my stuff

In 15minutes a countdown begins

2006-04-22T23:44:00.000-07:00

In 15 minutes I will officially be 49 years old. So unless my math serves me poorly{which it so often has } I will be begininng the 365 day count down to something to something known as {nifty fifty} or {swifty fifty} etc.etc.etc.. Well, heyI am refusing to accept delivery of anything with the slightest particle of anything that might foster or feed this ridiculous rumor that just because I am 49 in a few minutes that I am anywhere near that ominous,aching,ben gay for colone,cant see what's directly in front of me,can't hear a darn thing, misplaced my keys, shoes,briefcase, just noticed my underwear is on the outside of myfavorite three piece suit which for some reason happens to have a bib included making it a four piece suit.All of these indicators that my "really old friends" those who have somehow passed fifty and pretend it doesn't bother them like to try to reassure those of us on the cusp untilthey can snare us and trap us in the 50 + zone {much like the twilight zone}. Let's look at the facts ,Anyone who knows mewould scoff at the mere thought of me behaving like a man one year from 50. Anyone who has seen me dance knows enough to stay out of the way from this alledged 50 yr old once Rock and Roll is in the air as nodance floor is big enough for me alone let alone for the people in my way.
I certainly don't have the mature sense of humor of someone approaching half a century old{ how many old men do you know with imaginary goldfish, dancing hamsters,gerbiles andmice inhis head and that still keeps his rescue ranger suit and cape in his closet for rescue missions on any given night or day.How many 50 year olds do any of you know that are able and willing to pick up a pen,start a new story and turnanyone that pisses me of into something very unpleasantmerely becaus I possess suchpower. So while allyou other 50year olds might be losing your remote control or perhaps even your blatter control remember the new kid that will be 50 in a year intents toapproach itfull blast{aressted developenton my side } and witha vigor to dance anyone who dares me under the table {while drinking them under the table with sprite.RememberI, theKing am unstoppable. Anyone with doubts just challenge me 364 days from now and beware.

Easter Bunnies {I hear they taste like chicken}

2006-04-16T01:36:00.001-07:00

It is Easter again and I am finding myself torn emotionally. I can remember as a kid looking forward to Easter because of the magic that seemed to be associated.Now let's set aside the religious aspect of it for a moment as I am clearly not qualified to sort out for the viewing public the correlation between the death and rebirth of Jesus and a large floppy eared rabbit{fertlity thing me thinks} skipping around however he pleases scattering brightly colored eggs {some candy, some not}while swinging a basket {usually wicker I believe} and dancing up and down trails inthe forest {or was it that the "riding hood brat" with so much free press?} handing out choclate to innocent little children who will grow up to continue running this world {damaged ozone layer, 4 million dollar a drop gasoline, reality TV shows and all}.After somehow getting passed the ridiculous belief that a large clumsy rabbit can make it to every single house, school, mall,forrest,playground etc in one night{must have santa's travel agent{seperate issue}dropping off all these goodies {some suspiciously looking as though they have been rewrapped after failing to be sold at halloween}{another seperate issue[we really won't go there!!!] The snotty, ungrateful little brats,{oops was that my outside voice ?}{I am certain I meant to say }
darling little kiddies wake up so early that your bedroom tv set is still warm from last nights Jay Leno as they jump up and down on your bed {all over your over worked tired bones and carcass that never gets enough rest } {especially you single mothers'}
So lets say these kids really are that gulible or at least pretend to be long enough to get their sugar level elevated and rip their family homes to shreds.Then what?Well when I was a child{not that long ago really} my mother would take us {myself and my less balanced siblings}to my grandparents home {usually] or to an even more dysfunctional setting like an uncle or aunt we would see so seldom that I wouldn't recognize them on any other day of the year even if a branch to our mutual family tree broke and they fell from the sky screaming their last name and landed in my morning oatmeal.Yet once we would show up and the half drunk relatives would finally put the name of each kid to the face of each kid {for at least 10 seconds anyway} then we would then fade from the sight of the adults {with permission of course}and be reunited with our long lost cousins "what's his name" and "what's her face"to go into the family room or their bedrooms and play with their toys {most always toys too expensive to be found in our own bedrooms}{no resentment happening there I assure you!!}.Usually we would play some dumb board game as the host children would cheat and make up the rules as they went along always winning and shaming us in front of the entire family as the "lower functioning cousins" or "dumb kids" {no resentment there either I assure you most of my cousins have died from drug addiction,been imprisoned or have been haunted by marriages so horibble they have spent the last several of decades in intense { and expensive I am from the states} therapy.

Ahh yes, a stroll down memory lane. I do remember trying to make Easter slightly better when my own kids were young by hiding Easter eggs and candies along a wooded trail after doing the improbable {look what the Easter bunny left for you!!] crap in our home. My wife would then bring the children along the same trail to find the eggs while on most Easters I would hide the eggs and then groan how much I wanted to go back to bed, {I have this killjoy defect of character}and with having such a bad memory I would usually get myself lost in the woods and wander of into the forrest in the wrong direction putting my wife in the position of not only having to keep track of the kids and guide them to their little chocolate treasures but she would extend the hunt to the "I think daddy is lost in the woods again" "Lets take a vote and see if majority rules is to rescue him or leave him out there a while again this year". Yes memories, memories.

The one really cool thing about Easter as a kid was that since we might might being going to one of those buildings with the pews and scary nuns in them {"church", thats the word I was groping for} we would usually get some new clothes to go along with the occasion!! Although as I got older and it was less acceptable to consider dress clothes{espcially the ones my tired mother would pick out}as a cool thing I learned that even at times when I was forced to go near the scary nun ladies, slobering relatives I barely knew, under employed actors wearing poorly fitting clumsy rabbit outfits{who do they really think they are fooling!! I mean like "Get real"!!}.The new clothes,candy, attention, and general break in the monotony of being a kid was welcome.

Now for what has me slightly torn. I am o.k. with the fact that my own kids are young adults and have long ago grown past hunting around in the living room and forest for Easter egg candies and to retrieve their forgetful aging father. And most certainly I could never bribe either one of them with an article of clothing from Sears Roebuck not even to do the smallest thing,{heck they don't even call as it is}But when I wake up Easter morning there may be a dilemia wanting for me. I still have a poorly dressed,attention starved,candy craving,at least slightly bored inner child struggling that I have been trying to come to grips with. I feel I am too old and too tired to raise another child, even if that child is me!! Yet I trudge onward.
Perhaps for next year at Easter it would be easier just to rent a damn bunny suit {buying might be the best option for a more tailored fit}run a lint brush over it{making sure the ears are properly fluffed}and head out into the world with a basket full of candy eggs, a smile, and of course a pouch full of bread crumbs to sprinkle so I can find my way back home.
If there is anyone else going through this "Mid-life might as well become a bunny " crisis thing . I would appreciate some advice.

Easter Bunnies {I hear they taste like chicken}

2006-04-16T01:36:00.000-07:00

Spiritual Growth

2006-04-08T22:50:00.000-07:00

I have been doing some heavy bouts of reading, writing, meditation and quiet reflection the past couple of weeks.I found some incredible articles on gratitude, happiness, strength through adversity and overcoming challenges and one powerful article on procrastination and ways to overcome it in the april edition of Pyschology Today.Researchers have actually found evidence of the ways gratitude benefits the human species in many ways including physical health. As a recovering addict I have heard many people talk about the "Gratitude list" people mention that their sponsor/counselor etc reccomended they write.The article I read also mentions such an excercise.Now I am one person who is never afraid to pick up a pen{in fact I usually have one clenched between my teeth} so I am always game to new exercises on paper.I was once told in treatment to "save my life, write" and although the man that gave me that advice passed away a few months ago I carry that suggestion with me into a some times confusing world.I have found it to be one of the most effective therapies I have ever done, and believe me I have needed some mega therapy. Even blogging has it's own benefits without doubt.

So I have begun my own gratitude list and one of the things at the top of that list is my exwife.When I hear guys whining about their ex es I usually glance to the heavens and silently smile. After twenty years as my wife and another nine years as my friend since we split she has been nothing but supportive and a source of strength.We speak quite a bit these days on MSN messenger several times a week. Today we had a very long conversation covering alot of things.One of those things is our son.He will be 19 this summer and apparantly he has been experimenting a little bit with pot.He is a normal young man, if he hadn't experimented at all he would had to residing in an igloo. As a parent and an addict who believes strongly in the theory that addiction is often an inherant disease my first reaction was to get panicy.As our keyboard conversation continued I began to realize and remember how much he has his mother's personality and traits that I so admired in my late father inlaw and my wifes brother that I watched grow from 16 to 4o. A man that is very much in our son's life.I began to feel grateful for the woman I fell in love with at first sight 30 years ago.I am grateful that I have accquired the capacity to be able to love her only as a friend today.

She was kind with her words about my personal growth over the past few years.She reminded me that the hard work I have been trying to accomplish hasn't been in vain.She has never used drugs oralcohol or smoking or other behaviors so ingrained in my own family. And over all those years in my addiction with the lies, deceptions,guilt games, denial, suicide attempts,blaming etc all she ever wanted me to do was get help.And when she finally had enough of my continuing crises she took our children and left.Six months later I listened to a voice on a telephone convince me not to kill myself but to choose treatment,trust the twelve steps, God,& strangers. I forget sometimes how truly lost I was without her those first few months. I am grateful that I can admit to her now all those things she was right about over the years that I denied feverishly.Taking just one it would be my level of self-pity I had for so long. I was saturated in it. And one of the most positive things I have learned from my sponsor is that to counteract my defect of self-pity all I have to do is find something tobe grateful for.It is impossible for me to feel sorry for myself and be grateful at the same time.

Today I am grateful for many things ,but if your out there watching honey{I still call her honey probably always will}I want you to know your at the top of my list and probably always will be.

Thirty years ago when I was 19 and you were 20 neither of us could have ever possibly could have guessed where we would be today. Well tomorrow is your 50th birthday and it seems somehow hard for me to think of you as anything other than that pretty girl with the awesome green eyes that was too shy to speak. You have done a phenomenal job raising the kids and putting your life in order inspite of my decades of bad influence.
We have both grown our own live's it seems seldom intersecting for more than a few paragraphs.

So April I wanted to do something for your birthday.Your a wonderful incredible lady, one of my most trusted of friends and I treasure you dearly.The man in your life now is a very lucky man. And I am very happy for you both.And I am grateful that you are happy too.

If you can still love me as a friend after all that stuff over the years. I can't be that bad a guy and perhaps if I keep growing spiritually I can use the lessons I learned from you,that have shaped me and be a worthy partner to someone else when it is time.

Happy 50th birthday honey,your not getting older, your getting sweeter. Love Andrew

Out of reach.

2006-04-04T06:18:00.000-07:00

For the past two years I have had intense feelings for a lady friend who for reasons far too complex to discuss here has remained outside my reach. We have discussed everything and I mean everything under the sun and shared the non sexual/physical /man /woman/ stuff. The level of intamicy has been extensive. We agreed to see eachother for coffee at a local coffee shop yesterday as we had not been able to hook up for quite sometime. I watched as she chatted away and we tossed things back and forth. I sat back saying nothing for quite awhile and watched her tiny green eyes dance and smile in the sunlight as her beautiful features and generous smile beamed. She heard my thoughts as I spoke them unknowingly when I let the words slip that I had forgoting just how beautiful she really is in the short time that has past each with our own lives. As the words slipped passed my lips she froze slightly as though to catch a hesitant punch line or wisecrack that never came.For one thousanth of a second she paused and I could see her little girl bashfullness glowing unmistakingly. A grown woman that has survived unspeakable tragedies throughout her entire life sheltering and protecting that little girl.Then she replied in sarcastic tone "oh you just want to have sex with me". She seemed to know in a split second that her reply cut to my core. We know each other very well having spent scores of hours conversing on the telephone and one on one.Even though she was of course right, it seemed like such a small part of what I was thinking and feeling. The connection, the chemistry, the secrets ,that we have shared with each other promising to never repeat to another human being.

The wee hours of last night that I could not sleep and chose instead to write are now the next sunrise as a small stack of pages I labored on steadily move towards a first draft.As I make my way out the door for work and the day that awaits me however I choose to spend it. I think of the glow of that precious little girl flickering in a woman I have been wanting for two years.The comment she spat at me still stings in my ears and heart.I feel slightly dirty and slightly transparent.I feel as though we have both been cheated even though I am the only one that knows it. An instant of magic tainted by the talk of barnyard behavior.

If only she could love me,the way that I could love her. God is doing what is right for all of us, I am certain of it.....

Sunday April 2nd 2006 I've been out of touch.

2006-04-02T22:17:00.000-07:00

For the past few weeks in particular I have been spending alot of time in quiet reflection. There have been many periods through out my life when I have withdrawn from the world around me.In the back half of my life Iam still trying to learn {or find} that perfect balance between a healthy privacy and an unhealthy isolation.Iam learning that going to my apartment with one single thought,mood,frame of mind or grudge and then sitting in grey silence running the same series of thoughts or conversations in my head with people that aren't there isn't meditation. It is called obsessing. Now many of you probably have known this for quite sometime I am challenged in many areas such as this.
It has been a good weekend for me. It has been productive,by accomplishing some goals in my service work with the 12 step program I owe my life to.I have a plan for next week in my occupational life. I went to a 12 step fellowship dance on sat night and danced with the prettiest girl there {in my eyes} almost all night long. Not a stranger, a friend I have never spent time with before. We danced and we sweat and we sang the music was mostly classic rock and roll{my favorite} . The dance even ended on my all time end of the night song I have been singing for years at the end of work , play, recovery meetings a song called "Stay" by Jackson Browne. After a long afternoon todaywith a service committee I returned to another dance floor I have missed a great deal at our street church. I danced again with more friends. Friends that I love a great deal and that I have missed more than I realized.
This evening I sat down briefly between dances while sweating,muscles flexing,heart racing.And I thought of a gentleman younger than myself that was laid to rest this weekend. This man was a counseler at a treatment center nearby here I attended years ago. In this Area his name is known well and the constant tide of men with addiction problems coming in and going out is a rockier place than it was this time last week. I chose not to attend the services yesterday as reflowing old grief and adding more sadness and bringing it home in my head and my heart to my tiny apartment and spending ours upon hours of "quiet reflection" isn't always the wisest choice for Andrew to make.For these are the times I want to ask God if he is paying close attention.A man such as this dedicating his lifes work to helping men like myself and himself recover from drug addiction dying suddenly without warning.While sitting and sweating I felt my heart beating and reminded myself that I am just as powerless. There are so many things that simply don't seem fair. I know I am not alone in my anger, sadness, confusion feelings of violation and vulnerability. Why are other's spared and him taken? There is no earth bound answer that will satisfy me. Why does my heart beat and his no longer?Sometimes it seems is that there is no answer.
For Steve Mc thankyou for the lessons you taught me in treatment and since. And thankyou most of all for reminding me to appreciate today.

Jan 10th 2006 "The clouds cry with dark fury."

2006-01-10T20:35:00.000-08:00

It has been several months since I last blogged.Much has happened,the ending of an old year,the begininng of a new year and alot, I mean alot of feelings in the past few month's.The death of the wife of a man who has been like a brother to me the last thirty years.Her death was so sudden and so unforseen, their two boys in their early teens, and their father the man I came to Canada with in1972 have had a huge hole blown in their lives that will never be filled the way it was again.A fewmonths' have passed and Ihave stayed in contact. All I can do at this point is tobe there for him and the boys should they think I can be of help.She has and always will have a place in my heart.

Changes in my own life have been positive/productive/promising/Yet I am cautious about trying to controling outcomes or settingtoo high of expectations for these things have brought me dissapointments in the past. It is a somewhat stressful week for me. On Jan 1stI celebrated my 3 year clean date inthe twelve step fellowship I finally found abetter way to live after decades of struggling to get past the denial and admit Iam an addict.

My three year celebration will be held here inMission on Friday the 13th{seemed fitting} at a well known
facility at 4th and james.It is an open meeting and all members of the community are welcome if not encouragedto come.It runs between 700pm-800pm.Cake meeting are a beautiful way to witness our fellowship and it's members at their finest.The love,empaty,care,acceptance,Unity,experience,strength. and hope,Can be at some times so powerfulthat people leave there feeling overwhelmed at what they
,Love Andrewwitnessed ,there, felt there,and experienced there. I need to signoff now

Wow !!! New socks!!!!!

2005-10-04T21:00:00.000-07:00

I don't want to come off like Andy Rooney {primarily because the guy always got on my nerves}
But am I the only person in the world that puts off buying socks until my entire sock drawer is full of holy socks and it's 5:00am and I am sort of negotiating with the socks that come out of the drawer? I can justify wearing 2 pairs because now it's cold out but the real reason I am doing it is so that I can cover the hole in this pair by wear the other pair with a hole in it over top where the 2nd pair has a hole in a different place in it.I know this should probably be in a 5th step {the confession step}with a Monk who doesn't speak English and is on his second to last breath, but hey at 48 1/2 I get to do what I want .So last weekend I went out and bought myself an entire new collection of brand new socks. No more morning time frustration with my big toe ripping right through it's intended home for the day!! I did however find it hard to just throw the stack of socks holes and away in a carefree manner.Some with the smaller holes I threw in a huge trunk that I keep my work clothes in.Paintshop clothes are an ugly animal and although semi retired I have hung on to a good collection of work clothes.

Now if there is actually anyone out there reading this crap you are probably wondering why this clown is writing about his garbage socks that house his ugly feet. And moreso why am I {you} reading it.Allow me to explain.I think there are little personality traits in my life I am trying to reshape to become the person in the horizon that Andrew would like to be. More caring, more loving, more feeling, alot of the touchy feely stuff even though I sometimes deny it.I believe that I am becoming a worth while person. I am raising my personal standards in many areas of my life. I do alot of work in the 12 step program I call home and hey,I am worth new socks,if that is what I want.If I have gone through life denying something as simple and basic as new socks,what other areas of my life am I limiting myself??

The socks are just a metaphor for so many other things in my life I deserve. As long as I am willing to do all I can for the world around me.Now I have been doing some studying on personal achievment, and positive self concept.Now as far as self affirmations go I would feel really strange standing in front of a mirror looking at myself repeating over and over,"you are worth new socks" "you are worth new socks"over and over and over. How about walks on the perfect day, music {I love music}. I recently purchased new {new to me}furniture for my apartment. I am collecting artwork with a particular theme to it. I am learning to cook new things{primarily unsuccessfully} but I am still trying. Someday God willing, I will learn to play the piano.Even if it is just a little{the theme from Hill Street Blues, "We've got tonight " by Bob Seger The acoustic version of "Thunder Road".I dream someday of having a wood panel den and my own music room with piano,drums, and bass guitar. My den would be my refuge for wordplay and stories about dragons and demons that I'd create and mystically tame or slay. We should never surrender our dreams.

At 48 1/2 or 148 1/2 we should never surrender our dreams.Before I step out into the world tomorrow I will put on my new socksand then of course my shoes. Then I will part the door slightly, and head to whatever awaits me looking for small gifts that I unknowingly deny to myself or others.

What is the condition of your spiritual and personal sock drawer?? Are there warm ,clean,fluffy friends to help guide you along your spiritual path? Will your steps be quick and light or will there be that annoying feeling of bare skin pressing against your soul? Is there something that you deserve that you have been denying yourself?

Before you head off into the world tomorrow, ask yourself, is it time for new socks??

God has a sense of humor

2005-09-04T15:32:00.000-07:00

Have you ever heard the expression, "want God to laugh"? Make plans!!There are times in my life when I decide to do something and the obsessive compulsive streak in me simply takes over while I sit back and watch more so as a spectator than anything else. Last night I was going to cook dinner for a lady friend. Sounds simple enough doesn't it.Purchase food , apply heat,serve and enjoy!! Yeah right!! Well I am pretty sure it is that easy for some people but for some reason pulling it off is not as easy as it sounds. Dinner was scheduled for 5:00pm which would allow us plenty of time to eat and still make our usual mutual Saturday night gathering of friends.

So about 3:30pm after cleaning the disastor area I call my apartment I get the lazzanna and slow cook steak going and tossing and my friend calls telling me an emergency has come up and she will be a few hours late.So after hanging up the phone I notice an intense black smoke coming from my small kitchen.Opening the oven door {mistake} I couldn"t help but notice that there were a bunch of those yellow and red things jumping oh yeah flames out of the bottom of my stove!! Now I know I cleaned my oven sometime in the calendar year 2005 I remember because I was bragging about it to someone how after 5 years in my apartment I finally did it all by myself.Well I must have spilt alot of something in there recently because well poof.Using my super efficent christmas oven mitts that Pastor Susan gave me I calmly {sort of} removed the said food and began to inspect this dark spooky box of heat.With my doors and windows open and my smoke detector getting all high pitched and pissy I began doing something I do quite well. Complaining, to God. "Sure one nice meal I try to cook" "You can't give me a break can you Lord " Blah, blah, blah.

While being lets call it "unspiritual "shall we a woman walks by my kitchen window giving me a weird look as I yank open my refrigerator door and pull out 2 liters of sprite and angrily twist the top off spraying all over one of my finest silk shirts. Still being somewhat shall we still call it unspiritual I go in to my bedroom to find another decent shirt and yank my closet door open and as I turn it comes off of it's spiral type hinge and falls with great weight smacking me on the back of the head then nearly collapsing and almost breaking my brand new full length mirror.

At this point I set the broken door aside wash my stickiness off and return to the kitchen and began humbly, I mean really humbly cleaning the melted, greasy, gooy stuff from my oven. My friend never made it over last night.Everything is cooked, tasted,prepared and ready for another attempt tonight.

Now I realize that there is like several morals to this story, don't get sarcastic with God while your house is on fire,Be more calm and serene , clean your oven frequently etc. Somehow I just don't remember dating being quite this difficult in the past, I really, really, really, don't. Perhaps next time it might be wise to eat out.

It's been a long time since I blogged in the moonlight.

2005-09-01T22:15:00.000-07:00

Well I suppose it's safe to blogg again, it's not like anyone is still reading it.
I was in Burnaby today and I saw an image that I still seem to be harboring.
While riding a bus into the Gilley and Marine Way Area take care of some business
I saw an almost empty field at an intersection and in the field near the roadway was a sign
on a post coming out of the ground that said "Bus Stop". Attached to the post was a steel link
chain wrapped around a metal folding chair. This single seat looked so odd attached in such a manner
I know there must be a simple explaination, yet a solitary seat, in the middle of seemingly nowhere attached most likely for one solitary person. But who?? When ? Why?? It did not look like any type of seat the transit company would have ever erected. Could it be for an elderly woman who lives nearby that rides the bus to her medical appointments yet has no strength left in her body support her? Could it be someones favorite seat that was stolen as a practical joke and never returned?? So deliberately it sits there, almost defiant,daring any or all to move it away from it's assigned post.Chained to the post with such a large link chain I could not help but notice that it seemed almost as though it was more held hostage than reserved.I will pass that way again tomorrow and I will be sure to look for signs of evidence that could sing it's story more loudly. Has it been moved or is there now litter on the ground at it's slender metal legs.
Purple Dragons, Purple Dragons, A most esquisite one in deed....

Too Touchy Feely.

2005-05-20T23:27:00.000-07:00

Ever have a week where it seemed like Mr Rogers,Little Mary Sunshine and The Warm and Fuzzy Police were following you around?? This week has been like that for me. Now I am as optimistic, spiritual,caring loving and positive as any other person you will ever meet.But a time comes when sarcasim,cynisizim,and unguarded comments should just flow without the interruption from the sidelines of someone whinning about "My negative energy"or my "negative self talk". Try to get a battery to work without having a negative terminal or some kind of "grounding". It is universel. I never want to go through life with one of those dopey smiles that say "nothing can ruin my day" "God loves me and I love myself". Please challenge me. I have a theory that most if not all the people walking around with those glowing smiles for no particular reason are either on medication or should be. It isn't natural to be upbeat and positive 24/7. Alot of the time life sucks and we should accept that it does and work from that ground zero upward with few expectations.
Now I was helping a friend do a little fence building on his farm last week.He purchased a flock of sheep{no kidding an entire fuzzy flock} and a fence suddenly seemed like a good idea.Now while we were putting this fence up from time to time my friend would get a little testy{I have that affect on people}and he would slightly curse and then apologize for it. I began to notice that even though we were out in the woods with no one really within earshot except me each time he would catch his hand on a wire or pound on his thumb instead of a nail or fence stable he found it necassary to either suppress his words or apologize for the occassional grunt.Now I have to assume this may have been to not offend his wife a half an acre away.I worked in Autobody Shops for 25 years, I am not easily offended by words.I do believe that English is a beatutiful language and people who use nothing but obscenities have very little imagination or appreciation for it's beauty. But what about the sheep??? They are out there screaming BAAA YAA Naa CAA.&MAA. I have absolutly no reason to believe that all these animals were saying upbeat positive sheep talk all afternoon.I didn't see any of them apologizing.
Being genuine about my thoughts and feelings is the best way I know to keep my serenity growing,and my heart true.I do try to not further inflict myself on someone if they have enough stuff of there own to deal with,but somewhere there seems to be some unwritten law that "If you don't have something nice to say, don't say anything at all". I say crap to that. Without dissention,disagreements, conflicts and gruff from the far end of the spectrum there would never be a novel written, movie made, or realistic solution arrived to.

The Warm and Fuzzy Police with their granola and bottled water diet,organic everything cutsy names for their children like "Sky" and "Rainbow" should stop running around telling me that I have a "bad Aura" or "Harsh Vibes"or anything at all to do with my "energy" or my "Karma".
I happen to like my energy and karma just the way they are thankyou.My spiritual condition is between me and God. We don't need any middle men.We do just fine thankyou.

So a duck walks into a bar with a rabbi on it's shoulder...

2005-03-02T22:04:00.000-08:00

No? No? That can't be right.What was I thinking?Oh yeah I know now. I wanted to talk about job hunting.It is a very interesting experience to go through an intense job interview like I did yesterday. I have been through more than my share in my trade but this was for a job I have very little idea exactly what they want to hire people to do.So I am sitting on my side of this man's desk making dead direct eye contact,feeling exceptionaly relaxed and composed as a stern human resources manager,very German,very Gold {true colors} is doing his best to intimidate me and I sat as he described the position that may be open.I sat in untypical silence as I was told that the job required me to trapse about in steel toed gum boots and a hair net. I somehow managed not to break out laughing at first image.
No I actually sat therebiting the inside of my lip trying my hardest to not let my cynical sense of humor leak out all over his desk. A grey faceless man in a gray faceless company asked me what made me think this business is right for me. I replied quite honestly "Nothing" I know nothing about it except that it is a large growing company that a friend told me is good to work for {my friend hates his job} and that you are hiring.

I told him that the trade I have been in for so long is no longer an option and I have twenty years left in the work force and that I have been taking some time to my self lately and now I am focused,seasoned,positive,driven and motivated.I told him that either his company or someone else would be hiring me and that job would be fitting into a much larger plan . And that company will benefit from my willingness,attitude,abilitiesand drive. He continued to stare at me trying to get me to choke. Anyone who know's me knows that I can't go 3 minutes without cracking wise in one way or another yet I returned his glassy stare.I did everything right except leaping over his desk in a blue collar warcry "team work" !!!!"death to the inefficent and underproductive"!!!while doing one arm pushups on his desk.

Going in to something with absolutely nothing to lose has it's own serenity.It has been a very long time since I worked for a large gray faceless company with time clocks and probation periods.I do remember the division line between management and other employees.I am rermembering the snickering at lunch time of the management having higher quality toilet paper in their bathrooms and additional benefits and holidays as the guys in coveralls would make references to the "suits" refering to those in managment positions.Let's not forget the magical word "seniority" and all the interesting feelings it inspires in workers like arrogance, envy and resentment.

Well I will close knowing I did a very good job with the interview merely by maintaining my composure.Will my efforts get me into a pair of coveralls waiting for the whistle to blow while character assasinating those around me? Like it says in one of my favorite books "more will be revealed"....

The Stranger {in memory of Bobby Kennedy}

2005-02-26T03:46:00.000-08:00

It was the summer of 1968.The California sun was scorching the black pavement beneath my feet.At eleven years old I was confused and curious about the world around me. Strife and turmoil were wearing the country down. There was a war in a far away place that no one could explain to me even though it was on TV every night.Black Americans were still fighting for their civil. Social unrest had become a way of life.There was so much I didn't understand.

As I continued to walk I began to feel a bit dizzy from the heat. Finding a park bench under a tree I sat to rest my weary bones.Earlier that evening, confused and upset I had left my mother's apartment to aviod more of the evening news. Young men even women were coming home in body bags from a place called Viet Nam had become part of the usual dinner time news programs. Something called the body count had become some morbid kind of score card of human pain, suffering and sacrifice.It remained beyond my comprehension.

As I sat on the bench the dizzy feeling continued.After a few minutes a stranger approached.He was a tall man with brown hair and a full beard. He wore a tall hat that blocked out the sun as he towered over me.His attire was clearly not of this time.

The man asked me if I was alright. "I'm not suppose to talk to strangers" I replied."That is good advice" he said with a smile that seemed out of place yet genuine.The look in the strangers deep brown eyes showed a depth of compassion and wealth of pain that I had never seen before.I introduced myself and he extended his hand and said his name was Abraham.Shaking my hand with an iron grip, he told me that he had come to escort a young man from the political nearby to his new home.A look of sadness followed the statement. There was something about this man I couldn't explain. I found myself drawn to his obvious wisdom. My burning curiosity began to flow.

We sat and we talked about life and pain and love and hate. "Why are there wars Abraham?"I asked.The stranger look more unsettled than before.A look in his eyes answered the question yet he followed with words that clearly stirred pain in him. "Yes Andrew I know of war" he said with a vacant yet tormented look and a wave of emotion barely surpressed beneath the surface.

"There are young men dying right now and no one will tell me why" I said with my voice crackling with emotion.The stranger clearly had many questions and too few answers also."Why do people of different races hate each other without reason"? Why can't we all get along ?"I asked feeling more emotional than before.The stranger shook his head and stroked his beard.The stern look in his eyes reflected my own questions. "It will get better Andrew for your children and your children's children" I look at him with what felt like a puzzled look.The stranger and I sat and talked as the sunset.

The stranger and answered what questions he could but I felt my curiosity wearing on him.The stranger had his own questions. He knew not of cars or buses or television.I wondered where this man had come from ,but each time I asked, a slight trace of tear and away look filled his deep brown eyes.

The stranger looked at his pocket watch "it's almost time" he said. We were sitting facing the hotel.Large black shiny cars and men with suits and sunglasses filled the streets.They were using walkie talkies and being quite protective of a red haired man in his early forties."Is this the man you've come to get"I asked. The stranger nodded with the look of a man about to do an unpleasant task. "I am here as his guide Andrew", "I wish he didn't have to come"he said in a soft almost weak voice.Before I could ask the question, he answered."His name is Bobby and he looks so young".

The young man was familiar to me. His brother had died when I was only six,but I remembered it well.That was one of my earliest memories. On that day traffic had stopped as strangers in doorways held each other as the streets flooded from their tears.Pain was the only look I could see on every face and it had become clear to me that whatever the situation was it would be painful for the country.The stranger appeared in deep thought. As he stood up the evening sky silhouetted his tall thin figure and ample hat."It's not safe here for you Andrew, you must go"he said in a low yet nervous tone.I reached out to shake the mans hand once again and my hand passed through his as though it were smoke.

Suddenly I heard gunfire from within the hotel.Within minutespolice carsand ambulances with sirens blaring filled the street in front of the hotel.As the stretcher was carried out I could see Abraham talking to the red haired man named Bobby.A transparant image arose from the stretcher, the lifeless body remained there and was rushed into the ambulance.

As Abraham put his arm around the young mans image, they walked off into what was a long path I had not noticed before. And where it led I still don't know.As they disappeard into the warm evening air I could hear Abraham with hisdeep baritone voice saying to the younger man. "It get's better Bobby". "It get's better".

Valentines days blues

2005-02-12T22:02:00.000-08:00

Is it only me or did certain holidays take on a more special feeling when we were children? Remembering as a kid I could bring a valentines day card for most every girl in class and on that day it was OK to smile at them ,talk to them, day dream about them and so on.As a guy you stood to take a razzing from the other guys but that was OK. I think perhaps those were the early seeds that helped me grow up into a flirt. Yup you got it the word is out I have been known to flirt.I am trying to imagine what responses I would get if I were to run up along side 90%of the women I know and hand them a Valentines day card this weekend.A few I know I would scare{I know alot of women with mens issuses}several I know would laugh and tell me that I am sweet.But what would happen to the real me the hopeless romantic enduring another valentines day single?Would I be crushed yet again? A lady I know said yesterday that valentines day should be renamed to singles awareness day. I do have one or two lady friends that I might give cards to more out of curiousity {and one out of vengence}. I will have to think awhile on that one every time I compliment her on her looks she remarks at how shallow I am. Perhaps she is right. But she is hot and I have let her know that for a couple of years now. We have one of those completely adverseral friendshipsbased primarily on shots ,zingers, and taking each others inventory.

But gone are the days of childhood boy girl relationships.I know if I started handing cards out to alot of the women I know I would have some explaining to do to a few of their husbands. But alas my inner child bubbles over.My own introduction to adult women came at a young age and I developed huge trust issues that I am still working on getting dealt with. It hasn't taken up any space in my head up until today as to how I should celebrate Valentines day. But it seems that as a single guy with a sensitive side I should use this opportunity to feel that really cool chemistry like electricity that goes on between genders. Perhaps I could fill up an envelope with valentines and give them out to women that are complete strangers. Maybe ride the bus all day and just hand them out as I see fit.I am already seeing some difficulties in the dark reaches of my mind.What if I gave one to some woman and she begins to get nasty and I have to stay on the bus until the next stop.{Probably an abnormal fear I know but it wouldn't be my first one}.

Well I am happy that so many people out there have each other for Valentines day and the little ceremony they share.I was talking to a lady I know this evening who was going home to wait for the dozen roses her husband sends her each year. He will be sending them this year from jail.Pretty cool to still be able to send them to her. I wish I could remember more clearly all the valentines days in my twenty year marriage.My exwife is still one of my best friends. I use to get her stuffed animals pretty routinely.I guess I could certainly email my twenty year old daughter at UVIC.

Well I guess alot has changed over the years as we become adults and begin to deal with things in adult ways.But somewhere inside me a little boy would still like to run up along side the one girl in class he was too scared to talk to the rest of the year and hand her a card and ask her in a choked speach "will you be my valentine?"

Beginnings are a blessing,beginnings are a pain.

2005-01-15T23:09:00.000-08:00

I will only speak for myself of course but it seems to me that beginning something whether it is a day, a project, a job ,relationship, new year, almost anything has this inital period of adjustment, adaption a time to become orientated or any other number of check points before I begin to form my opinion as to whether it will be worth spending my time,money,energy,emotions,risk or whatever else I may have that I consider of value to me.Holding a six hundred page book I might ask myself "what if I only read half of it and then decide I don't want to finish it"?That seems like a waste to not get the full value of an endeavor.

With my defects of procrastination and cynicisim being as dominant as they are I can find reasons to not start or finish pretty much anything.
So what is the deciding component that actually turns an intention into an action? Most of us have heard the one that goes"there were 4 frogs on a log and 3 of them decided to jump off" "how many frogs were left on the log"?The answer of course is all 4! The three that decided to jump off did only exactly that, decided.The decision needs to be followed with an action.Somewhere in my head is a spring or clutch plate or something {probably a rusty bearing} that turns an intention into an action.

Now I have learned at the ripe old age of 47 and 1/2 that lasting decisions that affect my life or the lives of others should not be based on how I am feeling at any one minute. My moods are so drastically affected by such a number of things that what might seem like the best of all answers on one day is well "stupid".As I strive to grow spiritually and emotionally I need to find some way to get a closer grip on this spring, or for lack of a better analogy a decision tuning screw. I have no shortage of things to make decisions about on any givenday and if I really tried hard and focused I could probably let myself run just a few words passed my inner voice before making these decisions.

Words like these ,motives,risks, consequences, potential for harm,expectations, benefits and lets not forget the "F" word" {not that F word} the other one "Feelings" how will I feel as a result of this decision.Perhaps if I try to train myself I could start with tweeking my screw or spring or what have you with quick random decisions that have no lasting impact{I hope} like doing things in a more spontaneous way rather than agonizing over little details and following old routines to the same end over and over as I have in the past.

So if in the next little while you see me doing something that seems odd I might just be trying to get in touch decision spring. Trying to do things like maybe ordering a sandwhich with brown bread,or wearing my underwear on the outside of my clothesjust for kicks.Who knows maybe if I make it common place to make snap decisions I will progress further in life. As a matter of fact I just decided that this blog is over.

Thankyou, Farewell and Amen

2004-12-24T01:10:00.000-08:00

In the next few days it will be time for me to bid farewell in a few different ways to some things I have taken for granted for a while now. Lets set aside for a moment the fact that we will all be saying goodbye to 2004 whether we consider it to have been good, bad, or indifferent.For the next couple of paragraphs I would like to take anyone who hasn't been there to a place I have come to love a great deal. Each Sunday morning for the last couple of years I have made it part, a big part of my spiritual journey to enter an auditorium called The Clark Theater in our town of Mission. Each Sunday morning I would find my way there never knowing exactly what message I would be hearing or what I would be there to learn on that day.

As a recovering addict I have learned that there are certain things I need to do each day to receive my daily reprieve from my addiction becoming active once again.I must go to my twelve step fellowship, read certain literature, honestly share how I am feeling. I must write in my journal and other formats I have discovered and created. And I must resurrender to my God each morning and ask him to keep me clean for just that one day and each night I must pray in gratitude for whatever day I was given. By the Sunday of each week I always seem to have emotional turmoil that I ask God to help me with. On this week I have some of my closest friends to ask for his help with because they made the choice to return to their active addictions.

On most Sundays I would arrive at the Theater that we have used as our church as early as possible and sit in the exact middle from each side towards the back and enjoy the emptiness of all the other seats in the theater and stillness in the air. I would sit and watch and listen to the band as they warm up to their audience of one or maybe two or three. The bands prescence and the stage lighting gives the appearance of a Rock concert with the large screen back drop that is used to futher each weeks message with video's and images,anything from images virgin snow and purity to darkness and children suffering.Anything and everything in the world around us is utilized to carry the impact of Pastor Scott's messages. On days when I have been struggling within myself God sent me messages on surrender and on days when I have been holding on to something I shouldn't like a resentment or reservation I have been reminded that somethings and sometimes I must let Go & let God.

I have this silly little habit of endlessly scribbling notes and thought webs no matter where I might be. It has become a precious part of my weekend to scribble my way through Scott's service collecting tid bits , thoughts,images,feelings and ideas and tucking them away in my internal treasure chest from the time the theater begins to fill up with people and until after it empties out.It is a big part of my staying sane to pray and then to write always looking for traces of my creators will for me on the pages,in the words, in the margins anywhere the keys to the universe might be tucked away in a fold or blended with a dialog from one of my many trains of thought.I love to pray and then to look around me and scribble anything from the expression I see on someones face,a child's unhappy squeal to my feelings of anger or serenity. "Purple Dragons" "Purple Dragons" the universe is an endless sea of "Purple Dragons"and they are mine to collect.

Each week I usally remain seated as the theater empties scribbling compusively trying not to let an instant of my precious Sunday message and my morning pages slip passed me without savoring and sifting and tucking away in my heart.As I write this on the table next to me I have pulled out some of my sunday morning pages from the past for a glance. There are days through out my normal week when I need to draw on such treasures for strength and balance such as when I feel hurried and chasing myself in circlesI remember Scotts message "That it's the slow and quiet plodding one that seems to win the race"Or when I am confusing religion for my much cherished spirituality"How to be a Christianwithout embarassing God" . Lets not forget all those true stories {or were they scott ?}How about lets be a superhero for God".One of my personal favorite image from that stage was when Pastor Scott stood with his back to "Judy The Manners Lady" as she leaked what ever artifical sweetner it is that holds her smile on her face and her head on her shoulders while she preached to young children to deny what ever it is they might be feeling and plant on a socially acceptable appearance irregardless of their fears or in my case and I sense Scott's contempt for her very existance.

Quotesand message of spirit from one of the most couragous and remarkable men to have ever lived Dr. Martin Luther King Jr about passive resistant and non violent change would reach me from an unlikely looking source in baggy pants , T shirt and baseball cap from a man with the deepest of his own demons, loss and turmoil in his life.I have looked down at my note book at the end of my sunday before my evening pages and be reminded that "I must dance as though no one is watching" and we "Must do a little damage for God"reminding me to sometimespush the edge of the envelope I call my life .From a stage I have grown to love sitting in the darkness and watching as magic, messages, miracles, and memories. I have collected a number of treasures,gifts and yes indeed "Purple Dragons" to carry with me for the rest of my life as I continue with my recovery and my discovery as I try to continue on my spiritual path .Yes indeed life is "too short to not eat sugar" And walking with God is not "something I can do only on sundays" And yes,yes, indeed our God is a cool God Scott, A" cool God indeed".

As we bid farewell to the auditorum we have called our home on sundays for some time now we embrace change and a new year I want to thank Pastor Scott, Pastor Susan and Pastor Greg, all the musicians and all the people behind the scenes, everyone who filled the seats and danced in the isles. As well as The Clark Theater for allowing me to be part of and experience this atmosphere that we call our church.A church that has been so unusual that myself and so many other fit in quite comfortably. Let us remember that it is the message, the people, the experience and the raw chemistry not the building that will continue to take us to the newer and newer and higher and higher next chapter of New Heights.

When all is said and done it is the message and the people, not the building that made it our church. And together we can embrace 2005 and all the newness it brings us.But if you notice me waiting for everyone else to leave after our final services to talk to God and thank him for the memories ,images, lessons and feelings of the past couple years of treasures along with the traces of love, energy, respect and fellowship that I have found there have brought me the same precious type of tears before...

"These Rooms" {excerpt from Paperworlds"}

2004-12-16T21:07:00.000-08:00

Approaching the doorway to the church basement the newcomer could see people huddled in the doorway and hiding under the stairs.As they sheltered themselves from the rain, some were laughing and joking,others were smoking casually as though in an old time tobacco ad.A few were smoking feverishly in the night-time air with an intense desperation, clinging as though the only thing that mattered was the next inhalation of tobacco.Smoking as if somehow all the pain and wreckage in their lives would disappear with the smoke the way it used to hope it would disappear with the drugs and alcohol.

Entering and looking around the room, he asked himself; how would anyone in this room understand what he had been through? Would anyone even care? The smell of fresh coffee filled the air while the sounds of folding chairs broke the church-like quiet.As he sat in his seat in the very last row he bowed his head not knowingwhere to place his eyes or to whom to speak.

The crowd settled into their chairs as the light hum of conversation was broken by the blow of a hardwood gavel.The room fell dead silent.The newcomer looked around and asked himself ; what could they know about pain and suffering? So very little did he himself know. He had yet to learn that pain was the currency paid to enter these rooms and suffering was the common denomenator. As person after person shrared through out the hour as the man sat stunned by what he heard.

At the end of the meeting the newcomer bowed his head in shame for feeling so self-righteous about the other's ever understanding real pain. He began to weep openly for the first time in years he felt real tears, emotions not brought on by alcohol and other drugs, or the lack thereof. It would seem he had his first touch of magic that these rooms had to offer. He had gotten his first taste of feelings for other's in the room.With each person that shared he felt emotions he forgotten he had. At the conclusion of the meeting the whole room joined together in a circle in the serenity prayer. The newcomer could feel the mutual strength, warmth and compassion of all those who filled the room

As the human chain broke, he stood back and said nothing as the room returned to it's day to day state.His own torment now seemed so small his own suffering so minimal. He looked at the very walls that had brought so much comfort to so many. There was such power in this room. It was like nothing he had ever experienced before.It was as though the very walls themselves had learned to feel, to heal and to cry. To flush away pain one day at a time. Flushing away a river pain, self-pity and self-seeking.

Indeed these walls had learned to cry; looking closely he could see their stains.However he would soon find that there were those who could be neither flushed nor healed. Their honesty was dwarfed, their truths were now muddied. Their chances were truly less then average. For them caring, crying, even praying might not enough. For them to heal,the walls and the people in them must learn slightly bleed...

"It's a wonderful day in recoveryhood"

2004-11-25T23:29:00.000-08:00

Well I guess Mister Rogers is still dead I seem to have been channeling him all day again. I went to a twelve step meeting at a local all male treatment center this evening with one of my closest friends. I am amazed at the power ,the emotions, the feelingsand the mutual bond that fills the air with a couple dozen menbarely even yet in recovery in the same room.I went through that treatment center six years ago now and the seeds that were planted there altough I didn't know it changed my life.I remember that bottom. Living alone in Vancouver after my marrige broke up, we had lost our house , my wife took the kids not being able to take the stress of being with me anymore. I had barely survied a suicide attempt a year and a half earlier and now living alone for the first time in over a decade I was isolating, binging,hating myself and I saw no reason to think life held anything for me but more pain.I remember coming to after a seizure face down on a hardwood floor of my small apartment.

My three day growth of beard was matted and the small pool of blood had dried onto my face.The clock said that it was 7:00 but I didn't know and couldn't tell if it was AM or PM. I had to turn on the tv for the time and to find out what day it was. I looked into the mirror through my own tears at my disgust in the mirror. I fell down to my knees and I begged God to let me know what purpose I had in life I knew I hadn't been put there just to suffer.I was suicidal again. I just wanted the pain to stop,I just wanted to lay down and wake up to a better world.I looked at a piece of paper with a phone number to a treatment center here in Mission that my mother in law had gotten from her Pastor and passed to my wife. I remember seeing the words Miracle Valley. It sounded so serene and promising compared to what I was feeling at the time.I had obtained an abnormally high quanity of a prescription tricylic antidepression and I knew this time they wouldn't be bringing me back.I held it in one hand and the phone number in the other.

I called the number and another addict answered the phone.Clients did that job there in the evenings back then. I will never forget that mans baritone voice. He talked and listened to me for several hours and for the first time in my life I understood the theraputic value of one addict helping another.He shared with me his story and how he was now a couple months clean. For the first time in my life I even whispered the words "I think I am an addict" will you please help me"The man convinced me to not kill myself that night,but to make arrangements to stay in a detox for three daysand then enter that treatment facilty. I remember him saying "don't kill yourself tonight Andrew" "You can always die later".
Every night for a week I called that number and he had arranged to be the person who answered the phone. Each night he told me to trust God, the twelve steps, a world wide fellowship,and strangers. I had to have faith "There is a better way to live" he kept saying.I took that mans advice each night I held the pills while we spoke often for 3or 4 hours at a stretch.I may have been incoherent a great deal of the time. I entered that facilty and became very close to that man.When I was there I went back to school and got my GED and took over his job working on the phones answering for others calling in as sick as I was. That man moved up to security and the two of us pulled countless hours of night shifts sharing things you might not share at a meeting.
That man has moved on somewhere I love him and pray that he is now well.

Tonight before I left that facilty after our outreach meeting I went into the same chapel that I spent my first three months there looking at the beams asking myself if I would need one bed sheet or two to hang myself.I went in there again tonight as I do with each visit out there and I dropped to my Knees in front of the picture of Jesusand I thanked God for allowing me to survive that experience and feel what I had to feel and learn what I had to learn.

Ayoung man approached me this evening and thank me for supporting this meeting and showing the guys inside that we can stay clean on the outside,with God and each other we can do it.A one hour out reach meeting once a week is a pretty small payment on my gratitude tab, pretty small indeed .

There was one memory that resurfaced tonight a memory I sometimes try to bury. It was of a woman who was on the phone when it rang. She told me her boyfriend was on the Lions Gate bridge throwing off his most precious possesions and planning to jump himself. When I told her to contact 911 she said he wanted to talk to another addict and somehow they got that number. For almost 4 hours after he left the bridge with his girlfriend I spoke to the man. He promised me he would be at the gate in the morning. For weeks I checked the sign in sheets hoping to find evidence of his arrival. It never came. He promised he would call again if he couldn't make it in. "You can always die later" I told him "You can always die later". I shared that story with the young man who approached me outside the Chapel who was thanking me for spending an evening at their meeting. He understood my tremdous debt to other's in recovery. He looked me in the eyes and could see that I was tearful and he said "You will always wonder won't you Andrew?" A slight nod of my head in the darkness was all I could offer. He outstreched his arms and hugged me before I turned and walked towards the gate. It is the bond of survivors, the bond of survivors. Precious,often even wordless. Yet those involved understand.
Yes it was a wonderful day in recoveryhood, a wonderful day indeed.

Nov 23rd Dark/cold/wet {slight traffic sounds outside}

2004-11-23T21:23:00.000-08:00

As I sit in the stillness of my small apartment I am free to listen to my thoughts uninterrupted.I have been thinking alot lately about lonliness/ falling in love again and trying to find ways to know that I am following my creators guidance.Each day I go about my life sometimes trapped in routines and circumstances and being unwilling to turn over to God aspects of my life that seem unmanagible to me or at least over whelming to a degree that I seem powerless to have any control over them. I am learning to find great comfort in recognizing the things in my life that I no longer need to control.There is a great sense of ease and comfort I am learning to feel when I surrender my own will in any given situation and ask God to take care of this for me. I ask him to show me most often through the people around me how to proceed. I am learning to savor the serenity that comes with doing so. However at times I find myself hanging on again and again to just the very thing I need to let go of in order to feel that serenity I so cherish.
It is almost as though I need to relearn the same lesson again and again before I am willing to let go of whatever it is that may be bringing me pain,heartache, fear ,discomfort and all the rest.I am well aware of my tendency to self sabotage my life when things begin to go too good for me.My God is a caring loving not "controling God" and the bounty I can receive by walking with him is endless. So why do I struggle so often with the chains of my own self-will? Is there a process I must learn to go through before I learn that whatever it is must be let go off. Perhaps I need to incorporate A daily prayer or ritual much like the serenity prayer that becomes second nature to me and upon saying it or doing the ritual I have turned it over in my mind and heart to the greatest degree I possibly can.Something for me to think about.

Nov 21st 900am Cold/Grey potentially spooky

2004-11-21T08:58:00.000-08:00

It is Sunday again and time to look at the week behind me for lessons I should learn from it as well as preparing to embrace the week God is about to give me on this large confusing twirling sphere we call earth . In addition to the disease of addiction I am learning that there seem to be so many other things in my life that I also need to continue working on recovering from on a daily basis.Negative and past experiences emotions are certainly on the list. Things like rejection,abnormal fears, self deception,dishonesty, denial,self hatred,obsessive compulsive tendencies,low self-esteem,abandonment,mayrtardom and the list goes on.
As I try to grow along spiritual lines there are times when my efforts to be a caring ,loving,compassionate person are indeed tested.Sometimes I see where being caring and loving and kind and speaking in a nice soothing softvoice while being composed in both actions and body language is good for a plan A.Yet there are people who look for plan A people and snicker at their gulability as they time and time again break rules, manipulate,steal,lie,and push more and more to see what they can get away with hiding behind either a disabilty, or a disease like addiction or anything they can use to gain pity and favor from the world around them. As a recovering addict who is strongly entrenched in not just my own recovery but tied in tightly to the recovering community in our small area.I hold a position at an Area level in the 12 step fellowship where I finally found hope.I am exposed to hundreds of different people with addiction problems themselves every month.
Some of the struggles I see are hard to sit by and watch only praying and reminding myself that I am most times powerless over other people places and situations.And some of the victories over the disease of addiction and the odds of fate are sweet to savor.However it is also very hard to stand by and watch others manipulate situations as they have over and over for their entire livesor at least as much of it as they can possibly get away with.Often times the plan A people will again and again extend help and offerings to other out of the goodness of their hearts. Time and time again they reach down inside themselves and ask God to help the people in their path.Often the manipulators will play on peoples sympathy again and again wiping their feet on the plan A people and laugh about doing it.There is a time when "plan A" just no longer worksit becomes exhausted and ineffective.I know I have manipulated plan "A" people most of my life.
A time simply comes for plan "B"Plan "B' is rooted in zero tolerance towards the gamesand behaviors of those who draw such pleasure from wiping their feet and thumbing their nosestowards those that have tried to help.This plan "B' is getting back to the basics.Direct confrontation, vivid, open displaysof consequences and boundary setting that make it clear beyond doubt that Plan "A" and all the soft touchy feely approaches are now out the windowand those that would use other's as a doormat time and time again have had their last wipe.I guess it comes back down to the carrot or the stick.
Human beings are like all other dumb animals in the jungle,there is an approriate time for the offering again and again of the carrot of plan 'A',and sometimesit makes more sense to use a stick.

Nov 17th 10:00pm Dark/cold /windy

2004-11-17T22:16:00.000-08:00

Dear Pages,
It was a good day,God allowed me to feel all my feelings.Earlier today I watched as a lady I know
took her one year recovery cake.We watched each other struggle in the last year and so as many of us
struggled and watched her struggle it was a sweet taste to have a bite of her one year cake.As her two
small children under the age of 4 sat on her I remembered trying to comprehend how it felt when she
lost them.Now I was allowed the privilege to share how proud I too was of her. As her husband
smiled at me from across the room I remembered some of our late night conversations while he stayed
with me waiting to go into treatment himself.Now with each of them a year cleanand their children
back in their livesfull time it felt like I was witnessing this Miracle from a somehow calm spot in a
turbulent storm . Just being in that room and feeling the love from the people all around was so
so powerful that even now 8 hours later I slightly tingle.
One of the great gifts that God has given me
in my program of recovery his to make friends with people who like myself have an ongoingprocess
within in us to become better people.Who was there and what was said is of course confidentialbut
The mixture of emotions in that room today were from desperation to hope, from former self-hatred
to pride and self -love. At the end of the meetingI tucked away my chair and a second chair for the
addict who still suffer and for those who won't make it back as a result of their disease.At times merely
remembering that their is a chair awaitingthose suffering, those not yet willing to surrender,
become willing to work and make the choice to stay clean.
The empty chair is at times hauntingbut at the same time knowing that it is there anyonebrings me
inner peace.
Yes, it was a good day, because I felt all my feelings.....

Dear Pages

2004-11-17T01:18:00.000-08:00

It has been several days since I have felt your touch beneath my fingers.As I watched an ominus sky above me blowing off into the distance into the east and the sun setting in the west from the cab of a truck I again began to think of friendships. Old friends, new friends, and friends I have yet to make. It would seem that there are so many people in my path these days unlike the darker of days when isolation was my best of friends. It seems that the coldness inside me is gone most often these,yet I still wait in phantom pain for the warmth to fill it's place.Lukewarm, neutral, that seems to be the best I can summon when I reach down inside myself where the deepest of my passions lay untapped, unused at waste. It is time for me to remember how to feel the energy that comes with the lightness of step that was always the spring of my next stride uncaring where it might land.When I greet the daybreak tomorrow it will be time again to reach inside to where my energy and my creators guidance become one in the same.I have not been letting his spiritual flow move through me.

Tomorrows daybreak with each step that feels slow and awkward I will replace it with two quick and light.A new adventure will await me and I will relearn how to reach inside with the burning curiosity of the young man so very much alive within me .It is the untapped potentional that lay dorment, the slivers of unused time through out my day that go to waste that this younger man will help me to find,if only I ask God to let him.

November 10th "Headpets"

2004-11-10T09:48:00.000-08:00

I have been getting some more than usual unusual looks and comments since I began blogging and speaking openly about what I refer to as my headpets.Now I feel it is completely healthy for a middle aged man to keep tiny critters in his head. My apartment ? No thank you? There were too many animals underfoot in my marriage thanks just the same. Now some days the hamsters yell at the gerbils and the gerbils yell back at the hamsters and of course they all think that they are either right or have more seniority {trust me they think there is a vertical hierachy}.Or at least some kind of pecking order.

{New paragraph for you Jil} Anyhow as anyone who is in that tiny yet precious circle in the universe called my support group knows there is one headpet too many at times. This of course is {do I really need to say his name} {yea why not?}He is the impossible, invincible, incorrigible imaginary goldfish I call Melvin.He is essentialy one part post traumatic stress disorder, one part damaged creative hemisphere, one part attention seeking defect and I will leave the other 25 per cent up to modern medicince to conclude after my autopsy{at a much later date I hope}

Now that Melvin has returned from Las Vegas and his tiny little fishy heart has been broken by "Bubbles" the spicy little neon tetra {probably not even her real name} guess who gets to deal with the wreckage? Thats right me.For anyone who has ever had a teenager with a broken heart to deal with I am sure you can relate.

Any way his mood has been swinging low and lower{I couldn't have like a stable imaginary goldfish now could I}{I have to get one with a mood disorder that mirrors my own!!!} So he has been all gloomy and stuff and barely even speaking to me {I am the heavy I wouldn't let her move in with him} {In my head no less, how disrespectful} But teenagers go figure them out. I wake up at 6:00am this morning to the shower running in my head {yes I have a full functioning shower in my head} And I hear Melvin in there singing a melody of Beach Boys hits kind of blended together.He didn't sound too bad if I may say so myself. It's nice to know his dysphoria is lifted.He comes out of the shower snapping hamsters with his towel going back into his own rendition of "Catch A Wave}" "Surfer Girl" and "Surfing USA and then the hamsters join in on "Help me Rhonda"

So I ask him "yo Melvin" {he can't stand it when I call him Mel for short} "What happened to all those broken heart , down and out,"ain't never gonna smile again no matter what tunes" you have been singing for a week now? He just puts on his sunglasses looks me in the eyes and says "like life is too short to be ripped up for a chick you know?".

I figure it has got to be one of two things, either the Effexor I have been slipping him is kicking in or may haps there is another girl fish somewhere that he is sweet on.He didn't give me any explaination he just hit me up for five bucks,placed his silly sun glasses on and said "I'LL like see ya later daddy O" and then did some weird kind of fish boogie dance out my front door. Headpets you buy them books, and you buy them more books, and all they do is eat the covers off of them.....

Falling out of love??

2004-11-08T22:46:00.002-08:00

I find the human animal hard to understand at times.With the broad spectrum of emotions and feelings that we experience even in any one day let alone a life time it is almost baffling to me for us to know what we feel and why we feel it even at any one second.Now I am a fairly emotional person {especially for a middle aged man} any of my friends will probably agree. I am passionate about the things and peolple I love and when I dislike something or some one I seldom hesitate to be some what vocal as to what it is I dislike or don't agree with.

In addition to recovering from the disease of addiction I am also trying to recover from a number of other things. These things include recovering from a deep spiritual void, self hatred, rejection, distrust, betrayal,low self esteem and so many other things. One of the things that seems to resurface time and time again and cause me pain is my vulnerablity.A common mantra of mine is that I work too hard, I worry too much and I fall in love way too easy.

A few years ago I fell in love for the first time since my marriage broke up.I had just hit a chemical and emotional bottom and with the entire world in sadness over a tragic event it seemed as though all there was in the world was darkness. Having just barely survived a suicide attempt God put a lady in my path to for him to work through her.For the next few momths while I was at my most vulnerable I had ever been I started to come back to life.We both seemed to love each other so deeply. We spoke of places we would travel together and how we would like to learn to sing in harmony and a thousand precious things of the sort that shall always remain private.I had never had a relationship where I could just hold a woman for hours and talk and share our thoughts and dreams for hours at a time.She shared all the things in her life that brought her happiness,sadness and pain. We had reached the point in a mere few month's where we could finish each other's sentences and sense what the other was thinking at a glance. We had candle lit dinners and slow danced in my apartment.We could spend five or six hours fully clothed just holding each other and talking until the sunrise. It was magic for me, and she said it was magic for her too.I was still unhealthy emtionally. I was still so vulnerable and needy.

Then one day she told me that she had tired of me.That I had been a phase and nothing more. She told me how all the times she said she loved me and how wonderful and lucky she had felt to find were words of truth at the time. But that time had past. She admitted that she now felt nothing for me and never would again.She told how she no longer wanted me as a lover and she had no need for me as a friend. I couldn't comprehend how she could lay in my arms crying about things in her childhood that brought her pain one week and the next week denied I ever existed.This was so foreign to me as you see even my wife of twenty years has rermained one of my best friends in the six years since our marriage broke up. We speak and laugh regularly and are so happy we each have our own lifes no.

While at the library this weekend I was standing at the computer printer trip after trip retriving my pages to a project I am creating.I notice that sitting at the computer station next to the printer was the woman that had told me she loved me so many times in our brief months together and how she thanked God for having me . And then promptly discarded me aside when she was done with me.In my early teens woman twice my age had done the exact same thing without the guise of love. And when this woman did it yet again 30 yrs later you might say old wounds were opened quite quickly. I have seen this lady now sitting at the station that I had loved so intensly several times in the past few years crossing paths on the street or in the library, or shopping.I gave her a hug once and shook her son's handand engaged in brief conversations.Even though I once told her to remember if she ever needs help to carry a tune, A box , or A burdon all she has to do is ask I cold feel her coldness.And a couple of other times I would approach if she was in my path and ask her how she was doing, I received a look as though she were looking right through I was thin air or a homeless person asking for spare change.

I once reffered to this woman as a strong wind because of the way she had blown in and out of my life leaving me with precious gifts. One of the most valuable gifts is when she told me that if I kept reaching outside myself to her or other woman, to drugs or money or shinny stuff that I would be unhappy forever. That message I taped on my wall for sometime to remind myself that I had been doing it wrong all these years.

While at the library standing only one or so feet from this lady while collecting my pages I knew that she could sense my prescence espcaily while I joked with the lady at the information deskabout my request for infomation on a topic that doesn't exist which is a frequent game I play with the awesome staff at our library...I waited patienly hoping this woman that I had loved so intensly would look up and say hello to my so I could see those eyes I had so fallen in love with.

As I stood there motionles for a few moments I Thought of all the things I would like to tell her and to thank her for the huge part she had contributed to me feeling and remembering happiness after being so sick for so long. For helping me come back to life.Yet there I stood in silence. For a woman I loved so deeply I have no intentions or desire to re enter her life.I did so want to speak with her and hear that musical voice of her's and to remind her that with all the gifts and lessons she left me with upon her departure that I will always be there if she merely asks.I don't believe I have ever fallen in love with someone and then somehow just stopped.Romantic love is far more difficult to underatnd than the love I feel for my friends. But I am learning that a healthy friendship are the strongest basis for any kind of love romantic or not. Once I collected my pages I said not a word to this woman.Our short time together gave a blueprint of sorts for the healthy romantic relation ship I hope to have again some day when God knows I am ready. Soon that day I gathered my pages , joked with librarian briefly and left the woman that we had experinced
such intimacy, synergy and intense love if only so briefly still siting her chair.. A part of me will always lovr her. Yet on that day I chose to turn and walk away without saying Hello or even looking
There is a certain freedom that comes from just whispering."Good Bye
.

Falling out of love??

2004-11-08T22:46:00.001-08:00

Falling out of love??

2004-11-08T22:46:00.000-08:00

A word about Melvin

2004-11-03T09:01:00.000-08:00

So a duck walks into a bar with a rabbi on it's shoulder..?? That can't be right.. I remember now. I woke up this morning to a familiar pounding on the inside of my head. Was it a headache ?? you might ask. Well that is one place he is a pain!! It was my imaginary goldfish Melvin. Now I am as sane as any other human in the human race{why do they call it a race when the idea is to live as long as possible??] anyhow one of the little critters that live in my head is Melvin and he is not your ordinary imaginary goldfish. He is a text book example of animal psychology gone bad!!His behavioral problems are familiar to some of my friends . Even my head hamsters are offended by Melvin and his antics.Earlier this week Melvin returned from his fling with Bubbles{a spicy little Neon Tetra} in Las Vegas. Now that he is home we are arguing almost non stop since he finally quit giving me the silent act.My kids were never this much trouble when they were living with me.I know God wants me to have plenty of lessons on patience and tolerance and acceptance and letting go,compassion blah, blah, blah and all that other touchy feely spiritual stuff but with Melvin in my head and my life I have to work over time with this stuff.I can't even eat a simple tuna fish sandwhich in my own home without being made to feel like a predator.One day he wants me to call him Flipper. The next time I turn around he swimming around with that silly cardboard fin of his humming the scary music from "Jaws" thinking he is a movie star.He was barely back in the door from running away and he is hitting me up for A Harley Davidson for Christmas.What is an imaginary goldfish going to do with a Harley?? Lets leave the safety issue out for a minute.How will he possibly not slip off the seat?He is nothing but a pain but we've been together for a long, long time and I guess he is mine to deal with.. I do have to look at some of the things I put my late Mother through when I was a teenager and in Goldfish years Melvin is about 16. He has the hormones and energy and rebellion of a mid-teen and some times he wears me down.At his age I had left home and been on my own already for two years and put thyousands of miles between me and my family with nothing more than the clothes on my back. Some may say I should love him and appreciate him while I have him because children leave home and you can't get those times again.But somehow I am willing to risk that. I find it hard to believe that with Melvin that these are the good old days.Well I have to go I am checking into some military schools today.Perhaps the Navy can use a submarine seeking missle carrying Imaginary Goldfish. If then can I think I might have just the canidate...

It's a magical time to be alive!! Nov 2nd

2004-11-02T20:55:00.002-08:00

A few days ago I got internet at home for the first time in a couple of years.As I sat at one of my desks playing with the keys and double clicking this and double clicking that I had to wait for a few minutes for a task to run it's course. Now being an impatient recovering addict With a tendency towards obsessing I decided to play with my new cell phone at the same time to see just what I could get it to do.I have never been good with gadgets. I tend to throw away digital watches around daylight savings time and start from scratch on the next 10.00 watch. Embarassing to admit yet true. So while I am pushing buttons at random on my cell phone thinking nothing of the fact that I could be sending out any kind of messagea friend of mine teies to call me on my home phone {which I was yacking on at the time} this friend wanted to let me know that I was sending him text messages and some kind of little pictures {grumpy little faces actually }on his cell phone without realizing it. Now when I bought my cell phone I justified it for this reason and that. I need it for safety reasons on our sunday night sandwhich run into the community, I am tired of waiting in line behiund over anxious drug addicts waiting for their dealers, I need it to be avasilable for work and blah blah blah.The truth is world I wanted a toy.Now that I am blogging and surfing the net as well as my normal obsession with word programs while calling my cell phone from my home phone just to hear it ring and watch it vibrate across my desk while talking on MSN messenger to my darling Exwife {she is a sweetheart I am Very lucky} I have to ask my self what is next.?? I have been abstinent from gadgets for a couple of years now and suddenly I am binging on cell phones and internet. When I was a kid I had my stick and my rock and maybe a box to use as a fort and my fingers to pretend I had a gun.Well now at 47 and a half years old{yes I do count the half I am that immature}I am beginng again to allow myself to play with gadgets. I was amazed at just how many prepaid minutes I could burn up in one afternoon sending out text messaging and funny little pictures without realizing it until my friend finally got through on my home phone{I had to give sparky my cell phone a break he was looking tired vibrating across my desk}When my friend got through he was laughing and he asked me if I knew I was sending him text and funny pictures and ringing his phone and stuff.I have to say that I am glad I am not hooked up to any equipment such as missles and tanks and stuff.But now what?? I have been Hi Tech gluttonizing for a week and the prepaid minutes that were suppose to last me until next year are gone, I craving new contacts on my MSN messenger, I am blogging too much {you guys can't possibly care to hear anything more from me} and I find myself getting bored. I have always disliked video and computer games but as with my other addictions my tolerance is up my cravings are getting stronger and I want more, more, more and I want it ten minutes ago.I don't want to start doing the hard stuff{games} but if I could figure out how to access them I probably would.But then what???My own science lab with stuff that fizzes and explodes??This could get scary. Maybe I would be better off just getting on a treatment or word program before I am too far gone.There must be a 12 step program out there for gadgets with buttons and keys and computer mouses somewhere.If there isn't maybe I could start one.Maybe worth thinking about huh??

It's a magical time to be alive!! Nov 2nd

2004-11-02T20:55:00.001-08:00

It's a magical time to be alive!! Nov 2nd

2004-11-02T20:55:00.000-08:00

In Search of Purple Dragons

2004-11-01T09:44:00.000-08:00

As I taste my stale generic morning cornflakes I feel the need for slight reflection.Yesterday at this time I pulled down the blankets from over my and charged forth knowing full wellthat "Purple Dragons" would be in my path without a doubt. After reading Julia Camerons "The Artisits Way" a spiritual guide to higher creativity I learned to define purple dragons and what they mean to me. They are you seen anything that inspires thought, art,creative flow,joy,literature and a thousand different things to any one person.A purple dragon for me is any image or experience I care to capture for my mind. Often I use these dragonsjust to play with on paper.The most prize of all such dragons are the purple dragons dancing merrily on hazy ponds.Often these images seem slightly out of place in there surroundings or far too precious to consider ordinary. They come in the forms of children at play or a stranger a drift. If there was any one weekend when in the world they are accepted most certainly they were wandering the streets in many formsthis Halloween.
Our Biweekly street church was one of the most fertile grounds for such dragons last night as I sat back and reflected on how much the human animal truly likes to allow its inner child to return to the playgroundand cast its adult worries aside for awhile. I had commented at church in the morning to our Pastor of disastor Scott looked I dare say presentable in his dress shirt {tucked in no less}and preppy cargo pants.He counter balanced that last night by dressing as one of the most cosmetically challenged street walkers {I think} I have ever seen. The blonde wig seemed fitting as I silently remembered all the blond jokes he has told at church{only at New Heights do we get blond jokes with our sunday services}.Pastor Susan in her hippie outfit proudly showed me her Harley Davidson knowing full well that if I consider her Red Iroc an inappropriate vehicle for a nice lady Pastor that the tatoo evoke a predictable response. I had no real searching to do as purple dragon one after another entered the small building and filled the dance floor to the cannedyet much enjoyed music. Thye intellectual young man in the clown costume seemed to have a look of fatigue behind his painted face as tired eyes tried to smile throughwire rim glasses and the grease paint. Filling the shoes of Ronald Mc Donald can not be easy.The young Pastors wife brightened the dance floor in her long flowing rich blue princess's gown gave a vivd contrast to her long white lace head dress as the silver tiara sparkled bringing even more magic to her smiling eyes as she smiled and twirled about.Two catholic school girls dance innocently in their red scotch plaid dresses, white knee socks and blouses ,pulling at one another's blond pig tails. It seemed so odd for them to be talking quite readily to the pimp in his leopard skin head and gold chains.The overweight lady angel in the blue satin gown moved about with small white wings far too small to keep her airborne for long.I laughed at the aligator removal technition bounced about as I thought to myself how much closer to a dragon can I get than to hand her an aligator.Dragons of the purple persuasion each and every one of them unawreof it though I must say.A teenager dressed as a black crayola crayon bounced up and down with wax vengence along side a lady in a Jesus t shirt who flowed to the music unaware of the power and grace in her step.A quiet woman in jeans and a black sweater spoke softly with a french accent as she rised from the card table and began dancing.The lady real estate agent/race car driver in real life looked somewhat racy in her too short for regulation blue skirt and RCMP uniformed blouse with her hand cuffs swinging from her belt as she danced her lovely figure and smiled her always insipiring smile around the dance floor.Purple dragons, purple dragons, purple dragons as far as my happy eyes could see.The human animal comes to life in differebt ways than usual in costume somehow. The girl in the jesus T shirt now takes control of the dance floor merely by stepping and twirling with her dark hair tied back in a blue ribbon. It was a full day in search of purple dragons and I could not have asked for more. As I look down at the note pad I carry with me almost always I see that some one was kind enough to scribble that "Andrew is so cute"That was so thoughtful of them.I do hope it was none of the men dressed in drag.Today I return to looking for purple dragons in the normal world.I know that they are out there ,outside my window and the greyness that leads to the pattering of rain.Perhaps this will be the day when I find that finest of purple dragons those which dance merrily upon hazy ponds. But if not the ones I found last night will be with me for a while,and I hope you have enjoyed me sharing them with you.I must be going now for todayspurple dragonsare out there somewhere....

Oct 29th 2004/ 10:00pm Dark/raining/fading

2004-10-29T22:57:00.001-07:00

In a couple of hours it will be midnight in the world I have come to call my own.My evening was completed after my meeting by coffee with one of my closest friends.In a wanna be carbon copy world I am blessed with friends that are true originals. God put the some of the finest people he ever created in my path to help me deal with my demons of both addiction and depression. It is very seldom anymore that I hole up in my apartment in isolation without someone noticing and reaching out.A young man called me at one in the morning yesterday from down on main and hastings and told me how his lonliness and addiction have both been gnawing at him and he is finding there is precious left of himself with the progression of his disease. I sat in a healing circle in his place as friends and other's prayed for him and offered a gentle laying of hands, so to at least hear his voice and know he is alive was a prayer in it's self come true.When he apologized for calling at that hour I was still trying to shake the sleep from my head and become coherent.When he spoke of his lonlinessand isolation and being a full time slave to his addiction I could hear him crying slightly and trying to now cut the conversation short out of embarassment.I asked him to keep talking to me and I told him how many of us in the recovery community miss him and wish he would come home.I told him that I missed him and how friendship although not long in duration had become precious to me. I know of his physical ailments and we share some disorders and we have laughed several times at how strong our similarities are.He told me how he was flipping through the names in his cel phone and when my name came up he remembered that the last time we saw each other in person we had argued and the next day when I tried to make an ammends for my part he would not accept my handshake or eye contact. A few weeks ago he called and apologized for not accepting my ammends on that day.The people I let anywhere truly close to me learn swiftly that I place a extremely high value on friendship and that I am not always easy to love or be around. I know I can be drainingat times.As I seek to stay on my spiritual path and discover who I truly am and who God wants me to becomethe deep friendships I have forged will become even deeper and I may have something to pass on to someone struggling who calls in the middle of the night.In crisis intervention we were told to help people in distress find their pluses,their reasons to move forward.When I hung up the phone I fell to my knees and asked God to continue to look after him and to help me continue to grow stronger for myself and so for the first time in my life I might learn how and begin to live.For a 33 yr old man to tell me his life might as well be over while I am basking in Gods rewards of friendships and lessons and things of beauty in my path each day it was hard to not try to strongly encourage him.I tried hard to not sound preachy."We carry the message" not the mess or the addict I have been taught by those close to me with experience in these matters.Tomorrow night there is a halloween dance put on by the fellowship that I found my recovery and sanity at after long searches.This time tomorrow night I fully expect to be in a less introspective frame of mind at this time.I need the release I need the energy to flow through me. As my Pastor says "I must dance as though no body is watching"I told my friend of this dance and reminded him of certain lovely members of the softer gender that will be there he knows. It would be nice to come off the dance floor in my blackness and sweat and see that the eyes of my friend had been watching.To see that he has come home,willing to stop fighting to stay sick and willing to start working to get well.Surrender is so very personal to some of us.It is an act of a manloving and trusting his God fully.I don't expect to see my friend from main and hastings tomorrow nightas I twirl myself in drenched sweat off the dance floor. But if I had my way he would come home,fill a chair,watch the dancing from the shadowsand finally completely,fall to his knees along side me and surrender,at last,without reservation,reach up to his God and surrender.

Welcome in to "My Paperworlds" {excerpts}

2004-10-28T17:56:00.005-07:00

In september of 2001 while locked away for my own safety I beat on a door with no handles inside and began to begthrough my tears and self hatred. But I was no longer begging for drugs or doctors nor human care and contact. I stopped even begging for the death I had been striving for .On that day I found myself on my knees pounding on a door screaming only. "Please,pleaseI must have a pen and some paper"and on that grey painful day when the rest of the world was grieving the acts of terrorists,God allowed meto write myself out of the darkness and onto my own path.From the PaperWorlds collection I give you a darkened glance at "Path Back From Darkness"
Looking out my bedroom window at the early morning rain ,I could tell all the colors and all the sounds, even the fresh moist air were signs that I had returned to life.It seemed so shortago that I had been in the psychiatric ward after trying to take my life for yet again a second time.When I returned to conciousness I was angry at being saved, bitter at being alive.I could remember the day now only in bits and flashes almost as though I had been an observer..
Having been escorted by the police after escaping from one hospital,I entered another hospital through a vault like metal door that was being opened for me.After being given soothingly yellow hospital pajamas to wear on my stay , my street clothes and shoes were locked away to discourage me from picking up where I had left off.Soon I was led to a bare room with one window and a bed. This was to be my new home for the next few days.
After entering the room I heard the distinctive sound of a large metal door being closed behind me.Glancing back I couldn't help but notice there were no handles on the inside of the door.My heart skipped a beat as I realized I was now locked away against my will.No one had known that I had been brought here.I saw no clocks and heard no sounds except for the faint movements in the hall and my own heart and breath.
Had I really suken this far again? I vowed that I never would, but somehow with all the emptiness, lonliness and the endless sea of black that had become my life in the past couple of month's in particular had begun to suffocate me. I thought there was no way out, just suffering constant painfull all consuming darkness. I had become a prisoner in my own body. It seemed there was no one I could reach out to ,no one who truly cared. I lay down on that hospital bed and curl up in the fetal position. It was then that I began to cry.And as I cried I began to pray that the blackness might fade.I prayed for some hope, some light that I might move towardsor at least for a swift demise.This hovering between misery and death had begun to take its toll on me. My own self pity seemed so safe, almost as a shield. But now it had begun to eat at me.
Hours went by as I lay there in silence. After the tears ran dry I wanted to walk over to the window to look at whatever was out there. It seemed it would only be a few hours until sunrise but who could know? Time and the world around me seemed to stand still. I had been dreading the sunrises for so long now. Each day seemedas though I was just marking time. I had stopped living some time back yet my heart still beat and my blood still flowed. I had so much anger, so much disgust at what I had become.I was no longer a contributing member of society. I was a boil waiting to be lanced.The years of hard work had all been in vain. I felt I had nothing. No family, no money, no security. It seemed that my passions were dwarfed. Almost nonexistant.
As I lay there in that hospital bed that first unbearable night I began to pray.To pray for a sign that my next breath should not be my last.. I could now feel my tears returning as they continued to flow blending with my pillow.Lying inm that hospital bed in September 2001 I asked God for a miracle. I asked him for a lady who would love me and let me hold on to her no matter what as I continued to grow stronger.As I asked my God for such mercy on that long and quiet night I had no faith that lady could exist, at least not for me, I was neither worthy or deserving . Such a blessing would be a waste on me. I had been lonely and shackeled by my own emotions for so long that this room these walls this place seemed like a cruel joke to me.
Within a few days I had conformed to what those around me expected.I had always been a master chameleon.It was my nature to blend in when my rebellion would not work for me. I resumed my often role as actor to achieve my escape, to ensure that I would be released and regain control while fully expecting to be dead in six months laughing on my deathbed for having fooled them all again.But something happened on that still september night,something with such magic that I feared to question it as it might fade and disappear. That something was a gift.She blew into my life with the force of a strong wind, it seemed fitting her name was Gail With grace and beauty she entered my life , slowly at first. Quite hestant indeed with good reason for her caution.
Our first kiss was in the house of God . It seemed quite fitting that he see his handiwork up close. Little by little the magic unfolded I knew my prayers had been both answered and exceeded.From a hospital bed on the edge of sanity I had begged for such a gift. Even with my prayersI am surprized I was given her for an eternity or an instant. Some nights we would lay side by side and talk about things we might share someday. Things like a home, a life , an eternity. I no longer dreaded the sunrises I welcomed them instead.
Before too long this wind would shift and blow away never to return. I tried to hold on to her but this wind was never mine to hold. After struggling sometime I felt my God was again speaking to me through her.Upon her leaving I chose not to dwell on my pain or bitterness. It was now time to savor the rewards she had been generous enough to share with me.Unknowingly she helped me begin my life again.
Yes I have come along way since my tears that night in a bare room from my hospital bed.I still have far to go each day with new dragons to slay. She has helped me see some of the things I must change as I grow stronger. I again vow to never return there to sadness and despair. It is important that I remind myself,that gifts are given even to the wretched, light is given even to the blind.I was given such a light in the form of a wind once, and as with all winds,another will someday follow....

Welcome in to "My Paperworlds" {excerpts}

2004-10-28T17:56:00.004-07:00

Welcome in to "My Paperworlds" {excerpts}

2004-10-28T17:56:00.003-07:00

Welcome in to "My Paperworlds" {excerpts}

2004-10-28T17:56:00.002-07:00

Welcome in to "My Paperworlds" {excerpts}

2004-10-28T17:56:00.000-07:00

The world is my chalkboard

2004-10-28T16:43:00.001-07:00

In my small apartment,in a small town,today I received the phenomemonn known to so many as the net.The cool greyness and slight traffic sounds outside my window begs me to cast aside my normal abstract mindstate of immaturity for a little while and reach into some excerpts from my collection.
."There is a place in the universe so very precious to me, I had to begin to create it to find it".I would like to share it with you if you will explore it with me, welcome in to my Paper Worlds"....excerpt {House of Echoes}
As I walked up the concrete walkway I couldn't help but notice how overgrown with weeds and caked with leaves it had become.It seemed so short ago that mother would sweep the walk,while father would groom his ever so precious lawn. The run down old house seemed too quiet almost haunting. As I eyed the old dwelling I could see that not only had the rich deep woodgrain become bleached and faded, but the entire house now short of slumped into the over run yard that now surrounded it..Approaching the stairs I remembered the summer evenings the family would sit out together and enjoy the evening air. These stairs that had heard so many family stories, were now partially detached,while the screen door hung by one hinge.The Stairs creaked and groanedas I climbed them ever so carefully, expecting them to come crashing down.
I had to see my old home once more befroe the wrecking ball of tomorrow leveled it to rubble.Pulling the door back and steadying it with one hand I entered the darkness, the doorway seemed much smaller than I remembered. The first thing I noticed was a faint musty odor. My mother's house never smelled like this. There was normally the smell of bleach, pine, or coffee sometimes all three.As I took my first steps on the once polished now rotting hardwood floor I was astounded by the echoe of my own footsteps. A large spiders web covered the fireplace furthering the sinister haunting image.I walked to the french doors my mother use to clean so lovingly,all the glass had been smashed out by vandals while the doors no longer fit proper due to the warping of moisture and the affect of father time.As I stood still and listened I could hear my little sister practicing the piano and our mother's applause and praise. The corner where the piano use to sit now looked so large and empty.
I walked to the doorway where father use to measure our heights. I could still make out the notches with our ages scratched beside them.I stood looking out the broken glass picture window at the willow tree we had planted the first year we lived there. It now looked so tall and slender.If my mother were alive she would cry at the state of disrepair her once proud home had now become.As I walked across the living room I walked past my father's den I could almost smell his pipe the sign that his work was done for today and it was time for him to relax. I looked at the stairs to the second floor and the bannister we had been forbidden to slide down but did so many times anyway.It now hung and touched the very stairs themselves. So many nights my father had carried up those stairs after haven fallen asleep by the fire. They too seemed much smaller than before.I slowly began to climb them leaving my shoe prints in the dust and sediment beneath my feet......

The world is my chalkboard

2004-10-28T16:43:00.000-07:00

melvin rocks

2004-10-06T16:20:00.000-07:00

and is alive and well