I could never bring myself to eat the peas or lima beans and such

that came squishy and funky smelling out of cans that my mother served for dinner. I’d be the last kid still sitting at the kitchen table and regularly she’d “set the buzzer” on me. What this meant was that I had 15 minutes to finish my vegetables or I was going to my room for the rest of the night.

One night when she must have felt particularly irked (by the increasing absence of my father, her husband) she had my older brother put my arm in a hammer lock, forcing me to open my mouth while she shoved a Kaiser roll loaded with lima beans into my mouth. As soon as I had it down I broke free and vomited in the bathroom. Mom said it was all in my head. Whatever; another evening early to bed. 

But there was a gift in the punishment and that gift was reading. Books and stories and adventures set me free. Some summer nights when the sky stay lit as late as 9 PM, I read right through the setting sun and into the night. I’d leave the house and the craziness and be with pioneers up north in Alaska or even feel myself run with Lobo, the wolf. I fell in love with reading. More accurately-I fell in love with escaping reality. 

In the mid years between my youth and my elderhood books were replaced by technological gizmos, television, drinks, drugs, sex and music. There are so very many ways to distract oneself from the painful disappointments of real life. I blame Walt Disney for much of my emotional suffering. It was the fantasy world promise of heroes, damsels in distress and riding off romantically in slo-motion to live happily ever after that did more to grow my resentments and depression with life than anything that actually did or did not happen to me in reality. Expectations can sure set up a mountain of disillusionment-i.e; “when the truth is found to be lies and all the joy within you dies…”

* 

Fast forward to this morning. My elder wake up routine has included a rediscovery of the comforting joy of traveling into far off worlds and lives through the reading of books. I am usually tight and stiff in the lower back so after I’ve had my O.J. and washed down my Alleve, I microwave a sock filled with rice and brew one strong cup of coffee. Placing the sock where the seat of the lazy boy meets the spot of my lower back, I lean back into the healing heat and open a book. 

As a boy, these books were more than an hours escape from what often felt like my sentence in a juvenile detention facility. They were a promise of what life could be like once I was old enough to be freed from the parental constraints and out in the real world on my own. Of course, most of us found that our dreams did not manifest as we’d hoped and imagined. Events and the circumstances of finding and making your way in a world constrained by uncountable amounts of laws and regulations legislated and enforced to support and sustain the status quo of a society whose morality had thoughtlessly traded humanity for material gain and physical comfort while losing the essential spiritual aspects of empathy, community and compassion for others-rendered most of our lives far smaller and mundane than what we imagined as children. 

Although no longer a child I can still feel the pull of disappointment and depression most mornings as I drag this achey old vehicle of a body out of bed and through it’s awakening routines. I have glasses and once again I have books and library cards from 3 different cities. Reading is rediscovering good old friend who is damn interesting and who weaves a tale that engages and entertains. Good stories are written by the child within the author and for this, I am grateful. 

Looking Good

The Guest doesn’t care what time you think it is, 

or if you are asleep,

and believe you need your rest, 

because you have to work tomorrow,

work at what?

The guest knows exactly what time it is; 

it is time to wake up 

to the one thing you need to know

which is, 

who you really are-

Dark parts, enemies 

were sent to teach 

how to embrace the unlovable

shadows of your self,

Become whole,

the peace you make with your self

will change this troubled world

into a playground of delights.

what we look like to the world means nothing

what the world looks like to us

is all that matters..

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JUST BY OPENING

I was told to read something spiritual everyday

So I reached for Rumi but stopped-

A dog barked,

a crow squawked,

I stood and walked into the wild green world before me.

Why read poetry when you are

Surrounded by poetry?

Why read poetry when you can

Become a poem yourself

In an instant just by opening to the world around you.

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Remember?

this grand event of sitting still, serene,

grinning lazily while channeling the warmth,

light and joy of simply being alive?

that incredibly gentle loving breeze

that tickles the skin,

the hairs on your arm flutter gracefully

while glee creeps wickedly up your spine..

so delicious!

We look for these things,

these reasons and ways to reconnect

with the wonder that keeps us rising at dawn,

heaving ourselves heavily out of blessed slumber,

resurrecting ourselves and rejoining the mundane routines

of our uncertain beings..

what happens outside of us

and to us

is not of any import at all.

It is all in how we connect

with what is,

it is all in how we see and feel what surrounds us.

What is it that you and I need

that keeps us rising and wandering and wondering?

We seekers of love

lost outside our own throbbing boiling cores,

continue to search and reach outward

for that which is central within us.

We seekers of peace

cry out at the world of grief

that reminds us time and again

that we cannot embrace one another

until we learn to embrace ourselves

completely and finally..

Can I find the promised land

within me?

The uncontested sacred space,

so tranquil and protected

that nothing outside me,

nothing outside us,

can penetrate the boundaries

of the one true sanctuary?

“awakening otter”

It rings like a First Step to me and I look at it as the first true strong step I've taken in a long long time. I plan on reading this at group tonight. I know that this is what a coach would have me do and each of you has been my coach many times. Thank you for being patient and not quitting me although I have quit myself so often. read on...i am ok-

The past lives in me and because i have not allowed the pain from that past to fully express itself and rid me of old pain, old beliefs and limiting fears it manifests in my constant anxiety about the future, my future. And the future always looks like a repetition of the past because it is what in my past I have kept hidden from my own awareness and expression that gives it power over my present and the way I see the future.

The past has lived in me all these years because I chose not to “feel” the hurt. It is that simple. And if it is that simple than perhaps it is not too late, never to late to finally surrender to the truth of all that buried pain. I have only to remain willing to be open to it, to be vulnerable and to trust that feeling it and being “seen” by others in my pain will not result in my loss of anything except perhaps my endless depression.

All my false self esteem has alway required constant praise and encouragement from outside people and from outside accomplishments. My self worth had to be earned and the best and only way i could taste it, experience it even briefly was by entertaining and impressing others. Their smiles, laughter, approval and acceptance of the “performing” me seduced and addicted me to continuing to work hard for the approval and admiration but like so many “performers” who were empty of their own self love and authenticity I died when ever I was left alone without the applause of audience or the distraction of drink, and drugs, and sex and achievements, and television, and busyness. Idle hands are the devils work. Bullshit!

Idle hands and sitting still leaves me no escape from what has wanted to express and release itself all my life. Pain. That’s all. No need now even to name or explain the “why” of it. It’s here and I simply cannot run for it, I am too exhausted and despairing to run away from my pain any more. And I do know that this pain is not from my present life although more pain is created by my suppression and my avoidance of “self”.

Not living in the past but living “from the past” has been my bane. My past..all the hidden shadows locked away from awareness and admission; hidden by a belief that I should be ashamed of tears and of fear and what I judged, what the fucking world and culture judged to be “weakness”. The one thing a “real man” could never admit nor show.

Well. That show has to come to and end or there will be no change, no growth, no joy and no optimism for me. And i think I may be at the point that without change, I am no longer interested in living what feels to me to be a failure at living. The jig is up. And I pray that it stays up. i don’t want to be this shrunken crushed version of who I am meant to be. God grant me the courage and willingness to be real, to be truthful in and out of safe circles and rooms of recovery.

I have been blessed with love and mentors and others who have had to trek their own heroic journeys. i cannot live as a coward to myself any longer. I must reach out and be seen for all my fears and twisted beliefs about myself that hold me back from my own brilliant light and love. That’s all I’ve got. I suppose it’s all I need.

Nothing left here and now to say but..

Amen.