Rip My Winkle

 WTF? I mean, seriously. WHAT. THE. FUCK?

Just over eight years ago I was kidnapped and imprisoned by troops loyal to The Dread Pirate Wesley. A grueling, demeaning experience with little food, no medicine, no contact with The Odd family or the outside world, and forced to watch DVDs of The Golden Girls dubbed in Hungarian. During my incarceration I kept fit of body by doing countless sit-ups and push-ups and fit of mind by doing imaginary crossword puzzles. Okay, I made that up.

Bend your mind to this question - if you woke up today after an eight year nap (coma, space journey, kidnapping, etc.), what would you make of the state of affairs? I mean, come ON! Pandemic? Reality TV show host a former President? Russia on the border of the Ukraine rattling sabers? The Los Vegas Raiders? WTF?

As an avid fan of science fiction, I’m keen on the idea of parallel universes. Screw you, fine … the multiverse. What chafes my chaps is that I’m stuck in this universe. How do skip over to the universe where things suck less? I mean, WTF?

You Matter

On a cloudless night far away from big city lights, I was sitting by a lake staring into the expanse of the night sky. Above me were tens of thousands of shimmering points of light. In that moment I felt a deep, oppressive sense of dread. I said to a nearby friend, "I feel so small. What do I count against that?" as I pointed to the heavens.

He thought for a moment and said softly, "Go be kind to someone. Cheer someone up. Take care of someone. If you help them, who knows? Maybe they will be nice to someone, and before long a lot of people are going to be a little happier, a little more cheerful. You can start it."

He convinced me in that moment, whether he intended to or not, to make a difference.

See, we all matter. What we say, what we champion, what we do matters. We will never be unimportant unless we choose to be so. Life is a matter of choice, seasoned with a healthy dash of persistence. The measure of our impact on the world, of our life, on the lives of those around us is not be measured by accumulated trophies, in accolades, in dollars amassed. There is an extrinsic measurement of our quality, found in the people we surround ourselves with, the people we admire, trust, and love.

But the most powerful evaluation of oneself must come from within. You must be measured by you, in a metric or your choice and definition. Seek the advice and guidance of others, but you - and you alone - must decide who you are and who you will be. You alone have the power to exercise your choices.

Each of us have always mattered. If we remember that we matter, if we are willing to risk making a difference, if we live a life guided by ideals, whatever we do will have importance and value. There is a considerable difference between occupying space and having mass and of being of importance. We all take up space, but it is our choice to matter.

You

Don't blink. Don't back off the plate. Don't flinch. Stick your chin out and dare the world to clip you on the chin. Fight, dear love. You, my best friend, are tough and beautiful and wise and funny. There is nothing you can't do, although we both know by now we can't do everything. But what you choose to do, what you give your heart and soul to, will be better for your contribution and dedication. Big and small, you have made - and continue to make - the world special for your children and those you care for. Everyday, we all look to you for love, affection, and strength.

If you flag, we will stumble. If you let doubt and pettiness drag you down, we will only share your misery. Be strong and sing, even of your voice is haggard and flat. Share that voice, because we love to hear it, we love your words, we need you. Trust me when I say, your voice is full of love and power. It sounds better now than at anytime in its past.

Trust me when I say you have more to do, more of us to carry, to uplift. Everyday, I see eyes alight upon you, watching you for a smile. Your littlest compliment or thoughtful piece of advice is going to ripple for decades. You work wonders and don't forget it.

I need you. We need you. The world needs you and more like you. If the world is too big, too cold, too complicated, it is your voice that gives us comfort. Your voice makes us feel warm and nurtured. Your voice helps each of us find purpose and meaning, your voice helps us make sense of the chaos. Your voice is our harbor, our shelter, our solace. The simple things you do, even when we forget to appreciate them, give us structure and shed light for us to move ahead.

Don't let the grit of everyday steal from you the magic of life. Your sweetness, gentleness, and beauty matter to me and to everyone in your life. You make me better, you make us all better. Get your swagger on, 'cause yours is model we should all follow. Your "good enough" is wonderful. And trust me, you have never been more beautiful to me. 

It's On Us

It's been over a month since the mass shooting at Sandy Hook, and I just able to sit down to try and make some sense of what transpired. I get angry at myself that I don't rage and rail when something like this occurs, but I think - I'm not sure - that I go into a state of shock every time a shooting occurs. It happened after VaTech, after the Trevon Martin killing, and after the Aurora Theater shooting...

I wrote once or twice already about gun violence in the United States and I have stated a few things that I thought were provocative:

• We should not be surprised these shootings occur
• Our culture accepts this violence when other similar nations and cultures would not
• Easy access to certain types of firearms contribute to the epidemic of gun violence
• We don't take responsibility to learn how to safely use, store, sell, and control access to guns
• This will happen again

For the record, I'm a supporter of the Second Amendment. Simply, there is no political will to remove one of the original Bill of Rights; the Founding Fathers made it the second amendment in the Bill of Rights for a reason. It isn't going to go away, be overturned, or significantly amended, even if the historical reason the FF's put it in the Bill of Rights no longer applies.  Simply, this country is awash in guns.  Wishing them away is foolish, politically impossible, and practically unenforceable.  I support the Second Amendment because it is pragmatic to do so. I just pray we look at the words "well regulated" with greater scrutiny moving ahead, so some common sense laws at the state and Federal level can begin to reverse the trend we all seem to accept, even with horror and revulsion.

I write this blog with an attempt at anonymity and I began writing it originally to get some shit off my chest and out of my head. I try not to identify myself or those nearest to me, because my writing isn't intended to affect my circle of loved ones and friends. But one of the stories I've been working to get off my chest is very personal.

Eight years ago an angry man shot my brother in the face with a .44 Magnum at point blank range.  My brother was dead before his body hit the ground, and part of me dies every time I read or hear about a shooting.  Sure, I no longer visualize myself as my brother at his last moment, I no longer flinch when the phone rings, I no longer weep unbidden.  But when I allow myself to imagine the living hell the families in Sandy Hook find themselves apart of, I am cursed to know how they might be feeling.

I hope and pray no other live through what I have, what every family who has last someone to gun violence feels and endures. But honestly, I don't think we've turned the corner yet; I think we'll see a Sandy Hook again. We allow this to happen. We accept this. It's on us.

Icy Cold, Burning Alive

Unbidden, thoughts storm through my mind like a nor'easter, random, feckless, chaotic,
Torn, three souls instead of one, ripped between what is, what was, and what will be,
Madly, tormented and tossed like so much chaff,
Nerve-wracked, afraid of doing something - anything - yet equally scared of doing nothing,
Alone, surrounded by aliens, puppets, automatons, and slippery eels,
Uncertain, sureness and clarity seem like someone else's purview,
Irresistible, coldly forced by a faceless, shapeless Fate, but impelled toward naught,
Unattainable, peace and purpose,
Grieving, for losses real and imagined,
Regret, none for I am human and the plagues I suffer made a mockery by,

LOVE, its flame so bright, so hot, it casts back the shadows and enflames my spirit.

Withering Heights

So, here's the scene. A nondescript American 80's middle school; beige walls clad in high-gloss cinder block and red brick. Standard classrooms, with metal framed windows, the lower planes louvered out to precisely 14 degrees to let in just a swoosh of air. Thirty hormony kids, clad in jeans, Van Halen T's, corduroys, chamois button downs. Lots of bangs... First column, seventh seat back, three from the rear of the room.

I can still see my 7th grade English classroom and Mrs. B.  Although, truth be told, I imagine all of this through stylized amber-lensed glasses, and thus my memories are not meant to displace fact. My most honest, clear reflections can not be skewed by nostalgia; I never really studied or did much more to prepare for English other than attend. When I think back on it, I'm not sure I even read the books assigned for class. Suffice to say when tests or quizzes came along, I was less than ideally prepared. More to the point, I only gave a shit on test day and the day we got the test back.

Most days in 7th grade, I sat back in the corner praying to God for a snow day. And yes, I prayed for snow in October. In January, God may have listened, but I was asking for a awful lot when the leaves were still on the trees and Halloween was two weeks in the future. My prayers were generally along this theme; Lord, I willingly shall trade a snow day - today, right now - for the following; I will study/read/practice RIGHT NOW and for your effort - for this holy gift also known as a miracle - I will commit some future day to completing a good deed. Think "feed the poor" or "nurture the infirmed" or "take out the trash with out bitching to my mom about it". Apparently, God bargains hard and expected more, as I'm pretty sure my seventh grade year was a snow-free year. In fact, I think it hardy ever clouded up.

I asked God for other possible minor miracles, in case the weather thing was too ... mundane for His Munificence. I prayed for fire drills, teacher absences, teacher abductions, principal heart attacks, Communist invasions, and locusts. When I began to suspect God either didn't give a crap about my lack of effective study habits or was too busy busting up Apartheid, I started to wish to be imbued with my own magical power. I figured Big G could pass the heavy lifting off to me -- just give me a perk of two -- and I would miracle my ass into an A in English. Maybe I'd show some humility and just take an A-minus.

So the little attribute I began to wish for? Nothing major, just ... time stop. Yes, the ability to s-t-o-p freaking time. Hit the breaks, freeze the clocks, halt movement, instant "statuation" of Mrs. B. and all of my classmates. The way if figured it, I'd use the time while everyone else was frozen like Adonis to read the damn book assigned for class, or write the damn essay, or grind the damned vocabulary...
The hell of it? I swear God heard me loud and clear and granted my wish. But his gift to me was far more subtle than time time STOP. He granted me time SLOW, 'cause those English classes never quite stopped, but they sure as heck dragged.

Ideas from a Man Who Lived

As my father's life ended, he took time to sort a few things out and write down his thoughts.  Here are his words:


Believe:


Live on in memory, tradition, human kind


There is "something" in thinking pretty good, positive

• similarities in all religions

There are good spirits, vibes


The Bible is a story

• with contradictions
• lots of good advice

Christianity must be a living spirit, like the Constitution, changing with the ages


Churches must face up to temporal problems:

• divorce
• drugs
• mental illness
• aging
• death

Christ was an amazing person

A certain mysticism / ritual or ceremony is part of religious experience

Need to be a fellow traveler, helping along the way

Religion can be the opiate of the masses

If I am not myself who will be? If I am only for myself, what am I?

Churches must help with the meaning of life

Churches must present a moral & ethical path

Don't Believe:

In Heaven / Hell or life after

There are bad vibes, panic, prejudice (Editorial: I think he means they don't exist outside of us, but rather that we create them)

In the infallibility of the Pope or Bible

In pacifism like Quakers  

In celibacy like Shakers

In the parable of the talents

In eternity; even the earth will some day disappear