….. and “…..” there was a noiseless Big Bang. Noiseless, because in space there is a vacuum and as such there is no sound. But, for sake of argument, there was a Big Bang… a beginning of all that is known.
But what do we know? Before the Big Bang there was an immense energy, a galactic soul that was growing, thriving, unknown and yet confined. Within that growing mass of energy, that soul, were countless billions of souls that were unique, yet connected… Souls borne of a single, simple purpose.. to venture into the universe and experience an existence unencumbered..
And then, pffft… at least in the vacuum … but for effect, there was a million-megaton explosion that rocked the cosmos. And the countless souls scattered … the connected souls parted and ventured into the great unknown at lightyear speeds with no known destination, like a Mexican crossing the Rio Grande.
Fast forward to the present day … to a soul limited by a calendar it is a time billions of years later. Maybe more, maybe less, but unimaginable nonetheless. It’s a long freakin’ time ….
A billion years is but a tic of the second hand on the Atomic Clock. Billions of souls connected by nothing more than shared energy and a desire to separate from the throng are still connected and each a part of the countless billions … Work with me here , I can elaborate later.
But imagine a soul that was torn in half by that noiseless act of creation…. And imagine that that soul meandered through eons of lives not being able to experience wholeness. Imagine the vastness of space standing between the human comprehension of the eons between the Big Noiseless Bang and Right Now and imagine that that span of time is the hole in self… what you are missing in yourself.
That is me. That WAS me … until August 28th, 2007. That is the day that I reconciled with the Big Vacuum Bang… again. Eons, millions, billions, gazillions of years later my minute speck of energy was drawn to a glaring beacon. That beacon was the part of my soul that had been lost at that moment of cosmic explosion. The vast emptiness of space I’d held and tried to plug with vices, experiences, more vices, a few more vices, money, a couple more vices, you get the idea… that emptiness was filled in a moment that consisted of a glance, a smile and acceptance.
Imagine, if you will, storming the beaches of Normandy on D-Day … utter chaos. As you jump from the perceived safety of your boat you encounter a barrage of shells, one of which lands at your feet and separates your legs from your torso… yet you live. Then, imagine that you are carried to safety, able to survive, yet now contemplate a future being unable to live fully without legs.
Now, wake up. An individual is able to live a fulfilling life without limbs. The legless veteran is fortunate to be alive. The soul parted from self is destined to die. A limbless body is just a body … yeah?
August, 2007 is when the Big Bang surgeons saved me from death due to cosmic shelling. To be able to recognize the connection that my incomplete soul has with its missing ¾ is not lost on me. I also recognize that the ¼ soul that I hold is no less necessary for a complete existence that the ¾ soul that she holds for me. We all have a percentage of another’s existence that we hold within us. Unfortunately, that percentage might not be held by the ones that we want or are with. That’s a smack in the face, eh?
Mushy, yeah … but I’m penning this for the one who fills the holes within my soul … the holes that were created for a reason ... the reason being that wholeness is obtained through lack and lack creates an appreciation for wholeness. Yeah, I lack much… I probably always will, at least on this planet, this time around … and I have lost everything, everything that I considered important and worthy of pursuit.
Nah, not really … I’m whole now. Not perfect, but whole. That ray of light that I clung to before the Noiseless Explosion has refracted, reflected and bounced around the cosmos just as my ray of light has done for millennia … Now, her lighthouse beacon has reunited with my penlight and together we can light the cosmos ….
Mushy, yeah. Heartfelt, most definitely. You see, a complete sense of self requires more than self because ‘self’ isn’t alone. The best part of me hates how I let the trash can get overstuffed while at the same time laughs at my lame jokes and tells me I’m handsome first thing in the morning.
The part of me that scattered during the Noiseless Bang knows that I’m as much a part of her as she is a part of me. The best part of me corrects me and feeds my inner adult when my outer child is a dumbass and in return, my outer child tells her clinched nerve-addled sphincter to lighten up …
My example is acutely personal. Yet, we all have within us a piece of another … all of us.
I don’t expect anyone to understand what I’m saying … that’s ok. I’m writing this for my better ¾. An early gift this Christmas. I give to her as a gift the full ¼ of my soul that makes her whole just as she has given to me the ¾ that I lacked. It's as if a galactic forensics team found two pellets of cosmic buckshot.
I’ve always love you, Pam. Always have, always will. Now, let’s examine that whole ‘Big Bang’ thing for a while … I think there was leather and latex in there somewhere … hehe … Ciao Bella.
Saturday, December 18, 2010
Sunday, December 12, 2010
White Lights and Timers
It's that time of year again when we throw caution to the wind. Christmas. Hannukkah. Kwanzaa. Druid Winter Solstice. So many traditions, so many decorations. It's the one time of year that beckons the inner ego within each of us to 'buy, buy, buy'... to impress upon those we love and those we tolerate that we're capable of out-doing, out-spending and out-loving everyone we know.
Nowhere is this more subtly evident that in the decorations adorning our homes. Call me old-school, old or tacky but memories of multi-colored, egg-shaped bulbs strung together by a lead-covered strand of wire scream 'Christmas!' to me. These were the lights that Snoopy adorned his doghouse with in the eternal holiday classic. These are the lights that the original druids used to light Stonehenge ... bright, lively, festive. Festive.... there's the key word I'm looking for.
Much like the earliest Druid children, in my childhood I would gaze upon the red, green, orange and blue glow of homes during the season of the winter solstice and marvel at the blend of colors. That blend of colors beckoned to me to appreciate something greater than myself and my 'need' for the new fuzzy-headed GI Joe figure. My parents would load me and my goofy sister in the car anytime after Thanksgiving and slowly the glow of the solstice would grow... all in shades of greens and reds and blues ... often twinkling ... little by little, the ride from my house to the local Eckerd Drug store would become more and more illuminated by the colors of the rainbow ... even the electric window candles were red, blue and green ... and the ocassional white.White... white isn't even a color, it's an absence of color.
By the way, shut up. Black isn't the absence of color, if that's what you're thinking. Black is the result of the mixture of ALL colors. Think upon that for a moment.
And then... something happened. Suddenly, Charlie Brown died and took his lights with him. The rainbow was quenched with the glow of tiny white lights. Nets of white lights draped trees and shrubs. It's as if there was a politically-incorrect decision was secretly made that eliminated color from home holiday decorations.
It has been suggested that there was a broken passage in the Dead Sea Scrolls that mentions that 'only lights of the brightest white are allowable when adorning one's abode..." Supposedly, there are clauses within mortgage agreements that stipulate that purchase of a home is contingent upon 'buyer's acceptance of HOA rules that 'Holiday' lights be acceptable (white) and in linear conformity to societal standards."
Basically, it's no fun to load the kids into the car and venture out to marvel at the tackiness or festive lights between Thanksgiving and Christmas. Hell, you can't even load a party of drunks, a CD of Weird Al Christmas songs and Carrot Top into a car and feel festive while driving by house after house adorned with white lights and sterile spirit.
Hmmm ... 'sterile spirit' ... the decor of a home acts as a mask for the personality of the ones who decorate. "Will those who drive by consider us 'tacky' or 'cheap' if we don't look classy and neat?"
The dumbing-down and conformity of humanity can be seen this time of year... each time you see perfectly decorated homes and lawns strewn with LED white lights, shrub nets, wreaths on the grills of BMW's and minivans and those 'Look!, I'm in the spirit! Look at Me!' inflateable snowman snowglobes, you see the spirit of ego and not the spirit of the season ...
*SLAP*
I like white lights. Pam and I have white lights on our tree. We also have a 15" (that's INCH) Charlie Brown tree with one ornament. That 15" tree represents who we are. The tree with the white lights has an entire strand of burned out lights. ... that also represents who we are. The best part for us is that none of this is on a timer ... we take down the tree with the white lights but the spirit of the Charlie Brown tree stays with us year-round. A rainbow of red, green, blue, orange and yes, a few white lights ... like Stonehenge.
Nowhere is this more subtly evident that in the decorations adorning our homes. Call me old-school, old or tacky but memories of multi-colored, egg-shaped bulbs strung together by a lead-covered strand of wire scream 'Christmas!' to me. These were the lights that Snoopy adorned his doghouse with in the eternal holiday classic. These are the lights that the original druids used to light Stonehenge ... bright, lively, festive. Festive.... there's the key word I'm looking for.
Much like the earliest Druid children, in my childhood I would gaze upon the red, green, orange and blue glow of homes during the season of the winter solstice and marvel at the blend of colors. That blend of colors beckoned to me to appreciate something greater than myself and my 'need' for the new fuzzy-headed GI Joe figure. My parents would load me and my goofy sister in the car anytime after Thanksgiving and slowly the glow of the solstice would grow... all in shades of greens and reds and blues ... often twinkling ... little by little, the ride from my house to the local Eckerd Drug store would become more and more illuminated by the colors of the rainbow ... even the electric window candles were red, blue and green ... and the ocassional white.White... white isn't even a color, it's an absence of color.
By the way, shut up. Black isn't the absence of color, if that's what you're thinking. Black is the result of the mixture of ALL colors. Think upon that for a moment.
And then... something happened. Suddenly, Charlie Brown died and took his lights with him. The rainbow was quenched with the glow of tiny white lights. Nets of white lights draped trees and shrubs. It's as if there was a politically-incorrect decision was secretly made that eliminated color from home holiday decorations.
It has been suggested that there was a broken passage in the Dead Sea Scrolls that mentions that 'only lights of the brightest white are allowable when adorning one's abode..." Supposedly, there are clauses within mortgage agreements that stipulate that purchase of a home is contingent upon 'buyer's acceptance of HOA rules that 'Holiday' lights be acceptable (white) and in linear conformity to societal standards."
Basically, it's no fun to load the kids into the car and venture out to marvel at the tackiness or festive lights between Thanksgiving and Christmas. Hell, you can't even load a party of drunks, a CD of Weird Al Christmas songs and Carrot Top into a car and feel festive while driving by house after house adorned with white lights and sterile spirit.
Hmmm ... 'sterile spirit' ... the decor of a home acts as a mask for the personality of the ones who decorate. "Will those who drive by consider us 'tacky' or 'cheap' if we don't look classy and neat?"
The dumbing-down and conformity of humanity can be seen this time of year... each time you see perfectly decorated homes and lawns strewn with LED white lights, shrub nets, wreaths on the grills of BMW's and minivans and those 'Look!, I'm in the spirit! Look at Me!' inflateable snowman snowglobes, you see the spirit of ego and not the spirit of the season ...
*SLAP*
I like white lights. Pam and I have white lights on our tree. We also have a 15" (that's INCH) Charlie Brown tree with one ornament. That 15" tree represents who we are. The tree with the white lights has an entire strand of burned out lights. ... that also represents who we are. The best part for us is that none of this is on a timer ... we take down the tree with the white lights but the spirit of the Charlie Brown tree stays with us year-round. A rainbow of red, green, blue, orange and yes, a few white lights ... like Stonehenge.
Friday, December 10, 2010
The Fred Phelps/Jesus Wikileaks Transcripts
Elizabeth Edwards died this week. She was a woman who surely had faults, as we all do. Yet, she endured betrayal, ridicule, predjudice and scorn simply because she was married to a public figure, John Edwards. I will not elaborate on John Edwards and his indiscretions. This isn't about him, this is about Elizabeth. She not only endured these things, she bested these things despite herself and the animal that ravaged her from within ... An imperfect woman.. no, an imperfect human ... no, an imperfect extension of each of us ... To borrow a phrase from the rider in the front seat of the short bus, Sarah Palin, 'She's You'... and me.
But, sadly, she's not Fred Phelps or any one of his misguided minions. The below noted official memo from the Westboro Baptist Church is no less imflammatory than hate speech spewed by the Ku Klux Klan, Nazis, Mel Gibson or Kanye West ... Take a gander and then partake in my perceived conversation between Jesus and Fred Phelps in regard to this event ... *note: the below memo is not my doing but is real and, sadly, serious.
But, sadly, she's not Fred Phelps or any one of his misguided minions. The below noted official memo from the Westboro Baptist Church is no less imflammatory than hate speech spewed by the Ku Klux Klan, Nazis, Mel Gibson or Kanye West ... Take a gander and then partake in my perceived conversation between Jesus and Fred Phelps in regard to this event ... *note: the below memo is not my doing but is real and, sadly, serious.
Okie doke. The following is an unofficial transcript obtained by WikiLeaks that details a conversation between Fred Phelps and his leader, Jesus, son of Tammy and Travis. The Westboro Jesus who was born in a mangy trailer, covered in swaddling sheets, complete with hood and a copy of 'Mein Kampf' and damns those who swill Jim Beam in favor of Jack Daniels and will save everyone who believes that he is the Savior of Dale Earnhardt's soul.
... and we begin ...
Fred: "God? Jesus? You there? I need to speak at ya ... this whore wife of an adulterer died today. Thank you. Can you give me a sign that you snuffed her? I mean, I know that you hate those who stand by sinners, whoremongers, liars and fans of Jeff Gordon. Woot woot."
.. and then, silence.
Fred: "Hey, Jeez ... it's me, Fred. I'm thinkin' that after dinner at the Sizzler, my flock might do a video that shows Liz Edwards as a sinner in Hell ... maybe to the tune by Bow Wow Wow ... you know, "I Want Candy" except we'll spin it into, "I Want Cancer" ... I know you like parody."
..silence.
Freddy: "Jesus, Jesus ... I always do what you tell me to do. You say 'hate', I hate. You say, 'antagonize', I antagonize. You say, "blow an altar boy', I say I'm not Catholic but I'll finger a schoolgirl ... I'm always here for ya, J-man. But, what are we gonna do about this evil, evil woman that died? I mean, Hell-fire, you sent her death and suffering and damnation, afterall. So, how can I, we, my church, further extol your message of love and acceptance by denouncing her self-perceived strength of spirit?"
... "ahem":... silence...
And then, as if a breeze was blown from the sphincter of God, a voice emerged from behind chords of a banjo ... and the voice said unto Fred the Divine ...
Voice: "Fred, Can ya hear me? It's me, Bob. I like the name 'Bob' because you can say it backwards or forwards and it still says 'Bob'.
Fred: "Jesus? God? Hallelujah! You have shown yourself and affirmed that your church, THE church, here in Kentucky, is right in protesting the death of a life of one who died in trying to live as she proclaimed false hope knowing that she was going to die which in effect is a lie and as such condemns her to damnation and hellfire."
Voice: It's 'Bob'.
Fred: "Oh, Bob. My utmost apologies. I should thrust myself upon a sword or stone myself. But, If I were to do that then who would lead the flock to the promised land of polygamy, judgementalism and paradise?... the paradise in which women without makeup or hair care products are desireable,.. the paradise that has St. Peter at the gates of Heaven, tearing in trackside tickets complete with an eternal pit pass and handing each of us entering a bucket of chicken wings and a cooler of holy beverages? J-Man, you and I are equal ... Let me bow my head for a moment as you nod to St. Earnhardt ..."
Voice: "Fred ... Fred, Fred, Fred ... first of all, just so ya know ... Dale is downstairs. Yeah, he rubbed too many cars the wrong way. Secondly, Liz ... Miss Edwards ... well, she's written quite an appeal on her own behalf as a result of your damning condemnation. I gotta tell ya Freddy, you might need to hire an attorney ... I hear Lindsay Lohan's and Mel Gibson's counsel might be available ... I might be the judge, jury and executioner but I'm willing to give you your day in court ..."
Fred: "Wait a minute ... Is this you Jesus? I know that sometimes there are people that try to impersonate you... Hold on, wait a second, I have a call from FOX News ... can you hold?"
Voice: "Suuure ... hehe ... (little does Freddy know that I made the call and I own FOX News) ...
....... moments later ....
Fred: "Uhhhh ... sorry 'bout that bro ... Beck wanted to know the details of the protest and bought four tickets. By the way, all monies received for protesting the death and life of those who died while exhibiting unholy faith and strength goes towards the new Family Life center and annual Chicken Pie dinner for the unsaved and unworthy. It's a good thing, trust me. All I personally get from it is a blurb on network news and possibly a blowjob from a parishoner which I know you'll forgive because I'm doing the work of...well, you."
Voice: "I most certainly have a nice spot in mind for your life in eternity, Freddy. Your actions really do accentuate my teachings in a way you'd never fathom. "Fathom" ... there's a word you might want to explore.
"Liz!" "Liz!" ... Hold on a sec, Freddy ....
Voice: "Hey, Liz ... would you reach over St. John and pass me that red Sharpie? yeah... that one ... and if you don't mind, I need that sheet of poster board ... I have an idea for a sign that is gonna make headlines at an upcoming protest ....I'm thinkin' you should be there to speak for me ..."
Voice: "Hey, Freddy? Here's where I want you to go next ... Oops... My bad. You're gonna be there already. Oops again, I just spoiled your surprise ... you're the guest of honor, so to speak. By the way, did you know that Westboro, Kentucky is now the galactic center of the universe and a spiraling black hole rests underneath the altar of your sanctuary? *wink wink* ... Just trying to clue you in ... "
Fred: "I KNEW that I was your chosen one! Can I have your chair at the right hand of God? I mean, Hell...oops, Heck ... You might have raised the dead but I condemned 'em ... so, move over...."
..... And so it is .. so let it be written, so let it be done ... please.
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Matter Is More Than Solid ... Blah Blah Blah
"Blah blah blah dee blah dee blah doo dee do umm blah de blah ... yadda yadda yadda blah, ugh, blah" ...
So goes the conversations that most people have with others and with themselves... every day, myself included. "Woe is me ..., " we cry ... "I'm broke ..", "I'm unemployed...", "I'm single..." ... "I'm fat,"... I'm married...", McDonalds gave me cold fries at the drive-thru ..." ... "I have herpes...".. whatever. Blah, blah, blah... yadda, yadda, yadda.
Have you ever been slapped in the face with a forty-pound trout that had already been pinned to a cedar plank? I'm not talking about the fun, sexual foreplay trout-slapping, but the 'snap-out-of-it-you-whining-pissy-bastard' slapping. If not, then you should visit your local supermarket and ask the butcher for a 'Visage Fish' dinner. Or, better yet, make a phone call to someone who can speak fluent "Blah dee blah" yet considers the language as defunct as Aramaic ...
"What the shiznit are you talking about?", you might ask ... (cleaning up the language for my mom)
Fair enough ... being that my train of thought is more a 'Little Engine That Could' than a Thomas the Train mentality, I'll elaborate. I owe it to humanity to either educate or alienate the masses as my destiny has been sealed although it was sealed with watered-down Elmer's glue and not contact cement. ...
Tonight I spoke to a friend. This friend has stepped upon the shore of the River Styx, extended her middle finger and raspberried Cerberus, Hades and any long-toothed fish in that damn river, turned her back, mumbled 'Fuck You, Death," and is now scoffing at nature, life, death and .those who underestimate the human spirit.
Now, I'll be the first to admit that I've always heard about the power of the human spirit. Yet, I've never really understood or appreciated what the human spirit is all about. To me, the human spirit is portrayed in a heartwarming story during the holidays ... The Hallmark Holiday Special presentation of "My Daddy Died at Christmas, but Didn't Really Die, Was Addicted to Everything Bad, Had a Disgusting Life But Always Wanted to Know His Family". You know, real life.
Real life to me is living down my past failures, wanting to make amends with children who can't, or won't understand my personal weaknesses and attempting to be of value, monetarily and emotionally, to someone who accepts me for my mind and spirit and not my numerical value even though that someone could care less about monetary value. Hey, it's my mind, don't try to understand unless you want to be immersed in a decades-long educational journey.
But tonight, a fish on a board slapped me.
Imagine, if you will, being full of promise and dreams. Suddenly, a single unwanted, hatred-filled act of another directed towards you skews those naive thoughts of a seamless future. Then, imagine that a few years later, a failed relationship ... and then ... an attack on your health. Imagine Cancer invades ... again, and again.
Not all is lost ... you meet someone who sees you at your most vulnerable... yet, you're loved and appreciated despite your weakness. How difficult this must be on the one who sees the life in the eyes of one who laughs through the pain and tears.
Imagine that you know this person who never once complains about the sickness and pain of therapy. Imagine for a moment that this person has defied the odds and shouldn't be alive yet, is not only alive, but is living a life more fulfilling than your own..
It sort of takes the sting out of that worry of whether or not your Christmas gift will be appreciated more than another's gift, eh?
My face smells like fish and not in a good way. I've survived dumbass suicide attempts. I've avoided prison rape. I'm still marvelling at broken bones in my fingers. But, I've never faced death. Yeah, ok, my dumbassed-ness attempts to say 'Sayonara' might count as facing death but I've never been smacked with the possibility of death through no fault of my own. I was stupid. I had a deathwish and pushed limits and for some unknown reason those limits pushed back and screamed at me. saying, "Hey, FuckTard! You're not worthy to die yet!". Thank you, cosmos ... thank you because you have kept me kickin' long enough to recognize that my spirit is weak and needs educatin' ...
And so I come to my friend ... I'm at a loss. How can someone who has endured so much pain .... so much sickness... so much pain, again ... find the words to encourage someone such as myself? I'm someone who seems to be lacking. I've suffered and lost. Yet, I'm alive. No matter, I feel lack and loss. Yet, this friend who has cheated death and struggles with similar daily struggles as my own grasps life and love and squeezes it by the balls.
I'm not gay but I'd love to squeeze life by the balls, assuming Life is a male.
Let me put this into a personal perspective. I've had money. At one time, not too long ago but in a far, far away place, I would buy and buy and buy .. I would always take advantage of sales on batteries, thong underwear and novelty t-shirts. The staples of a bi-polar mind. Then, one day, my local Hot Topic informed me that they had sold out of the newest Hasselhoff t-shirt.
Where was my money to go? I already owned the 'More Cowbell' series. I was never into Transformers ... Nordtroms was getting a bit pricey with their shit ... C'mon... I was manic and needed clothes that I'd later sell on eBay for a loss.
Turns out that my worries were without merit ... a manic mind, no matter the limit, will not match the credit limit of the chosen card of the manic mind.
Where are you going with this, Jeff? Long story short ... I'm fucked in the head. I've loved, I've lost. I love passionately and I love uncondtionally. I'm loved uncondtionally. I lack. I want. I need. But I have everything.
My friend has shown me that having everything is nothing but having nothing is everything. A smile and a hug are more powerful than a bottle of aspirin and better on your liver than two Aleve. A laugh takes the place of a glass of wine and an hour of writing about one's pain is more effective than six months of medication.
I won't give up, even when giving up seems easy, because of one person I know that sees surrender as defeat. Loss of things and others is part of life but loss of self is unnatural.
You might know someone who never complains. There is a friend or family member who downplays pain and life's injustices. Don't try to understand why they do so. Recognize your own fears that plague you. You know, the ones that really pale next to those who offer encouragement despite their own personal travails. I'm not there yet. I can't understand how someone can smile, offer encouragement and laugh at my lame jokes when my biggest problems hold no relevance to "Can I hold on and survive until Christmas?"
I'm starting with my fear of spiders and moving to my fear of acceptance. Spiders don't give two shits about me. I'm good with that. Ya know what? You might not give two shits about me either... I'm okay with that too. Blah dee blah dee blah. What I say means nothing to most but to me, it's yadda yadda yadda.
I'll spread my fingers over my eyes and wink at my friend in recognition of her strength and survival. My own fears of survival as one who is largely unaccepted and misunderstood remain but are lessened a bit due to one who sees life as I see it but approaches it without fear. I want that life, without the pain, but i wonder if that is possible. Blah dee blah dee blah blah blah ...
So goes the conversations that most people have with others and with themselves... every day, myself included. "Woe is me ..., " we cry ... "I'm broke ..", "I'm unemployed...", "I'm single..." ... "I'm fat,"... I'm married...", McDonalds gave me cold fries at the drive-thru ..." ... "I have herpes...".. whatever. Blah, blah, blah... yadda, yadda, yadda.
Have you ever been slapped in the face with a forty-pound trout that had already been pinned to a cedar plank? I'm not talking about the fun, sexual foreplay trout-slapping, but the 'snap-out-of-it-you-whining-pissy-bastard' slapping. If not, then you should visit your local supermarket and ask the butcher for a 'Visage Fish' dinner. Or, better yet, make a phone call to someone who can speak fluent "Blah dee blah" yet considers the language as defunct as Aramaic ...
"What the shiznit are you talking about?", you might ask ... (cleaning up the language for my mom)
Fair enough ... being that my train of thought is more a 'Little Engine That Could' than a Thomas the Train mentality, I'll elaborate. I owe it to humanity to either educate or alienate the masses as my destiny has been sealed although it was sealed with watered-down Elmer's glue and not contact cement. ...
Tonight I spoke to a friend. This friend has stepped upon the shore of the River Styx, extended her middle finger and raspberried Cerberus, Hades and any long-toothed fish in that damn river, turned her back, mumbled 'Fuck You, Death," and is now scoffing at nature, life, death and .those who underestimate the human spirit.
Now, I'll be the first to admit that I've always heard about the power of the human spirit. Yet, I've never really understood or appreciated what the human spirit is all about. To me, the human spirit is portrayed in a heartwarming story during the holidays ... The Hallmark Holiday Special presentation of "My Daddy Died at Christmas, but Didn't Really Die, Was Addicted to Everything Bad, Had a Disgusting Life But Always Wanted to Know His Family". You know, real life.
Real life to me is living down my past failures, wanting to make amends with children who can't, or won't understand my personal weaknesses and attempting to be of value, monetarily and emotionally, to someone who accepts me for my mind and spirit and not my numerical value even though that someone could care less about monetary value. Hey, it's my mind, don't try to understand unless you want to be immersed in a decades-long educational journey.
But tonight, a fish on a board slapped me.
Imagine, if you will, being full of promise and dreams. Suddenly, a single unwanted, hatred-filled act of another directed towards you skews those naive thoughts of a seamless future. Then, imagine that a few years later, a failed relationship ... and then ... an attack on your health. Imagine Cancer invades ... again, and again.
Not all is lost ... you meet someone who sees you at your most vulnerable... yet, you're loved and appreciated despite your weakness. How difficult this must be on the one who sees the life in the eyes of one who laughs through the pain and tears.
Imagine that you know this person who never once complains about the sickness and pain of therapy. Imagine for a moment that this person has defied the odds and shouldn't be alive yet, is not only alive, but is living a life more fulfilling than your own..
It sort of takes the sting out of that worry of whether or not your Christmas gift will be appreciated more than another's gift, eh?
My face smells like fish and not in a good way. I've survived dumbass suicide attempts. I've avoided prison rape. I'm still marvelling at broken bones in my fingers. But, I've never faced death. Yeah, ok, my dumbassed-ness attempts to say 'Sayonara' might count as facing death but I've never been smacked with the possibility of death through no fault of my own. I was stupid. I had a deathwish and pushed limits and for some unknown reason those limits pushed back and screamed at me. saying, "Hey, FuckTard! You're not worthy to die yet!". Thank you, cosmos ... thank you because you have kept me kickin' long enough to recognize that my spirit is weak and needs educatin' ...
And so I come to my friend ... I'm at a loss. How can someone who has endured so much pain .... so much sickness... so much pain, again ... find the words to encourage someone such as myself? I'm someone who seems to be lacking. I've suffered and lost. Yet, I'm alive. No matter, I feel lack and loss. Yet, this friend who has cheated death and struggles with similar daily struggles as my own grasps life and love and squeezes it by the balls.
I'm not gay but I'd love to squeeze life by the balls, assuming Life is a male.
Let me put this into a personal perspective. I've had money. At one time, not too long ago but in a far, far away place, I would buy and buy and buy .. I would always take advantage of sales on batteries, thong underwear and novelty t-shirts. The staples of a bi-polar mind. Then, one day, my local Hot Topic informed me that they had sold out of the newest Hasselhoff t-shirt.
Where was my money to go? I already owned the 'More Cowbell' series. I was never into Transformers ... Nordtroms was getting a bit pricey with their shit ... C'mon... I was manic and needed clothes that I'd later sell on eBay for a loss.
Turns out that my worries were without merit ... a manic mind, no matter the limit, will not match the credit limit of the chosen card of the manic mind.
Where are you going with this, Jeff? Long story short ... I'm fucked in the head. I've loved, I've lost. I love passionately and I love uncondtionally. I'm loved uncondtionally. I lack. I want. I need. But I have everything.
My friend has shown me that having everything is nothing but having nothing is everything. A smile and a hug are more powerful than a bottle of aspirin and better on your liver than two Aleve. A laugh takes the place of a glass of wine and an hour of writing about one's pain is more effective than six months of medication.
I won't give up, even when giving up seems easy, because of one person I know that sees surrender as defeat. Loss of things and others is part of life but loss of self is unnatural.
You might know someone who never complains. There is a friend or family member who downplays pain and life's injustices. Don't try to understand why they do so. Recognize your own fears that plague you. You know, the ones that really pale next to those who offer encouragement despite their own personal travails. I'm not there yet. I can't understand how someone can smile, offer encouragement and laugh at my lame jokes when my biggest problems hold no relevance to "Can I hold on and survive until Christmas?"
I'm starting with my fear of spiders and moving to my fear of acceptance. Spiders don't give two shits about me. I'm good with that. Ya know what? You might not give two shits about me either... I'm okay with that too. Blah dee blah dee blah. What I say means nothing to most but to me, it's yadda yadda yadda.
I'll spread my fingers over my eyes and wink at my friend in recognition of her strength and survival. My own fears of survival as one who is largely unaccepted and misunderstood remain but are lessened a bit due to one who sees life as I see it but approaches it without fear. I want that life, without the pain, but i wonder if that is possible. Blah dee blah dee blah blah blah ...
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Fairy Tale for the Perceptual
There are times when sentiment takes precedence over logic, when logic takes precedence over heart and when sensibility takes precedence over instinct.
This is a time when none of that shit is coming to mind. Sentiment is weakness, logic is unnatural and sensibility is one half of the human equation and the one half that is usually jaded by the perceived sensibility of society.
That said, take a walk on the thin line of unperceived perception.
A man once walked in Hush Puppies shoes. *Squish Pfft, Squish Pfft*, he ambled along unaware of the musings of his insoles. Ankles, white-clad ankles draped in three-ply cotton thigh Hanes socks that Michael Jordan proclaimed as being the 'Sock of Champions.'
And so this man walked, stride after stride, confident in his knowledge that comfortable shoes and celebrity-endorsed socks would ensure success in anything he was to encounter. Jaywalking? no-brainer. Speed-shopping? A given. Hercules, Charles Atlas and Jack LaLanne be damned ... a mind empowered by comfortable footwear is a powerful tool capable of conquering nations and bringing peace to a world plagued with assholes suffering from angst due to wearing ill-fitting loafers and Johnston & Murphy laced shoes.
As the story goes, the man clad in Hush Puppies stepped upon a curb and reached to press the button to cross an intersection at the same moment as a man in up-and-coming Johnston & Murphy loafers. Yet, the man in loafers was wearing blue cotton socks with a black suit and black shoes. "Fashion faux pas," thought the man in Hush Puppies ... "no black socks?"
The light changed and both were allowed to cross the street ... one man offered the lead to the other due to perceived respect for another and the man that proceeded was summarily struck by a speeding taxi, killing him instantly.
Who died and who suffered from his decision?
Perception is a bitch, eh?
This is a time when none of that shit is coming to mind. Sentiment is weakness, logic is unnatural and sensibility is one half of the human equation and the one half that is usually jaded by the perceived sensibility of society.
That said, take a walk on the thin line of unperceived perception.
A man once walked in Hush Puppies shoes. *Squish Pfft, Squish Pfft*, he ambled along unaware of the musings of his insoles. Ankles, white-clad ankles draped in three-ply cotton thigh Hanes socks that Michael Jordan proclaimed as being the 'Sock of Champions.'
And so this man walked, stride after stride, confident in his knowledge that comfortable shoes and celebrity-endorsed socks would ensure success in anything he was to encounter. Jaywalking? no-brainer. Speed-shopping? A given. Hercules, Charles Atlas and Jack LaLanne be damned ... a mind empowered by comfortable footwear is a powerful tool capable of conquering nations and bringing peace to a world plagued with assholes suffering from angst due to wearing ill-fitting loafers and Johnston & Murphy laced shoes.
As the story goes, the man clad in Hush Puppies stepped upon a curb and reached to press the button to cross an intersection at the same moment as a man in up-and-coming Johnston & Murphy loafers. Yet, the man in loafers was wearing blue cotton socks with a black suit and black shoes. "Fashion faux pas," thought the man in Hush Puppies ... "no black socks?"
The light changed and both were allowed to cross the street ... one man offered the lead to the other due to perceived respect for another and the man that proceeded was summarily struck by a speeding taxi, killing him instantly.
Who died and who suffered from his decision?
Perception is a bitch, eh?
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