She said last night, speaking of encroaching depression, that part of it was the devil acting against her. This statement is a product of a Christian worldview and if you come from that view, you can agree with her. I agree with her. Sure, there are neurochemical, cognitive and behavioral components. But it is the spiritual side that the atheist mind forgets.

If she can see this, why can't she see how hard the devil has worked to destroy our marriage? And he's quite possibly near victory. We were active in the church, prayer, family, donations, etc. Then The devils attention was caught and he began his campaign. We are both wounded and battle worn. I am not pointing fingers or blame. All I really want to know is when will we see the real battle here? When will we see the real enemy and when will God save us?

When, God?

Only He can save us, our marriage and our family.

When, God? What am I doing wrong?

I comb my hair and smile at myself in the mirror. Outside again and the sun is a warm bath, soothing and cleansing the soul. The air is heavy with the flowers of spring and the birds glory in their flight. I smile at the world and sit, waiting for the right time. Butterflies, busy in their tasks. Insects buzzing around, diligent. A dog barks in the distance. And still I wait. The sun is warm, the world is at peace, so the waiting is easy. Long sunny days are perfect for waiting, and plotting. The grass is a cool carpet for my bare feet, and the breeze keeps the sun from being too hot. Dressed in white, loose fitting clothes, I am the picture of relaxed comfort. I enjoy the game, the wait.

"She's here," he whispered.

In 463BC a hand carved tablet was buried in what would become Ulster. No one know who buried it or why. No one knew who carved the intricate designs. Thus far, only one person has been able to decipher their meaning. And no one believes the translation that has been offered. That one person, Alexandra, now lays bruised, burned and possibly dying at the bottom of a nameless chasm somewhere in the Caucasus Mountains. The wounds at her neck are quite probably the worst of the lot. Those running the length of her arms and legs are not far behind. No matter how serious these wound appear, however, they are nothing compared to the seriousness of the bared fangs of the wolf standing over her.

"Get up," He growled.

He stood on the hill, looking at the object of his quest in the valley below. He was tall, road weary and tanned. His body hard from his struggle to rise and meet this challenge. It had been a difficult journey, but now he was here, on the verge of paradise.

He had been told as a boy of the fabled city, dedicated to Aphrodite, and the treasures it held. He had decided at at a rather young and brash age, that he would find that city and make it's treasures his own. It was then that the training began.

Daily he would train. He would use his imagination, trying to imagine the privation of the road and journey, to help him prepare. He would practice swordplay, strengthening his grasp. He would practice the art of persuasion, sharpening his tongue. He would practice defense and camouflage, so as to hide from his enemies and surprise his prey. He would practice his spells, testing his resolve. He would pound his body, building himself up through self abuse. He would do without food or drink, bringing definition to his senses and tastes. Daily he would train, until the day came for him to leave his home and strike out against the world.

He found many cities on the road. Some filled with rogues and turncoats that neither satisfied nor filled him. He found cities full of earthly delights, but found them to be shallow and thinly disguised ugliness. He found cities of gold and silver, but found the flash to be nothing more than vanity. He found cities long forgotten and was tempted by the refuge they offered, but travelled onward.

The road was cold, it was hot. It was starvation and danger. The road provided many things he needed, but not direction. And still he travelled, searching for clues. Looking for answers and hopes. Mountains, valleys, lush forests and deserts saw him pass through on his quest.

It was the sister mountains that gave him his first hope. He had spotted them from afar and remembered what the old men had said of the legend. The sister range was the first sign, the entrance by which you must pass, if ever the city you would hope to reach. He found them as they had been described. Full of life and bearing fruit he'd never seen. The fruit was beautiful, smooth in taste and nourishing. He imagined correctly that many a man could lose himself here and never quest forward. With anguish in his heart, he pressed on and left the mountains behind.

The plains below were equally as fertile as the mountains. Crystal clear rivers, gently rolling hills and warm sunshine. An Eden of soft grasses and refreshing breezes. He strolled through the pastures and fields slowly, savoring every moment. Here too, a man could lose his vision and his quest. No one would think any such man a fool, for only a fool would leave such a place.

Weeks past. And he was well. He felt replenished and whole; satisfied and with an inner calm that had never before graced his mind. In the distance he spotted another range of weather worn hills with a forested valley below. It was here, he felt, he knew, that his quest would take him. And he pushed on, strong, powerful after the long road.

He stood on the hill, looking at the object of his quest below. The forest, glade really, surrounded the city. It was like no city he'd seen previously. It took his breath away to behold this vision, this object so long sought, this hope, this dream made real. He prepared himself, for he did not know what defenses the city had. Would the city welcome him, or deny him? Would the city let loose beasts and terrors to devour him and deny him his goal?

The sentry post passed, and no alarm was raised. The birds were singing in the forest. Joy and peace emanated form the landscape. Even the rivers and streams reflected pure life and seemed to revel in themselves. He was unafraid and yet terrified. Tension ran through him, building his anticipation, while strengthening his resolve. And then he saw what he could not believe. The gates were opening, calling him in, welcoming him.

He could not know, he did not know, at that moment what the future held for him. He passed through the gates and into the city. Ready to accept his future, ready to accept his fate. Joy, peace, passion accomplished, and fulfillment are the last we see of him as he enters his dream.

Welcome home. Well, welcome to my home. This is commonly called the Challenger Deep and is 35,840 feet below sea level. At this depth, that is almost 8 tons of pressure per square inch. This is a metaphor. Admittedly it is not much of a metaphor, and if you will excuse the pun, it is rather shallow. Oh yes, how brilliant indeed, the ocean is a deep place, with pressure yet, and you're gonna use it as a metaphor for the pressure you feel every day. Brilliant, I say! If you're a nutter.

So, enough with the metaphor. Life sucks, or is crushing, or is filled with unbearable pressure, or whatever other little complaint I can come up with when I am feeling miserable. But it does go on, doesn't it. Whether you want it to or not. And there have been a lot of nots lately, right? Anyway, I see myself in a box, which would be another friggin' metaphor! Apparently, the box I am in is the box of never ending pointless metaphors. Each more juvenile than the last.

Gotta go, before I hurt myself on another metaphor. Makes me wonder why I put this babbling BS to virtual ink. Again, PPP

What's wrong with me?

Today I got a purple bracelet/band from someone I work with that said AComplaintFreeWorld.org. My first reaction? This is Pollyanna/New Age-ish B.S. What kind of reaction is that for a basically good idea to try to get people to stop complaining so much? I know that a decrease in complaining can help foster a more positive mental attitude and outlook. Needles to say, but saying it anyway, my first reaction was poor. Do I complain too much? I try to keep it to myself a lot, except for a few people I kinda trust. Most of the time, I get the sense that people don't really care about what you are complaining about or going through. False sentimentality and fell-good pablum psychobabble are infuriating. I should know, I dispense it by the truckload. ( at least that's how I feel sometimes) Sometimes I buy the crap that I am selling and it seems to work for awhile. Too bad it doesn't come with a money-back guarantee. The again, what does?

I imagine myself stuck in a hole and I am struggling to climb out. I sometimes get very tired of climbing and stop. Cold. Sometimes I think I am not so much climbing, because the exit doesn't get any closer, as much as there is someone underneath digging like hell to make the hole deeper. And contrary to popular opinion, I don't think it is me doing the digging. I am in one of those moods today. Tired of climbing, I don't see the point anymore. What, after all, is there of a foreseeable future for me? Getting up, coming to work, going home, repeat. Wash rinse and repeat. The secret of life was apparently hidden on the back of the shampoo bottle all this time.

So, am I complaining too much? Is it complaining to review your situation? Wife who doesn't love me and would rather be anywhere else - and anyone else - and may already. Check. Involuntary virgin status. Check. Unruly adult man-child who berates me and projects all of his ills on me. Check. Finances in the toilet. Check. Job sucked dry of any joy. Check. Feeling burned out and dreading coming to work. Check. Office managers who behave as if they want you gone, fired, forced out, or otherwise removed. Check. An employer that chastises you for not appearing supportive of the office manager with one hand while the other hand pulls the supports out from under you. Check. Institutional VP's going behind your back to find any dirt, and when they can't making ad hominem attacks about your character. Check. Plenty more to check, but you get the point.

The road stretches forward, I keep on walking, but I don't really know why. I have become the most pathetic thing I know. And not in anyway that deserves any sympathy or empathy. More of an object of morbid curiosity. Weak in spirit, mind, reserve, strength, character, drive, hope, faith.... Plain old PPP

Close your eyes and try to relax.
Good.
Unclench your jaw and relax your toes.
Good.
Breathe, softly and slowly.
Good.
Relax your shoulders and let go.
Good.
Now, wait....

The scent of salt air comes uninvited to your senses. The barest outline of a door can be seen behind closed eyes. Soft, gently breaking waves pull you forward.

Wait, you are almost there.
Good.
Now open the door...

The world is cast in dim aquamarine gliding light. It is as if you've stepped into an aquarium. The salt air is heavier, but not overwhelming. The waves are just as your ears imagined. The call of gulls under the water a welcome aural accent piece.

Look around and tell me what you see.

A beach of pure white sand perhaps fifty yards across, leading from a smooth rocky ground to the sea. The rocky surface soon gives way to a tropical forest rising up the mountain and into the water, the top unseen. A Stone bridge connects two outcroppings of rock, both two to three stories tall. The one, surrounded by forest is rough and natural. The other, by the beach is smooth, carved out to make a home. Comfortable looking couches and chairs, tables full of fruit, and soft light can be seen in the seaside rock.

Good.
What else do you see?

The sea stretches forever. No other land is visible. The sea is gently rolling, no whitecaps or large waves. Fish are jumping - the smallest are man sized. They provide a backdrop of gentle arcs and curves as they leap and fly through the air. Water pours out of the sky like a reverse waterfall and sounds like a brief but intense rain. The ghostly for of a reef can be seen at some small distance from the shore. And between here and there, colorful fish of every variety, shape, and size. A pointillist seascape, ever changing. A child's kaleidoscope; beautiful chaos.

Notice the sky.

The sky is a soothing blue, bright lights flashing through its depth. White bellied fish dot the sky. The gulls circle beneath the sky and call out to each other. The sky, beginning less than a thousand feet up from the seaside, is water. Light shines through the water, speaking to its shallowness, and gives the beach that aquarium look. It is every bit as awe inspiring and beautiful as it is impossible.

And what do you feel here?

Safe, relaxed. Peaceful. At ease. Humble. Amazed. Tranquil. At home, at last...

Good.

I glanced back, briefly. Hesitation? I lifted my hand and looked at it as I drifted back and finally into the sea. Slowly sinking, I could feel the weight of my existence pulling me down. This then is my journey.

The colors are brilliant and their forms peaceful. I know there is an underlying violence here as fish defend their small bit of coral; as one living thing devours another, but it doesn't matter. The beauty is the thing. It is relaxing to the mind and soul. The gentle pull of the tides pushing fans back and forth, the fish schooling and swimming in mad shapes, the corals waving to the sea horses passing through. The sounds are muted and distinct at the same time. A contradiction made possible by the sea. Parrot fish crunching as the surface sounds fade.

One by one, the colors fade. Red abandons me, followed by orange and yellow. Greens fade into blues and I am left with violet. The mid level blues surround me as I sink deeper. The veneer of coral gaiety is replaced by the growing mass of the fish. Small becomes large and many grow fewer. The choices in the middle are bigger than when I was in the shallows, but they are less diverse. Sharks and predators glide by; barracuda above, hiding in the last glare of the sun. The gabbing eels, running their mouths, hide in their homes.

There is a sense of peace as I move on. Free floating and sinking, almost blind. Strange creatures, caricatures of earlier beings flash across my view. They are more specialized, they are the survivors. They can handle the dark, chilly depths of life. But they are grotesque and menacing. The crush of the sea is unbearable, and yet the sense remains that I am going where I am supposed to go. Am I wrong in this assessment? Have I simply chosen to spread my arms wide and accept the downward crush of life and its medium, the sea?

Bottom. And life reverts to its simplest forms. Infantile appearing worms and tubular creatures. Is this what is meant by the circle of life? Not really a circle, but a return to infancy the deeper we go? Choices and diversity are scarce. Life here is cold, barren, crushed. As I lay in the dust, remembering where I've been, I thought of just your face.

Sitting, thinking, gazing out....I lay my head back and my hand stretches out to touch the window. Softly flowing through the window my fingers graze the bench. Warm and rough and plastic wood. A thousand McLunches melted into my hand and out. The weeping branches of the next door shrub prickle inside my veins. The sadly smiling leaves clean the capillaries and soak the poison dust of life. The hot air sun surface of the ground pulls me through and down. Worm kings vie for lunch at my passing and out into the dawn. I burst free concrete and asphalt hair and denim cloth my seared clean soul. I can feel it build to a radiant pulse, quark, muons, gluons and gamma force me to disintegrate. And now..."Sir, the clerk will see you now. Have a nice Day!" Thanks, I whisper, the touch of the sun still on my fingers.

One question.
One singularly infinite question. Or is it an infinitely singular question. Or maybe the shear repetitiveness of the questions shows up its inane nature. That one question...What is the point?

I don't think I know the answer anymore, if I ever did.

I suppose you could respond with, "Of what?" And I would have to volley the ball back to your court with, "of anything." You name it, what is the point? Kids, life, jobs, trying to feel happy, writing this, anything. What's the point. To fulfill some biologic imperative to roll the DNA dice so that "life" can go on?? To achieve immortality through your children in the form of memory and chemical messengers?? To get some thrill out of a squirt of dopamine or some other neurotransmitter?? What's the point of it all?

The days become a blur, and I grow weary. I didn't think that my week long getaway would turn into this, and if I ever get home I won't be using a cheap travel agent again. The days have few changes - there is the free food and shelter, the nightly terrors, and the sacrifices. With each one my chest hurts more and more; my heart burns in empathy.
I found some ancient writings. They are difficult to understand and I have to puzzle through them. Whenever I think I have made some progress, I only come to realize the depth of my ignorance. The writings seem to point to some way out, to a different temple full of wonder and peace. I wish I knew who left this and why. I wish I knew who or what was making the sacrifices. I was only glad that they had yet to find me.
I don't know how long it's been. I don't know how long I can last here. Too afraid to leave, tired of being in this Temple Clearing, I don't know what to do any more. I have finally learned who is making the sacrifices. And that knowledge scares me even more...

As I sat alone in the metaphoric darkness of the temple grounds, I wanted to end it all. I desperately wanted to end my life, while knowing I would not. I had been searching the temple, my home, for some clues about its existence and purpose. At last, I'd found some writings on the alter, in a script that took me months to begin to decipher. I puzzled over the writings each day, with the pain of each days sacrifice burning next to me. These were harder to understand than the ancient text I'd earlier discover, and they consumed me.

Give to me your heart, Innocence in blood and spirit, Give to me your heart with each day you breathe, Renew in each dawning, That which you give, Give to me your heart and I will be yours, Give to me freely and I will be your reward, Pleasure and bliss, Joy without measure, Give to me your heart, And mine I will give to you.

I stared at what I had deciphered, not knowing what to think. That was when it hit me. The world, it seems is full of bitter surprises. Funny thing, in a not-so-funny way, is that the surprises are never really surprises. They are the kind of surprise you get when you order something, forget about it, then see that the postman has left it on the doorstep. You always knew about it, but for the briefest of moments, you are surprised to see it. That is how it hit me, like the postman bringing the tax summons that I always knew was coming. I pulled open my shirt and saw the proof. Scars. Dozens, hundreds of scars across the left side of my chest. The screams in the night were my own. The sound of bones splitting and flesh ripping were of my doing. It was my heart I was sacrificing, nightly, upon this alter to a false god.
There was no pleasure, bliss or joy without measure. I was sacrificing in impotence, getting nothing in return. This temple's god was deaf, didn't care, or was too busy rewarding others. And I felt, without much surprise, empty.
And I still sit there now, wondering what to do - how to escape. I have done some minor cleaning of one of the other temples, just to see what it held. I have stopped going to sleep in my dark temple room; there is no need. Nightly, I sacrifice my heart as I seem powerless to stop myself. The ancient text is all but forgotten, though I still have some hope that what it contains is the truth. Forget me now for there is nothing you can do. Only heed my example, and don't sacrifice yourself in impotence and in vain.

The travel brochure was not the most accurate. It had details, or rather generalities masquerading as details, about the woods. Once I'd decided to go, there was nothing to do but go. Admittedly, I tried to back out a couple of times, but in the end, it was off on my journey. The thing about travel brochures, it's not what they say that is important. It's what they don't say. Like how they tell you that you will have a local tour guide, but fail to tell you that he'll whack you on the head at his earliest convenience and leave you for dead. In a place you didn't want to be. Without any hope. I guess you get what you pay for, and life is a free admission (for the one entering life), but the pay as you go aspect of life, that can get expensive. I am getting ahead of myself.
I'd wanted to see the scenery, the sights, the vistas of the world. The great conifer and broad leaf forests, the ancient ruins and temples to pagan gods. I wanted to see the castles of old and imagine their heroes. Oh, I got all of that, but not in the way I'd expected. Another beautiful quality of life really - expect one thing and get another. Like the tour guide I guess. What I got was not serene and pastoral; what I got was Mordor on a bad day, on a vengefully bad day.
I woke in the middle of the forest with a splitting head ache and a matching split head. This forest, lets call it the forest of stark reality, was grim. The light was blocked by the canopy from Toldyaso's and the Neverknewthat's. The sickly perfumes of the Siren Flowers and the budding Betraya Trees clogged the air and twisted my stomach. The delicate Forget-me-nots were being choked by the vines of the Forgotchas. The path was blocked at every turn by the thorny Phkya, tearing and ripping my legs and body as I walked. It was with some relief then, that I found the clearing.
Relief is a funny thing. Totally relative to your situation, it is. (Great, now I'm talking like Yoda) Say for instance, you are standing in a furnace. It is certainly a relief to step out of the furnace, even if you step into a cloudless 130 degree day. Relative. The clearing was a relief in that relative sort of way. The clearing held a couple small temples and a larger central one. It was obvious that no one prayed at the smaller temples, as they were overgrown and weedy. This will sound strange, since I just described the smaller temples as unused, but they had a clean feel to them. I can't describe it any better than that and you'll just have to trust me on this. The larger temple, that did not feel clean. You could tell it was well tended and in use. By who, I wasn't sure when I first saw it.
In a wood as gloomy as this, night is a difficult thing to judge. Degrees of grey turning to black is your first clue. Screeches, moans, howls and the cries of the night are the last clues you'll get. Seeing nowhere else, I sought refuge in the largest of the three...

I found a room. It was cold, dark and not particularly comfortable. But at least it was out of the elements and provided a relative safety from the night predators. The room is windowless and door-less. The winding passage into the interior of the temple and to my room was sufficiently twisted enough to eliminate the possibility of light. It was here that I was to make my home.

Whispers in the night, calling. "Follow me," "Come this way," "Leave this temple and you will find another." On and on they called, whispered, begged and cajoled. I slept in fits, afraid of what might happen. I heard scratches in the night, like a saw on bone. Screams and pleading voices resonated through the walls until day.
I don't really know how I knew it was day, except for the silence. I felt my way back through the passage until I was outside again. Oddly enough, there was food on the ground. I had ceased to be surprised by what ever happened here, and I guess I just took it for granted when I walked out into the far from blinding light and found ready to eat food. It was tasty and filling. I had the impression that there was more of it about than I was able to find, but I don't know why.
The temple, my safe haven in this wood, was beautiful. All the temples were, but this one was well cared for. The stone was polished and shone, reflecting my image in granite pools of color. The temple was large, as I've said, and there was a central stairway to the alter. Something like a Mayan ruin, I suppose. And at the top, my morning fell into despair.
There was blood on the alter, fresh blood. And remains. The remains of a burnt offering, of what looked like a human heart. Just looking at it made my heart hurt, my chest ache. Who could do such a thing? Who could take a life and destroy it, just to pray to some sort of false god? And why didn't they find me, hidden in their temple?

The corridor was dark and I felt as if I was blind. Of course, you don't have to be blind to be unable to see where you are going. I can look back, in my minds eye, and see how I'd arrived here. And yet, I had no idea how I'd come to be in this place. I could eventually make out some features of the corridor, and all I could see where doors. Not wanting to stand still in my darkness, I tried the first door. I will tell you, all the rooms looked like they were built on the same model - square. No fancy furnishings, no decorations, just small square rooms with single occupants.

The first room held a child, but one whose eyes were dark and full of malice. "You promised it wouldn't be this way!" "You promised things would work out differently!" The promise of youth facing the reality of the adult world and screaming impotently against all that had been promised. The eyes of my childhood saw so much promise in life, so much opportunity. Until they were darkened and clouded over by reality. I shut the door, aching with memory. How much had I hoped for; how much had I dreamed; how much had I thought possible? Fulfillment, white picket fences, happily ever after; rubbish now and filling those young eyes with disgust at ever having allowed himself to be deceived.

I opened the next door. A man stood still in the center of the room, looking a bit like Munch's Scream. Looking around, he seemed to be surrounded by hundreds of people, all laughing and joking. They were smiling, drinking and generally carrying on like most party goers. Until they walked right through the man. They seemed not to see or notice. He was nothing to them. He stayed quiet, and I could see in his eyes that he'd given up trying to make himself heard or seen. He was loneliness personified. In a room crowded with life, he was a nothing, a nobody to be ignored and walked through. He just looked at me, his face changing not a bit when I closed his door.

The next door held a skinny man at a feast. He ate and ate, never stopping to notice my arrival. He was small and barely visible behind the roast duck. No matter how I moved to get a better look, he'd unconsciously dodge behind some other pile of food - squash and fresh fruit, puddings and cakes, ham and cheeses, on and on. I caught one glimpse of his eyes and he was scared. Scared he'd be noticed, scared he'd be seem for who he really is, scared to enjoy what was right in front of him. I shut him back in his room, saddened.

The penultimate door held a chair, upon which rested a card. It was a tarot card, I think, and looked like the Lovers. I picked it up, but the image was indistinct and looked as if it was covered in dust. I foolishly blew the dust. It swelled up from the card and covered everything in the room, including me. I could taste it, smell it, and it changed the way I saw the world. I left, afraid of what I'd done. I had the sense that from now on, everything I saw, tasted, smelled, or touched would be tainted by this dust; that I could never get it out of my system. It had a strange addicting quality, at one time making you feel good and making you regret having it cover your life.

The last door, and I was out. But with no clearer of an understanding of where I was. A strange waking nightmare of an experience. I will journey on and follow my path, not knowing where it leads and having no clear direction. It seems obvious to me now, but I didn't realize it at the time. Perhaps feeling blinded by the dark I had failed to make the connection, but all the faces behind the doors, they were mine.

OK, I'd said I would give his idea a try. It sounded good, all those possibilities laying at my feet. I looked at him and wondered if he was pulling something over my eyes, but I reached down anyway. I straightened up and looked at what I'd grabbed. A sea urchin, and a dead one at that. The next thought that registered was the pain of one of its spines sticking out of my hand. I looked at him, pleading for him to do something as he reached up to remove the urchin. Don't forget, that although there are millions of possibilities laying there at your feet, there are also dangers. The world is not perfect, he reminded me. Nor should any metaphor. You have to be aware of where you are and what is at your feet and not blindly grab at the first thing you feel - you might get stung. The pebbles and possibilities are still there, but watch out for the traps and dangers laying around as well. Be choosy about what you are after and reduce your risk of injury. But don't be too afraid of hurting yourself, or else you'll never reach out in the first place and you miss even the most elemental of possibilities. Why, I wondered, couldn't he have told me to watch out before I got stuck. He seemed to know what I was thinking, but only smiled that enigmatic grin of his and walked on.

This Gordon Lightfoot song pretty much says how I feel much of the time. Never a big fan of Gordon Lightfoot, but he hit this one on the head.

Look at it this way, he said. Each pebble or stone on the beach is a potential, a possibility. You crush dozens under your feet every time you take a step. Some may cause you to stumble or twist your ankle. Others come large as boulders and can either block your way or can, once surmounted, provide a better view of the landscape. All these pebbles, they look different - different colors, shapes and textures. You never know which are gonna be good or bad until you lift 'em up and take a look at them. Some you toss some away and they go plunk in the water. Others skip across the water and you say to yourself that you wish you could find another like it 'cause it skipped so well and made you happy. But the point is, really, that all these possibilities are just lying at your feet, ready to be picked up. And they've been here waitin' for you. God put them here ages ago, knowing you were goin' to be walking by someday, and that you would need them.

Sometimes an errant phrase will just pop into my mind and will set up camp. I can't shake the thought or ignore it. I am not talking about all the navel gazingly negatives I have been dwelling on, but rather truly random thoughts or images put to words. I cannot ignore them; I often have just as much trouble growing them further.

The leaf green trees bend in the wind

Where do these things come from? Sometimes they grab hold and refuse to let go, keeping me from thinking other things. Sometimes they sound good the first time, and the second time they stink. Sometimes the good ones come and go so fast I can barely remember them. I try to reconstruct them later, but usually without success.

Twisted toes and twinkling twilight makes me smile into the night

The tone varies from idiocy to depressive to barely literate middle school prose. You will have to be the judge, as I have lost perspective for most of this. I guess I will just have to keep listening for them and write them down, hoping for a gem. But like all gems, the quality ones will be very rare, and typically not on display is a piece of fluff.

Farnot and Eve point the way. Waving and saying goodbye.

I can understand why people drink, smoke pot, do crack - at least those that do it to forget or use it as a salve. I have never used - never. I know it is hard to believe, but I haven't used any drugs and I rarely drink alcohol. But it is an easy escape and I wish sometimes that I could take it. Culturally, everyone say it is OK. But I know it is not - I have seen the results. Still, I can understand the temptation.

I thought of making two lists. Things I deserve, and things I don't think I will have. The things I deserve include love, tenderness, romance, walks on the beach (yes, I have a very definite feminine side), laughing with someone special, flirty looks with someone I love, to hold the hand of someone special, hugs, kisses, companionship, cuddling (feminine side!), to be adored, support, forgiveness, a shoulder to cry on, someone to share my life with, someone to share my heart with who will appreciate it, hope, peace, someone to tell me I can make it, someone to remind me of my strengths, someone to remind me to work on my weaknesses, a smile in the morning, the guilty pleasure of watching the person you love laugh & sleep & breath & smile & eat & think, someone to argue with that will still love me when its over, someone.

The second list, the things I don't think I will have is, as it turns out, the same as the first list.

Warning:Mass Confusion Ahead

How can I express the anguish, panic, pain, frustration and fear I feel if I can't explain why I feel that way. I don't want to explain because of , what, pride or respect or I simply don't know. A part of me has been torn and for the first time I don't know if I can fix it. I don't know where to turn or what to say. I have gotten through so much and now to be confronted with something I had already known - NOW I'M THROWN FOR A LOOP????! How was I able to deal with the images, the betrayal, the loss of self image, the f ' ing situation before and not now? I just want this to be done and in the past. God, please take this from my mind and help me forgive! Help me get passed! Help me, PLEASE!

Take this burden and this pain of the spirit and so me how to forgive. Show me how to move forward toward YOU and your grace. Take these images from my head and purify my spirit. Protect me from this attack - I cannot do this....

God, I need your grace. I need the peace of Christ to wash over me. Forgive me for having these thoughts and doubts.

God, please..................................................................................................................................

Being confronted with something that you've "known" to be true can be devastating. While simply "knowing" it can provide grief and pain, the truth of it, when fully understood can wreck you. I have "known" some things for some time now, but those things were brought from my fevered imagination of "knowing" to the full light of day recently. And I regret ever having "known" - then or now.

On to a different, yet equally morbid, topic: nightmares. I have never been one to have many nightmares. In fact, I can still remember 2 of my worst. The first I define as a nightmare simply because it was boring. It was as a child and I had just watched a TV show that involved Chinese labor in railroads and mines. The whole nightmare consisted of row upon row of workers going back and forth with picks and loads of dirt. I can remember wishing I could get out of the dream. The second - which I have had on more than one occasion - involved my dorm in college. I was in my room when the radio changed channels on its own. As I walked over I began to be pulled down through the floor and into Hell. I have rarely felt so frightened.

Recently, I have had several dreams that I would consider nightmare and have woken from them scared, demoralized and depressed. They involved my wife.

The first was generally about her making me look like a bad parent in order to get the kids in court. I cannot stress enough that this was a dream - she HAS NOT made any effort to make me look bad in any context in regard to the kids. The second dream involved her trying to convince me that an affair was over while secretly going on with it behind my back. To the best of my knowledge, this too is just a dream and not a reality. Nightmares. Demoralizing and depressing and a reflection of my stress and worries. I hope to leave these in the realm of dreams and I will work to keep myself from dragging my fears into the waking world.

In honor of 43 years, here is a website I found: http://www.43things.com/

I just realized that life is a fan of Blondie. How else to explain life constantly singing:

One way or another I'm gonna find ya
I'm gonna getcha getcha getcha getcha...

Research seems to show that having someone to look up to, a role model, can help build resilience. Resilience helps us weather storms and trauma in our lives and seems to be an important factor in survival. I am lucky, I have two.

Neither one was famous, but each touched the lives of many. The nation and world at large may forget who they were, may never have truly known them, but I won't. One I knew a brief time, the other for much of my life. They were my dads.

We often forget how important dads can be. I do not want to offend anyone, but I think today we minimize and belittle the male role in the family. In our rush to be supportive of single mothers, we have left behind the fathers and dads. I know, we have Father's Day, but it is a tiny reflection of Mother's Day - almost an afterthought. I do not want to diminish mothers, Mother's Day or females here; I believe we should celebrate our sisters, wives, mothers and daughters with all the fervor and adoration we can muster. It's just that I think we need to do the same for our fathers and dads. And yes, I make a distinction between fathers and dads: The father is the biologic guy, the male genetic half and the dad is the guy that raised you. I would hope that these two would more and more be the same guy, but I digress.

For me, my dad and father were two different people. My biologic parents were divorced when I was quite young and I do not remember him. My dad, I remember. He was not perfect, he was not some 1950's image of fatherhood. He was, though, right for me. Maybe someday I can be more specific, but the man he was is something that I have aspired to. I do not think I am there, and will never know if I make it. I can only guess at what he would say of my life and its direction. I have not lived up to some standards, but I think I have surpassed in others. It is my understanding of some of his core beliefs, that has held much of me together and forced me to push forward. Even when I am gripped by the morose feelings that inspired my last post about being a failure.

My second role model and inspiration was my father-in-law. It seems that I knew him for such a short time before he passed away. I feel intimately connected to him, though. I feel as if I was truly his son, and I thank him for making me feel that way. He was different from my dad, but in my mind the two were complimentary. Where one lagged, the other excelled. It is really hard to express in words exactly what I mean; it is difficult to distill how these two men complimented each other.

It amazes me how these two men can sum up for me the essence of fatherhood. The rich vision of responsibility and joy that is fatherhood seems complete in these two. They are my heroes and I miss them.

It is not uncommon in some Christian circles to talk of the enemy coming against you. By this it is meant that hardships and difficulties in ones life represent an attack of the enemy; an attempt to pull us away from the grace of God. I do not discount this idea and believe that it does happen. Standing here, looking in the mirror, I have come to see that I have reached this point in my life, not because of an attack of the enemy, but because of me. My one unerring gift seems to be to make bad choices. In making those choices, I become a failure. In becoming a failure, I have become who I am today.

I have failed as a husband. I have failed as a father. I have failed financially. I have failed in business. I am a failure at work. I have failed socially. I have failed on an interpersonal level. I have failed spiritually.

I am not asking for pity or comment. I am not asking for recognition. I am not asking for people to tell me about what they perceive as my successes. I am not fishing for compliments. I am looking in the mirror. And I do not like what I see.

I have tried to change, and have failed. I have tried to correct my path, and have failed.

I do not know where to turn or to hide. I am a pariah in love, relationships, socially, and to an extent at work. I have no home, just a dwelling. There is no place for me; I do not fit in.
I will go on, because I have to go on. I will continue the charade and hope I produce as little damage as possible to the people that I touch. I can only hope that tomorrow I will feel differently.

Coincidence is a marvelous thing. It is one of those things that make you second guess the world and the way it runs. It strengthens the perception that other forces are at work around you. I had one of those coincidences today. I was thinking about parts of my life, past and present and then I read the following from a book I am reading:

"With women the best part is the discovery. There's nothing like the first time, nothing. You don't know what life is until you undress a woman for the first time. A button at a time, like peeling a hot sweet potato on a winter's night" - The Shadow of the Wind, Carlos Ruiz Zafon, p91

Now, I am not going to say what I was thinking, but this statement made me smile. It is a small, but simple truth. And it is the small and simple truths that I miss in my life. Perhaps that was what I was thinking about...

Silver and Gold

What is it that we are searching for? What is that thing that will, we believe, enrich us? There is something, of that I am certain. It is the thing that will make a poor man rich; that can, when properly applied, save millions from desperate situations. It can put a spring in your step and make you feel fashionable. It can dress you up and fill you up. It is the foundation upon which so much of this world is built.

Lets face it, we don't want to admit it, but it is true. It is elusive and requires a lot of work to acquire. But once we have it, it grows. It works for you. What you have becomes exponentially greater. It spins the world on its axis and is involved in almost every human interaction. Its presence or absence is keenly felt - we can tell the haves from the have-nots. In this, the rich truly get richer and the poor, poorer.

When you have this thing, people covet it. They want to steal it from you. They want you to be poor, just as they are. They hate to see you have it, but they can't stand it if you just give it away. What is it, this thing that people can generate, share, give, steal, covet and work to destroy?

Silver and Gold.

The Silver of Hope and the Gold of Faith.

Obvious, wasn't it.

Bit over done on my part, but true none the less. Sorry for all the saccharine "feel-goodness," but there it is.

I could always use a donation, if you've some to share. And unlike money, the more you give the more you find you have.

To paraphrase a line from Lost: You've been so busy running from things that you don't see what you're running toward. I know I've not gotten the quote exactly as presented on the show, but this is close enough. I won't bore you with details if you don't watch the show, but I have to wonder if Desmond would have done the things he did if he knew he would end up on the island. I guess the question answers itself, since he did pay attention to what he was going toward later in the show and made a very difficult (for him) choice.

The larger, unanswerable, question is how many of us would stop running if we knew what we were headed for? The future is unknowable, but not "unguessable." The trouble, as I see it today, is that there are so many independent and dependant variables that it is really difficult to know where the path will lead. Do we simply stop running? Does that imply loss of forward motion? I don't think it does (imply loss of forward motion). If we stop running and deal with our problems, perhaps we can make greater forward progress. Sometimes, of course, it is prudent to run from some problems, lest the lion devour us. I have to ask myself if I am running from something, and if so, what.

"How did we get it so wrong?"

This was one of the questions the preacher asked last Sunday, Palm Sunday. He was discussing what the people had thought would be and how different the reality of Christ actually was.

"He came to bring relationship."

Another main point of the sermon.

"...they were one week from the curtain in the Temple being torn."

These statements, when taken together, made me think. Yes, obviously, I was thinking about the sermon and about Palm Sunday, but also about life in general. There are many times in my life when I have had to ask how I had gotten it so wrong. My current relationship is one. How could I have been going on blindly and not see the truth? I think we see what we want to see; we see what we hope to see. It is painful to admit that sometimes the true plan of God is so much different than anything we see or hope for. We go about our lives not knowing that tremendous events may be taking place and the culmination of those events may happen quite soon. The people certainly did not expect the Temple curtain to be torn and God's sacrifice to be made in a weeks time. They wanted a conquering hero - or so I have been taught. Christ came, He was a conquering hero, but not in the way he was expected. I want and expect a certain outcome from God - what if what He has planned is so radically different from my earthly ideas? Will I be able to meet His expectations? Will I be able to survive the implementation of His plan? Will I have the faith to believe that whatever He has planned is in my best interest? Will I have to spiritual strength to live whatever amount of time I have left without knowing the plan? I mean, what if the plan only culminates at my death or in Heaven? What if there is not an earthly solution? Do I have the faith? I admit, many times I am afraid I do not. The answer lies in the second sentence. If I have a strong relationship with God, with Jesus, then the faith and strength will be there. And that should be my focus. Pray I can maintain my focus.

Even More Random Thoughts

Ever get a song, or even a fragment of a song stuck in your head? Of course you have, unless you live a music free life, which would be horrible. These are some lines of songs that have been floating around in my head lately. I don't remember song titles, but I will list the artist if I know it. "I hope she knows I have this memory" - Blue October. "When they come for me I'll be sittin' at my desk with a gun in my hand, wearin' a bullet proof vest, thinkin' my, my, my how the time does fly when you know your gonna die by the end of the night" - Streetlight Manifesto. "My words, they pour, like children to a playground, children to a playground" - Blue October. Yeah, I've been listening to a lot of Blue October. My favorite song, currently, is Breakfast After Ten. "Hang up the phone!"

Betrayal. It is all around us, inhabits us and is part of us. We betray, sometimes innocently and without purpose. Sometimes deliberately. Sometimes we betray by running away from something else and run headlong into betrayal. When it comes, it comes with force. It pounds and crushes our spirit. It is relentless in its pursuit of our destruction. I have betrayed, without wanting to, but I will not say that I was innocent. I betrayed out of fear and laziness. Someone dear to me gave me the opportunity to go beyond where I was, to take up a task for her that was overwhelming her and I agreed to do so. Ultimately, I lied; I did not go and she was crushed. And now I am being left. She has betrayed - she has in my estimation lied. I do not count her as innocent. The question is, did she mean it and how long will it continue. Probably for however long our dying relationship has to go. I am sick of swimming in the blackness of betrayal and I desperately want to come up for air.

I have always* said that life is not fair. Now I know that what I've been saying is true. I have been thinking of the basic unfairness of my life, and I feel petty doing so. I whine about things: "it's not fair that the woman who never wanted kids is going to take them away, at least part time, from the man for whom kids are his life"; "It's not fair that I have to go through this situation that I never wanted." The list could go on. And, yes I know it is not fair that a woman had to endure tremendous pressure feeling as if the man in her life wasn't there for her, etc.


So What?! People go through crap. Some people, I would venture most people, in this world go through much worse crap than I have to. I realize that thinking about the pain of others is cold comfort when you are hurting or feeling sorry for yourself, but in the bright light of the day I have to realize that while my pain is significant to me, it is nothing in the realm of possible pain. Yes, I have lost my wife. Yes, I am losing my home. Yes, I have lost my pride. Yes, I am losing some face time with my kids. No, these are not the worst pains in the world, only my world.

I have to reach up and move beyond my pain. I have to understand that pain is a part of life and stop railing against it; that I should better spend my time learning to adjust, accommodate, and grow despite and because of the pain. I will fall, and I will fail, the ache in my heart will continue, but as long as I inch forward I can be OK. Now, If only I could get my heart to see what my head sees...


* Obviously not always, but rather a long time. I guess it is just easier to say "always" instead of saying "for a really long, but unspecified length of time."

Dear JCMY

There is so much I would like to say, but haven't the ability to say to so that you will hear it. This is just one way, I suppose, of rationalizing why I haven't said these things to you all at once. I hope you understand.

I still remember the day I met you. I had asked your mom for an introduction the night we'd first met and it was shortly after that you and I met. As the days and weeks went by, you easily climbed into my heart. I knew I was in trouble when you first called me dad. I have been yours ever since. It doesn't matter one bit that you are not my biologic child, you are mine in so many more important ways. You, of all the boys, I chose. While I do not mean to diminish the love I hold for them, they did not offer the opportunity that you did - to chose to love someone, fully and wholly, without regret or condition. Perhaps this is silly distinction to you, but it is important to me. You were 18 months old when we met and I remember it like yesterday.

I freely admit that I made many mistakes with you. It is not an excuse, but I was a young and unprepared father. I guess just like every other father in the world. I remember trying to teach you things and to set boundaries. I want to ask you to forgive me for those mistakes. If I had it to do over again, I would have done some things differently. As I did them differently with your brothers. But I wish I hadn't made those mistakes. The memory of you crying, not understanding, still screams through my memory. I do not think I was cruel. I know I was loving and kind most of the time. I just wish I'd done some things differently. Truth be told, you probably have no idea what I am talking about. I ask for your forgiveness anyway.

I remember the joy you brought me as one of those young and unprepared fathers. I remember your sitter, who spoke only Spanish, passing on Spanish I could not understand. "bobpo's," and other words you knew and I did not. You were a beautiful child and it warms my heart to think back and remember those times. The baseball games, football games, rollerblade hockey, ice skating, world series games, everything. You opened whole worlds to me and I am thankful for that.

Enough memories, though, and on to the present. I wish you could see the ache in my heart. I wish you could see the desires I hold for you. I wish you could feel the hope I have for you. I wish you could understand the love I have for you. I wish you could see what I see.
In my heart and mind, you held so much promise. You athletic skill is great; I love that you can look at a football field and see it like a general sees a battlefield, and you adjust accordingly. You are intelligent. Maybe not in the tradition, straight A sense, but you are smart. You could argue a starving man out of his last piece of bread. You have the ability to listen to an argument and turn it around on you opponent. You are social and can easily fit yourself into many different situations and different strata of society. You are a hard worker and do an excellent job.

It saddens me that you are not living up to you abilities. I know, none of us can always live up to our potential and abilities. But at least we make a run at it. where as I think you run from it. I believe that it is never too late, and that you can do so much with what God has given you. I am not sure why you run from your potential, but I have some ideas. As always, feel free to correct me if necessary.

First, I think the death of your grandfather was devastating to you. I know you two were very close and his untimely passing , I believe, set in motion things you can barely describe, let alone manage. I think it made you teen years that much more difficult and unsteady. I think, by the way, that his death had a devastating effect on our family as a whole, but that is another topic. I think you still grieve, and to some extent do not know how to handle the pain and emotion, so you run from it. By running from it, you run from yourself, your responsibilities and your potential. You do things, you know what I am talking about, that help you to forget; or at least to push the pain and emotion to the side, so that it doesn't have to be dealt with.

Second, I think you are afraid to fail. This is a common enough emotion, but for some reason, it is magnified in you. Perhaps it is that you have succeeded so well in the physical challenges of your life - sports, physical tasks - that the prospect of failure is too much to consider. I don't think you realize that we push forward as much through our failures as our successes. I have failed miserably on any number of occasions. It helped make me who I am. What is important is not getting knocked off the horse, but how we get back on the horse - and keep getting on the horse until we succeed.

Third, I think you have given up on yourself. I think that you think no one believes in you, so why should you bother. I will take some blame. I have fallen into the pit of always hammering the bad that you do and not reminding you often enough of your potential. I am sorry. I think you think that you are not loved - more so after your grandfather died. But you are loved, and very much.

Lastly, I think you have given up on hope, at least to a certain extent. I know you have made statements that you no longer believe in God, Heaven of Hell. I think this is a reflection of two things. I think it is a side effect of a loss of hope, perhaps brought on by disappointment that God did not let Poppop live longer. I also think that, like many of us, when we are doing things we know to be wrong, we reject the final authority of right and wrong.

In summary, JCMY, I want you to know that I love you. I want you too see the young man I see - the young man buried beneath the exterior that you portray. I want you to see that you are handsome, intelligent, and blessed with numerous skills. I want you to see that you can and do bring so much joy to those around you. I also want you to stop running, to mature and to stop destroying yourself. I want you to stop doing those things that bring harm to you, discord to yourself and your family and limit your potential. I want you to do what you yourself stated a need to do: "...Wake the F*** UP!" I want you to get right with God. Make peace with Him and forgive Him. I want you to make peace with the death of your grandfather. I want you to make peace with what you call your demons, those demons that hold you back from being the person that you were meant to be. Mostly, I want you to succeed in your life, and by succeed, I mean to live a happy productive life, full of happiness and challenge.

I am here for you and will not go away. I will not always give you what you want, but the things that I do, I do out of Love for you and a desire to see the best in your life. Sure, I fail in my goals, but I will keep trying. I will try to be the best dad I can be, no matter what happens in this life. We will argue and fuss, we will disagree with actions you take and actions I take. We will yell at times. We will be at odds with one another, but all that is what life brings. Through it all, I love you and want you to succeed in your life. I will not tell you what dreams to pursue, or how to pursue them, except when I see the dream as self destructive and the way deadly. Otherwise, go after your dreams and be the man I know you can be.

Love,
Dad

Dreams

Are they curses?

I have dreamt of you twice, that I can recall. They have both bothered me, both in the usual ways, and ways I did not expect.

I am sitting in a chair, at home. You come in and kiss me. I don't know why, but you behaved as if it was the most natural thing in the world. I started to cry and remember thinking "is it really over?" "Are we getting back together?" As I started to cry, tears of pure joy from your kiss, I awoke...

And cried bitterly. I realized upon waking that it was just a dream. The pain was intense and the loneliness crushing.

I am laying in bed, in my usual sleep position. I notice you climbing in bed next to me and you cuddle up to me. I feel the softness of you on my back. I am happy. I missed you and it feels good to have you lay with me. It was a tender moment.

That morning I awoke, again feeling lonely and empty. I miss you dearly. I did not cry this time, because I know we are over. The brief spike in hope that the dream produced has bothered me, but I have had to let it go. I miss being touched, "spooning," and being tender. What amazed me about this dream? It had no sexual content or context. It was the simplest of joys - laying close and comfortable with another human, one you love.




Perhaps next time I can dream of my future and not my past. Maybe I can dream about what happiness my await me as I move forward and stop pining for a past I cannot regain.


When?
When will I stop loving you...

What a price I paid for peace, at least in my own accounting. I sit here, feeling like an abject failure and it is my fault. I surrendered, I gave in, I laid down and willingly died...for what I thought you wanted. And you left.

When we met I was self confident. I knew myself, I made my own way. Sure, I had been hurt by a recent break-up, but I was still confident. I actually liked my self. I don't know when it happened, but I slowly gave up. I don't know if it was your constant insistence that you dad should be consulted about everything; I don't know if it was your growing insistence that YOU were always right; I don't know if it way your constant knit-picking and informing me that there was a better way than mine. But give up I did, and here is the result.

I question everything I think; I automatically defer to you as being more correct. I doubt myself, I hate myself, and I am unable to accept that it should be different.

I can't be mad at you. (Even now I defend you when some would say I should be angry.) I am the one who gave in and gave up. I allowed the change. I.

How will I find the strength to regain what I lost. No, not lost, gave away willingly. How can I go back to who I was without going backwards? How can I move forward through my self imposed/home-grown quicksand of doubt? How..?





Perhaps you are right to leave. Perhaps you are right to find what you would consider a "real man." Perhaps...

This past weekend was my anniversary weekend and I have been hesitant to write about it. It is strange that all this chaos has been going on for over 2 years, but this year it really bothers me. 3/7 was the anniversary of our meeting - 18 years ago. Hard to imagine, but this woman has spent approximately half of her life with me.

We met about three months before her 19th birthday. I and a friend had just come back from St. Louis where we'd seen REM in concert. It was a snowy weekend in Tulsa and most things were closed. We wanted to rent a video, so we went out to the video store. Not our regular one, no, one we hardly ever went to. J was working that night - called in from another store. She offered us some free videos if we helped straighten them, it was late, we were taking forever, and they wanted to leave. We took her up on the offer. We all then went to Denney's for a late night meal. This last part we rarely tell, because it makes us look bad - she came back to my apartment and the three of us watched movies until dawn. Whether you believe it or not, nothing inappropriate happened. I then stood out in the freezing cold and asked if I could see her again. We were married 1yr and 2days later on 3/9. Short courtship and engagement, but it seemed to do well - until now.

I look back on that time with such fondness. Our meeting. My proposal in the city Rose Gardens. The first time I told her I loved her. Night walks in downtown Tulsa. Planning the wedding. Financing the wedding with a JCPenney credit card and a little cash. Her dad married us. I very much loved her dad and miss him. He was hilarious at the wedding and at the rehearsals. All this makes this weekend special and Hell at the same time.

She left this weekend. Said on Wednesday that she had the opportunity to take a long weekend. Left Wednesday and returned Sunday night. Never told me where she went or with whom. She told the youngest she'd gone to ATL and I guess she figured he'd tell me. I am suspicious, but cannot dwell on it, it hurts too much to think what most people would be thinking.

The weekend is over and she is home now. Somehow, I feel worse. Odd, but I feel much more relaxed when she is gone. Maybe not so odd, given the circumstances. I want her home, but it stresses me. I guess it is that distance between what I want and reality and when she came home that reality became very apparent again.

Hope folds in on itself...
Like a cheap umbrella in a violent storm, the hope and happiness protecting me from the torrent of misery fold in and collapse. I am soaked by the reality and battered by its intensity. I keep trying new umbrellas, but they each fail in their time - some last longer than others, some not at all. I am left without protection and forced to stand in the downpour, the very picture of abject misery and neglect. I wonder if the rain will ever stop, realizing that it won't. I also wonder when the rain will have come down long enough to form a puddle, then a pool, and eventually a flood; a flood to wipe clean everything in its path and drown those unfit to survive. I believe I am one of those and am just waiting my turn.

I can understand...
I was thinking about death. I can understand why people would want to end their lives. I can see and feel the allure of the peace of death. I can appreciate the absolute freedom gained from knowing you are going to die - and soon. Paradoxically, it makes you invulnerable. Nothing can touch you - not stress, bills, IRS, failed relationships, work, regrets, failures in general, nothing. I can touch that freedom in my imagination, and that is where it will stay. I also happen to believe that death would soon become unpeaceful and would last forever. Whatever pain is felt now, here, in this temporal existence, is nothing compared to Hell. I know that the pain here is susceptible to influence as well. The smile of a child can dispel the demons of the IRS, at least for a time. The cry of a child's skinned knee can become of paramount importance, minimizing all other concerns, at least for a time.



Hope, happiness, death and being morose. They all surround me. The first two seem so fleeting, the next, unimaginable and the last an almost constant state. Why the flip? Why the change, when I'd been doing well? Despair, I think. It seems that no matter how hard I work, the further behind I get. I know it is a cliche, but it is painfully true. I cannot seem to escape the vicious cycles of my life. The one option that haunts me is not really an option, and I certainly won't be pursuing it. In fits of absurdity, I have a fantasy of losing everything material I have in some storm or such. What a pathetic fantasy and how much of a coward must I be to think like this.

I understand why she left me. She wanted to be free. She never wanted kids. She was tired of the responsibility of marriage, of my life (but remained committed to her kids). I too long for that freedom, I just don't know how to obtain it without betraying everything and everyone. I have fantasies of disappearing and starting over. Of going completely on a cash economy. I have even thought of trying to buy a new identity. All this is completely unworkable for someone like me. I have no marketable skills - those skills I do have require extensive background checking and licensing. I don't think I would survive. If I ever do disappear, look for foul play, as I am too much of a lazy bastard to do that type of thing. Besides, I would never voluntarily leave my kids and never have contact with them again - I couldn't stomach that much heartache and pain.

Why am I writing this? To exorcise the morose feelings that I have succumbed to in the last 18 hours. It helps to write it out and view how really silly your thinking can become when it is dragged down into a pit of self pity and despair. So I cast away these feelings and thoughts and look toward a brighter tomorrow - even if I cannot see it yet, it will come. Dawn always comes.

PS I can be so very histrionic when I write. Melodramatic. In all honesty, I think I am a melodramatic sort at times, even maudlin. I am hoping to lessen those times, but will my attempts at writing reflect that change? Only time will tell, like so many other things.

What can be found at the center of my heart?

Shadow with her youngest "kitten."

Good-bye Shadow Cat

Tonight the weather mimics my mood. It is windy, raining, with a chance of tornado. I feel uneasy. Not about the weather, but about tomorrow. Tomorrow I have to, with much regret/sorrow/dread take my cat of 21 years to the vet to be put to sleep. She has stopped eating and does not seem to be able to hold anything down. She appears in pain when walking, and her behavior has changed. She loses us and seems lost. She has stopped using the litter box and this creates a number of problems. After long discussions, with and without the kids, we reached the decision that it would be best for her to be put to sleep. It was hard watching my youngest say good-bye tonight. He has known her his whole life. I do not look forward to the task and approach it with conflicted thought and emotion. I miss her already, but I don't like to see her suffer.

I don't care if I am anthropomorphizing, I love this cat. Save for my mom and sisters, I have know and maintained a relationship with this cat longer than with any other creature. She has provided comfort, has listened and has not criticized. She has shared her home with me and put up with the dogs in my life.

Funny, I didn't start out as a cat person. I called her cat-dog (long before the cartoon) and joked that I had raised her as a dog. She would "bark" out the window at birds. She was given to me after being found blind on the roadside - a newborn kitten. Her finder nurtured her until she was a few weeks old and asked if I would accept her. She has moved with me from Oklahoma to Minnesota and down to Georgia. She has "trained" at least 3 dogs and never took any grief from them. They knew she had pet seniority and seemed to understand the need to back off with just a glance from her. I believe we have given her a good home and a happy life and her presence here will be felt and missed.

The H-List

Breakfast foods
Legos
Autumn and cool breezes
The beach when it is mostly empty, no matter the time of day or night
The mountains
The way ice looks covering everything after an ice storm, though I don't like the damage it causes

Rocking chairs
Rocking on the porch
Country roads and forests
Big cities - my favorites being Chicago and New York in no particular order. I also like St Louis, Atlanta and Boston. Dallas has its pluses

Tulsa and with it the Greek Festival, Mayfest, Octoberfest, Movies at the Williams Center (if they still show them), the Louisiane Restaurant (if it still exists), Goldies burgers, Peppers Restaurant, The Metro Diner, Peanut Butter Pie at Impressions, The rose gardens.

Being Underwater (SCUBA, not some random head-dunk)
The ocean
Boat rides to and from a dive
Swimming with Dolphins in Bonaire
Architecture, though I know nothing about it.
My kids eyes
Baby smiles
Pizza (Uno's!)


.....To be continued

A Take on Loss

I may be biased. Some would say that I have a skewed view of things. This may be true, but it doesn't change my opinion. In my opinion, Dementia and Schizophrenia are two of the worst diseases imaginable. Don't get me wrong; cancer, heart disease, chronic pain, etc are all terrible illnesses and I would wish them on no one. These more "physical" illnesses cause loss and heartache; they destroy the body. Dementia and Schizophrenia also cause loss, I am talking of the loss of the person hood. They steal a person, leaving someone you don't know to remind you of what was lost.

I have seen tears flow and tremendous grief from families and victims of the more "physical" illnesses. I have seen suffering and courage. I have seen people overcome and persevere through adversity. They are brave souls with determined minds. But for the most part they haven't lost control of their minds; their souls are not left wandering.

The loss of the essence of a person, to me, makes Schizophrenia and Dementia all the more wrenching. In dementia the mind fades, rapidly or slowly, and as it does so the body fails. The person we knew fades. Often, the worst parts of their pre-morbid or pre-illness personality emerge. They lose track of who we are and why we are there to care for them. They are frightened, not knowing why they are here, where their spouse has gone, who took their belongings. They want to go home, and yet they may be at the home they've lived in for years.

In schizophrenia, the change may be rapid with a loss of pre-morbid functioning. A once promising youth may be unable to hold a job. Relationships are lost amidst a cacophony of auditory or visual inputs that are the product of their own minds. Fear runs rampant as paranoia descends. I cannot image the horror of being insulted, being told that all you do is wrong, that you are going to be killed, that people are after you - constantly. If you have trouble concentrating in a noisy room, imagine that you carry that noisy room with you wherever you go. The meds help - may provide relief and improve the ability to function better in society, but are not perfect and carry risk.

That is why I believe the way I do. The loss of a person.

*I call some of these illnesses "physical" as we tend to think of mental and some brain illness as NOT having a physical component. Dementia tends to be thought of more and more as being physical by the general public as our understanding increases. I believe that schizophrenia is every bit as physical. This was my admittedly poor way of differentiating between the sets of problems I was talking about. I realize that I probably have contributed to further misunderstanding, but for now I do the best I can do with limited writing skills.

The list that (I hope) never ends

A man of my profession should know about happiness. I try to reach it daily, or at least I try to encourage others to do so. I have been asked repeatedly, "what is happiness?" I usually have some glib answer that may or not be relevant to whatever they are going through. But, what is happiness and what is it to be happy? Will I know it in the distance; will I know it if it slaps the fool out of me? I decided to write a list of things that make me happy, or at least I associate them with a sense of contentment - which may be 'happy,' I think. I hope I will remember to update or add to this list as time goes by. Some of these things are dopey, some idiotic, some cliche, but all are personal. I am not asking for any one's approval for my lists, except my own. I want this to be a reminder.

My kids, the way they smile, their laughter, the smell of their hair, their smart-ass comments, their quick wit, their observations on life, their similarities, their differences, their stupid jokes, their prescient jokes. JCMY's sports brain, his obvious and not so obvious intelligence, how he can be so caring, how he can so challenge me ( after I get over the initial anger, of course). SCY's smarts, his shyness, his love of books and sports, how he is so like me and yet so different. JCY's wit, the fact that he is across between his brothers and yet so unique, his humor.

Movies of all sorts, like science fiction, subtitled foreign, stupid monster movies, MST3K. Audrey Hepburn. Waterworld, GWTW. British TV shows like Monty Python and Red Dwarf. Music with my current favorites being: Blue October, Thousand Foot Krutch, Skillet, Mustard Plug, Streetlight Manifesto, Less Than Jake, TobyMac, Relient K, SuperChick, Alanis Morisette, Rush, Talking Heads, Yes. Many more...

Church when I don't feel inadequate there, my old Pastor - Sean, when I feel close to God.

Reading, reading, reading. From historical fiction (Dante Club was excellent) to Superstring Theory, to The Hollow Chocolate Bunnies of the Apocalypse, to the Ringworld series, to hard Science Fiction, to fantasy, to current politics, to religion.

Dark Chocolate

............to be continued (hopefully)

The heart ignores what the mind knows and mind denies what the heart proclaims to be true. And the soul is pissed at the sibling rivalry. How to quiet a mind disturbed by an unwanted reality? How to give peace to a heart broken? How to grow the spirit when the mind and heart are sulking, each separate from the other?

I don't know how to answer these questions, though I face them daily - in myself and others I see. I feel, many times, impotent in my abilities to give comfort when needed and advice when asked - even if the supplicant is me.

He broke my heart tonight. My littlest boy - not so little at twelve - came out crying from his room. The cat was breathing funny and he was worried. He has known this cat his whole life - the cat has raised him. She goes to bed with the 2 youngest kids every night and stays with them until they are asleep. The youngest is so good with the cat and the dog - he obviously cares deeply for the animals in our home. It hurts me that the aged cat's breathing would pain him. She is old, 20 plus years, and has gotten quite thin. He doesn't want to see her suffer and doesn't want her to be put to sleep or die. It is good to see our kids grow and to face new challenges; but incredibly hard to see them work through this situation. I have done my best to comfort him and remind him of the joy he has brought to her life and he seems satisfied for now.

Another paradox of life. My heart is broken by his pain and filled with love for him at the same time. Pain and swelling joy of love all brought about by child's heart pouring out. Amazing.

Apparently I have some time on my hands today. People are not showing up for their appointments. I wonder if it has something to do with the beautiful day we are having. Here in Albany, GA is is a bright and clear 77F. Patients (clients if you prefer) have been commenting on the nice spring like weather today. A relief from the cloudy blahs of the last few days.

Here I am, doing what everyone does when they have nothing to say - talking about the weather. Quite imaginative. I have been reading Steve Berry's The Third Secret and so far enjoy the mystery. It has gotten me thinking about a number of subjects - church and travel being two of them. My grandmother was Catholic, as have any number of my friends from days gone by. Although I am more properly a Protestant, I have a fondness for the Catholic Church. I personally dislike the sectarian divides within the Christian Church, but I don't want to open that can o' worms. I am not theologically or intellectually strong enough to fight a fight that has been going on for hundreds of years. Anyway, it makes me wonder about my own faith and when I will wander back to the church and actually participate in what I believe.

Travel. I love to travel, but have limited myself for many reason - some quite illogical like a touch of social phobia. The book mentions Romania, Bosnia, Italy, etc. I would love to visit these places, despite my having, perhaps, a romanticized picture of these places in my head. I have seen pictures and they are beautiful. I would like to visit the Carpathians before I die, not sure why, but would like to none the less. Also Ireland. A bit of a jump there but loose associations are my friend. Maybe I can start making some of these ideas come true in the next few years...

From Yahoo 360 2/22/7

It has been over a week now and I can perhaps sit back and reflect on Valentine's Day. I did not want to participate. Given that the Love of my life told me she didn't love me any more some 2 plus years ago, it was no wonder. Why THIS Valentine's though? Perhaps I am more acutely feeling the loss. i would like to believe that I have comes to terms with a least a portion of the loss. Perhaps it is the divorce papers I have been trying to ignore. We still live in the same house, still take equal parts in the kids, still share everything but our bed and our hearts. A strange and some would say idiotic position, but it is one that has slowly evolved. Kinda like the duck billed platypus of relationships. So I did the thing I think I am good at, I ignored V Day. So did she, and I was glad.
In the midst of my sadness, I happened upon a blog on 360. Honestly I saw it a couple of weeks ago and enjoyed the observations of the author. Plus the author's name was to me cool - her first is a variation of my middle and her last is similar to my middle child's name. Kind of weird, but that is the way the world seems to work. Anyway, her writings on V day lifted my spirit and I thank her for that. The blog is 365 Frames of Freedom and usually has some interesting poetry and music. I almost feel as if I am intruding by reading, but that is what blogs are for, right? Maybe happy days are/will be coming again....?

From my Yahoo 360 site 2/9/7

I almost said Bipolar. And I would have been wrong. Yes, my moods do go back and forth, giving the impression of a swing. But it is not Bipolar. The constant struggle of the light and dark sides of myself to gain supremacy seems more apt. The yin and yang of it, I suppose. One day, dark side ascendant, I am all gloom and doom. I am a hopeless nobody consumed with my own self pity and regret for everything I have done. I profess a loss of faith and trust in myself, my God, and my world. Struggling back is the positive. That I am a decent human, flawed but not ruined. I have accomplishment, I have faith and hope is there at all times. Taken separately, they seem Bipolar. But the whole is more the truth - both sides juxtaposed upon my every moment, struggling to be heard.
Or... I spend way too much time navel gazing and should just get on with the business of living and not struggle with that which I cannot control. With each tragedy, I suppose, comes treasure. I just have a hard time realizing what the treasure is at any given moment. Perhaps if I would look up from my navel, I would see the treasures around me. In my kids, in my friends, in my God, and in my self.

...Randomnonsense II

I cannot help it. I am frustrated by my constant staring down at he bottom half of life. And yet, I struggle to be happy. I am frustrated by the Limbo of a life that I have and I rail against my ability to change it. I know I can change things, quite dramatically, but I lack the courage. I could leave, sign the papers and go about my life. Too scared. I do not want to leave the kids behind, and I use that as an excuse to continue living as I am living. I feel quite guilty thinking it would be easiest to leave everything behind, but I cannot do without my kids. They are my only life.

Strange how things grow cold. I was thinking about what I would change if I could go back 10 years. Fruitless. I wonder how things will be in 10 years. Equally fruitless. I think I think too much and I let that drag me down. Maybe I was thoughtless and that is why I am here. I dunno anymore.

Confidence is a two edged sword and I do not know how to wield it. I frequently cut myself and my friends.

I want to love and be loved. Why can't I wait. Am I that desperate and needy? Or am I simply starving after over 2 years of doing without?

I miss physical contact. Me. The guy that doesn't like to hug and likes to maintain a good social distance to people. Am I just whining about what I cannot have, or am I thirsty from almost 2 years without?

I whine a lot and it is draining. I feel like JD on the latest episode of Scrubs.

I feel about 17 years younger than I am.

I want to date, but not really. I think it is symptom or a result of living the way I do and wanting more. Someone wise reminded me to finish one relationship before starting another. Don't want to rush and perhaps further my dependency needs.

I have a lot to offer, very little of it is in cold hard cash. I make a decent salary, but send all of it away to various institutions (read bills) and student loans - yes, student loans. I may die before my student loans do.

I should listen to my own advise.

365 Frames of Freedom is a fun blog to read. She usually has some music I've never heard of. Makes me feel insular and acultural. Oh well. The blog, by the way is on Yahoo 360

Upon entering the Twilight Zone, I think I would marry Jennifer Aniston. Not just because of her looks - Angelina Jolie is good looking, better according to some, and I would not want to have a relationship with her - but because she seems honestly nice. I hope reality is close to my perception. I remember seeing and reading about Chevy Chase. While he is very funny, it is diminished by what I perceive as him having a jerk of a personality. I hope in this case reality is far from what I have perceived.

I enjoy Blue October. The lyrics speak to me (how cliche) and the main singer and lyricist seems to have overcome a lot of adversity.

I have very fond memories of my first girlfriend. I find that I wish her the best of everything. I want her marriage to remain strong and her kids to achieve wildly. I hope that this type of mature, non-romantic love can someday fill my heart for my soon to be X. Right now I suffer through the loss of the romantic kinda love and it hurts like hell. I don't want hatred or anger or resentment to grow in its place; I want to mature love to grow. I hope I am man enough to nurture that love. I feel that I was not man enough to nurture the other and thus the marriage failed, but maybe this is only a partial truth and I should just get over it now.

Acouple-a Years Ago...

I was thinking about what I would like my obituary or tombstone to say. Or maybe just what I would be remembered for, if remembered at all. I know, but I am a morbid person at times. Anyway, I came down to three things that I wanted people to think of me and I thought it would be just the height of hilarity to see if I am currently meeting those thoughts or goals.

He was a man of God
Failing. No question. Failing. I no longer go to church. I no longer read the Bible as I should - or at all. I no longer pray as I should - mostly not at all. I have been mad at God, angry for my life and the way it is turning out. I no longer feel the Holy Spirit moving in me. I feel a hunger I suppose, but do nothing about it. My most recent prayers I did ask for God to help me to forgive and move on - to forgive me for my own "acting out." All in all, I am failing, but I do not want to anymore. So what will I do about it?

He was a good Husband
I am unsure what grade I would give myself. I feel that I have certainly made huge mistakes, but I have worked very hard to correct these mistakes. If my impending divorce is any measure, I am a miserable failure and very much feel the part. I have, however, come to some peace in the last couple of years in that regard. I feel that I have been a good husband and did my best most of the time. I am loving, compassionate, giving, etc. Have I been perfect - no one has. Have I been great, no. I am fully aware of my shortcomings and ironically it is that awareness that actually drives me to greater shortcomings. I give myself a comfortable B, if not a low A. This of course is an average, for I have had plenty of C's and F's along the way.

He was a good Father
Here, I think I pass with flying colors. I do not think I am the best there ever was, but I am certainly a very good Father and Dad to my kids. I have tried to do the right things and I have failed at them. My positives, though, far outweigh the negatives. The oldest son may disagree - but I think as he matures beyond who he is now and deals with his personal 'demons' he will appreciate that I was and am a good Dad. I have made a concerted effort to correct my mistakes along the way, and to always be there for them. I have been harsh and a disciplinarian. I have also been accused of being too easy at times. Overall, a high A is the grade I would give myself.

So. An F, a B and an A. Am I passing? No, I don't think so, but I am improving. A few months back (6-12) I would have said F, F, A. I know the further changes I have to make, but it is always the implementation of those ideas and goals that are the hardest. Wish me luck as I try to improve my Tombstone GPA.

Spring Flowers...?

I was just sitting and talking and someone said something that struck me. They paraphrased "everything in its season." What season is this then? I feel stuck in a particularly cold and dark winter. One in which I am starved, shivering and on the brink of losing several appendages due to frost bite. Where am I? Am I in the Arctic Circle - the forever winter? Will the Spring ever come with its promise of renewal and love? I am afraid I do not know the answer to these questions as I am stuck, snow blind in a blizzard in the dead of winter...

We talked, I wept

Just a short note to say we talked today and I am feeling morose. She believes it would be best if we "made it legal" and signed divorce papers. For may part, I made it clear that this is something I do not want. I told her I love her as much now as when we were married. I told her that despite what she thought, I too have done my best at loving her unconditionally. I have asked for nothing from her and expected the same. I asked that we go to counseling and make one last ditch effort. I told her I thought she was making a mistake for her, me and the kids. I love her - I do not want a divorce. We are often times forced to do and be what we do not want to do or be. I do not want to date or enter that world again, but it appears I will have no choice. I will survive, however hollow I will feel. Like the air sucked from my lungs by a sudden vacuum, I have felt panic and death and dread. I had gotten used to breathing the very thin air - how will I do without? However it happens, I will just have to...

Life sucks, I am lonely, I am scared and I am depressed.
I think whoever said that it was better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all was full of shit...