If you have too narrow a focus on your goals, your efforts may often be reckless and you’re likely to miss the wonders and blessings that life brings. So in the grand scheme of things, I pursue a few humble goals- I may be aiming low here but bear with me. My Goals:

Do amazing things.

Be an amazing man.

Love an amazing woman.

Enjoy all of it; every stare, every fight, every kiss, every failure and victory: every moment.

I’d be happy to achieve and sustain these four. Life is too short to live it down. I’ll cultivate all the positive lesser goals and steps I need. I’ll continue to have plenty of  hurdles, bumps, crashes, mistakes, losses, and embarrassing episodes but they’ll highlight the quixotic adventures, romantic episodes (and attempts), and the humorous shenanigans; each and every one full and rich with the compassion and tenacity with which I live. I’m sure I’ll continue to side step and swirl around in mischief and mayhem. I’ll still move forward, cultivating knowledge and wisdom while seeking out  the positive things that truly serve me and empower me to be of service to others. I’ll settle to live nothing short of an epic. And if I have anything to do with it, as I believe I do, I’ll have many happy moments throughout, important characters at every twist and turn, and won’t save it all for the end.

If we’re all holding the pen to our pages, why not drain the well, and pour the ink heavy, telling of a full and savored life? Why not follow through every word, with every microscopic  behavior, habit and action towards such life? What stops you?

I hold the pen to but my own pages. I do in fact scribble every episode and make it so. Even my worst moments bring me closer to friends,  the great pain gives way to strength, and all turns to laughter in the long run. The lonely nights are but the gaps between stars- and with them, in them, and through them, do I appreciate the way the light of those better moments and dreams glistens and reach to me.

A question that I’m asked often is what powers my drive. Where does this drive come from. I usually let out a light chuckle before I answer, knowing how absurd it will sound. The second question, often communicated by perplexed look, and mostly by other men, is why (the hell) I listen to all this fruity, soft, fem music most of the time. Believe it or not, the two are closely related. And while I can rock as hard in the rough and tumble, ‘Saturday night’s alright for a fight ‘fashion, weight lifting to Godsmack, Corroded, punk rock,  you name it; I limit that music to moments and activities where it truly serves me.  Now before you go out and buy every Billy Holiday, or Florence + The Machine album out there thinking to obtain some new empowerment, read on, to understand- it’s the fullness of the experience and mind that make the formula work, not the obvious tangibles.

Short version: Every man has his dream girl and muse, and even the bravest fighters were often driven by or recognized the power of feminine forces; Odysseus dreamed of Penelope and was cared for by the Goddess Athena, Lancelot had Guinevere (much to dismay of the King), sailors describe the sea as a great love and lover “she is the sea”, and I have my own dreams too- and lead my life in thanks and appreciation with songs for someone whom I’ve not met yet, knowing that these things + pursuits of authenticity and self actualization will lead me to her. I imagine that this cosmic dream, is out there sending praise and appreciation my way too, all yet to be realized. Life’s fun this way.

Perhaps I did not  get enough affection as a kid I don’t know. I find the world a hard place and it’s easy to be cruel, hard, mean, angry and violent. I find it all too easy to be those things; easy to be selfish in such a destructive way. Anyone who’s grown up with neglect, abuse, or hard times any sort will likely admit that it’s easy to be angry, bitter and cold. And there is an overwhelming cultural force of music and media to support these mentalities. These feelings have their place (I try to leave them at the gym or on the court).  For these reasons, when anger and all these negative emotions come easy to me, I seek to balance it out by cultivating an understanding and appreciation for more positive mindsets, and softer things.

If all you know is hardness, pursuing more hardness to an extreme won’t return you a full and rich of life. To escape it, or rather to connect and explore the unknown, you must contemplate a positive value to the opposite and go explore it and cultivate it. In many ways, especially in male culture, we still to this day, smash on softness to an extreme, and have forbidden the balanced man/warrior poets. Yet we so obviously suffer from an epidemic of over-compensation (read Douchebags) on the one hand and complete effeminate wimps (read pussies) on the other, as if it is a polar choice. Between, option A, and option B, I choose option Z and reject the notion.

Live, love, & fight with courage.

In times of war tis same take courage,

In times of love have courage,

Live with courage-never too lax never too taut

Know the tension of life,

Strive, pour it on write it down, let it settle,

Let it ride the veins and go- go onward.

I think part of courage requires a wisdom and healthy fear of limitations and healthy optimism for possibilities, embracing the emotional and psychological challenges as with all the confidence and might you would the more physical tests. After all, not all dragons can be slain by the sword, some require mastery of the heart.  And to that effect, some of the greatest warriors and heroic archetypes have been the greatest poets and lovers.

Love + Home to me, (for many reasons I’ll drone on and on about below) are kind of distant or ethereal to me for the most part. They’re partly states of mind reached in pursuits of authenticity and integrity. I reach them by being/feeling authentic and in line with my values. I find them in times where I recognize that in that moment, I am being the man I want to be. That’s when I know I’m on the right track, and that’s when the people, elements, and awareness comes to me.

I believe, that what we get out of life, is largely dependent upon what we seek, the effort we put in, and what we project outwardly. Taking the time to imagine vividly, to think actively about the life I want, the home I want, the love I want; these visualizations fuel my drive, and in many ways that I can barely fathom, attract these things to me. For these reasons, I psychologically hoard all the good stuff I can.

In the form of music, I seek positives; sometimes calm, sometimes not, sometimes struggling like water crashing over the rocks and spilling down mountains.

The true and perhaps greater challenge then is to walk with compassion in the face of adversity and draw near and protect those sweet voices anywhere I find them.

I could use my talents and predispositions to take everything I can, give in to the societal value system, but my dreams, desires and hope stop me. They can be great teachers but there are better pursuits that are  far more valuable and rewarding to me at least. Violent or cold mindsets only bring greater pain and suffering to my life.  For this reason and how I view the world, I need little external encouragement. So I cultivate that which I lack, that which I wish to attract, that which I cherish and dream about- compassion, affection,etc.

What I desire in home/love/life  is a partly a dream and fantasy, a warmer place of compassion, affection,  understanding; just a place in my head, where I love to go; and a state of mind is closest I might ever get to it. I didn’t grow up with a solid root system or warm home life, so it makes perfect sense  that I chase the notion now. And while these notions once crippled my life, creating codependent habits, etc.

Home to me as a grown man: a warm, loving woman, warm place, both full of compassion.

I picture the world a warmer place the people in my life warmer, more compassionate and so I rigorously pursue self development, actualization and acceptable level of authenticity.

The drive, the juice and marrow of my life, here’s my secret: I dream of a warmer world; a warmer love, that I’ve not known and may never know but if I’m to find it- it will be in pursuit of the man, the authentic person that I believe I am and can be.

Find me happy and compassionate,

strong and able and ever reaching.

Ever reaching- and so I push

And so I  train, Ever ready.

Never perfect but always forward,

open and ever-ready.

I bury myself in these words. I bury myself in these songs. I cram the lyrics and vision in my head and dreams. Stirring them often to keep them evenly dissolved, perfectly mixed  in the soup of my mind. Like prayers and little awarenesses, little seeds, that they may sprout and attract that and whom for which they were designed.

I get a laugh when asked about it- I don’t know if she exists, such a compassionate fulfiller that can draw me in and not be turned away. I know if she does-I’ll only find her in pursuit of living authentically, as the man I am proud to be, and so I run, so I push, so I go.

I’ll know it when,
Will I?
Will I see it then?
Will I feel it then?
I will.

I’ve searched my past, my present and future. I’ve driven myself mad many times over, contemplating something warmer than my dreams, warmer than my bed, warmer than my home, a new level, a love, an awareness, a bridge and connection to a greener place , a place to rest if only for a moment.

These voices that stay my hand in times of anger, though are not with me in life. That compassionate voice is not present. So I imagine them near by -I  hear them in music. The greater I pursue the person I want to be- the closer I get to those voices and places I desire. So I endure and walk forward by no means  good, but authentic, human.

Call it idolatry and grand delusion- I call it purpose, hope and dream; ethereal and up to me, for my part to see through to fruition.

And so I’ll sing her songs and fill my heart and thoughts as I smile and run down-trail. I am-and it is intertwined. It is my nature. So deaf you’ll find me if you try to dissuade and dead you’ll find me If you ever succeed in doing so. No material comfort could replace this, my drive and heartbeat- so it is. Perhaps more should be this way. Perhaps more are- more than I realize.

Achievement is an enjoyable side effect, the drive is pursuit  Achievements are nice snapshots along the way, largely immaterial and unrewarding save for the solid rung on which to leap upward from.

My friends  laugh -you are a strange and funny man, “You do not sing the hymns of battle. ”

To which I respond “Yet I have more victories.”

I’m sure the music and mantras will find me when I’m in a mood to break, destroy, rape and pillage; I need not keep them top of mind. Til then I’ll listen.

Thats it.  The rest is frosting and sprinkles and another candle each year- cake anyone?

A Few Songs That Caught My Attention While Working on This

To get the full effect- check these out:

Definitely give Hem a go.

Half Acre – Hem Listen Here

Idle (the rabbit song) - Hem Listen Here

Asleep at the wheel – Working for a Nuclear Free City Listen Here

The Girl – City and Colour Listen Here

Dream Girl – Dave Matthews Band Listen Here

Heavy in your arms Florence and the Machine Listen Here

Sometimes ( I Wish) – City and Colour Listen Here

Stand by me - Tracy chapman Listen Here

Candlelight - Imogen Heap Listen Here

Lost – Coldplay (Surprisingly Good Lyrics ) Listen Here

Float on - Modest mouse Listen Here

Sometimes in order to grow, we need to, in essence destroy ourselves. By breaking down the old walls, leveling the lot, we can make room for new things to grow. These moments are often the results of  unconscious action and disaster and are recognized in humbling and embarrassing moments. It isn’t until we begin sorting out the after math, when we can identify the disconnections from our authentic selves, that we can identify the underlying neglected elements, needs, and new opportunities. Luckily, in the rubble and disaster of it all we are blessed with the opportunity to change and re-build. We’ve no structure left to cling to and only the open air and choice, to re-define, re-confirm, and once again explore our identity and direction, by picking up the pieces and putting things back together. The wrecking ball blows of self- destruction can be the birthing pains of a better life. 

There is hope for even the the hopeless,  in our worst moments and personal disasters; be it the heart breaking ending of a relationship, a twisted car wreck, or pathetic displays of public drunkenness. As long as we’re breathing the next day, the events that occurred however negative offer us eye-opening opportunities for re-connection and course correction. Some times we reach new lows, and other times, we re-visit old lows, passed out in our own filth while strangers discuss where to drop our body (new low for me ). These rock bottoms and new lows can help us in the long run. The sooner we realize the fall and self-destructive nature of our choices and behaviors, the sooner we feel the floor, and can take comfort that we can’t (or won’t allow ourselves to) fall any lower. From there, looking up and exploring what lead to the great calamity can lead to new insights about ourselves and present situation.

Moving forward- usually means staggering, limping, holding your head in your hands, praying for a shower and a cup of coffee, as you meander onward. How many times have you been offered the advice to simply “just take a step,” or “soldier on,” as we move forward?  It’s a classic image of confident triumph and charge ahead, but often enough, we don’t simply march on. I’ve had my share of epic failures and tragedies, and can honestly say, I don’t remember simply walking away from the explosion and train wreck, or moving on with a swagger as if I meant for it all to happen. In fact, if I ever did, it usually meant that I wasn’t finished processing things and set myself up for future crashes down the road. If you’ve not limped and whimpered away, screaming “what was I thinking?” ,  you’re likely missing some important life lessons (and really fun/exciting moments).

It’s important to recognize the staggering missteps as you recover and rebuild. Checking in on yourself and being honest about what you’re walking away from and how it’s affecting you can save your life.  Similar to being drunk, you recognize in your current state, when you’ve got double vision and the spins, that it’s probably not a good time to drive home. Likewise, sprinting away from a problem or painful moment, by living in fast-forward, rushing into other things to escape the thoughts, will more times than not lead to more and bigger trouble.

There is a hangover and healing time to every bad situation. The residual effects linger for a while. And the sooner we explore the situation, come to peace and re-hydrate;  the sooner we heal and can march forward in the fearless soldiering style, that our friends and loved ones compassionately advise us about. Personal failures, humiliating moments, and tragic disasters provide opportunities to re-invent ourselves. Sure you can mope and whine and stir in those feelings of self pity and victimization, but you probably won’t get far crawling like that until you pick yourself up and decide to start walking again.

When it comes to self-destructive acts, I’m a demolitions expert, professional stunt man and carpenter. I’ve blown it up, jumped it, wrecked it, risked it, and rebuilt it many times over. At times I feel 3 screws short of a screw loose. I get myself into so many moments that require course correction, confidence and courage that I have to right them down from fear that I might forget them. I try not to repeat failures, but have certainly been guilty of every coping/avoidance tactic out there.

These days I know a bit better. I  at least  no longer attempt fleeing scene. I’m here with a push broom, fresh blueprints and an eager and open heart. Sure I might move slow at first, but I’ll get better.

In order to move forward, we have to challenge ourselves and question our attachment to beliefs and pain of the past, by letting them go. Clinging out of fear does not help us move closer towards happiness. Often times, what we’re clinging to is a fictional world of rationalizations, where we’re not even owning up to our own shortcomings, mistakes and roles in the circumstances of a given event. In these states we learn little. Letting go seems like a hard notion in practice, in order to reach forward for happiness, we must let go of fear and pain.

To steal a line or two from Imogen Heap. “Let go. There’s beauty in the breakdown.” There is a majesty to it all.  In giving up the illusions of what we thought we knew about ourselves and the world we live in, we can return to the child like wonder of it all and imagine and dream without limitation of the perception of what is “known”. Hitting the reset button on parts (or most) of your life that you recognize you need and desire to change is an empowering experience. Luckily for us humans, these opportunities are granted, all too often, in the form of embarrassing moments, failure tragedy and disaster.

Notes to Self:

Attentively search for opportunities for growth and awareness.

Recognize smaller invitations to change welcome them early on.

1st Personal Realization/Admission for 2012 – Accidentally cross fading pain killers + alcohol on an empty stomach = recipe  for embarrassing self-destructive moments, and definite invitation to some more personal growth moments. :p

Don’t run from it. Learn from it. Then move forward.

Forget the fairy tale, there’s more magic in the truth than there ever was in the old story books anyway. The beast came before the man and the man was worse, at first. The curse wasn’t of beauty or beast it was of  blindness and desire. I spent my days fighting for fantasies. It’s all I’ve known. I don’t know if I’m the trickster and fool, or the product of witch craft and alchemy. I merely know, that I am here.

For a girl, a beautiful girl,  he desired so much to be a man,

Such a silly thing, such a wonderful thing.

Shed the skin, shave the fur, and starve.

Dressed up in the finest collars,

Trapped and bound in buttons and ties,

Taught himself to walk upright.

A clown and spectacle  to the other animals.
Holding  his teeth and tucking his tongue

Neatly in his closed mouth required constant attention.

Utter a word and his teeth would gleem and all fall out,

Words too would deliver their quality,

revealing intelligence,  leading to provocation.

And it would be up with the torch pitch forks.

As quietly as he could, he listened and smirked,

Obsessing over every petal and subtlety of her way.

Her shadow and friend, watched as she’d fling ,

What a beautiful flower, and with that notion,

He coveted.

Such a silly thing, such  a little silly thing.

Fell all the more and wanted so much

To be a man.

Bearing it no more, he wished to tell,

His story and all that he had done

Just to walk next to her.

What a foolish thing, letting lips unfurl,

Giving himself away, a beast among men,

The growl in his voice unmistakable.

Sending all away, to fetch the town crier,

and rally the mob.

Last words and dying wish fell like a thunder,

She was frightened, and rightfully so,

Knowing for the first time his nature.

Let them in after him with a scream that cracked the heart.

In came the cynics and nay-sayers, all to poke and prod,

to maim and kill him if they could.

Chased him to the ends of town and treeline.

He escaped and lived,  taking with him but a flower,

a coveted memory and mad hope.

Outside the next town over, a cracked heart,

A foolish longing and undying ambition got the better of him.

To be a man, such a silly notion.

Refined his facade, learned to speak with tact and mechanism,

Meaningless words he found, made people more comfortable,

So he used those the most,

Burying his true voice and heart in his stomach,

Forgot how to growl at all.

Petals fell. Time passed.

The disguises improved,

And he was a passable and even likable gent.

Found himself another treasure-

Reciprocated love- I know of nothing greater.

But he forgot his heart, his growl, and nature,

For the ambitions of men, and she too left.

And this time, it was not but a cracking blow,

But the utter destruction of the heart,

That at once, reminded him of his nature,

The true nature of love and life,

And in this little death, he learned  mortality.

Like Lazarus – brought back to learn more of life and humanity.

By some compassionate force,

Some god that took pity on his ignorance,

Admired his ambition, passion,

and saw a capacity for more than he knew.

He felt cursed; thought the world of witches and mayhem.

The world of men was a cruel place, and he was stuck,

He forgot his home and the path to get back,

not himself, not of nature, of nowhere,

he had become of his own creation and folly.

Cursed, and without a mirror to point to and lay blame,

Only books and songs of men to keep him company,

and picked up the pen and took to paper in the language of man,

and wrote with twisted heart, to process his frustration,

What would later become legend.

But his story stretches beyond those books.

The petals poured like heart beats, and the flower shriveled to a pitiful relic.

In loneliness and solitude, he was confused by the reasoning of man

When they invented time, as if to punish themselves,

Masochistically counting every second of their lives as it slipped away,

As the lonely, heart-broken, lost and idle are prone to do.

He learned the cruelty of man, and  promptly stopped staring at clocks.

He passed the time with studies of the world; philosophy and riddles to keep his brain from hearing his heart,  but even that betrayed him. It tricked him to  reconnect with his  natural talents, meddling in magic and alchemy;

Scorching his hands and heart on more than a few times in grand taste and fine calamity. His desire for love and reckless pursuits tainted his efforts. In his frustration, he abandoned prose for paragraphs, hoping to discover in volume what eluded him in the brevity of prose and poetry.

He remembered the importance of nature, and surrendered again to the seeming chaos of it all. He Retreated to the familiar bends, hills and woods of his childhood, and deep into himself. He reflected on all that was and all he had become.

Unlocking a bit each time, he made lists, notes, and scribbled a mess of revelations sensical and important perhaps only to him:

In knowing nature, and compassion, you know yourself, and you know God.

What was thought a curse, was a cure;  a complex formula, a winding, perilous tangle of roads, trails, oceans and country side, a path leading me to exactly I need to be, here, in this moment. If pursued with integrity and authenticity, what were once thought cruel, were  but important lessons of life. 

Misadventures too are grand and to be met with smiles and laughter.

What were once thought witches, were blessed teachers and mentors. No ill ought to be wished upon them, only praise and affection. All that came  before offered opportunity for wisdom. In failure and pain, struggle, frustration and reflection, seek wisdom. Wisdom brings us closer to happiness. 

A life spent in disguises of other men is an unsatisfying one, yielding little fruit and creating an unquenchable thirst through expectation. What is true for others must not be blindly accepted by me. Authenticity, integrity, consistency in word and deed are worthy pursuits even if in perfect form are unsustainable.

Expect nothing, but do all that can be done in the moment. Let not a petal fall wasted in hope, when the hands can help deliver in the  moment.

Love of life I know well. Of intimate and romantic love, I know little, save for 673 ways to fail with spectacular form- via intensity, passion, fear, shame, and lust. Of what little truth I know, is that all matters of the heart must be pursued with the full self, virtuous and well intentioned. It is a maddening formula that escapes me; something of timing, something of mindfulness, something of magic & alchemy, something of vulnerability, something of distance, something of tension, something intimate, something attractive, all  heated to different degrees, in different amounts at various times, depending on the intended recipient; a maddening pursuit but worth while from what little I’ve tasted of it.

Meddle with magic and alchemy often. These were meant to help keep life interesting. Of love and alchemy however, be careful when mixing the two.The results can do more than merely singe the brow.

Only meddle with love when opportunity comes to you through natural course. Do not force it, do not chase it intensely.

It is more elusive than any other force and far faster than a jack rabbit. 

You must be cunning, quick, aware, and know  when to leap after it. 

Love always involves risk. If you are not afraid for your life during the pursuit, you’ll never surrender enough to let it into your life in its ripest form. 

Never cage love. It doesn’t keep well in a pen, and can’t be tamed.

Don’t dwell long in the pain of  a broken heart. Learn as much as you can, do what you must to heal and keep at it.

Not every chase must be a pursuit of love, but all should be treated with respect and compassion. The doe may feed your hunger and leave heart wanting, but do not dishonor any pursuit. Give thanks and humble prayer, even if only kept in the slight glisten of a single, sacred and hidden tear.

Cultivating compassion & mindfulness are the constant lessons for those in pursuit of a happy life. I may never know their full depth or scope, but the pursuit serves me well.

A beast, a man, both reconciled their nature. My story is not over-

‘-Now just a furry man in a collared shirt.

Running through the ice and ambush of it all the old traps that hold us back and make us prone to fall – the internal chase deepens, seeking to pull out the dormant parts within..

Trailing behind
They want to see me burn
Wither and turn
Around the bend
I’m already lit
My own fires- leaving contrails

Running hard got to stay ahead of the  criticism and ridicule.  The beliefs I hold, old, new and foreign to most, make the world a magical but at times lonely place. They still burn you for practicing magic and alchemy. So keep them hidden, buried in briefcase, spells, prayers and formulas, encoded in a loose mess of papers and scrap.

Ran beyond the dam and back log,

Past the chimney fires and foot prints,

Forked off and forged ahead,

Getting warmer,

Shedding fresh tracks on the untraveled

Nearer now,

Closer to home.

Filled with the scents of cedar, minding the mountain, crisp air and fallen trees, giving feet and legs their fill today, they’ll ache with eager stories to tell in the morning.

Keep the furnace warm,

The body with, is against me,

The sweat crystallizes,

separating water and salt,

wrapped in a frozen shell,

I shed the layer- it’s a race now

To slow down, the cramps will come,

The cold will swallow,

And the crowds will follow

To put out my fire.

Coming down the mountain

This moment

Would share it with anyone who could hear them,

Would the words but fall upon ears that could make use of them

Maybe I’ll run into another fool,

chased by point of torch and  fork,

Brave enough to keep their natural soul,

Intimate and familiar

with ancient uncorruptable heritage

Now displaced by what’s been built upon it

They’re more rare than a hope’s chance,

Hope is not enough to fuel me.

I run in pursuit of self. At best you get lucky, and find someone to keep your pace, and match your fire. Dimming and slowing will bring you down. They are not worth risking iron shackles and hangman’s noose.

But, so rich is this moment and alone still it’s magic,

Alone it will do for now.

Let go of what’s been sold- a bad bill of goods, best let sunken costs lie.

Denying what is part of the whole, authentic self, separating the dark and the light is maddening chore. Are we not born of both light and dark? They both make up a day. My bipolar morality and path of either/or left out maybe/and, happiness and fulfillment.

The  cut in dry made it easy to rationalize behavior and blind to subtlety, you can twist and bend the light to shine on even the darkest deed. It’s a wash, and a con; a black and white romance of right and wrong, where everything is known, fixed, and sure. Surely it’s all just rigid, brittle and broken belief.

I’ve spent years hiding my spine,  shoveling sod on my thirst and desire, giving into what’s been over-prescribed as  right and good. What an addiction, if you accept what your fed, the more you pursue, the more you surrender, the less you receive. Surely the self has a place in what is right or what ought to be. I’ve built a gravel road over my dreams, making it all to easy for others to tread upon them carelessly. It’s a heavy tab, denying desire. It’s a steep price, at the cost of your pleasure and enjoyment.

Course correction courtesy of a sledge hammer and shovel.  Break em out, brush em out, throw them on the wall again. Dream again. I can only claim an honest pursuit of authenticity, honor and consistency in word and deed. Best to be real, honest, pursuing life with a child like curiosity and a list of questions. The instance you feel you’ve got all the answers, it’s all too easy to deviate and sputter out in old cycles.

The dam that divides has given way. I am undone and unleashed. The war within is won. The within is one. The resurrection of the natural self. The old is shed- caught lingering at the sleeves and ankles – discarded in excitement, prelude to many fine moments. These leaves weigh you down. Let them down. The scaffolds break away,  linear misconceptions, broken theories and simple notions that once propped me up, failed and fall away, leaving me free to move forward.

I’m unsure but exploring, and tumbling, laughing down hills. Bias surrendered, erasing the old penciled dividing lines of black and white.

Emerging from the cave, Beast and man reconciled- no longer primal animal, no Jekyll and Hyde, but passionate huntsman, dressed in the furs of what was. My desires are brought to consciousness,  and I’m accountable but not haunted.

Hiding the heart on the shelf, locking it in a jar, and walking away. My head in the clouds, feet on the ground, I’ll be playing in the park, keeping the hands busy and mind sharp-to task. I give it a day before I wonder where I put it. With any luck the dust will pile on and I’ll miss the label or forget entirely; That Pandora’s  box, the linchpin of life and universal connector, the source of saving grace and great condemnation.

I’m running away and praying, and know enough now, to pray in secret.  Keep them muffled, here buried in the rubble of ruined words. These prayers safe only to zealous reader.

Run fast.  Faster than any cage or net. Who I am is worth holding onto and surrendering to first trap set for me.

They like the sound, songs of old souls sang from the young always sell.

I can’t help but sing, but best to tell these stories on the run.

Roped and robbed I’ll be if I slow down.

In a word, fun is neoteny, being like a child; dancing and singing badly and shamelessly in the shower (Note about dancing in shower- Bathrooms are dangerous- don’t try it at home kids, I’m a professional). Fun is surrendering to the joy of the moment, abandoning pretense, fear anxiety and expectation. Fun is racing down grocery isles- neck and neck, cart to cart with a random stranger and his daughter, locked and loaded to the collapsible child seat, giggling all the way.

Fun is throwing out the stiff and brittle, rule book and making way for your imagination to  once again re-invade your life. Fun is putting your feet up on the dashboard on a road trip with loud music, good friends and only the vague notion of  journey and adventure but no known destination.

Fun is transforming the mundane into play.

An idle day, plenty to do, and I’ll get to it, but as I swab the decks, I hope for even the slightest of winds to fill the sails and point out carry this vessel to it’s next adventure. I’m lifted, light and free with plenty going for me and plenty to be thankful for. The fine crew that sails with me through life, a fleet of epics, filled to the brim with heroes in their own right. Watching the gusts fill the sails as the feeling of destiny tingles the spine, the notion that the cultivation of self-authentic, proud and whole, is leading you to new and wondrous things. I love the feeling.

Writer’s Denial. At first I thought it was writer’s block but as I explored  my thoughts, I noticed I was frankly refusing to write what I feel.  I was avoiding the true and the raw. As anything negative or critical is met with ironically, harsh criticism or worse, the obvious “sounds like somebody has a case of the Mondays” discussion. It doesn’t sell, especially if it’s true. Most people prefer bullshit, but the best rides are those with highs and lows, trials and triumphs. That all said, let’s deal with some lows.

Avoidance and Displaced Aggression

I started the morning pleasantly enough. How many people get to sleep in on a Wednesday, grab a book and get dragged to the dog park by their best four legged friend? I do. The dog park, however, is not the best environment for reading, at least not all the time. I enjoy the quiet moments outdoors, watching my dog play and harass the local neighbor dogs. Usually the owners are kind enough to keep voices low and their dogs quiet. Yet, as with any social gathering without an IQ requirement or discretion, loud mouthed dogs and equally obnoxious owners enter the scene and ruin any hope at a peaceful moment. I tolerate it but can’t help but think of the window-licking mongrels and their inept owners all barking asynchronously together.

I bury my face in my book, to make it clear, that I am overly involved in my book and prefer to keep it that way. Yet, inevitably, I am approached and accosted with simple questions from bored owners- desperate for stimulus.  I’m more than sociable on many occasions, but generally discourage interruption. It’s rarely a beautiful woman interrupting to flirt. It is usually an older guy who left his phone at home and in the place of thumb tapping on Facebook, he chooses instead to come over to the bench farthest away from the rest of humanity and poke at me with small talk. I’m tempted to offer to throw the ball for them.

As bad as they were, I had to admit that these things weren’t the source of my fouling mood. I tried writing the night before, but I couldn’t navigate to a positive space. So I deleted everything (sacrilege)  and was upset that I did. Throwing things out, attempting to find my voice and flow again can be frustrating. I was actually upset at the thought of holding back critical and negative assertions about life and recent experiences. Normally I’m brave, foolish and naive enough to voice my thoughts without fear. Yet, I wrestled with the keys on the keyboard, knowing full well how deep and dark I’d dive down if I continued on the path I was on.

I used the chapters of a self-help book at the dog park as a last ditch effort to convince me not to go negative. How unauthentic it is to never express a gripe, or go on a rant. How frustrating it is to hold back. After all, what better place than this? What better time? I know I’ll get through it and be back to prose, romance, and positive things, yet I thought I could fight or bypass the darker parts and skip ahead to the happier moments. My mind works against me, apathetic to my quest to avoid confronting these thoughts.

These Thoughts

I am an honest, intense, outspoken, complicated, easy target for judgement, and I’m okay with that. I provide so much ammunition for scorn, confrontation and finger-wagging, “you should be ashamed,…” moments. It goes with the life of a contrarian and anyone willing to define the rules of their own life and challenge others to challenge the bullshit sandwich of what is deemed “acceptable”, or ethical. I live my life in the gray and get shit from both the black and the white hats out there. Happy to oblige.

A big fucking HOWEVER, however, is doled out here because I absolutely hate and despise those moments when you get the strong inclination that you are being judged not for the obvious flaws, standard lines,  nor even by events in the moment, but by something far worse.  The person is looking to their past, judging themselves and you, and simultaneously predicting the outcome, as they bring down the gavel. Not judged for what’s in front of them. I don’t need extra help sabotaging my life.

We’ve all been guilty of it.  All the behavior in the moment is determined historically in the moment by our past. We can’t see what’s in front of us because we keep looking over our shoulders at what’s happened before, and we miss what’s in front of us. I can look back and recount some big blunders and missed opportunities due to this.

There is a difference between making a judgement based on learning from your mistakes and projecting past, present, and guaranteed perceived outcome, before anything can happen. This is self-deselection, and a setup job- of the foulest, brown swirling toilet water of cyclic existence.

I suppose I’m pissed because someone else did it and it’s beyond my control. No action, no words can overcome the walls of the past. There are no true conversations when shouts from a wall at others down below and hides from the response. Ignorant and naive stone throwing. If you cannot confront and discuss your thoughts with an open mind and willingness to be challenged, dis-proven, or transformed, then your conversations are one sided broadcasts.

After this sentence I will forget all about it and let it go, but I had to vent and get it out there; it gets in the way of good adventure and better writing. Maybe it’s true- that a hug would make it all better, or more great nights with friends old and new, lost and found. Perhaps more mischief, great nights of big trouble and quixotic misadventure are in order.  Sancho! Get my coat!

As I Brush the dust off the old blog space, forgive the rusty writing. I’ve done many stupid things in my life so far and made many mistakes- in a fantastic form and living up to the Captain Backfire title, but very few of those moments do  I lived to regret. The regrets that have stuck with me though, those emotional scarring moments that evoke painful memory, I’m never in a hurry to collect.

The mistakes that will haunt me for years to come are not what you’d first guess. They’re not the epic failed relationships, the blind-sided betrayals and denied foreshadowing sights and sounds of pain and heartache that most would cite. Those enemies are great teachers and bringers of growth. The failures I cling to and consider of epic nature, are far more subtle and often smaller, and seemingly insignificant than that. The specters of things that never were due to my carelessness strike at my core. They form the kind of scars that if you look at them closely, and long enough, or run your fingers upon or mind over, you can remember and feel their pain as fresh as the day they were forged. Missed opportunities and connections, like seeing a beautiful garden you’d like to investigate and promptly driving your car through it. embarrassing, humiliating, destructive and seemingly irreparable moments of regret.

I usually know in an instant, when I’ve added to that humble collection of deep, intimate, personal and failures that will be ingrained in my psyche for years to come. I don’t keep many secrets, but I do keep certain trigger points and memories, buried under the rug, through a trap door, in a sub basement of the basement cemented over for none to see; knowing full well, the deeper I bury them, the more painful they’ll remain. Occasionally, I’m lucky/intelligent enough to bring them to light, heal and let go, but let’s be honest, we all have a box of magical painful memories stored quietly somewhere, that we wish we could ignore.

There is a poetic justice, an unsettling cruelty, to watching bridges burn, knowing full well, with torch in hand, their cause; the accidental, well-intentioned, foolish, naive, selfish, thoughtless, or unaware nature of your conduct and actions that now permanently disconnects you from something or someone you care about. For me, these are sins with no rivals. They bear all the impact and penalty of worst conscious acts without the benefit of attention, malice, or common human character flaws. Ignorance is no excuse they say. And when the gavel comes down, the decibels of compassion, pleas for mercy or forgiveness are drowned out by the howls of pain, insult, and pride. Only self-aware have compassion for sinners, and I’ve met few who eagerly raise their hands to admit to that.

While you might argue that I do not always light the fire to burn the bridges, and you may be partially right, but I cannot fall in the habit of avoiding responsibility or blame. I know I carry leaky buckets of fuel, my big moth being one of them- everywhere I roam.  Maybe throwing myself on it will put it out this time… is a newbie’s hope. I’m a disfigured professional and champion at this, you throw yourself on it, own it, and ask for forgiveness without expectation, and good thing too, because it rarely comes.

After I’ve done all that  I can to put out the fires, to no avail; I can only watch the ropes burn. Often times, all you can do is fall to your knees and plead with God, or shake some trees to stir the spirits and ask for forgiveness. Each and every time as the heat rises and burns the top layer, singing the brows, I swear that I’ll remember that smell and that light that makes my eyes molten and glow red as the light dances on the tears I try to keep from flooding over my face- as men do- building dams in their eyes to block or control the natural way of things. I swear that I’ll hold on to them for my whole life and be attentive to this with zealous pursuit.  It doesn’t stop me from an onslaught of new and different  mistakes that throw you to fire once more.

It goes with ambition, it goes with effort; no one who tries avoids the flames. Anyone who has tasted great pleasure or held great love has felt great pain and has the scars to show for it. Eventually the fires die down and the hot coals and ashes discarded to the back of your mind, the great furnace of regret, only to billow and light your skin again in symphony with all your other mistakes when fresh fuel is piled on.

And each time, what may be easily dismissed by most, what many friends and loved ones will tell me to let go and surrender, what scorches my heart and my mind the closer to both it remains, I wrestle with for a moment longer, as if to  pay attention now to the rubble, though it kills me to do so. Letting the fire linger a little longer is the closest I’ll probably get to whatever connection I had before it all went up in smoke.

Such a new thing. Why bother? I’m asked. Why trouble yourself? These questions fall from mouths that have forgotten anything they’ve spoiled prematurely- like snipping a flower at the precise moment it begins to blossom. Most cope by saying- it probably wasn’t good anyway. What a great lie.  You knew it very well could have been and had all the trappings of, else it wouldn’t hurt so much that you have to lie to yourself about it. I do so much to cultivate and prevent from doling out harm and pain, keeping the pruning sheers away from any budding beautiful connection or thing. And still, in carelessness, still I fail and pay a tab far greater than one could ever read on my face.

The fires die down, but it’s yet not over. For now here comes the cold. I notice it in the winter air, the worst time to be burned, raw and open. Upon the palms of my hands that were once held warmly, the cold pursues me. It rips through my clothes tormenting my mind. This cold serves me; a reminder, way to go asshole.

The intensity is felt from the simplest, early and young infractions. Miscommunications and utter failures that most forgive themselves for or write off those who dismiss them so quickly. I do not. It is in these small notes of carelessness that echo down timelines when left unanswered.I don’t mind owning up to, taking responsibility for my actions and faults. I accept responsibility for conscious failures. It is the unconscious ones, the moments where I did not have enough sensitivity or awareness of my surroundings, of those involved and of the moment. Absent-minded, thoughtlessness, that you might forgive in a child, is so punitive to me.

How is it that divine spirits and gods can be so forgiving and people cannot? I don’t understand that. Gods are gods, immortal, ethereal, they need not suffer a single infraction of man nor of this world. Yet there are many instances of forgiveness, retribution, and so on. I suppose, walking the earth long enough, one might realize that mistakes, great and small are ingrained in life and humanity. Why are we, with such little time on this place, bound to be so stubborn? I do not live my life that way, though I do have ever shrinking moments of scorn.

Share your thoughts- I’d love to hear them.