailboats are powered by nature. I went sailing in Utah lake once.

Some of you know the story.

I was a student at BYU, and I really wanted to go sailing. I joined the BYU sailing club for a semester. Yes, they did at one time have a vibrant club I suppose, but when I was there it was like we were stewards of the mothball fleet. The boats were in pretty bad shape, so was the club.

Anyway, it so happens that I took a boat out on Utah lake on my lonesome a few times. So I was feeling pretty good about my skills as a lake sailor. I could turn, and change directions and get my sails just right for maximum speeds. I never took a class, or read a book, but I had a sense for it.

While I had sailed before, I considered myself to be a beginner. Though I did feel confident enough to take a girl out on a date on the boat. I had gone out the day before and got the boat all ready. When I was at the lake the guy who worked there told me that there are no search and rescue people on call. He said "If you get in trouble you may get the guys that charge $75 an hour to come out."

Now I thought he meant I would have to pay for that out of my own pocket. I suppose he could have meant that that was what they charged Utah County. Who knows.

I got the feeling that if anything goes wrong on the date, we were doomed.

So I was careful.

She was excited.

All was good. She likes pirates so I was impressing her with my premo sailing skills. Then, out of nowhere and all of a sudden, a dark grey cloud comes speeding over the mountains. We were only a few yards from the boat doc. The wind hit us like an atomic bomb.

I for the life of me couldn't sail that thing back into the harbor, the direction it was coming from was straight from the direction I wanted to go. Whenever I tried to tack, or turn around, we almost capsized.

I didn't know how far the boat could lean before it becomes a problem. I tried dropping the sails a bit as I turned and managed to get around, but then it is the same problem, the boat is leaning way out and I cant seem to get it in the right direction.

So much for my sailing skills. We kept getting farther and farther from shore. I fought the weather for long enough. I decided I would just sail with the wind and make it across the lake. We didn't realize that right at that point two men in a canoe started paddling to us to try to help us ashore.

That was right before the white caps hit. The wind went from like 50ph to 80mph. It was ocean like waves. I know, I was in the Navy for four years. Once I was in a tsunami off the coast of Japan. I saw waves bigger than an aircraft carrier. It was like a scene from a disaster movie.

I thought our situation wasn't that bad, until the rudder broke. Dry rot. We were in these real choppy waves that were no less than 5 ft tall and with white caps, sometimes bigger. It was almost like being in the surf. We had a small boat in a large lake.

I got an oar and put it in the water to try to keep us out of the troph. I didn't want the boat to list and then capsize. I lowered all the sails except a little one up front just to keep her headed downwind. I wrestled with the oar for a while. I became concerned for our safety.

I decided to cast anchor, keep it out of the troph and just hope we stay afloat at this point. It is a shallow lake. Then the lighting started. We said a few prayers. I got sea sick. I purged because of the sickness. It was pink, because I ate peaches earlier. I even brought some on the boat with me. You know, for the sailboat picnic lunch we were supposed to have. She laughed at me for having pink throw up. "What did you eat?"

Then I saw our oars drifting away. That was when I became what I call upset.

Then the lighting struck again. This time it was scary. I then truly felt we were in a life and death situation. I was scared. She was scared. I was thinking, "I am pretty sure the mast is aluminum, but.... is it really? Aluminum is non conductive, right?" I just kept thinking about how our mast looked like a giant golf club lifted in the air. I felt like that character in the movie Powder. The lighting was coming for me.

We decided to ditch the boat. Mostly motivated by the discomfort of sea sickness, and not knowing how long the storm would last. We wore our life vests, and I tied her to me with a rope. Then I just started swimming, my main objective was to get away from the boat. I found it was easier to swim upwind for some reason. Maybe it was something about the waves that pulled us down and upwind faster than swimming downwind. Or at least that is what it felt like.

I felt a ton better once we were in the water. It was warm when we first got in. It was like bath water. I think it must have been like 80 degrees. As the storm progressed the temperature dropped in hours. The motion sickness isn't the same when your in the water for some reason.

We swam together for a long time. After a while I swam and towed her behind. For a while everything was ok. We both had the sense to not take on the boat we couldn't go without or wouldn't survive a dip in the water. The embarrassment at this point was the biggest loss.

Then I saw the planes, and the helicopter, and the boats, and the jet skis all out searching for us.

We were only two more hours of swimming from shore. I felt fine. I knew I could do it and go out for pizza afterwards. She was getting cold. Of course we waved to get their attention. But I dreaded the thought of getting a crazy bill from the search and rescue guys. They searched for us for hours. I just kept swimming. Edith would give me updates. They couldn't see us because of the waves. I think the plane finally found us and radioed our position to the jet skiers, because they came in straight and fast.

I was secretly hoping we could sneak back to shore without them finding us. I didn't get permission from the club to take the boat out that day. I sort of just did it. I was really worried about getting in trouble for that. It's a strict school.

So anyway. They rescuers are on to us. They get to our boat. They find a single sandle and a peach floating in the water next to the now capsized boat. They feared the worst, the scene was ominous. The plane must have found us soon after that, because the darn jet ski rescue guys found us.

Two huge jet skis come rolling up on us and stop all of a sudden, and splash water all over us. This guy yells out in a heroic line like it's from a scene in an action line. You know he has been waiting his whole life for this moment. He is finally going to save a hot chic. He yells "Give me your hand!"

He grabs her hand, and pulls and then I am like,

"STOP!!! Edith, don't give him your hand."

They all stopped, and looked at me like I was crazy. It was like somebody just pushed the pause button on the action scene they were in, switches the movie to comedy and presses play again. They had shocked looks on their faces.

She screams over the hum of the engines "Why?"

I knew I could swim to shore. So if this astronomical rescue bill is something I am going to have to pay, I am going to keep swimming. So I ask, "Are you the guys that charge $75 an hour?"

"What?"

"Are you the guys that charge $75 an hour? Am I going to have to pay for this?"

"NO!" He looks at me like it's the most insane thing anyone has ever said to him.

"Edith, Give him your hand!" I shout, and the action scene resumes. Except this time without as much drama, and a little resentment towards me by the two male jet skier rescue guys. I guess I did steal their rescue scene. I was glad to be getting home. We swam for hours, but she didn't get hypothermia until she was in the rear jet ski getting splashed by the waves at 70mph. That was cold.

Anyway, yeah, we were saved. All I had to do now was keep the unauthorized boat use to go undetected by the Sailing club and I will be just fine. It's the weekend, I may be able to pull it off.

When we got back to the boat doc there were two news crews there. Dang. Slow news day. I encouraged her to keep moving past the photographers, but she couldn't. She was swept up by the flashing. She even paused for pictures, gave them her name, and an interview.

When they got in my face and asked me my name I acted like an old school mafia don. I put a hand over the camera and pushed the cameraman, and said no comments no pictures please. He backed off. I broke free, and left her to be the center of attention.

She was on the front page of two local papers the next day, and in an article not on the front page in a third paper. She gave them my name too. Someone said there was video of us on the nightly news. Luckily no picture of me on the front page at least. I was pretty anxiety stricken by the publicity. I hoped no one from the Sailing Club would read the papers. I suppose I was always a rebel.

Later that week as I was trying to figure out how to get the boat back when I got a call on the phone from the Utah County Sheriff. I thought the Sailing Club called the cops on me. I mean, you hope for a surprise party, but you know it could also be your execution.

Luckily, he was informing me that he and another officer had pulled in 'my boat'. He told me they recovered the canoe. Both of those guys who tried to save us made it back to shore. They also recovered a third small boat as well. I thanked him, hung up the phone, and waited for my heart attack to subside.

I did manage to get the boat back, and eventually repair all damages without anyone ever knowing.

From the minute I cast off into that lake I had no idea what was going to happen. I can see how it all unfolded slowly at first, moment by moment, but then it was like someone put a blindfold on me. I couldn't see my future anymore.

Is life like this?

Maybe we do the best we can but sometimes storms take us places we never wanted to go. Sometimes we are washed ashore on beaches we never intended to visit. Isn't that what makes movies so good?

The same thing that makes movies good is what makes real lives horrible, but beautiful at the same time. You know you see the scene when some happy life is cruising right along, and then disaster strikes. We enjoy watching how they piece their lives together in the face of an impossible challenge. That's a good movie. Not a good life.

This is a true account of an experience I really went through. I am sure that if someone wanted to they could back up my story. But I have told this story the same for years and have witnesses to that fact. Now you see how crazy things happen to me all the time.

P.S. I will often post stuff before my 13 or 14th re-read for typos. I can't seem to get rid of them. I just wanted you to know that I correct them as often as I find them. So the typos eventually get polished, and the grammar and spelling and wording gets refined over time. Adios.

Fists of words.

2013-04-11T18:02:00.004-07:00

I was young when I first used my words as fists.

Brian was the funniest kid in school. The last thing any kid at that school wanted was to be made fun of by Brian in front of a large group of kids. It was weird how all the other kids would go along with it as long as they weren't the one being made fun of. The victim offered up like some sacrifice by the crowd. The other kids would usually join in the hazing for days and weeks and sometimes months afterwards.

Brian had a talent for finding peoples insecurities, flaws, embarrassing facts or whatever is going to hurt or embarrass you the most. In many ways it was more humiliating than getting beat up, because it is more personal. He could be wicked cruel when he wanted.

My family was poor. We didn't have the cool clothes. We had obvious second hand style and were often the focal point of much social rebuke because of it. Brian was the worst of them. Whenever I tried to make fun of Brian in retaliation, it always backfired and was turned on me again ten fold. I swear he went home and practiced his one liners in the mirror. He must have benefited from older brothers or some other act of divine luck. I thought it might be better to just take it in silence.

They let into our clothes right away. Wearing K-mart clothes were a sin apparently. I just stood there listening to them make fun of me and my little sister. They started to make fun of my sisters hair, and I just snapped.

I didn't swing a punch, but if words were fists, I kicked Brian's a$$ that day. I don't even remember what I said, or how I managed to do it, but I rattled off a string of insults I have no idea where they came from.

There was something that bothered me about Brian's chin. I often wondered why no one bothered to address it before. It was real saggy, I swear to me it looks like down's syndrome chin.

At first my tirade was scoffed, then it got silent. Then Brian actually began to tear up. I think it was when I said something about down's syndrome and his chin. I am sure my honesty came across when I told him that when I first saw him I actually thought he was retarded. That and the fact that I had clenched both my fists and was practically in a blind rage was enough to silence them. Maybe he knew it was true. Maybe he had a brother or sister with down's syndrome. For whatever reason when I said he looked like he had down's syndrome, that was when he started to tear up.

I saw I had him defeated, and let him off the hook so he could try and save face in front of his toadies. Him and his small following evaporated with the ring of the bell. My sister and I continued to walk to our classes. Brian never made fun of me or my little sister again. I never bragged about it to anyone, nor did I ever rub it in his face. But I taught him that I demand respect.

As a matter of fact, Brian and I would later become friends. We were fellow revolutionaries sitting in the back of the class and giving the teacher hell. There was a band of us pirates that had a healthy and rational disdain for authority.

There has been a fight or two I have talked myself out of, but mostly my words get me into trouble. That is why I write. It is the least destructive thing I want to be doing right now.

I don't know how to move on.

So I write.

I was about 12 years old when me and a friend were looking for quarters in a neighborhood laundry mat when two older and much larger boys trapped us in the building. There was no one else present except the four of us. I was terrified of this one guy. I knew he was violent and he looked crazy.

For no good reason this guy attacked me while his friend stood at the door. I was paralyzed with fear, and didn’t fight back. He punched me in the head and face repeatedly, my blocks were pointless. After a while he was straddling me as I lay on my back on the concrete floor of the laundry mat. He was banging my head against the concrete repeatedly as hard as he could. That is when it occurred to me that he was really trying to kill me.

I fought for my life. I started to resist in any way I could. I went for his face. After a moment or two in this life and death struggle, this guy’s friend finally pulls him off of me. Ever since then, I don't like feeling backed against the corner, and if I do, I am going to come out swinging every time.

I vowed that day, that I would always fight back, no matter how hopeless or pointless the fighting back was.

After the two bullies had left, I turned to the friend that was with me. I was angry and disappointed that he just stood there passively and watched while I almost got killed by this freak. "Why the f&$% didnt you help me you A$$h%$#?"

"What could I do? He could have kicked my a$$ too man. He could beat us up both at the same time." I knew he had a point, but I resented his cowardice.

"We could have fought him off together at least." He could have tried to run for help. He could have made it out a window. I wouldn't have just watched. I pushed him and told him he was no longer my friend. I walked out and never played with that kid again. I figured I was just as well off on my own than with a friend like that.

That is why I write.

I am swinging my fists in the air, backed in a corner. If I am going down, then I am going down swinging.

ENFJ's darkside.

2013-04-11T17:22:00.001-07:00

An ENFJ's Weaknesses Are:
ENFJs thrive on recognition and appreciation and it is important to them that they feel they are liked. They often talk around issues or are less than direct and honest in an attempt to avoid conflict. ENFJs may sacrifice their own needs and make choices that are not in their own best interests in order to please others. By choosing not to see the facts that contradict their idealistic view of other people, they may end up disappointed and hurt.

ENFJs sometimes rush through the information collecting stage, due to their eagerness to have things decided and projects finished, and might make hasty or flawed decisions. It is important for ENFJs to appear capable, organized, and in control at all times and they may hesitate asking for help or admitting they need to start over. Approaching projects with a clearer sense of the logical steps necessary to make them a success will help them avoid making mistakes or committing to causes they might later regret.

Things to watch out for...
The ENFJs optimistic outlook toward social relationships is a burden to them at times. When external conflicts affect a group, the ENFJ is likely to assume responsibility. Their ability to empathize then turns into a liability. ENFJs, when over-identifying with the pain of others, will lose sight of their own concerns and interests. Their idealism can also be the cause of some distress when their assumptions are unable to weather the winds of reality. Fantasized relationships rarely translate into reality and even the best charismatic leader encounters unexpected resistance.

ENFJs will disassociate themselves from stressful situations in an effort to protect their sense of well-being and togetherness. The ENFJ, however, will repress the unpleasant side of life only to have to face it later in an intensified form when it explodes from its hiding place. It can manifest itself as fits of anger, sudden outbursts, or emotional explosions. Often the ENFJ's body will reflect pent-up stress by manifesting various physical symptoms that will erupt unexpectedly. Other concerns to watch for are:

becoming rigidly narrow in their perceptions when under stress
making decisions too quickly before gathering all the facts
becoming excessively critical of self and others when stressed
taking criticism personally instead of accepting it as a learning experience
seeing their world in a black-and-white manner
taking on too many projects at once and feeling overwhelmed
becoming bored with repetitious tasks and making mistakes
letting conflicts build rather than being direct and up front
seeing people as you wish they were, rather than as they really are

Developmental Needs: ENFJs may need to develop an ability to manage conflict in a productive manner. When the facts warrant it, ENFJs need to learn to set aside personal relationships and feelings in order to obtain an objective view. They may need to recognize that people have limitations and that blind loyalty is not always appropriate.
...................................

Yeah, that fits just about right. I would say that is what happened. There is the non stressed version of ENFJ and the stressed version. Every personality type reverts to a different pattern when under a lot of stress.

Jobs for ENFJ's

2013-04-10T22:18:00.000-07:00

Possible Career Paths for the ENFJ:

Facilitator

Consultant

Psychologist

Social Worker / Counselor

Teacher

Clergy

Sales Representative

Human Resources

Manager

Events Coordinator

Sales Representative

Politicians / Diplomats

Writers

Uhhhh...

I choose Diplomat. Followed by politician.

Crap...

...I know I am going to get stuck with writer.

So for the entire four years this blog has been running, I have made $300. Yeah! Proud accomplishment from me, considering the obscurity of it's birth.

In the last month alone I have made almost $100. That can be a huge thing. If I were to maintain current traffic, I may actually earn enough money that it could make a difference. If I can keep enough you you interested in my train wreck for a lot longer, it might actually improve my situation.

Let me put it this way. The money from this blog could actually have enough impact on my life that it will dramatically change the outcome of the story your reading on it. Think about that for a second.

Everybody likes a happy ending right?

So if your feeling guilty for watching my train wreck, don't be. Your helping me put food on the table. No, really, food. I'm hungry.

The sad part of that news is I can now call myself a paid writer. Yeah!

It only took four years of online journal writing and blam! Money in my hand. Now I am sitting on a mountain of gold, and secrets. So your invited to gawk away, peep away, judge away, but most importantly is keep reading away. Do you want to see naked pictures of my soon to be ex-wife?

No just kidding. I really don't have any pictures like that, and as angry as I am I would never do that.

Unless I was paid a lot of money.

What I am trying to say is "Haters gon hate, but I ain't trying to hear that."

or maybe it's more like "Even if you don't like Die Antwoord, you like Die Antwoord."

Or it's like "If I had to explain it, you wouldn't understand anyway."

P.S.

So, is there anyone else out there who listens to Vampire Weekend? How about Di Antwoord? One, or the other or both, or none?

ENFJ

2013-04-10T18:56:00.003-07:00

I am seeing two VA counselors.

One a man, the other a woman.

I have told them both about my blog. Neither one of them have ever looked at it. Oh well.

Anyway, the woman talks most of the visit. Then I go to the man and he talks most of the visit. I don't hear a word their saying. Blah blah blah. I just keep thinking, "darn, aren't you supposed to be listening".

She likes to talk about the Middle East, and he is always interjecting crazy hypothesis as to why things happened the way they did and how I must be feeling. Mostly I feel like he doesn't even remember me from appointment to appointment let alone have me 'figured out.' I swear he has confused my back story with someone from Montana.

Man they say the craziest stuff. Some people tell me it is because I have 'bad counselors' and that if you get a good one, you can connect with that person and it goes real well. I don't know. I don't have a lot of options as far as what counselors I can afford to see. I just have to take what's being given. (in more ways than one.)

There was one thing that I thought was interesting.

The guy counselor said I am a cat who has been trying to fit into a dog's world for too long. I thought that sounded cool. I don't think he knows how much I like cats. Maybe the guy from Montana likes cats too.

I resonate with cats. Cat's make sense to me. They don't offend me or threaten me. I get cats. I like dogs. I just prefer the company of cats. Can't help it, it's just the way it is, always has been. Dogs are like soldiers, and cats are like mountain men. Dogs are like police and cats are like investigative journalists. Cats are like musicians and dogs are like football players. I know that all people can't be divided up into two simple groupings like cats and dogs. ...or can they?

One hunts alone, the other hunts in a pack. I have always hunted alone. I don't do well in packs. I get my fur all miffed. Unless I am the alpha dog I only serve to be a disruptor in groups with rigid power structures. It just happens. This happens even when I honestly don't want it to. Somehow, as if by magic, something happens that will remind me how ill equipped I am to handle the daily savageries of office politics. I almost always end up on the chewed up end of the dogpack, and I hate that.

So this counselor told me to go home and do some research on my personality type. What jobs do people who share my personality enjoy? Where do all the cats hang out?

So I am reading this description of ENFJ and I am like, how could anyone not get along with me? Wow, this is like scientifically determined somehow right? I mean seriously, are any of you flattered to tickles with your own personality type or is it just me?

I mean all people have to do here is read a description of an ENFJ and know that I was not the problem. Honestly, all people have to do is read my personality type and they will be wondering "who couldn't get along with that guy?"

When we got married, some good friends of ours got us this personality book about the ENFJ stuff. We read it eagerly. At the time we were both pretty excited as to figuring each other out. But mostly we debated back and forth with ourselves as to whether the descriptions of our own personality type accurately portrayed us or not. I can't even remember her type. I know it is I, and we had at least one in common. If I were to guess it would be INFP.

What is really that different about cat's and dogs anyway? How different are we from each other?

Below I pasted from http://psychology.about.com/od/trait-theories-personality/a/enfj.htm. This is the standard ENFJ personality description.

-------------pasted-----------------
ENFJ is one of the 16 different personality types identified by the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator. People with this personality type are often described as warm, outgoing, loyal and sensitive. Psychologist David Keirsey suggests that approximately two to five percent of all people have an ENFJ personality.

ENFJ Characteristics

The MBTI assesses preferences across four different dimensions: 1) Extraversion and Introversion, 2) Sensing and Intuition, 3) Thinking and Feeling and 4) Perceiving and Judging. As you have probably guessed, the ENFJ acronym represents Extraversion, Intuition, Feeling and Judging.

Extraversion: ENFJs have an outgoing personality and enjoy spending time with other people. Being in social settings helps them feel energized.

Intuition: ENFJs like to think about the future rather than the present. They may often become so focused on the larger goal that they lose sight of the immediate details.

Feeling: ENFJs place a stronger emphasis on personal, subject considerations rather than objective criteria when making decisions. How a decision will impact others is often a primary concern.

Judging: ENFJs are organized and enjoy structure and careful planning. Sticking to a predictable schedule helps ENFJs feel in control of the world around them.

Some common ENFJ characteristics include:

Prefers harmony to discord
Outgoing and warm-hearted
Genuinely interest in the feelings of others
Often have a diverse range of friends and acquaintances
Great at supporting and encouraging others
Excellent organizers
Seek approval from other people

ENFJs are strong extraverts; then sincerely enjoy spending time with other people. They have great people skills and are often described as warm, affectionate and supportive. Not only are people with this personality type great at encouraging other people, they also derive personal satisfaction from helping others.

Because of their strong communication and organizational skills, ENFJs can make great leaders and managers. They are good at organizing activities, helping each group member achieve their potential and resolving interpersonal conflicts. They strive to create harmony in all situations, and always seem to know what to do to ease tensions and minimize disagreements.

ENFJs are often so interested in devoting their time to others that they can neglect their own needs. They also have a tendency to be too hard on themselves, blaming themselves for when things go wrong and not giving themselves enough credit when things go right. Because of this, it is important that people with this personality type regularly set aside some time to attend to their own needs.

Famous People With ENFJ Personalities

Some experts have suggested that the following famous individuals exhibit characteristics of the ENFJ personality type based on analysis of their lives and works:

Abraham Lincoln, U.S. president
Sean Connery, actor
Dennis Hopper, actor
Diane Sawyer, journalist
Johnny Depp, actor
Oprah Winfrey, TV personality
Abraham Maslow, psychologist
Ronald Reagan, U.S. president
Peyton Manning, football player
Barack Obama, U.S. president

------end pasted section--------------

So who is not going to be flattered with a list like this? I think if they are going to make a list of famous people with this personality trait, they should give both the good and the bad. How funny would it be to see a personality description like:

You share a personality type with famous people like:

Hitler
Mother Theresa
Stalin
Ronald Reagan
Fidel Castro
Ted Bundy
Johnny Cash

Then it is more obvious that not only is any kind of 'success' uncertain, but even when you are successful your success may not be understood or appreciated by others. People may still remember you as the evil dictator, even if you were cool

The stuff below here is a little more than a blunt description of ENFJ. Below is from http://www.personalitypage.com/html/ENFJ_car.html
---------------------pasted--------------------------
ENFJs generally have the following traits:

Genuinely and warmly interested in people

Value people's feelings

Value structure and organization

Value harmony, and good at creating it

Exceptionally good people skills

Dislike impersonal logic and analysis

Strong organizational capabilities

Loyal and honest

Creative and imaginative

Enjoy variety and new challenges

Get personal satisfaction from helping others

Extremely sensitive to criticism and discord

Need approval from others to feel good about themselves

As long as ENFJ's are in a supportive environment which they can work with people and are presented with sufficient diverse challenges to stimulate their creativity, they should do very well.

The following list of professions is built on our impressions of careers which would be especially suitable for an ENFJ. It is meant to be a starting place, rather than an exhaustive list. There are no guarantees that any or all of the careers listed here would be appropriate for you, or that your best career match is among those listed here.

Possible Career Paths for the ENFJ:

Facilitator

Consultant

Psychologist

Social Worker / Counselor

Teacher

Clergy

Sales Representative

Human Resources

Manager

Events Coordinator

Sales Representative

Politicians / Diplomats

Writers

------------end pasted section--------------

Uhhhh...

I choose Diplomat.

Land Yachts

2013-04-08T17:32:00.000-07:00

Land Yacht

I am sharing pictures stored in a file I have been keeping called Land Yacht.

The wind in Tecoma Valley is so strong, I tried to think of ways to turn it into a positive. Other than generating electricity the next coolest idea is land yachting.

Land Yachts are nothing new, they are used in a handful of places across the world. There are plenty of youtube videos on them, as well as google images, and websites you can visit. Essentially it is sailing on the land. Normally in a flat area like a beach or dry lake bed. The Goldsborough homestead is real close to the Salt Flats.

I always wondered what sport I could find in the flats, so I would look upon them as a treasure to play in and not as a burden to cross. I paused from a high vantage point more than once along my way, just to stop and view the salt flats at the breaking dawn. Although, there is not a time of day or night that the view is less than stunning.

What did it look like when it was full? A huge inland sea, ready to be sailed to distant far off places? The flats can be sailed just like water!

Most of the land yachts I have seen are small one or two seaters. I had something a bit more ambitious in mind. A land yacht for a crew. At the very least I thought it would be something cool to do with friends.

You could sail out to the middle of nowhere, see almost everything around you as far as the eye can see, know you are completely alone, and just hang out, have some fun, and sail back when you want. Or just in case a small motor to take you back if no wind.

I imagine huge sleek, limousines like vessels with tall rigid winged sails that can coast the small vessel at a good speed with one hundred people on board. I think this would be very cool.

I still think the steady wind we get on the flats can make it some kind of national headquarters for land yachting or something.

I mean why don't more people in the area land yacht?

Anonymous Writes...

2013-04-08T17:05:00.000-07:00

Writes Anonymous:

Originally I wrote this as a response to your post "Existential Crisis" or "The Voice of God 3", but it was too long so I figured I'd send you an e-mail. I can relate on a certain level, though my story is different, it's pretty similar in the way I've been turned around. I was raised in a certain exclusive //blank// church.

Growing up, we never missed a day of church. Sunday Morning, Sunday night, Wednesday night. Of course we wouldn't want to miss the singing's. They were strictly non-instrumental; acapella only, they were proud of that. Anyway it distinguished us from other churches, and based on a few other points based on the "original" church, it made us exclusively 'right.'

Therefore other Christians weren't really Christians. I considered myself very lucky to have been born into this exclusive church. I knew God must really love me. When I was 16 my faith started to become my own and I started to question why other people weren't considered true Christians. Why were all of my friends who were good people (lots of them better than I was) going to hell?

It didn't make sense to me, but the people who had left the church, seemingly only did so to act out, and I didn't want to do that, I just wanted to be a good person and make sense of the world around me. I didn't agree with their ideology, but I didn't want to upset my parents and get a bad reputation. I went there for 3 more years until I switched colleges to one out of town, 3 hours away.

I still made appearances at a local Church of Christ in the western part of the state to keep up the facade that I went there when the parents visited. I was too scared to have them think I had "fallen away" and the drama that would undoubtedly ensue. I only stayed at Western for a semester.

When I came back home I didn't have a job to get my own place yet, so I moved back in with my parents. I went to their church again, but this time I wanted to phase out gently. Knowing their beliefs, I knew it would take a while. So I started going to a different church on Saturday nights from time to time, which was hard for them to accept because Saturday wasn't really the Lord's day (yet they went on Wednesdays, it wasn't a 'real' service...*sigh*). When the time came for me to visit a different church on a Sunday morning, I asked them in the best way I could if I could visit another church, and my father responded with an ultimatum.

It was "come to our church, or leave the house." This hit me really hard. My parents cared more about me going to their church than they did about our relationship. My then girlfriend (now wife) had been going there and I was ready to have a fun church experience. It was in a theater, there was rock music, and lots of people going there my age. But if I went there, I wouldn't have a home to go back to.

I didn't have a job that I could support myself on, I was just waiting tables. But I decided it was high time for me to step up and make a stand in my beliefs. So I did, I went to that church, it was cool. Though, I thought that God would make an appearance and say "Son, you did what was right, you stood up for what you believe about me." Which in hindsight was pretty naive. I didn't have a transformative message delivered to me. I did feel pretty broken that I might not have a home to go to, but I didn't regret my decision whatsoever. Surprisingly, they didn't kick me out.

But over the course of a year we had some pretty heated arguments about what the father tells the son to do and who God really was and how I was right/wrong. It was the most difficult year I had experienced in my life. I eventually moved out at the beginning of 2008 and got married a few months after. I made my own decisions, and felt pretty faithful to God.

I read books about God, about the relationship I was supposed to have with Jesus, how to pray, about how to be a better person. I was doing the best I imagined I could.

My wife had a really tough experience with a Christian counselor a few months after we got married. The counselor pried deep into her past, and really drew out some emotions about how she had been raped, taken advantage of, and some other baggage. It was incredibly tough on her, to the point where she forgot how good our life was, and tried to kill herself several times.

I had to hide knives, alcohol, cleaning fluids. We had an incredibly frightening experience that I would only call (and I don't use this word lightly, and I'm not crazy) demonic.

After things became that real, that dangerous, her counselor's husband who was also a Christian counselor took over. One of the terms she was most afraid of while being so emotionally raw was the term "burden." She didn't want to be a burden to anyone, this was a phrase she was frightened that she might hear from someone she cared about while she was in this state. Both counselors knew this.

And when things got too heavy and she tried to kill herself the third time, the male counselor dropped that word during a session. She was devastated. For me, it was the most difficult period I'd experienced, more so than the whole fallout with my parents.

I was terrified for her, and wanted to be as supportive as possible in this uncharted territory. Then she got pregnant 6 months into our marriage. This was a surprise, she was on the pill. I didn't know what to do. I wasn't ready to be a dad, she wasn't ready to be a mother, she wasn't emotionally stable enough.

8 weeks later we went to go hear the heartbeat for the first time, we were coming to terms with this new idea, and maybe it could help us get our lives on track. We would have to change but we were ready to. When we went to hear the heartbeat and the nurse went searching for it, there was nothing.

The baby had died. We were now 6 months into our relationship and we've already been through the worst, then we lost a child. I wondered where God was in all this, but I decidedly kept my faith strong, I tried to make sense of it.

I just knew it had to be me. Something I was doing wrong. I must not be close enough to God to deserve this.

I studied harder, became more devout, became part of the church team, lead worship in the church band, lead small groups for teenagers and adults my age.

I just knew God would pull through after all my efforts.//////

Geoff here. I just wanted to say thanks for sharing the email above. I changed some identifying information for you but kept most of it the same. Thanks.

Bitcoin

2013-04-07T16:27:00.001-07:00

So here is my present to all of you readers out there. Bitcoin. Bitcoin is now what the words microsoft, and google once were before everyone got rich. Almost unknown, yet one of the worlds fastest growing currency, and biggest investment opportunities of a lifetime. I am not salesperson, so just check it out for yourself, and see what you think. It is already changing the world.

The Voice of God 3

2013-04-05T16:10:00.002-07:00

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God told me everything was going to be ok.

So when my son died, I had a huge difficulty reconciling these two events. Loosing Garrett was not ok. There was nothing ok about it. I didn't get angry, I became anger. I was rage. This anger and rage were directed both inward at self, and outward at God.

I felt lied to by God; betrayed, misled, abandoned. Needless to say, this was a challenge for me. I was doing the best I could to do all the things that I was 'supposed' to be doing to have a happy life. Loosing my baby was not supposed to happen. What about the promised blessings? What about the promise that my life would be good? What about his word to me when I was fifteen, that everything was going to be o.k.? It was not o.k. There was nothing about it that was o.k.

Nice old Mormon ladies and well meaning church members would try comforting my wife and I by saying things that I did not find to be comforting at all. They would say things like "God loved your son so much that he decided to take take him back." or "Your son was so good he didn't have to go through the trials of this life." or "God must have had a special plan for him." I won't bother to tirade about how grotesque I think these statements are and what their implications are about God, and what it says about all of us humans left alive on earth who didn't die in infancy.

I felt that God had nothing to do with it at all. He simply wasn't there. He was indifferent, and unavailable. He was uncaring and or unaware. He was distant, off on some distant celestial golf course having a great time. God wasn't there to discover my son's pale little body. I was.

Maybe statements, and those ideas were comforting to the people who were saying them. Maybe it was their naive and vain attempts to make sense of the tragedy and suffering that happens in life.

Either way, for about a year I was at war with God. I wanted to take a spaceship to Kolob and kick his ass. My thinking was that I would do whatever I could to strike back. If I could hurt God by hurting myself then that was my softest target. I am no Abraham. I am no Job. I cursed God frequently. I cursed the sky with profanity holding up arms with extended middle fingers in a prayer of hell bound rage to the God who let me down.

I suffered from chronic physical pain from a near fatal tractor accident that happened only a few months after the funeral. I was digging post holes for a fence by the grave of my son when I was nearly snapped in half by pto shaft. I gradually became a nervous wreck. I was an insomniac and suffered from frequent anxiety attacks. It did not take much for my wife or others to make me angry. Little things would set me off into a fit of shaking rage. I would get angry and gnash my teeth, or I would just get overwhelmed and shut down completely.

The Holy Bible: Containing the Old and New Testaments, Volume 1 by Ame (Google Affiliate Ad)

It was around a year or so after the funeral that I was outside our house with my wife one night. I was looking up at the stars. It was a calm moment. A rare moment where I had a brief reprieve from the pain I was experiencing on every level. I was in awe of the stars. Tecoma Valley is one of the least light polluted night skies in the country.

I could see the multitude of patterns in them, I could see geometric shapes, and symbols. I got this feeling that the stars contained a hidden code, or some kind of message. There was a particular group of stars in the southern sky that drew my attention. I stared at them, seeing if perhaps some intelligent message could be deciphered. I wondered which direction Kolob was.

Then it happened, his voice, entirely unexpected. It was as if the voice came from the direction of the group of stars I was staring at, but it was really from within me. I could feel it happening.

"All you need to know about me, is that I love you."

I told my wife immediately what I was experiencing. I told her the words almost right as I was hearing them. After he spoke I began to cry. The warmth, peace, and a huge relief came over me.

After all my cursing, and anger, and lashing out, this is what he had to say to me. I wept. After everything I had done, he still loved me. He did not condemn me, but accepted me, all of me. He accepted all the events as well, no matter how tragic or seemingly wrong. I made my peace with God that night.

I learned something about God, and something about myself. I understood that God's definition of 'everything is going to be o.k.' was much bigger in scope than my 15 year old mind's understanding of it. I knew again, for the second time in my life that indeed everything was going to be o.k., but not like I thought it was, just how it is. God did have something to do with Garrett dying, and everything good and bad. All the events of my life, the happy and the sad, are all fused together. These are not separate things that we can pick and choose, all is one. God accepts all of it, everything. He rejects nothing and no one. All of it is God. I am loved and accepted by God just as I am right now, no matter what.

That was the last time I heard his voice thus far in my life. It was like a back to the drawing board for understanding. I have shed all belief like a winter coat I no longer need to keep warm. Since then I have suffered greatly from my second divorce. In an vain attempt to escape my suffering I dove into non-dual teachings. I meditated. I even had something of an awakening experience.

I know God is, I know I am. Beyond that I don't know. I am back in the same spot I was 20 years ago when I heard God's voice for the first time. The difference between then and now is that I am comfortable in my not knowing. I understand that understanding is a fools effort.

It's like I climbed the ladder to heaven to find the truth, but when I got to the top there was nothing there but me. I stood there for a moment on the top of the ladder and looked around. The only thing that changed for me was my perspective.

So then I climbed the tallest mountain to speak to the wise man, but when I reached the top there was no wise man. It was just me, and a funny dog that was chasing it's tail. It was running in circles trying to catch it's own tail. I laughed long and hard, because I finally got the joke of all my seeking.

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The Voice of God 2

2013-04-04T18:36:00.000-07:00

Donate Bitcoins I had just returned home from Fort Benning Georgia from Army boot camp. When I joined the Army National Guard, my family was living in Texarkana, Arkansas, by the time I came home they had moved to Anchor Bay Michigan.

These should have been a happy time in my life, but it wasn’t. I was doing well in school for the first time in my life. I was on track to fulfilling my dream of becoming an elite soldier. I bought my first car, and a high school band asked me to be their lead singer.

I was doing Army National Guard drills at a Long Range Reconnaissance Patrol Unit, (LRPS) out of Pontiac Michigan. They were comprised mostly of ex active duty Rangers, and some Special Forces types. On there annual two week training the unit would load up into a plane and fly to South America where they would do real live counter narcotics missions. They would go into the jungle and blow up cocaine labs and things of that nature. It was what I wanted to do, and where I wanted to be since I was a small child. If I stayed in that unit, it was a fast track to Ranger school, then the Q course, and on to who knows what else.

There was a drummer and a guitarist that had been playing together for some time. They were both kind of introverts, and needed a front man with some flare. I met one of them at school somehow, and they asked me to try out for their band. One day they sent me home with a cassette tape of some music they had been working on. They wanted me to write lyrics and vocals for their songs. Songwriting is something that I have done since a small child. It has always been easy for me. I enjoyed writing poetry, and making up songs improve. But there was a problem.

When I went to write the lyrics, there was nothing there. No inspiration, no life, nothing. I knew right away something was wrong.

I never quite knew why, but I remember feeling empty and sad. Perhaps I was so tired of moving around, and loosing friends each time I moved. I missed familiar faces, and familiar places. I longed to go back to the deserts of Northern California, where I spent the majority of my childhood. I wanted to see my friends again, I missed them. I felt alone.

I tried to talk to my parents but they didn't really know what to say or do. I got depressed, and in a desperate act of self preservation decided to leave home and return to Lassen County.

I discreetly packed up some belongings into my black rusted out Jeep Cherokee. My little sister Haley caught on to my plans. She tried to warn my parents, but it was too late. I had made my move before they could stop me.

As I pulled away my little sister Haley came running out of the apartment screaming "Wait! Wait! Don't go! Wait for me! Take me with you!" She ran hard, fast and long, until she couldn't run anymore. I never knew how much I meant to her until I saw her heart break in the rear view mirror. I began to cry, I never knew how much she meant to me until that moment either.

We had always been paired together in most everything. We were the two youngest, and the last two children in the house. Without a doubt she was the family member that was closest to me. We fought a lot, and it just never occurred to me that we were really all we had as far as family. Our parents sort of checked out a long time ago, they were there physically but mentally and emotionally they were not available. My sister and I pretty much raised ourselves for a good part of our childhood.

I had only turned 17 a few months before. I was leaving home for the first time. I was scared, but I felt as if leaving was necessary for my survival.

I remember being so scared. I remember that I even said a prayer. “Dear God, if you want me to live, you better take the steering wheel. I am done steering my life. I don’t want to live anymore. If you want me to live, you better tell me what to do, where to go. You better take the steering wheel, because I’ve had enough.” Then I just gave up. I let go, if I died, then so be it.

I remember trying to comfort myself by thinking death was the worst that could happen. I would repeat over and over again “If I die, I will return to God. If I die I will return to God.” Instead of fearing death, I embraced it. I accepted it. I even tried to welcome it a bit. I knew that everyone had to die at some point. Some die old, and some die young. Since I had already had my experience with God I knew there was something bigger than me, and that I would go on even after death.

As I surrendered to the will of God, a deep feeling of peace came over me. I became warm all over my body as if a blanket of love surrounded me. It was very much like the feeling I experienced after hearing the voice of God, but this time there was no voice, just the warm burning feeling. I reveled in it. The fear was gone, and I was comforted.

I was driving along fine in my bliss when suddenly a loud bang came from the engine of the truck. I started freaking out, and fear came over me. I was, somewhere in Illinois, on the side of I-80. There was so much smoke coming from under the hood that it reminded me of the images of the burning Iraqi oil wells I saw on the news from the 1991 Gulf war.

As soon as the fear came, the warmth and peace left me. After a few moments of sitting on the side of the road, I prepared for death again. I re-surrendered to the will of God, and if he wanted me to die on the side of I-80, then so be it. The warmth and peace came back to me once I surrendered again. Then, without knowing what would happen next, I packed up what possessions I could carry into a green army duffle bag. Then I started walking back the direction I came from till I arrived at a rest stop.

I put my trustin God, and in a way this feeling was guiding me. When I got to the rest stop, I just sat on a bench and watched people coming and going, and wondering to myself who it would be that would give me a ride. I didn't solicit rides, or talk with anyone. I just sat there in the peace of God. Then two Iraqi guys approached me. They were on their way to Lincoln Nebraska and they asked me if I knew how to get there. I said I did, and they said that if I could get them there, they would give me a ride as far as Lincoln. I agreed. We stopped by my truck on our way out and I grabbed a giant road atlas of the United States that I left behind.

The driver did most of the talking. I can't remember his name, but let's just call him Hassan. He spoke about how he had to flee Iraq after saying something disparaging about Sadam Hussein in public. Someone had overheard that and turned him in. Luckily, as the goon’s were on their way to his house, someone else had warned him. Hassan fled for his life, leaving family behind.

He spoke about how since he had come to America, Allah had blessed him with wealth. He thought the reason for his wealth was his great generosity. The whole way to Lincoln we spoke of Allah. It was as if I had “speak to me about God” written on my forehead.

The trip continued with miracle like synchronicity. After Hassan arrived at his friends house in Lincoln, I said my goodbyes and started walking to the truck stop. An American Indian gentleman picked me up and gave me a ride to the truck stop. Along the way we he started the conversation and it was all about God.

He dropped me off at the truck stop, and I sort of got stuck there for a while. I stayed overnight there on the couches in front of the T.V. You were not allowed to sleep in there so I had to sit upright and sort of bob my head all night.

The next day, I wondered if I was missing something because I felt as if I should have been picked up by now. Then, the words “God helps those who help themselves” came to my mind, and I realized that I was being too passive. So I started walking.

I got many miles out of Lincoln before a highway patrolman picked me up and told me it was illegal to hitchhike on the interstate. I told him I wasn’t hitchhiking but just walking. He said it was still not allowed. He dropped me off at an exit in the middle of nowhere.

This was January, in the middle of Nebraska. The word cold doesn’t fully explain what I was experiencing. I felt as if I would actually freeze to death. I endured it for a while, but each time the wind blew it cut right to the core of me as if I were naked. I thought I might die. It was so cold, my nose started bleeding pretty good. It ran down my face and dripped onto my jacket and froze on my jacket. I began to despair. I lost the warm comfort feeling.

I was in a lot of pain because of the cold. I asked God out loud, frustrated and angry like a teenager talking to a friend or parent, “Is this how you want me to die! Is this it?” In that particular situation, it wasn't the death that I minded so much, but the pain was something I would have liked to avoided.

I was looking out across this huge snow covered field alongside the interstate. There was a lone tree in the middle of this open field. I had fixed my stare at this tree. I wondered what the purpose of my life was, and if me freezing on the side of the road was God's will. I thought about how harsh mother nature was being to me. I thought about how the cold would kill me, and that the world was a cruel and harsh place. Then I heard the voice of God again for the second time in my life, as I stared at the lone tree.

“Be still. Nature is neutral. The battle you are experiencing is inside of you.”

The peace and warmth came back to me. While I was still physically freezing, the warmth inside me took away my despair. Not thirty seconds after this, a big tractor trailer semi truck pulled up seemingly out of nowhere. The driver leaned over and opened the door. “Come on if your coming, it’s cold.” I grabbed my duffle bag and jumped into the truck. “I think you saved my life.” I said to him, not sure if he was mortal or some kind of angel.

Ken Robinson was the truckers name. A fit, grey haired man in his fifties. He was not a stereo typical truck driver. It was not long before in the conversation that I had told him about my ‘faith trip’. By that point on the trip I had decided to journey to the top of the Skidaddle Mountains near my old home in California. I was going to fast there until I died, or God told me what he wants me to do with my life. He did not judge me nor was did he try to dissuade me from my intentions. Instead he was somewhat impressed with my spiritual focus at such a young age.

I spent at least two nights with Ken. We had long conversations in the cab of that truck. He taught me things that range from fiat currency to priesthood authority. By the time we got to Reno we had become friends and were sad to part. My oldest sister lived in Reno at the time.

We had made a bet that if he wasn’t married the next time I see him again, I would have to pay him a silver dollar. If he was married, then he would have to pay me a silver dollar. I tried to look him up a couple times. I even called through a list of Ken Robinson’s once. I even found one who was a trucker during that same time period, around January of 1995. He waited until my sister came to pick me up at the truck stop we were at. I drove off wondering when I would see him again, if at all.

I stayed with my sister for a few hours. Then she dropped me off at Bordertown, outside of Reno, and I walked five miles to the California port of entry on 395. A border guard took pity on me and he got me a ride with a Hispanic migrant worker. He didn’t speak any English. The guard who spoke Spanish told him where to drop me off at. I was going to Janesville.

Janesville is where my best friend from high school lived. His family knew I was coming. Of course, parents got involved and instead of fasting on the mountain, his father convinced, even manipulated me to stay there instead. So I went back to high school and ordinary life set in again. The peace and comfort eventually left me, life got complicated and difficult again.

A year or so went by and I bumped into the Missionaries for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. They got their car serviced at the Shell service station I worked at. I had very early childhood memories of climbing on the Missionaries when they came to visit us when we lived in San Diego. I was very young. When I saw them, I got this funny feeling. Maybe they have the answers I am looking for. Within weeks I was baptized.

A lot of the things they talked about were consistent with my experiences. God speaking to a fourteen year old boy? Yes, I didn’t need convincing on that point. A spirit who provides a comforting warm burning feeling, and guidance? That was an easy sell for me. I knew what that felt like. The spirit seemed to be guiding me to this point, it seemed as if this was the right path.

As a member of the church I had many spiritual manifestation, and promptings. There was a warm welcoming social support group all excited for me to validate their beliefs and way of life by joining them. I felt loved. I thought this is my happily ever after that God told me about when I was fifteen. No doubt I would have never gone to college without the church, I wouldn't have matured and grown in certain ways that a loving supportive family like environment provided.

Some time after joining, I returned home to live with my family again for a while. Then I joined the Navy, and left home again.

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A Supportive Letter

2013-04-04T00:31:00.000-07:00

Below is a letter that flattered me:

Hi Geoff - I just checked out your blog. I read Peebody and laughed. Then I read "Killing Alpacas" somehow by starting in the middle of it as I scrolled through the blog trying to understand what happened between the last time I read your blog and now...(thinking has he become a fiction writer? It must be fiction because of the contract killer and drug dealer stories. He's Mormon, so he probably isn't either of those things. A fiction writer...how cool). I read the second half of the story first, about killing the male herd. It made me sad and I teared up reading it. I thought what a hard, but great story -- I think he has real potential as a writer.

But then when I started this email to you, I wanted to check to be sure I had the the name of the story right, so I went back and started the story from the beginning. When I read the part about killing the little baby alpaca while thinking about the death of your son, I was so overcome with sadness for you and for the situation, that I was sobbing.

I just lay my head on my pillow and sobbed so hard my dogs started whining, trying to get my attention. We, the dogs and I, were finally so loud my husband came to see what was wrong. I cried HARD for a long time in his arms and told him the story. I haven't been so moved by anything outside my own experience since the day I watched a tiny deer follow its mother over a guard rail into the highway, and get run over and dragged down the road under a truck, its neck broken and body dangling. That day I stopped my car dead on the side of the road and cried like this.

Having graduated from a well respected writing program at /removed/ University, and having served on the editorial staff of the school's literary journal, I've had a fair amount of experience with reading and editing other people's stories, although more in the non-fiction area than fiction. I am quite sure you have a book ahead of you. How can I help?

My first thought is that I deeply hope you'll consider writing a memoir. The alpaca story is really non-fiction right?

Your friend,

/removed/

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The Voice of God

2013-04-03T19:29:00.001-07:00

I was fifteen years old when I first heard the voice of God.

I was not religious, nor did our family go to church. My parents and everyone in my family except me and my little sister had been baptized Mormon. I was five years old when my parents stopped attending. I wasn't raised LDS. The closest thing I came to religion was when I read "The Life of Siddhartha". My little sister and I, who were the two youngest in the family, were raised wild and free.

My family and I were living in Lassen County, in Northern California. My father had a job at an Army base called the Sierra Army Depot, otherwise known as Herlong. From what I was told, the base was a large munitions stockpile, with chemical, biological, and even nuclear munitions. The closest city was Reno Nevada about an hour away.

There was a sense of pride by the residents of the area regarding our status on the nuclear strike list. The rumor was that we were number five on the Russian's list of priority targets.

This is where I spent more time than any other place in my childhood. I lived there for seven years, but not all at once. I lived there for three years in my early childhood, and then we moved back there five years later. As an army brat, we hardly stayed any one place for more than 3 years. I was naive enough to think my family's moving days were a thing of the past, and once we hit the four year mark I thought that we would stay there forever.

It was just an ordinary day. I was sitting on the couch watching t.v. and something started bothering me. I don't know what triggered it. I had a deep sense of responsibility for my life, as if there might be something I was supposed to be doing, or learning, or finding. All the timeless existential questions hit me all at once.Why was I born? What is the purpose of life? Is there a God? Is there really a heaven? Where do we go when we die? What really happens to us when we die? What is the point of life? What does God want me to do?

Upon pondering these things for only a brief time, I felt a fear. It grew into a sort of deep anxiety. I was afraid of the unknown. I was afraid of not knowing all the answers to these question. I was afraid of all that I didn't know.

I often took walks in the desert, and at the onset of this anxiety I started out on a walk. It was almost sunset, and when I got out into the sagebrush I looked off towards the sun. It was low in the sky, but there was still a gap between it and the distant mountains.

As I looked towards the west, there were no words in my mind, just this feeling from my heart. I didn't even realize at the time, but my heart was crying out to the sun. Since then, I have heard people say a prayer of the heart. As if the heart can speak things the mind can't understand or translate. This was what it was like. I was crying out from my heart without being mentally aware of what was happening at the time. After a moment or two I turned towards the south to walk back home.

Then I heard a voice behind me. Startled, I turned to see who it was. "Who's there?!" I shouted. I thought maybe someone was hiding in the sagebrush. I stood still, listening, watching for a few moments. I didn't see or hear anyone. I turned to continue walking home when I heard the voice again. This time, I could tell the voice was coming from inside me.

I felt and 'heard' it in the center of my chest. I could even feel it vibrate, or resonate within me, like a physical sensation. I stood still. Then my mind experienced a flash of activity, thoughts, images, words. It was as if someone had tapped into my mental data base and was going through my files, searching for the right images and references.

Then I could hear clearly in my heart the voice say one word. The quality of the voice was soft and mild, but at the same time it rocked me to my core. It was not in English, or sounds, or even just feelings but I could feel it in my heart, hear it in my ears, and see it in my mind.

My eyes were open the whole time, and I was aware of my surroundings all the while this took place. The word that shook me to my core while only lasting a second, seemed to hold so much information and intelligence in it. It was like a spiritual zip file. In a vain attempt to put into English what the message communicated to me was this:

"Be at peace. I am here. I love you. Don't worry. All is well. Everything is going to be o.k." But it was so much more than that.

After the word was spoken, my heart burned. I felt a physical warmth from the middle of my chest gradually spread throughout my whole body, even down to my fingers and toes. As the feeling spread, I relaxed. My anxiety was gone. I felt peaceful. I was comforted.

I don't remember telling anyone about the experience right away. I continued to walk home with a feeling of euphoria and elation. I felt light, and at ease. I knew that God was aware of me, and my life was going to turn out happy.

Almost as soon as I got home, I was greeted by my sister, and then a neighborhood friend rode up on his bike. Then within the next fifteen minutes, inexplicably all my usual playmates came to my house. There were no cell phones in those days. No one had called anyone, but somehow there were about 15 kids who all just happened to show up around the same time at my house to play. That never happened before, or since. No one ever said anything out loud, but the way people were interacting with me was different. I could tell that they were drawn to me. I had some kind of charisma. I knew what it was, but didn't even try to communicate the experience to anyone. I think at some point I may have mentioned it to my little sister Haley.

I had received no instruction. I didn't become any holier or saintlier because of the experience. I wasn't given a mission or a purpose. I just met God in a personal and profound way. So, what was there for me to do than what I usually do.

More than usual the other kids deferred to me to lead them in play. I had the most fun playing war. Sometimes we would call it war and sometimes we would say "play guns". I was the best at it. I was good at organizing the teams, and setting the scenarios, and it was almost always the case that whichever team I was on, would win. It was what I loved the most. So, we went to some old abandoned trailers across the street where we sometimes played. We use the houses to do S.W.A.T. like hostage recovery missions. We would take turns being the rescuers, and the hostage takers. We continued to play for hours. We played until it was too dark to play anymore.

The calm and peace I received from hearing the voice of God stayed with me for a long time. Eventually the charisma wore off, and I just lived an ordinary life. I never forgot what happened. I just moved on. It wasn't until I was 17 years old that I heard the voice for the second time.

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What happened?

2013-04-03T10:42:00.000-07:00

So when I first posted The Drug Trafficker I got 1400 page views in one day. Most days after that the page views hovered around 1000 a day. But now there is a steady decline, and I am only getting around 300+ page views a day.

What happened? Was it only sensationalism? Did the shock value wear off?Or are you disappointed because I started writing about my life in fiction? The Drug Trafficker is not fiction, most of the posts are not fiction.

Perhaps you can sense that I chickened out.

I started out with the commitment to write everything 100% true, but I got scared, and started writing in third person limited in order to give myself an out.I was afraid that if I wrote the truth, there would be a chance afterwards that I wouldn't like what I learned about myself. It takes a great deal of courage to write the truth, it leaves you vulnerable. Vulnerable to judgement, vulnerable to retaliation, and even self destructive legal implications. I thought I was ready to stand before the world naked. I thought I was ready to tell my story without flinching, and with no excuses or apologies, but I hesitated.

The feedback I got from 'Killing Alpacas' was that it really punched hard. Some of you lost sleep after reading it, some of you cried hard. The story is true, as true as I can remember it. Old friends have written me in private trying to dissuaded me from my path of self destructive disclosure.

Friends, you are right. I do seek to self destruct. It is precisely the destruction of self that gives me the promise of liberation. My self destruction started a long time ago, perhaps even as young as fifteen years old.

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Fort Benning Peebody

2013-04-02T01:58:00.000-07:00

Peebody

Some boys wanted to be football players, some doctors, some rock stars. From an early age, I remember consistently wanting to be one thing, an elite soldier. I went to Fort Benning Georgia only a few days after my 17th birthday. The year was 1994. My MOS was infantry.

One morning in boot camp we were doing bayonet training in the sweltering humidity of the Georgia summer. There were about 500 camouflaged recruits with their rifles bayoneted with real bayonets, and all lined up against each other in what can be described as a giant football field, but with bark, not grass.

We would face off with the guy in front of us and pretend to kill him with our bayonet, stopping short of actually stabbing him. We said things over and over again, like "Kill kill kill, with cold blue steel!!" or "Blood makes the grass grow greener!" or sometimes just "KILL!!" You know stuff like that to desensitize us to the idea of plunging a metal blade into another human's chest cavity.

Because of the heat, and physical exertion the camp policy was that we had to drink one quart of water every hour. We had to demonstrate this by holding our canteens above our mouths when commanded. "If your pee isn't clear, your dehydrated!" we heard over and over again. We had been doing bayonet training all morning, I had about 5 canteens of water in me. We didn't get a single break for hours. Some guys were running into the treeline to pee. I wasn't sure if I would get away with that so I asked the next Drill Sergeant that passed by.

"Drill Sergeant!!"

"What do you want boy?"

"Request permission to use the latrine Drill Sergeant!!"

"Son....ain't no body gonna get a break round here till I see piss runnin down your leg!!'

"Yes Drill Sergeant."

My brain turned over his words, and the more I thought about them, the more I felt they could have been construed as an order. Even if they were a conditional order, the logical equivalent of our exchange could be translated as... "Son, if a break is what you want, you have to pee your pants to get it."

I turned to the recruits on either side of me and those within ear shot "Hey, HEY! Watch this!" Then I proceeded to relieve myself in place. I called for the drill Sergeant again, he only walked a few yards away before I put my plan in action. He comes storming back to me, and gets in my face.

"What do you want boy?"

"Drill Sergeant! Request permission to use the latrine Drill Sergeant!!"

"Son, I told you ain't nobody gonna get a break round here till I see......" It was precisely at that moment in his sentence that he looked down at my right leg, only to see that the bloused pant leg had ballooned up to mid calf full of my urine. Like a cloth water balloon it was slowly draining out, into and around my boot. Indeed he saw piss running down my leg.

The Drill Sergeant was obviously stunned. He tried to maintain composure, but he struggled for words. "Oh, NO, Oh no you didn't. Oh you didn't you little... Oh you dirty little.. you ....Peebody!"

As soon as he said "Peebody" we all lost it, including the Drill Sergeant. It was the most ridiculous thing any of us had ever heard a Drill Sergeant say. What is a peebody anyway? I had stumped a Drill Sergeant, and that was something none of us have ever seen before, and probably never since.

The Drill Sergeant was laughing so hard he had to hold himself up by putting his hands on his knees. He was bent over laughing. When we saw him laughing so hard, we all laughed even harder. For just a brief moment it wasn't the Drill Sergeant and a bunch of recruits, it was just a bunch of guys, just a bunch of people sharing a moment of humor and joy that made us all laugh very hard, even in the midst of very serious business as pretending to kill people with knives.

After that the Drill Sergeant didn't get mad at me. I wasn't punished. In fact, he was true to his word. After he stopped laughing, he signaled the main instructor with the bullhorn who stood on a tower in the middle of the large field. The Drill gave the main instructor a time out sign, followed by a hand with five fingers extended.

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We would really only have five minutes, and if you didn't pee, or get more water, you were going to incur the vengeance of the Drill Sergeants. Everyone rushed to relive themselves. 500 recruits trying desperately to pee in a latrine that only fits about 20 guys at a time, and a watering hole that only fits about 10 people around it created a fervent sense of urgency during the break.

When we were around the watering fountain, some recruits were exclaiming how glad they were to have a break. When 'the witnesses' heard this, they took it upon themselves to let everyone within shouting distance know that I was the reason for the break. One got the attention of the crowd and made an announcement. "Hey, Hey you guys. This guy right here is the one you can thank for getting this break." Many thanked me right away. Then, of course, someone asked how I did it. Whereupon I replied proudly "I peed my pants!"

They would look down to see the evidence of my claim. Some laughed, some were grateful, others were disgusted. Some felt bad for me for having to walk around in a squishy boot all day. For the most part, I felt supported and even celebrated as a hero, a sort of defiant rebel. Who would have ever thought that peeing ones pants could have earned the gratitude and admiration of so many young soldiers. One guy then told me that he heard that urine cures athletes foot. The five minutes were up and we ran back to our positions where we would continue bayonet training for a few more hours.