Come out come out wherever you are....

I have been told that I have the gift of gab, 

like my Mother.

But all I have done is keep secrets, 

all of my life, 

bound to secrets.

Secrets to keep from my Mother,

from my Father,

from the righteous judgement 

of the followers and the listeners.

But nobody told, 

but only told me,

the boogie man is in your house

get out of the house, 

he is IN the house

get out now

GET OUT!

Photo By LucyUk

A Gift

Lately I have been walking around in a fog.  Instead of resisting it I am finding myself embracing it in a totally new way.  I have started to accept that my consciousness is shifting, further and further outside of the day to day life of being a human being on the planet Earth.  I look around at all commotion with a sort of vague memory of what it used to feel like to be "normal".  I don't know really know what that means though, "normal".  It is just a sense that part of me isn't really in my body any more and I find myself wandering around as if half asleep.  I often can't resist the fixed stare, especially when I am around large groups of people.  I tune myself out so that I don't have engage with anyone, because the thought of it terrifies me.  People terrify me.

The other night I was sitting in a cafe, staring off into space, when a middle aged man with a "Further" shirt waved his hand in front of my face to get my attention.  He didn't have anything to say, but just wanted to break my thought pattern.  He then got up and walked over to me and handed me a small double pointed quartz crystal.  He said he had a bunch of them and had gotten a few "wrapped" to wear as jewelry.  I accepted his gift gratefully and left the cafe.

I couldn't help but wonder why he chose to give the crystal to me.  He obviously felt some need to pull me back from my daydream, back to the present reality.  I looked up the meaning of a quartz crystal and read:

"This stone amplifies prayers, wishes and positive visualizations. Keeps you in touch with your spiritual side, and reminds you that you  are a spiritual being, having a human experience. All spiritual pursuits can be stimulated and amplified using this stone's energy. It helps you to be receptive to higher guidance."

And so I heartily accept this gift from a stranger and continue to hope against hope that 

even if life never makes sense again, it is not a complete waste of my time.  

Photo by CubaGallery

Scars

My home has scars, scrapes and bruises left by the leeches.  I have painted over some of it, given her a new skin, but she will always know what lies beneath the Jamaican blue sea. Pieces of her have fallen off and can be glued back on, the gashes have been covered, hidden from view as long as the coffee table stays just so.  

At night I can hear her soft cries, the regret, the sadness turning bitter.  She longs for what could have been, a dying dream, no not just a dream, an alternate reality in which everyone was ready to give what she gave and nobody took just to take.

It is quiet here now.  I can hear the birds sing outside her windows.  The lights have stopped flickering and we huddle together, licking our wounds desperate to care.

photo by Hamed Esmail

Jerry

Jerry Garcia visited me twice in the last 6 months.  

The first time he was dressed in white, sitting at a big white table in a big white room.  He glowed.  I was being chased (big surprise) and ended up in this room with Jerry.  I sat down at the table and he passed me a bowl.  I took a hit.  He didn't say a word, just looked at me with love in his eyes.

The second time it wasn't really Jerry, it was Terrapin the turtle.  I was at a convention for work, trying to act the part and waiting in line at the buffet (the best part about conventions).  There were two chefs behind the buffet and their hands were dripping in some sort of dark sauce (BBQ?).  This did not appeal to my appetite one single bit so I started to move on.  But something told me to glance back and as I did I noticed they were serving waffles.  I returned to the buffet and they began to serve up my waffles (hands still dripping) and I fought back the nausea because waffles are awesome.  Just then I turned to my right and saw the most bizarre thing.  There was a turtle laying flat on the grill!  I was horrified and looked back at the chefs in dismay but they just kept on dishing (and dripping).  I turned again to see that the turtle had stood up on his hind legs and he was dancing like his toes were on fire (do turtles have toes?).  

The strange part is, I never saw the Grateful Dead, never saw Jerry, never even knew that there was a dancing turtle named Tarrapin (until about a week ago).  I didn't discover their music or Jerry's amazing spirit until the last decade.  I was completely left out of that amazing sub-culture (as usual).  But somehow, Jerry has come calling for me!

I told this story to a friend of mine and a couple weeks later she brought me a book.  It is called "Harrington Street, An Anecdotal Personal History" in words and pictures by Jerry Garcia.

This book is the most amazing sort of crazy I have ever seen and it might just bring me back to life.

And the beat goes on...

I started this blog to face my shadow, to bring her into the light and to clean out all the cobwebs in my existence.  I'd like to say it worked, and that is why I stopped posting.  But the truth is, the more I dug, the more sand filled the hole.  I am lost, a little lost soul.  They say the older you get the less you know.  I couldn't agree with that more.  I used to be able to pretend to be happy.  I was in less control back then and any light moment could bring a smile to my face and nobody really knew about the demons that haunted me at night.  As I have aged, the demons no longer restrict themselves to bedtime, they creep and crawl over my body and inside my mind day in and day out.  Sometimes I look back over my life, all the long days doing useless things and I can't believe I am still here, doing this same old shit, feeling low, lost and sad.  Most everyone in my life is losing faith in me I think.  They all seem to find meaning in the little things and that seems to get them through the day.  I have lost all meaning, all belief, all hope that there is any good reason to occupy this space.

This blog is a cry for help, a signpost, a white flag.  I don't think anyone reads it though.

photo by RenaiShashin

Here I am again...

Back in this place, back in her shadow, my shadow, our shadow

She always catches up to me eventually

Though I try to stay in the sun, avoiding all trace of her

I try to love my way past her, beyond her

But she lurks, waiting for her moment to remind me that she is 

Ever present

photo by KVanEmburgh 

My brain...

...is full of bugs. Not the creepy crawly kind...they are the kind I create in my code at work. They are due to misconceptions and illogical connections and relationships. The cause of all these bugs is the brain washing I was subjected to by being raised as a Christian. When you are raised Christian you are taught to strive for perfection at all times. See Jesus is "Perfect" and so we are supposed to be just like him, thus we are supposed to be perfect. At the same time, perfection is totally 100% unattainable. They teach you that too. And while you are supposed to strive for perfection at all times, being perfect won't even save you. Only believing in Jesus will really save you. So I spend all my time trying to be prefect knowing all the while that this pursuit will not even save me, only believing in something inane and illogical will do that.

This illogical brain washing has created a brain that can never be at peace. It's always measuring and comparing. Even though there is no longer any compulsion to believe in Jesus, the measuring goes on, day in and day out. Every glance in the mirror, or a store window displays imperfection. Every bite of every chip implies imperfection. Every missed day of yoga, or wrong turn on the highway signals imperfection. Every frown of my partner, every sadness expressed by my child, every wistful glance by my dog, every penny of credit debt, every book purchased but not read, every speck of dust on a shelf, every dirty dish in the sink....every bit of every bit of every day signals imperfection.

Its fucking exhausting.

So FUCK YOU Jesus, and FUCK YOU Mom for raising me with all these bugs in my brain. See now I have to unwind all of it and try to write better code, cleaner code, logical code that MAKES SENSE and makes me HAPPY. And I'm too old for this shit and I'm too old not to have figured this out by now and I'm too young not to try.