A history of God and Me part12

"Keep coming back."! I did. I said little in meetings most of the time. I was not going to talk a talk I had not walked, I was going to listen. I did.  

When I was four days sober the wife called me into the bedroom wanting to talk about something. Under the circumstances I could not see how it could be anything other than her wanting to leave me and I hoped it was. I wanted out of the marriage. But I had been afraid to do it myself Afraid I could not get or stay sober alone. I was afraid of hurting my kids. I was afraid of change. I was afraid basically of everything. She told me she was pregnant. 

  That was a nice shock. Bring another child into an already doomed marriage. OK. I knew then that I could not leave her. Not while pregnant. It would have to wait. Meanwhile I stayed sober that night. I almost got in a fight with a jerk at the group that night but I stayed sober.  

I stayed sober. Days were adding up. Weeks. Somehow I had not lost my job and now I was beginning to actually make some progress there as opposed to just showing up each day. The weeks added up. Months. Still sober. Still not saying much in meetings. Only if called upon for the most part. Life at home was miserable but I had two children and one on the way, so so be it. I went to a lot of meetings. I focused on my job and meetings. During my relapse in late 94 it became acutely apparent to me that I truly was an alcoholic. 100% sure. I hung onto that. That was the first step worked 100% perfectly. Without question too my life had been utterly and completely unmanageable.  

Where was God in all of this? I cried out to him that first morning after my last drunk. When one is in the ditch there really is nowhere to look except up. The sides of the ditch are not so appealing. Out of the ditch and back to church but was not really into it. I knew if I got too close to God bad things would happen. That had been my experience. So I faked it at church. I faked it at the group. I held onto the group. They were my higher power. Although I had done two fourth and fifth steps(done improperly I will add...lol), I knew I needed to do a proper fourth step. I had lots of anger and fears undealt with. I chose to do the waltz instead...1,2,3 1,2 3. At times I wanted to be close to God again but there seemed such a gulf between us that could not be bridged. 

  Having our third child was a spiritual experience. Having children are so much that way. How can anyone witness a childbirth and not see God? I did. He was a beautiful boy and brought joy into both of our lives. He was a wonderful baby and frankly a beautiful distraction from the misery of our marriage, for a while anyway. I grew to really love this child. I loved the others too, of course and even finally got close to my older son. Much of it had to do with playing video games with him almost nonstop at nights. LOL! My daughter and I had been so close the first ten years of her life but we had seemed to have lost that. She had friends and interest of her own and I was the father missing in action. Before drinking, now meetings and video games and a new toddler.  

Suddenly I was sober again for an entire year! Then I actually made it two years. Two years sober. During this time my old friend Mel who had helped me in so many ways relapsed. Mel had helped me many times when I wanted to drink. He had been pivotal as a friend and inspiration. It had all started for me seeing him get his 30 day chip back in 93. Now he could not sober up again after being sober two years and relapsing. The last time I saw Mel was in a meeting in which he came in extremely drunk. He wept and wept and could barely talk. He looked at me during the meeting and his eyes begged me to help him. So I shared, breaking down along the way with tears myself. It was heavy, very heavy. Here was a man who had been pivotal in saving my life and now he wanted my help. What could I say to him? I poured my heart out to him. I loved this old man. But I could not do it for him. He knew what he needed to do. I said what I felt was most important and then reminded him of what I had been reminded of, that no matter what, to keep coming back! He didn't. He never did again. He passed away the next year. He died a drunk.  

I had to stay sober. So I continued to. Amazingly I was approaching three years sobriety. It was now summer of 97. In late July of that year I went downstairs at work one day to get a snack. As I entered the elevator I was taken back by a beautiful blonde who seemed deeply preoccupied. I went to the back of the elevator and a thought went through my mind. "Wow, what it would be like to be with someone like that"! She turned at that moment and smiled an inviting smile. I melted.

A middle of the night interruption

Today, er yesterday was not a good day. In more than one way it was a really bad day. Things always come in multiples it seems. So I am not too happy with the last part of the series I wrote tonight. It was a highly important point in time and I should have waited to write it. I was preoccupied with other matters and it seems too detailed and bogged down now. So I am going to make an attempt to speed things up at an astronomical pace when I resume it hopefully tomorrow.

Right now I could spew out words unceasingly as the emotion is there to spout them out and about forever down the page. And that is why I am here in the middle of the night. Well, not to drive them forever down the page but to do some spewing forth. Writing is a catharsis for me at times. And at times like this I need it. Also, I was thinking a few minutes ago that I have gotten so caught up lately examining the past that I am not writing much on the present.

Uh yeah, had a bad day. Relationships can do that. I am a fool for thinking a relationship over the net is a viable option. They rarely work. I've been here too long and seen too much occur here to ever think they can work. Making a relationship offline work is difficult enough and has a high failure rate. But they are infinitely more difficult online! I think we easily fall into a world of thinking it will work and we can get to know the insides of a person here better, yada yada yada. But the problem is, in my opinion, that the disadvantages outweigh any advantages when it comes to relationships on the net. And there are many many reasons for what I just typed. But it late and I am too tired to articulate them now. Actually a whole series could be done on this.

Relationships online are a two edged sword. When one looks at the pros the cons are right there ready to cut through the pros with the cons coming out winning most of the time. For example one must take some time to get to know someone online in order to trust them if there is to be any possibility of meeting. Correct? Yet the time that takes to do that also is conducive to premature emotional attachment. It happens because we open up our hearts too soon before meeting. Yet that is part of the "process". It really is a "Catch 22", a damned if you do, a damned if you don't. A two edged sword. Most of the time people get romantically involved online prior to meeting. They don't just meet as friends. Some do but most don't. I should pause for a moment and define "online relationships" as strictly chat room related relationships as dating websites are a whole other game (and I will add a much healthier approach). So we have the cart before the horse. Emotions are out there. Then people get hurt and why? Because most "internet relationships" don't work out. So we want to get to know someone so that we can meet them and try to do it as friends yet in the process of it we naturally become closer as intimacies of our lives are shared or just intimacy in the sense of eros(lol). Then we get screwed and I am not talking the kind of screwed we all love.

So I am distraught tonight wondering why I don't pay more attention to what I know to be true. I guess it is just too damn easy to fall into something online. It is. And I am lonely at times as we all are. Yes, I am lonely. I cover it by being online a lot. No question about it. And maybe that is something I need to look at and work on. Maybe less chat room time is in order and more time doing other activities. Maybe.

A history of God and Me part 11

During the relapse I sometimes would think of my recovery friends while drinking. I would also think about what I had thrown away, recovery. Knowing there was a solution to a problem that permeates ones being but yet engaging in that problem was utterly soul destroying. Mine was on the verge of extinction. Up for consideration were ways to make it happen. To say I was depressed would not quite accurately depict it. I was crushed. Someone put me out of my misery please. Maybe if I just run my car into that building it will all be over. I was too afraid to do it. I was too afraid to follow through on thoughts such as that but they were ever present. As had happened before and again now, no amount of alcohol could help me. It was not working. Why was the euphoria so ever evasive now? Where was the bliss I so desired to escape from my pain? Where was it? It was not to be found. Just depression, drinking and more depression.

I started going back to the meetings but didn't pick up a desire chip. I would get depressed instead and routinely leave the meeting and go drink. Then I would get more depressed. Then I would drink more. There was just no escaping me. For about a month I had been trying to survive the battle of recovery tugging at me versus alcohols tug. Alcohol was winning. The two did not mix well in my head. It was now October of 1994.

A colleague at work was leaving to go back to Japan that I had known for several years. His going away party was one Friday night and I had been two days drinkless and dry. All day long that day I battled the thought, "I won't go to the party, I will go to the party". The two opposing thoughts filled up my mind. Finally at the end of the day I just went. Beer was there. I had not drank with my colleagues at work before. I didn't want them to see how I drink or any behavior that might occur as a result.

But a beer sounded nice. Another beer was nice too. There was talk of going to a well known topless bar after the party which was going to be short lived at the office. Part two to take place in another tantalizing environment. Hmmmmm. How could I say no to that? After three beers I stopped drinking and actually ate some food. I thought it good to control myself. We eventually found our way to the well known topless bar. Margaritas were offered and I accepted. Seemed a group of us were all going to start with that and then do our own thing subsequently. At one point I remember looking at my glass which was almost empty and looking around at the others glasses . Theirs were like 2/3 to 3/4 full. Uhhh, slow down! Don't be so obvious.

Later I felt I was almost actually enjoying the drinking. I thought to myself, "self, what I have been doing wrong all along is drinking by myself, this is the ticket!' And so along came more margaritas. But I really wanted to change into high gear. So Wild Turkey it was. That was around 9 o'clock or so. I don't remember most of the rest of the night after that with the exception of the everclear filled jello shots. And certainly after that there is no memory until I found myself in a taxi seeing double, literally. Everything was in twos. It would go around the office on Monday how utterly shitfaced I got on Friday, not to mention a few foolish things I did that I had no recollection of. Like almost getting in a fight with a guy over a stripper, almost knocking a cigarette machine over which had "taken" my money and wondering around in a drunken haze apparently lost in the club after an excursion to a nearby bathroom.

The next morning my wife asked me to sign some legal documents I had procrastinated looking at(she would tell me months later she was fearful something might happen and they would never get signed). She then asked where the car was. I told her it was at the well known topless bar. I was informed that I would have to find my own way to retrieve the car, that she was not taking me in hers. Outside I went with a cup of coffee. A huge wave of clarity overwhelmed me and I started crying like a baby. I was utterly and completely demoralized. I was terrified of the grip alcohol had on me. The wife came out and asked me what I was going to do? I didn't know. I could not go back to the group. I was too embarrassed and it didn't work for me anyway. I would call a guy I knew who was also relapsing and see if he would take me to get the car.

During the drive there he also asked me what I was going to do? Another "I don't know" came out of my mouth. After a long pause this guy who could not himself stay sober, said to me, "if you don't go back to the group you will drink again. And you look like you might just die if do". I knew I would. I was ready to die. Thoughts of dying had been consistently present in my mind for a month. And it was taking much energy to not act out the fantasy.

That night October 8, 1994 I walked into a late meeting and spilled my guts out to the group. I only heard one thing that offered hope. Only one thing said out of that entire hour long meeting offered any hope. Said near the end of the meeting, it was something to the effect " I am going to tell you something more important than reading the Big Book, talking to a sponsor, praying. or even working the steps. Because if you don't do this one thing ,the rest won't matter anyway because they won't happen". Then he said "the single most important thing I can tell is, "KEEP COMING BACK, no matter what ". There it was. There it was. A tiny tiny sliver of hope. Without question God spoke through that man that night. He got through to me when no one else could. I took a desire chip and started the process of "coming back".

A history of God and Me part 10

Yours truly picked up his tenth desire to stop drinking chip. I was thinking of opening my own store and selling desire chips. But I was also hoping the incoming supply would dry up. Something needed to happen. Something different. What I was doing was not working. What I was doing. What was I doing? I felt insane. I was insane and could validate that by citing certain details of my life at that time for the past six months or so. But that is unnecessary not to mention more than highly embarrassing. Insanity they say is doing the same thing over and over again while expecting different results. Yep, I was nuts.

Do something different they say. I got me a sponsor. I picked someone who was an old-timer and when he shared it was not only obvious he knew the program and the steps but he cared. He cared deeply for others. He thought outside the selfish box I saw so many absorbed in, in the program. Yes from the very beginning I analyzed the people there, the program, the steps. I analyzed it and had it all figured out. Well, except for how to make it work for me too. This man had cared enough after my first meeting to come up to me and ask me if I thought I had a drinking problem(as opposed to "if I thought I was alcoholic") . So thinking about all the possibilities he seemed a good choice for a sponsor. I told him of my problem with God, my problem with the steps and them being God centered. Oh and I had this particular problem some would call drinking.

He shared with me that I could fake it until I make it. That I could even use the group as a higher power, a power greater than myself if I wanted to. God= group of drunks. That made sense as there was a group of people many of whom were staying sober while I was not. I could use them as a power greater than myself. Although ultimately I knew I needed to restore a relationship with God and/or find it anew, in the meantime I needed help to stay sober and I would add, to stay alive. Yes it was becoming a life and death matter. Or I should say I was realizing the enormous seriousness of my problem.

So I threw myself into attending even more meetings, sometimes two to three a night. I threw myself into reading the Big Book. I threw myself into working the steps. I threw myself into talking to my sponsor on a regular basis, following his advice/suggestions(well, most of the time..lol). Somewhere in the process of all of that changes started occurring in my life. Number one I was staying sober one day at a time. And God was becoming real to me again. I could see Him working miracles in my life. I could see Him working miracles in others lives. Over time a process of real change occurred within me. I was becoming a different person. I started chairing meetings and found it extremely rewarding and fulfilling. I even sponsored a few people myself.

A roar of applause thundered from behind me as I walked up to get my one year chip one Friday night. I had made it. A whole year. A year without a drink. Wow! I was flabbergasted and filled with gratitude. Mr. could not stay sober stayed sober an entire year. Mr. ten desire chips did not open a desire chip store.

Ten days later my wife really pissed me off one night. I seethed with venomous anger. I stormed out of the house and went to a bar. The lid blew off the pan. Resentment is the number one offender, so they say. I was so angry that night. I knew all the right things to do to stay sober even in that insane moment. I thought of each option. Then I said fuck it all! And I drank again. The deepest pits of hell were yet to come.

A history of God and Me part 9

I remember saying, "my name is blah blah and I am an alcoholic. And I have done some things I will never be able to talk about in here. That's all" That's all I said. I saw smiles. That was the first time I called myself an alcoholic. I believed it at that moment or did I? Well I was about 95% sure, let's just say. Let's also just say that won't cut the mustard. If the first step is not worked 100% perfectly one is doomed. The other steps are progress, not perfection. But the first one must ultimately be done perfectly or drinking again becomes an option.

More and more I wanted to stop drinking. But there was a problem I had with stopping drinking. I couldn't. I no longer went to the group for my wife. I was going for my life. How the hell did I allow booze to grab a hold of me like it had and have a grip on me like it did? How? In spite of going to meetings I could not hold onto a significant period of sobriety. I remember making it to eleven days and relapsing. I was crushed. Back into the group for another desire chip.

An older man had come into the group a day before I had started. He rarely said anything. He sat there and trembled periodically and drank his coffee. I could relate to him with his trembling and coffee drinking attributes, not to mention quiet. As often as I could, I sat by this old man in meetings . One night when they were giving out sobriety chips at meetings end, they asked if anyone had thirty days? Mel(Mel was his name) stood up and picked up his thirty day chip! I freaked out! After the final prayer I went to him and threw my arms around him , hugging tightly. "How did you do that!? I am so proud of you! Congratulations! Please, tell me...how the hell did you do that!? Mel said with a glowing smile oh his face, "one day at a time".

Lightening strike me down! He did it the way they said to do it! Oh. What a flippin revelation! I could not stay sober but others were doing it. And doing it the way they said to do it. Here was an old man who shook his ass off that first month(and did more noticeable shaking than me) and he flipping just got a flipping thirty day chip! And he did it as suggested, one day at at time. What a concept. Maybe there was hope I thought. If Mel could do it , why couldn't I? And if he did it the way the group said to do then why shouldn't I?

But I kept hearing lots of "God talk" in meetings. Almost invariably I shut down or listened with an angry ear during those moments. Like God really cares if I stay sober or not. Like God had really been there for me during all the years of my hellish marriage. Like God had really been there during the two years of painful physical hell. In fact it seemed like every time I had drawn close to God in my life bad things had happened. What was the point? All I heard people in meetings saying anyway was a prescription for a pacifying placebo effect. Bullshit. I prefered reality. I did? Wait. Uh. Nevermind.

Maybe that is why a few days after I finally got my own thirty day chip I drank again.

A history of God and me part 8

How in the hell was I suppose to attend a group which had at its core God? How was I suppose to sit there and listen to all that bullshit they spouted about God? I am not one who is crazy about placebo effects and that was pretty much what I saw happening there. I am not sure why I went back the next night but I did. The wife? Pacify her? I do remember walking in like a dog with its tail between its legs. Then a familiar face nodded at me. That felt good, that friendly nod. I went back again the following night. Picked up a chip which represented a desire to stop drinking. I wanted to do that(stop drinking) but I didn't want to do that. Truth be known I wanted to die but I didn't want to die. I wanted to do things my way but I didn't want to do things my way. My life had become a swirling vortex of molten rock from which there was hardly any relief. I was burning up and sinking down a hole where eventually only a remnant of me could be found, if at all.

  Yet somehow that group provided some relief. Somehow. I did not believe most of what I heard come out of their mouths but something attractive was there. Something that kept me coming back. Was it a thin sliver of hope? Two things stunned me that first month attending the group. Around about the second or third week of attending meetings and not being able to stop drinking for more than a few days at a time, I was sitting in a meeting. Suddenly I was overwhelmed by several peoples sharing. It cut through my core being. What was it? Their honesty. They were being completely honest about themselves and their experiences. I found it both attractive and compelling. What also knocked my socks off is these people knew how I felt inside. Although their stories were different in specifics, it was the same story emotionally. How was it I was hearing other people describe how I felt inside while they talked about themselves? Amazing. I started to actually like some of these people I had previously hated. I began to relate to them. 

  But how was I suppose to get past the gulf that divided God and me? How to do that? It did not take long to realize the twelve step program had at its core a relationship with a higher power(can anyone say euphemism?). God and spirituality were in fact the substance that made up the form of the twelve steps. The Big Book as it was called discussed the difficulties some newcomers had with the program if they had had a relationship with God before. No shit Sherlock! Somehow that part of the book I found both comforting and disturbing. Oh well, story of my life. Looking at steps three and following, I found to be a futile endeavor at best. Maybe it had something to do with me not doing the first step yet. 

  I was so lost. I was beginning to want to stop drinking and my eyes were opening up to the reality of the consequences of my actions. I was so lost though. How could I utilize something(a relationship with God) to sober up when I had been down the God path before? I had been down the God road off and on for some twenty years and I just didn't see there being anything new under the sun. All I could see was a black cloud covering the darkest parts of me. God was like a close friend, the closest of friends I had abandoned many many times in the past. If I could even muster up some sort of relationship with God or a desire to do so even, then I would be too embarrassed to face Him. Why would God give me the time of day anyway? Besides it was night. Darkness engulfed me. 

  I did not open my mouth for almost a month in those meetings except to decline sharing when called upon.  

Lost. Darkness. Help me someone . I don't want your help. Or gods. Screw you. Screw all of you. Screw me. I am screwed. Pour me a drink. Poor me.

  Then I opened my mouth in a meeting. Without a doubt I trembled noticeably as my voice shook with nervousness and fear.

A history of God and Me part 7

Much could be written on what happened between December of 1992 when I drank again after three years of not drinking and June of 1993 when I attended my first 12 step group. Much. But this is a blog, not a book. And it currently has this theme running regarding a history of God and me. For me drinking was filling an emptiness inside of me that ran deep. Deep. I was not allowing God to fill my life up. I had gone from angry to resentment to bitterness to downright hate towards my wife. Married fifteen years at this point I had had enough. And I had just come out of a two year hell involving chronic pain/pain pill addiction/depression. It made for a not so nice cycle which fed on itself. When the pain eased up, when the pain pills stopped, I felt the need to fill my life up with something new. A void. I felt the need to drink to relax. After all I could relax drinking and dammit I certainly deserved it with the cards I had been played!

 A huge deception for me with drinking was what would start out as or hopefully become a heavenly escape for me, ultimately became my hellish capturing. I could not escape myself and the consequences of what I was doing. But I could participate in denial. I was a natural at denial. Believing that which I denied made it all the easier. I did not have a drinking problem. I had just been going through some rough times in my life. So if my drinking and behavior got a little excessive or out of hand it was understandable and justifiable. After all, would not anyone who had been through what I had feel deserving of some fucking relief? And God had let me down(in my mind). I was no longer going to church. Wife and the two kids went but not me. Little did I know the route I chose to escape hell would only bring it upon me. Ultimately I ran from myself and my problems but no matter where I went there I was.

 And I was drunk. Every night. Plastered. I had long fantasized about leaving my wife but had not due to our children. Now with a girl of nine years age and a boy of five it was not an easy thing to contemplate leaving. I did not want to hurt my children and I would miss them. I had been extremely close to my daughter throughout her life. Well, until I started drinking again in December. My son and I sadly had become somewhat of a blur. I could not remember much of the last two years with respect to his and my relationship. I had been visiting pain pill land then. The kids...Oh God I did not want to hurt them. I was afraid of hurting them.

 But drinking gave me that nice artificial confidence that I could conquer the world and master the universe. So in March of 1993 I left the wife and kids and moved into an apartment on the other side of town near work. If my drinking had been bad before(it had) it now became catastrophically damaging. If one was to take all the drinking of my entire life and put it in a box it would not be as big a box as the December 92 to June 93 drinking box. And particularly that part of the drinking box from March 93 forward to June. There are certain parts of the movie "Leaving Las Vegas" which really disturb me(great movie by the way). I know why they disturb me. Because I see me in those certain parts. Certainly.

 Back then life consisted of waking up with a nasty hang over, running to the bathroom to expel the prior nights remains, going to work, working poorly and unproductively while thinking about the coming nights activities, relieving daily shakes by the bar in my car after work, drinking and spending money at bars where reality was not a preferred element but fantasy pushed instead, leaving at closing time, listening to sad messages on the answering machine from my children calling to talk to me and then passing out. That was it. Weekends were different as I did not work. Then the drinking could be 24/7. And it was. 

I could not understand why I got the shakes so much. I really had no idea at the time it was the effects of Wild Turkey and Tequila on my metabolism. I just thought I was not getting enough sleep and work was stressing me out and this and that. From about two or three o clock every day I was just all undone with shakes and nerves. So Easter day(of all days) I bought a pack of cigarettes to help take the edge off. Looking back at the timing of that purchase I wonder if it was a fist in the air at God type purchase? I don't know. Prior to this I had smoked periodically and recreationally all my life. Not often but occasionally. It seemed like a good idea to get a pack. Maybe that would help. Yeah. So I celebrated Easter with a smoke. The pack lasted several days. Then it seemed like a good idea to get another pack. Although it did not remove the shakes it did seem to help with my nerves some until I could get relief from the glass or my car bar. I liked smoking. Nice. Kool deal. No, a Marlboro man! 

Occasionally, just occasionally there were moments of clarity. Those moments when I thought to myself, "self, what the fuck are you doing to your life and the lives of your family"? May of that year I moved back home. It was all good at first but I took my problems with me. I took me with me. I took drinking with me. And now I took a new habit with me, smoking. No one liked the smoking. The kids seemed more bothered by that then the drinking I no longer hid from them. My daily and nightly routines remained the same. Only the locations had changed to protect the guilty. What had been out of control all year now was absurdly beyond excessive. Hell just grew hotter and hotter. The wife threatened to kick me out many times. That same wife who begged and pleaded for me to come home during our two month separation now threatened to boot me out. What was her problem? Where's the love? 

Combining another one of those rare moments of clarity with suddenly thinking she might actually kick me out, I promised to go to a step 12 group one night when I got home plastered. I went the next night. But I knew there was no way in hell I was an alcoholic and no way in hell any of those low life scum buckets would be able to tell me one iota about anything, let alone drinking. But I promised the wife. So I went. I hated everything about my first meeting. Everything. I hated the people there, I hated what they said. I hated especially the fact it was a meeting on the first step and directed at me. Oh let me be the center of attention in a bar but not here please, no thank you. But the thing I hated MOST was when I looked towards the front of the room at a speaker podium. 

 It had a sign on it which said, "Let go and Let God". At meeting's end I left angry and went home and put a bottle of Tequila to my lips. Let go and let God, you got to be fucking kidding me!

A history of God and Me part 6

As was the normal pattern of things in the past, so was the present. As I drew closer to God I became more acutely aware of the utter frustrations and painful plight of our marriage. This period of time in my life, the late eighties was a time when I was close to God. It was rewarding. Teaching or co-teaching Bible classes was fulfilling. Studying the Bible with prisoners at Huntsville was both exhausting and exhilarating. My heart went out to some of the inmates there who had nothing left in life but to turn to God. For some God was real. For me too God was real. But in parallel running with God was the perpetual and always hanging over my head cloud of darkness from continual marital conflict. Oh, we did not fight much. It was really a cold war. What went unsaid was killing me. What went undone was killing me. Our life together, hers and mine, was killing me. What life together? The one where two people lived together acting as if everything was OK when actually it was hellish? The dead life, that one? Gradually I started feeling the deadness inside of me grow larger and larger. Same ole same ole. I became spiritually distraught one more time.

  In May of 1990 I went to a star party out in west Texas with my best friend, Doug. Astronomy was a hobby I loved and amateurs from all over the country would be there with all sorts of telescopes of various types and sizes. It was an amazing experience! Looking at gassy nebulae or glistening spiral bands of distant galaxies, the stand out brilliance of globular star clusters, all made me feel close to God. God and the stars. The heavens and its heavenly bodies. God. Surreal and sublime, there was nothing like looking upward at distant places in the universe at four in the morning while drinking coffee. Nothing like it. Doug did his first ever observing through a telescope on this trip and fell instantly in love. I will never forget what he said to the nice stranger who allowed us to look at the Sun and its spots that first afternoon. Doug said, "thanks man , that is the first time I looked through a telescope and I cannot imagine a more beautiful baptismal experience, seeing the sun." We spent several days and nights there(one of which is more than blog worthy and will be blogged later)and then on to Big Bend national park. My second and last visit to the park. Stunning place! The vastness of it, the ominousness of it, the beauty of it. It was Gods country I felt. Hiking spectacular mountain trails there not to mention being in that environment made me feel truly close to God. Such transcending beauty and being able to witness it. Thank you God. 

  Drove back home on a spiritual high, grateful for all the magical experiences and thankful to have shared them with Doug. Doug was on fire about astronomy and I was on fire about God. Two days after I got back we were at church one Sunday morning. When the service ended with a final song I turned around to pick up my Bible from the seat. As I did so I felt a sharp pain in my hip. I jumped, yelping out loudly. I limped out to the car and we drove home. Monday it only worsened to the point of excruciating pain. Left work, headed up to the emergency room . Thus began six months of intense physical pain accompanied by doctors of all sorts attempting to diagnose me. Finally I went to a rheumatologist(only because of research I did on my own and an eye infection which ended up being related). Finally a diagnosis. But I was already addicted to pain pills. Codeine, Darvon among others but those were the two main choices to escape with. 

 A few months into the addiction and chronic pain I was asked to be a Deacon another two years. I declined. I was not spiritually fit. I was out of it most of the time with sciatic nerve pain, lower back pain or knee pain. The iritis in my left eye would not let up for over a year. Lots of meds in those days. I was a mess. I was now an addict too. The pain pill addiction would last two years. Two years until things got slightly better. Two years of physical therapy accompanied by a denied addiction. I was scared of what I had become on pain pills. I wasn't even sure. I was just a blur. All of life was one big blur. Our marriage was beyond a blur. It was dead. a dead blur. Another blur. Here a blur, there a blur, everywhere a blur blur. Oh McMe had a blur... I quit taking pain pills in December of 1992. The thought occurred to me during the nightmarish void of pain pill withdrawal that a drink would help take the edge off. A drink would help calm me down. After all it had been three years and it really wasn't so bad before when I drank was it? It really wasn't that bad. And hell my life was hell anyway so why not!? I deserved a drink. Yes sir I did. I deserved a drink with all the pain in my poor pitiful life. So I drank.

A history of God and Me part 5

Although not conducive to spirituality, drinking with its easy access and instant gratification became the new void filler. The void filler. Pour me another glass of void. Then I will do some more voiding. Turmoil, anxiety, frustration, unfulfilled dreams. My wife and I attended church two to three times a week. It was something I had a genuine interest in most of the time. But what I was most interested in was God and having some sort of relationship with Him. It made sense that would happen more easily with encouragement from others seeking the same. Thus I went to church. We went to church. Although she and I were both "spiritual" or I should say had an interest in spirituality, it is sad to say that it seemed like we could never get on the same plane. I could be into it and involved but not so much her. Or vice versa. She would get very involved attending a ladies group, helping out with this or that, praying for enormous amounts of time and on and on and I was out to pasture. Out to void land. We just didn't have a good spiritual chemistry together. It seemed we just could not or would not get on the same page at the same time. I cannot blame her. I could blame myself. The blame really falls on US I think. But no blame game. Not now, especially as it is now nearly ten years since our divorce. 

  Back and forth, back and forth. Draw near to God, turn away from God. Vacillation. Over and over and over again. God seemed to fill the void in my life at times but why did He not solve the problems of our marriage? Why did I pray for many years for those problems and seemingly to no avail? Why? And why was it anytime I drew nearer to God during our marriage the problems between the wife and I increased? It seemed that way. I eventually became distraught, distrusting. I became helplessly hopeless. Life was hell. I went out to bars in spurts, never having an affair but there to gawk and flirt. That was one line I would not cross. Many mistakes made in my life but an affair would be crossing the line. It certainly was not a spiritual option.  

At the end of November of 1986 I lied to my wife and told her I was going Christmas shopping for an evening. This gave me an evening to myself. I could drink and look at women in bars. Yeah buddy. Hubba hubba. I had beer in my car(so I would not waste time) for the drive from work to the bar. I rarely mixed my drinks but that night I did. Half a six pack of the beer stuff consumed prior to entering a bar whose name we will not mention. Sometimes a name just gives it all away if you know what I mean. Walked in for another round of "here I am, I can pretend to be something I am not, look at me". Wild turkey had become my drink of choice. Beer was only a filler, a teaser. And usually on a night of drinking there was no beer at all(once I graduated from the inferior beer school of thinking) but only the Turkey and the tequila chasing it. I got smashed out of my mind that night. I recall throwing up in their bathroom(throwing up was something I rarely did). I felt like I couldn't walk too. I didn't know since I was on the floor. I remember someone coming in asking me if I was OK, and that I should leave. I said yes and I will as soon as I am able. The next thing I recall(this night was blackout territory) is being in my driveway thinking I got to throw up again. Beelined inside where I threw up in my three year old daughters bathroom who wondered what was wrong with Dad, I was informed the next day. Black out, pass out. The next day I woke up on the floor of the master bedroom bathroom. My wife said she wanted to kick me the night before but didn't. Instead she had covered me with a blanket. I was so hung over we could not attend a party that afternoon. I spent that afternoon in bed feeling like kaka. Events like this did not make us closer as a couple.  

Five months later in April of 1987 our second child was born. I drank the night he was born while the wife was away in the hospital. I felt a feeling of such strong remorse come over me. How could I be drinking on one of the most wonderful nights of my life. I had a son, a beautiful son. And I was drinking? Wtf? So I stopped. Cold turkey. I would not drink again for the next three years. Instead I became a seeker of God one more time. This time it became such a serious quest that some took notice and made a Deacon out of me. Deacons could not drink. No problemo there. It was 1988 and I was drink free. Alive and close to God. I was mister spiritual giant. Had two wonderful children. Made great money. Everything was great. Well, everything but the marriage. Oh yeah.

A history of God and Me part 4

To say that my marriage was troubled is an understatement. It lasted over twenty years. Not out of binding love but out of a sense of commitment, a disbelief in divorce. From the very beginning it was heartache. No blame game here. Not now. She is a good person. We were both young(twenty), we both had our own set of problems. We were both right and we were both wrong. Either one of us could make valid accusations against the other but blame games are not healthy. And anyway as I said it was troubled, deeply troubled. I will not say what was at the core of our conflicts as it's too personal but it was disheartening. 

  So, yours truly chose to run. Run from those there problems. Done it before, do it again! Back to pot! Avoided alcohol for the most part cause it was harder to hide, wasn't as much fun or provide as much of an escape as pot did. Also I was afraid of becoming an alcoholic if I drank too much. So pot it was. So married at twenty and in college(a Christian one) with me having preacher/missionary type aspirations and smoking dope. Nice combo. Does it work for you? Didn't for me either. Nice escape though. The year was now 1978(married in 77). Going to a Bible class stoned created a little more paranoia than going to church stoned. I suspect both experiences were lacking in any spirituality(well the "normal type"...heehee).

  Throughout that twenty plus year marriage I tended to repress my feelings and run from pain. Pot was a means of running until 1980 when we moved to Texas for a job relocation. That was a geographical cure for my pot smoking. That was the beginning also of an escalation in drinking. After all , isn't it true that a void must be filled? Drinking filled the void. I had graduated with a Bible degree and an Accounting degree. Next stop a CPA certificate. Along the way I could drink moderately to relax. All I felt I really wanted to do was just relax. Relax at the end of a day. Relax from the problems of our marriage. Relax from the turmoil inside me. Relax. I vacillated back and forth between God and drinking just as I had with pot. One day in the early 80s my wife asked me why I drank. My reply was, "it's just to relax, I just want to relax is all". Her reply, "I think that is how many alcoholics start out, just to relax".

And now for a non-commercial interruption...

So, each day when I think about writing more about me and God, my first thought is to not write anymore on the topic. Ultimately there are some parts of the tale which I don't think can be told. They are too shocking and unbelievable for the casual reader. Obviously I don't know who reads this. Not many I am sure but some things are so personal, too highly personal that they are difficult to place in words here, to say the least. I am not sure where this God blogging is headed. Each day I just follow the history in my mind. Eventually it will become philosophical if I stay with it. How can one talk about God and not present their views of Him? But this is suppose to be a non-commercial interruption from all of that. So be it then. Today it did not rain. It was even sunny. Yet my mood is somber tonight. Just how it is sometimes. Saturday nights alone as a single person sucks sometimes. I know I can do this or that to get out of myself or entertain myself or whatever but you know what? Sometimes it just hurts to be alone. And frankly I feel like writing right now. So I will combine the loneliness with writing. Now there is a nice prescription for whining. Ask me if I care. When present loneliness is combined with memories of past occupations, you know, those idealized selected good time memories, well, present awareness sucks. Lonely. Hmmmm. Think I will take the pity party up to the store for a Diet Coke/Snickers combo. That sounds like the ticket. The ticket to liquid/euphoric pleasure(s). I can dig it. So now I walk it. Later.

A history of God and Me part 3

For the first time in my life God became real to me. I was seventeen. I had become increasingly more and more open minded at Church and listened intently. And was doing so in a non-altered state of mind. One night after work at the local grocery store I stopped by to see a "straight friend". I knew few of those anymore but that was all I had. He was not home. What happened that night at my friend who has not home's house was astounding. I will never forget that Monday night, October 15, 1974. That night God became real to me. My friend was not home but his father was. Craig's father was a good man, a godly man. One unassuming and a heart of gold. That night we talked and talked. We studied the Bible together. I listened intently. I wanted what he was talking about. I wanted what I heard folks at church talk about. I wanted to be saved. Most importantly I wanted God to be real in my life. So it happened. That night I went home with a head still wet from full baptismal immersion. My mom cried when I told her why my hair was wet. Dad smiled. A new beginning. I felt an inner peace that was deep and pure. What an incredible feeling. A new beginning.

 Up and down the halls of high school I toted my Bible in hand along with my other books. I was ready to convert the world. At study hall every day I read for an hour occasionally noticing an odd look on someones face when I looked up. Prayer became part of that hour as well. In that daily hour I escaped from the high school world around me into another world, that of God and spirituality. A deep reprieve it was. It was an experience of feeling very close to God. It was a spiritual high now, not chemical. Every night I studied the Bible and prayed. It became an exciting new path in life. The knowledge of God was endless it seemed. So I walked the path seeking that knowledge. I became a seeker of truth. It was a rocky path as I still had volatile emotions. I had been a moody ass all my life. Drugs provided a nice little escape from that. So did the occasional alcohol. But now I was using God to provide that escape. Problem was sometimes my emotions or my state of spiritual being seemed still a mess. And a mess it seemed no matter how much I prayed or how much I studied. I became involved in the church but I was still dying inside sometimes. 

After I few months I picked up the again along with an occasional beer or three. This time I did not go to church stoned, well most of the time I didn't...lol. Life became a vacillation between altered states of mind unnaturally induced and a sincere search for a higher spirituality. To say it was a struggle does not describe it. Entering college I entered a clean period of my life. No drugs, alcohol, nothing for the first few years(until I got engaged to be married...lol). I entered college not knowing what to do with my life. I had idealistic notions of becoming a preacher or a missionary. Not knowing what I was going to do I took a lot of Bible hours since I enjoyed them. Some were required anyway. I just took more than required. My freshman year Cheryl broke my heart. She waited until after I took her to see John Denver to do so. How kind it was of her to do so. That same year I met someone I would date for two years and then marry my junior year. Her father had been a missionary in the Philippines when she was a little girl. I decided to get a degree in Bible as I had so many hours anyway. I also went after a degree in Accounting just in case. Just in case the preacher/missionary aspirations got flushed away. They did. I started smoking dope secretly without my wife knowing the first year of our marriage.

A History of God and Me Part 2

Around 11 or 12 I stopped going to church. Finally some relief from the weekly perpetual boredom. Somehow I was able to stop going while Dad, Mom and my sisters went. I was given a choice finally. I chose not to go. And this is how I discovered Laurel and Hardy, the best comedy team of all time, in my opinion. So while the rest of the family was churching it I was watching Laurel and Hardy marathons on TV each Sunday morning. They were a scream and still are! They made me laugh. Their world of innocence and laughter took me right in. I could be a part of their world. Great stuff. Put me in a great mood. Then my Dad would come home from church and with a scowl on his face tell me I missed a good sermon or I missed this or I missed that. Every Sunday it seems I was reminded of what I was missing. Every Sunday it seems I thought he should stay home and watch Laurel and Hardy. Maybe he would be happier then. Maybe he would be happier with me then. I loved those Laurel and Hardy moments but did not like the time approaching for Dad to get home. Now I must at this point say my Dad was and is a good man, a very good man. But like the rest of us, not perfect. What I am writing about here is perceptions of a child based on long ago memories. They remain quite vivid though. 

  Always the introvert and without ceasing I was the antisocial person. As such I was attracted to others who were out of the mainstream of things. The freaks, the nerds, the intellectual snobs, the very obese person, the frighteningly skinny person, these were my friends. If another person was a loner I was attracted to them as a friend. As I too was a loner. And I did not have many friends. I still don't but that's another story. As a parenthetical thought I want to say here that my Dad and my relationship was probably saved as a result of his involvement in my life in Junior High when I became very good at table tennis. Won state and regional tournaments. He fully supported me in this and went to any lengths to make sure I made practice or tournaments or whatever. I quit hating him then. It was the first time I remember doing anything with him.

 Anyway, on to high school where eventually girls entered the picture. Hubba hubba. The girl I lost my virginity to at the age of 15 also introduced me to cigarettes and pot. I had already tried drinking when I met her but did not care for it much(later on I would!). So I became a pothead. But I lived a double life. I dated both girls who smoked dope or did drugs and I dated the "straights". I tended to like the straights more. Funny. So I had freaky outcast friends and an interest in girls blooming. And I had a growing pot addiction during my junior year of high school. Met a girl named Cheryl and fell "in love". Dated her nearly two years with most of that time being a closet dope smoker. She didn't know or I didn't think so anyway. Because of her I started going back to church.

 Her Dad was a deacon in the church. He was a nice guy albeit quiet type(which I greatly appreciated). I went to her church not only on Sunday mornings but Sunday and Wednesday evenings. Sometimes I went stoned to church with her. That was a real trip. I remember occasionally looking around at the people sitting in pews and wondering if I was enjoying myself more than anyone else there? All I needed would have been some Laurel and Hardy to accompany the high. But at any rate I found myself a church goer several times a week.

 My parents were happy about it even though it was the Church Of Christ. Any church I went to was better than none in their book. I went only because of Cheryl in the beginning but found myself listening after awhile. I was fascinated by the fact that the church really seemed to study the Bible and do so in depth. Some of the conservative stuff I was not so sure about but something intrigued me. I found myself beginning to have an actual yearning for God for really the very first time in my life. 

  At this point I was in trouble with pot. No matter how much I wanted to I could not stop smoking it. I went through a few ounces a week which was not cheap back then. To support my expensive habit I decided to deal it. Make money and get my stash for free. What a deal! A deal it was until my parents caught me. Until they threw out hundreds of dollars worth of pot. Suddenly I had no pot, no money and was grounded. Stopped in my tracks my mind became clearer and I thought more and more about God. What a messed up life I had been living! How could I have become a dealer? What was I doing to my life? What was wrong with me? Maybe it was time to take a real look at God. Maybe God could help. Maybe. Enter God here.

A history of God and me Part 1

The history of God and me is a long and complex one I am afraid(is it for everyone?). I almost don't know where to begin. I really don't. The thought just occurred to me a few minutes ago to begin a series of blogs regarding my relationship with God, my philosophies on God, and anything else God related that comes to mind along the way. But where to begin? At this point I am thinking a chronological approach would be best as then events could unfold as they occurred and perhaps some understanding gleamed from them. Maybe not for you the reader but perhaps for me the writer. I want to understand. Perhaps I want a new beginning with an old friend, God. This subject is one I tend to avoid. This subject makes me squirm sometimes. This subject is one in which I will jump all over someone's ass who uses the God card to their own advantage. Occasionally seen in chatrooms, the God card player pisses me off to no end. My buttons are easily pushed when I witness them. And I will fry their ass given the opportunity! Why? That is a question for discussion later. I am not sure I know the answer at the moment anyway.

  The history of God and me begins as a child growing up in Oklahoma where I was raised in the Methodist church. I had no choice in church attendance as a child. My parents went so I went. Basically I hated it. And I hated being forced to do something that bored me to tears. I hated Sunday School except on rare occasions when they did something interesting like analyze contemporary song lyrics such as the Rolling Stones "Paint It Black". I remember doing that exercise and thinking to myself, "self, I already know he wants everything painted black, I already understand he sees everything in terms of a dark side, why did we just spend time "analyzing" this in church"? But I dug the song and it was cool to hear again in class and it was certainly a diversion from the normal boring routines I was accustomed to. 

  My mother had(has) a beautiful voice and sang in the choir. There was actually a record(33RPM for those who have heard of such animals)released on vinyl of the church choir singing various hymns. My mothers voice can be heard on it or so claims my Dad. He use to play the record and point out her voice within the harmonies. "Do you hear that son? That is your mother singing like an angel" . My parents still have the vinyl record. One day when they pass(if I survive them) I will be the beneficiary of their old vinyl collection including some cool bluesy old 78's from the 30's or 40's. I hope to someday hear my mother on my turntable. Perhaps I would hear God there too. I dunno. 

  So Sundays was the day mornings were spent in utter boredom unless doing such things as listening to the Rolling Stones. Never got to hear the Beatles in church. I was ripped off! The worship service was survived as a child by entering a world of total fantasy. This was accomplished on paper with pencil. P and P. Tools of the trade. Always made sure to have that in my pockets or I was doomed to an hour long spell of ADD neurosis. Typically I would draw. I loved to draw evil figures(heehee). But the thing I really got into for what seemed like the longest of times was mazes. I loved to draw mazes. Then I had another world on paper I could enter and try to find the escape out(yes as the creator I was cheating more or less). I could not escape church but I could escape the maze.

  A vivid memory still burns in my mind. One Sunday morning after enduring yet another sermon along the lines of what some would call the "social gospel"(don't ask), the usual routines were performed afterwards, benediction and such. But at the very moment the last note was sung from the closing song(whose title evades me now) and I do mean the last note, I witnessed a man fall over on the bench making a loud thud sound which echoed throughout the church! The man had passed out on the bench in church! Somehow he waited till the last note ended but he went out, way out. I wondered if he had died of boredom.

A yearning...

Something inside of me is yearning. It tugs at me and pulls me towards it. It does so without reasoning or logic. It does so in joyful waves and covers my heart with fertile feelings. I watch as a tide comes in. It approaches, then washes over me, cleansing me with its touch, touching me with it's purity. As I ride atop an engulfing wave , I feel the yearning to become blissfully buoyant . Shall I float about in its presence, free of care? Shall I let go of myself and let myself go? Shall I trust the salty waters to keep me afloat amidst the depths of the unknown? Something inside of me is yearning.

Silence...

As she slipped into slumbering silence and its forthcoming dreams, he slipped his arms around her. Half asleep but full of passion ,it was her siren song for the night. A song he placed within his heart as he placed himself around her. The sound of her song, one unencumbered by thought or pretense. The sound of her song rose softly from her lips inviting him nearer. The sound of her song so full of life, so full of passion. "Put your arms around me" she said. This was her song. Silky silence enveloped them both in one anothers slumber. Slumber. Silence. Silky silence without a need to be heard. They hear one another.

Pure awareness...

Shapely shadows are being cast upon his walls. Her light is creating images unseen without her glow. Penetrating the dark side of the night, she permeates his vision. He removes his glasses to draw nearer to her flame. Encircled around him is her gentle glow, her writhing warmth . He finds comfort there in her relaxing aura. Totally relaxed he can be himself and absorb her peaceful presence. She makes him smile. A stillness comes over him from her calming presence. She makes him smile. In a whirlpool of lost self awareness he finds her an oasis of purity. Pure vanilla...

Late night snacking...

The best part of the day is the night, the middle of the night, in my not so humble opinion. It is at that time while much of the world sleeps, that those who are in tune to the nighttime tune in. Tuned into a time of magic. A time that is great for late night TV watching. A time that is great for late night music listening. A time that is great for late night love making(although truly love cannot be made, it can only expressed). A time that is great for that natural altered state that occurs. A time that is great for artistic creativity of all sorts. A time of expanded awareness, a time of greater appreciation. It is during that time I enjoy being by myself. It is also during that time I enjoy being with another.

The best time to be awake is while the world sleeps...the best time to be alive is at this moment...

Resistant

Guess what? I don't want to write anything today. I just don't. That is how I am sometimes. I frequently don't want to do those things I have set my mind out to do. I can end up doing what I want to do rather than what I should do. Story of my life actually. But that is another story...heehee

Tine is escaping me too. In just over an hour I will be off to work and I am completely unready at this point. Combine the time restraint with a lack of motivation and one has a nifty prescription to avoid, in this case: writing. But if any motion is to be set in motion, if any momentum is to be gained from this exercise, if this deal(whatever the real deal is), if this deal is to continue, then it must continue one day at a time. I stop today and I could stop tomorrow.

So here I am writing about not wanting to write. Oh, the coffee is good by the way. It warms my brain. Outside my window, clouds tease me with looks of more rain. The occasional thunder clap remind me I am doomed for it. The mailman is delivering the mail. That's what he does you know. I wonder if he is wondering about the weather too. Bjork plays in the background of my living room filling my soul with her soothing sounds. This is today's context. This is today's writing. What more could be said?

Well, I could mention it is now pouring rain and the mail will have to remain in its box for now. So, it is now pouring rain and the mail will have to wait in its box for now. Just thought I would mention it...

Anyone awake for cards?

Erratic sleep patterns. Not fun. Not my thrill. But it's the deal. Sometimes I may sleep eight to nine hours in a slumber that nothing could wake me from. Other times it as if I I awaken every hour if not more and there is no real sleep. Up this morning early after just a few hours of tossing and turning the night away. Been awake a while now and back to bed several times but I have given up the futile endeavor. For now. So the coffee is warming in the microwave. Finally. Well, the water is anyway,for instant coffee...

Screw the world and all it contains! Coffee is making!

Just had to get that said. Better now. You know, I'd rather have erotic sleep patterns than erratic but I suppose it is not in the cards. Then I could feel ecstatic rather than eroded. But not in the cards. So what is in the cards? Hmmmm, I dunno. Been told I am a card player before. Told that by my best friend long ago. He felt I held out. Always had a card to play if need be. I am not sure how true that is anymore. Seems some cards have been creeping up to the table in modern times.

Some people consider life a game. My best friend does come to think of it. The problem I have with the analogy however is that it implies that life is manipulative. Is it? Are we here to manipulate all we come in contact with? I just can't buy that. Don't think I can. The thought occurred to me to broaden the concept of manipulation so as to possibly understand this "game of life". But no matter how we look at "manipulation" how can we possibly escape the inherent ulterior motive(s) attached? What do we do with that random act of kindness towards a stranger generated by a truly loving person? The person of such character that he would even risk his life to save anothers if need be. If life is a game it has some funny rules.

Sometimes I wonder if I get off on these tangents of philosophical escapades to avoid getting personal. After all it is easier for me to wax philosophical than to open myself up. Even blogging. This is suppose to be an exercise of honest expression through blogging my thoughts, whatever they might be. And it has been so far. But the thoughts tend to avoid the personal at times. I am acutely aware at times that this is no private diary. No sirree bob. This is a blog in a public forum. I don't know who reads it other than just a few friends I have made aware. So maybe some cards are held in reserve. Maybe eventually they will get played. Maybe, maybe not. Maybe life is a game.

Out of sight, out of mind...

Sometimes I really miss my children. It occurred to me today that I had not even made mention of them in blog land so far. Sometimes I wonder if I use the approach "out of sight, out of mind" with my children? Not a good thing. If I think about it ,honestly I do think I avoid thinking about them to avoid the pain sometimes. Out of sight, out of mind. But I do miss them.

Just sent my daughter an email. She's 23 and the mother of a beautiful little girl of one year and four months life span so far. At 23 she has already been through so much in her life, the very good and the very bad. She can pretty much accomplish anything she sets out to do. She always has. Whether it be writing poetry, cheer leading, sports of all kinds, martial arts, dancing, her career, you name it. If she has an interest in it, she will master it and become the best at it. That's my daughter. She lives a very busy life and we don't often talk or see each other. But we have reconciled from my divorcing her mother back in 1997. For many years she was angry at me. There may still be a residual there but she rarely shows it anymore. I miss her and I do love her.

Also have two sons, one 20 and the youngest 12. I feel odd typing their names on the net so I will refer to them as "20" and "12". "20" also has been through much already in his life, both good and bad. Much of the bad was self-induced. I am hoping he continues on the clean path he is on now. He is a good kid with a great sense of humor. Unfortunately he is too much like his father at times but hopefully those days of excess and protest are over. One way he is like his father is he often does not return calls. LOL. He can shut down and become quite silent without notice. Returning a phone call seems to be a big event for him sometimes. I use to take it personally. I don't anymore. I often don't call people back. I often don't email people back. I don't even talk to my own parents as I should. So how can I expect him to be any better? Tonight I will call and leave a message for him. It is time to at least do that. Past time.

Then there is "12". He has a huge sensitive heart. He reminds me so much of my daughter at times and has since he was an infant. I missed most of his childhood due to the divorce in 97. He was born in 95. He is quite athletic and a natural at anything physical. Yet if you look at him wrong he can be reduced to tears in a second. He still gives me hugs and I cherish them. Heartfelt and sincere I soak them up. He is in transition now out of childhood and developing new interests. So many of his old toys or games he no longer cares for. Life goes that way. I need to call him. He has his own cellphone now. Time for a call...I do miss him and his brother. I love them both. Sometimes it is difficult for me to show it...

Out of sight, out of mind...

Beyond the rain...

Awoke this morning to the sound of the returning rain. Do you know what the returning rain sounds like? That's right. Rain which has returned. Nothing new under the sun. We had a reprieve for a few days, a tease of sunlight accompanied by no rain. But now again the rain. The rain does returneth in all her non glorious fashion. Nothing new under the sun.

When I started this blog it was with several intentions in mind. One being to get my butt to writing again, writing something on a regular basis. Another being to keep a dairy of sorts of my thoughts for the day, for the moment, my life as it happens. Heck, some would even call it a blog. Blog is an odd word is it not? A third being the hopes it would generate inspiration for me to write poetry from time to time. Poetry is really my love.

Poetry requires inspiration to write. For me it does. I cannot sit down and write a poem. Oh I can. But when I do it is crap. It is more rewarding when something yearning inside must get out and it finds itself translated into words. It is more rewarding when an emotion is felt and that feeling is released onto paper. It is more rewarding when the poetic thought(s) seemingly write themselves with little effort. Rewarding, fulfilling, invigorating. It is both a creation and a release.

Those are moments to be seized upon just as life itself is. I am becoming more and more aware of something I have already known for a long time. That is that life consists of moments and each should be savored. No new revelation there. But an increased awareness of it is new for me. I am getting older, not younger. Time is ticking on. Why not have a greater appreciation for each moment as they occur? Such an easy thing to say. Not so easy to do. Certainly a worthwhile ideal, a worthwhile endeavor. Progress, not perfection.

Along with tuning into moments, life consists of something else. Love. Is not love the highest attribute one can have within themselves? Is not love for another the most wonderful expression one can have for another whether it be in words or actions. It is said actions speak louder than words. As much as I love words, I tend to agree actions render the higher decibel levels. Yep, they do. How we treat another human being is much more validating of our love for them than mere words can be. Even a random act of kindness towards a stranger can be considered an act of love, some would say. Love.

Love is a subject, a reality I have become somewhat jaded towards. Call me somewhat cynical. However I still believe in the old ideals I use to adhere to or do I? Sometimes I feel lost with respect to all of that. I have a friend who is partly responsible for my increased awareness of the "moment" or "moments". She believes we love for the moment. That that is really all we can do. I think that concept is fantastic but something deep inside of me still holds out to the concept that love can last longer. That love can last for several moments and beyond. That love can last forever. Is that living beyond the moment too much? Some would call it commitment. A commitment to future moments together. There's that word that no one likes anymore. I don't care for the sound of it myself, that C word. Yet it remains a word, an idea to be reckoned with. It remains something worthy of reflection. In todays throw away society it is no longer fashionable it seems.

Yet the rain remains. In todays moments of writing whatever thoughts are occuring to me, it has remained consistently rainful. Just checked spellcheck and "rainful" seems to be a word I can use. I would have used it anyway as I like to make words up(except when playing Literati) but it is nice to know that "rainful" is acceptable. So rainful does remain and so does the rain. It's ok. I don't like it. It has filled many many moments for weeks now with its wetness. But everything happens for a purpose they say. Whether or not I see the purpose matters not. What matters is acceptance. I think today I will accept the rain. I think I will enjoy todays moments. This one feels nice. And I just know there is something beyond the rain. It remains out there too.

Pure Vanilla...

 Vanilla's vapor filled the air with a soothing aroma. Her purity cleansed his soul of tenacious tensions. Her flame filled his darkness with hypnotic beauty. Her warmth pressed against his skin, penetrating deeper. Her wick wrapped by flame burned slowly, rising above meandering meltage. Her wavering radiance cast new light on his walls, playful shadows being created.

So...

...I have not smoked. Bottom line: I won't today. And today is all we have. Correct? It would not solve anything anyway. Life would still be the same. The issues that cause this desire within me would still be there. So why treat a symptom? And not only would it not solve anything it would only make matters worse. For to me to smoke is to run from whatever it is that is causing it.

A suggestion was just given me by a dear friend. She suggested I light a candle and look at it, smell it, play with it(no comment...lol), use it as a replacement for the smoke. What a great idea! Man oh man! It just so happens I have two candles that have been sitting around collecting dust for at least two years. And said dusty candles are unburnt. Yes. We are talking virginal candle territory now. We are talking light some fire tonight and feel it blaze in all its glory! Gonna be some candle cherry popping in the old dusty homestead tonight folks! And ohhh, they emit a smell...mmmmmmmmm...lol. I better calm down. This is too exciting.

So anyway I did not smoke and will not smoke today. So anyway I am going to light a candle(or two) later tonight when I get home from work. So anyway(I am stuck on saying anyway, please forgive me) as I light that candle or two tonight, it will also be lit for two. As I will be also lighting it for the sweet one who suggested it. A reminder of her too. An intriguing flame that draws me near with her feeling of warmth that permeates me.

May I borrow your lighter?

How about a smoke?

Currently a cigarette sounds really good. The obsession is back. Arrived last night suddenly while I was at the store getting bread. When the cashier said innocently "anything else" I instantly and not so innocently thought, "get a pack". She looked at me and after an awkward pause I said, "uhhhhhhhhh noooooo" in a rather odd high pitched tone of voice. I walked out stunned and scared. Too close for comfort.

It has been seven months since the smoke of one of those sticks we call cigarettes has been placed on my lips and ingested into my lungs. I can rattle off right now all the reasons why I quit smoking and why I have not smoked up to now. I can make a solid case against smoking and be quite convincing if I say so myself. And I do. Or do I? My mind tells me now the other side. The relaxing side, the you are so screwed up anyway, you might as well go ahead and have one side, the won't it be nice to stand outside and smoke again side, the obsessive compulsive ,oh fuck it all and have one now side. The __________side(that would be fill in the blank). There are many fill in the blanks it seems when it gets to this point.

Tried to sleep tonight. Was certainly tired enough to. Then all the thoughts that kept me awake arrived and did their dirty deed. This is a blog I don't want to post(although it is not the first). The deal is if I am going to smoke I am going to smoke. So why ramble on about it.? Heck doing this has only made me think even more about it. Maybe blogging was not a good idea right now. Maybe nothing is a good idea right now. Maybe right now is not good right now.

Three fingers

We are with titles again. Yes after two days with no workable title box we have a workable box again. I guess the world is not coming to an end after all. Furthermore the sun is out and shining radiantly down through Cumulus cloudiness.

Why do we hurt those we most care about sometimes? Why? Why is it that the same tongue that tells another how much they mean to us is the same tongue that rips them to shreds? Let's take the "we" out of this, make it the singular "I". Because there is no point in hiding behind the diplomatic "we" when it is "I" who is at fault recently.

Recently I was involved in a conflict or two. Imagine that. Conflict(s). Yeah life provides that sometimes. So I did some finger pointing. Yep, I loaded my finger guns and fired away! It does not matter whether the other person was right or wrong. Irregardless of that, I hurt them, I hurt them with my words. Off I fired at least a couple of soul stirring(not in a good way)remarks. Born out of anger. Not good. Not good at all.

It is so easy to play the blame game. It is so easy when arguing or in the heat of battle to attack with blazing finger pointing guns accompanied by soul puncturing words. Yet it can be so wrong. And I was so wrong. What I said was wrong not to mention cruel. For some reason I forgot about the three fingers.

Three fingers. Perhaps you have heard of them. They point at us. They actually point back at us. Oops. I mean they point at me. They actually point back at me. You see anytime I have a finger pointed at another, there are three pointed back at me. Ouch. That is a startling truth from which I cannot escape. Who the hell am I to hurt another person that I care deeply about just because we don't see eye to eye on something at the moment? Who the hell am I to go there? I see fingers pointing at me, pointing back at me.
Three fingers.

The Missing Ingredient

What is the missing ingredient? What separates the men from the boys? What separates the big show from the minor leagues? What is it? What ingredient is it that ensures success? And what the heck is success(a topic not now to be pursued...lol)? For simplistic purposes(and because I am writing this blog and can write any damn thing I want to...lol) let's consider success for the moment as one achieving their desire(s). Let's add that this desire is within the context of something dreamed for such as a career or an education and not desire for another person! LOL!

Okay, so, uh, what is the deal? How does one reach their dreams? How does one grasp ahold of something which may seem totally unattainable? Is there some magical answer? I am thinking out loud here. Is that not what blogging is all about? Thinking out loud. Writing to me is thinking out loud. It is thoughts on paper. That's why I believe anyone can write. Anyone who thinks thoughts can write. It is a mere matter of transferal. Transference of thoughts to the paper. That's all. Now admittedly some may have more interesting thoughts than others or a more appealing presentation but that is what makes the world go round. We are all unique, not robots. Something tells me our thoughts themselves have a lot to do with reaching our dreams. How can they not? They must! So I will think some more and think out loud!

I have a dream of becoming a writer. This dream first came to me in 1999 when I was going through my second divorce. Writings were pouring out of me like water over a broken levy. A number of people at different times have told me I should consider it, that I have talent. I have tended to be grateful for their kind comments but also tended to discount what they said and disbelieve it. I am my own worst critic. I rarely get a "wow moment" from anything I write. Usually it is more like , "oh crap I should have put it this way, that way, inserted that word or deleted that word , I should have remained focused, it should have been more cryptic, it should have had more clarity, I should have made the paragraph longer, shorter, more paragraphs, less paragraphs...". So, not being overly happy with much of anything I write including most poetry, I guess I in effect tend to not believe in my dream. Yikes!

That's the problem isn't it? That's the missing ingredient! Belief. How can a dream become realized if one does not believe in it? How can a dream be realized if one does not want it bad enough? Do I want it bad enough to go to any lengths to make it happen? Hmmmm. I don't know how many baseball players are currently in the major leagues due to team expansion. But it use to be around 600 something I think. There are thousands and thousands of minor league ballplayers and most do not make it to the big leagues, the big show. What is it that gets one to the big time, to become one of those special few?

Can't recall where it was I first heard it. Was it on TV, in a magazine, a book or where? Dunno but I do recall it being said that in terms of TALENT there is little difference between the minor(AAA level) and major leagues. It was stated most emphatically that the player in AAA ball is little different than that in the majors when it comes to talent. So what was the difference they cited? What is it that breaks one through to the other side? What is the missing ingredient. It was BELIEF. It was WANTING IT it bad enough. Wanting it bad enough, believing in their dream to such an extent to make it happen.

What about my dream, writing? It has remained in the back of my mind for several years. Occasionally the dream surfaces but then dissipates. My confidence, er lack thereof, kills it at those times. Or procrastination, that ugly character defect of mine overrules me. Because I allow it to overrule me. But I am beginning to believe again. I feel the passion again and a strong desire to do it. It's coming back. I started this blog in hopes of triggering a catalyst. OK, actually I write a blog for many reasons but most of all because I love writing and that is what I want to do. I am grateful to my friend who has encouraged me to blog. She herself oozes with talent and I always enjoy reading her stuff. But back to my stuff. LOL. Back to my dream, this is my blog dammit! I can be as self-centered as I want to be here, right? Heehee...

I am going to make my dream happen. It won't be easy(quite an understatement) but I won't give up again. I have given up on it too many times. And time is wasting. Time consists of moments so why waste the moments anymore by allowing a dream to dissipate? Why not pursue it? Why not pursue that which one truly loves? Why not pursue that which fulfills one? Why not? Only I am between the dream and me. Move over me...

Pruned and Exposed

When I was in junior high we had a Mimosa tree in our front yard. Whether I have spelled "Mimosa" correctly I do not know. So I have guessed. Anyway, one day my Mom in an obviously not so happy mood, told me to go look in the front yard at what my Dad had done. So I did. And he had done something. Yep. He had basically rendered said Mimosa tree into a reduced piece of a stump with extensions attached. Yes, my Dad had done some pruning, some pretty flippin serious pruning. To add insult to injury the now ugly tree(let's call it a stump with extensions) was painted white near the base of the stumpy part(if I recall correctly). According to my Mom we now had an ugly front yard, an embarrassment, a disgrace. I found it all rather funny but held back voluminous amounts of laughter.

When I was in high school I took my first drink, I tried my first drug, I smoked my first cigarette. Even had sex for the first time(hey it was not all bad...heehee). Eventually Pot became a problem for me, an addiction. When I finally gave it up in my early 20's, drinking became its replacement. Drinking had never been a problem or an addiction so what the heck. Eventually drinking became a problem for me, an addiction. When I finally gave it up in my late 30's, smoking became its replacement. Smoking had never been a problem or an addiction so what the heck. Eventually smoking became a problem for me , a real habit, an addiction. There are other stories of various void filling(s) involving drugs and various other "filaments" but these are the big three.

But what about that tree? What does any of this have to do with that stumpy tree with extensions? Lots. Seven months ago I quit smoking at the age of 50(I hate saying that age and 51 sounds worse now!). For the first time since high school I am without a crutch to lean upon. I don't take drugs, I don't drink, I don't smoke. Heck I have not even gotten laid in over three years! I have been pruned back severely and am left with a remnant of me. But actually not a remnant but the real me, whoever I be. It's ugly at times and it's scary...like that tree. But it's also beautiful because it's real. May I call myself beautiful? I think there is a way we can think in those terms without arrogance or self delusion.

As that tree found itself pruned and exposed so I find myself. It can be rather embarrassing. It certainly is scary at times. Will I survive without all my "limbs" intact? Is there any hope of good times to come? What does the future hold? Will I wait for time to occur, one day at a time? Time is the great healer, they say. That tree? Well, it was nourished by sunlight and rain and if memory serves me properly "tree food"(is there such a thing). Eventually time and nourishment turned the stump and extensions back not only into a real tree but bigger than before. It blossomed into this large incredibly beautiful tree which provided sheltering shade. It provided beauty to gaze upon and admire. But it took time. It took nourishment.

Hope is found in nourishment and time...

The art of relaxation or chemistry

On a night when the country makes loud noises and celebrates freedom with a bang, I find myself reflecting on another kind of freedom. The freedom of total relaxation, the freedom of uncanny chemistry, the freedom that natural attraction provides. The freedom that occurs when two individuals find themselves drawn to one another is something which mere words can only attempt to describe. After all how can one describe that chemistry with another that is found so compelling, so wonderful , so invigorating? How? It is one thing to experience it. It is another to attempt to put into words some sort of form that their substance reflects. Futile endeavor? Perhaps but it is rewarding trying. It is rewarding reflecting on the one so cared for. It is wonderful to think about their moments of relaxation shared together. In those moments words do not always have to be spoken. In those moments they are just who they are, as they are with one another. In those moments their connection transcends all else.

How can something so magical which occurs with another human being be created? What are the proper words to say? What is the best tone of voice to use? Is there a certain smile or look to entice another? What is the art of chemistry with another? How does one make it work? Where does one get the magnets to pull another towards one? And how is relaxation with another achieved? Is there a formula?

This freedom is elusive at best and often lust is mistaken for it. But it is not lust. It is what it is. It just is. Chemistry is chemistry and cannot be created. Oh we can fake our behavior around others, to be sure, yes. But REAL CHEMISTRY between two people cannot be created. It happens without effort on their part. It just happens they mix . Who we are attracted to, well can we control that? Just try it. Can you? I didn't think so. So, if we somehow by chance meet a person that we feel totally relaxed around we should cherish the moments. Yes moments. They may be fleeting. Or they may last. That part is up to us, both of us. It takes two as they say. Not to create chemistry or to relax but it takes two to make it last.

Inevitably conflicts arise and oh yes they most definitely will! Any relationship over an extended period of time will experience serious conflict. If it doesn't, I submit to you it is not real in some aspect. Those conflicts threaten the relationship. Compromise then occurs or it doesn't. It is what happens at these times of challenge that determines the continuity of their existence together. Either they communicate and work it out or they don't and fail together. If their chemistry is such that they love one another to an extent to work it out, then they will. If not they won't. Simple huh?

Sounds simple to me. However time , routines and the stuff of life all make it difficult in this day and age for relationships to endure. So perhaps I need to think more about cherishing the moments. Certainly with respect to life in general, yes, but within the context of this blog, that person I feel totally relaxed around. I want to cherish each moment we spend together. Sounds too idealistic? Perhaps. But a good ideal to strive for. Progress, not perfection they say.

As pure as vanilla is are the moments we spend together. It may be talking, it may be silence, it may be a game played, a movie talked about, it may be this , it may be that but ultimately it is our chemistry. Without effort we are, without effort we share. Beautiful relaxing chemistry, beautiful relaxing us. Wonderful moments that only time will tell...the rest of the tale. But as for now the moments are pure. Like you. And I do like you. More than a lot...