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.