Whereabouts (Recycled)

I saw the place where he was crucified.

Then where he was laid in the tomb.

Where another died on his knees in the morning.

Then the Jungle Room where he hid from his truth.

I walked to the Fortress of Solitude.

Snow coated ice marked where it was.

Circled the cube right in old Mecca town.

Stood exactly where millions had come.

Kissed the wall and joined in the Wailing.

Felt the ovens where tears were fed fuel.

Heard the music inside Magic Kingdoms.

Ground my teeth where twin Towers fell.

Where was I and where am I going?

Where were you and where will you be?

Where are we and where are we going?

Where now honors all that we did.

Mabon 3

Mabon is a time of artistry. Dashes of colors as parts of nature go to rest, soon to be tucked in a blanket of white. Smells of fruits and fires carried on crisp winds that nip the noses that drink in the aroma. Reflections of times ago as cycles circle again and prepare for the long journey to the next time of balance.

Mabon 2

Love is to value and protect. Look to Gaia and understand the love and what happens when love is not there. Look to each other in love for the truest definition offers the broadest rays of hope. Hope that loves becomes more than hearts and flowers. Hope that love transcends selfishness and greed. Hope that love is not just taken but given in return.

Mabon offers that hope for the time of balance is here. Day and Night are equal. The Sun God goes to rest. This is the time of Thanksgiving for all that Gaia gives and all that Gaia is. Love each other. Value and protect each other. See the life that is the very ground you walk upon and then look forth into the heavens and see the life that is there as well. Linked as sure as limbs to torso.

Mabon is the time of balance. Seeking it. Living it. Giving it. Keeping it. Not an act. Balance as a way of life. Take what you need. Give what you can. See the linkage that makes us as one.

Big Brother (For my grandnephew--Sean Agar--Happy Birthday)

He remembered the day it first dawned on his that he was a big brother. A real, honest to goodness, big brother. It was his twelfth birthday. Technically, he had been a big brother for almost six years thanks to Matthew. Matthew was his kid brother. His kid brother was almost six already. The little squirt wasn’t so little anymore. He started school, had friends of his own, and like things that were all his. Had he already been around for six years?

He was alright for a kid six years younger. They played together and got along pretty good for brothers. Sure, the kid brother was a pain in the butt at times but they laughed a lot at the same things. Usually Mom and Dad. Dad tried to be all strict and stuff but the boys both knew he just wanted the best for them. Mom was so busy doing everything and going everywhere the boys knew they could pretty much have as much fun as they want as long as they went where she wanted without much trouble. All in all, their parents were pretty predicable…as long as they kept their rooms relatively clean, didn’t scream too much, and play inside the lines, rule wise. Having the same parents was like having the same wardens at times and prisoners had to stick together. The boys were close because they had the same parents.

Still, six years difference in age is a big thing when you are twelve. So the boy knew his brother but also knew his brother was much younger. They had different friends, different interests, and different lives. They got along pretty dang well when you factored in all their differences.

Then it occurred to him. On his twelfth birthday. He was a big brother. He saw his little brother and knew he would protect him. He realized his little brother looked up to him. Heck, the kid liked to just be around him. Some of the thing his kid brother did were the things he liked to do. It was like he was trying to copy him…or even be him. Like kids do when they have big brothers. The boy realized he needed to set an example for the kid. He was really a big brother.

He’d been a son, a grandson, a cousin, a nephew, a friend, a student, a student, and a lot more. All of a sudden, he became a big brother. The day he turned twelve. That was pretty cool when it came right down to it. He had a kid brother that was only a pain in butt sometimes. Most of the time we was a good kid. Must be because the kid had such a good big brother. How cool was that?

Happy Birthday, Sean

Love, Uncle Gil

Who Cares? (For my grandnephew--Connor Sheehan--Happy Birthday)

He was fifteen and didn’t really care if his uncle wrote one of his so-called famous stories about him. It wasn’t even his Uncle for crying out loud. It was his Mom’s uncle. An uncle once removed or whatever the heck that made him. The guy hadn’t been around but for a few days every year or so. He didn’t even know him. Who cared if some stranger wrote you a story? No way the guy knew enough about him and his life to write anything. Who cared?

Fifteen is a big deal. A really big deal. Football. Touchdowns. Girls. High School. Soon to be driving. Girls. The guys from the team. Coaches. Girls. Teachers. Girls. Weekends. Homecoming dances. Girls. Life was awesome.

He was good in classes. Had to study a bit but most of it came natural. Had to work at football in practice and stuff but most of that came natural too. He was fifteen and in the zone. Comfortable with who he was, what he did, and how he looked. He smiled at the guy in the mirror cause the guy in the mirror had it going on.

Who cared about a birthday story from some old guy? Old people think they know stuff. What did they really know about what it was like to be fifteen anyway? Yeah, he got it. Mom-mom’s brother. Air Force guy. Writer. Mom loved her Uncle. His uncle and his Aunt loved the guy, too. Yeah, he got that. But he didn’t really care if there was a birthday story on his special day. It would still be special. It would rock. All would be right with the world.

The day came and he was kinda surprised that crazy Uncle guy did write a story for him. A story about him. A story others could see and that would make them think about him on his birthday. He hadn’t seen this Uncle guy in a long time. He hadn’t really missed him. When you are fifteen, you are busy noticing all that is around you rather than anything that isn’t. Still, the story was there so he read it. He had one question come to mind. “How’d he know that?” Then he realized he did care….even though he hadn’t known it.

Happy 15^th Birthday, Connor

Yes, I do care

Love, Uncle Gil

What Would Jesus do? (Recycled....again)

Strong about being weak. Bold choices to stay the same. The backbone rises to defend the status quo. Pinning aches and pains to anything except the truth. The world is all around me and I learn much, hope more, and believe in responsibility. I pray and trust and do. I question.

Jesus died for who’s sins? His father’s? Our fathers’? Everyone’s fathers? What about unmarried couples before he was born? Did he die for them, too? Did he die for the gays and lesbians of Babylon, Mesopotamia, Greece, and China? Did he die for the Aztecs, Mayans, and Anasazi? Did he die for the barbarians, Mongols, Vikings, and Druids? Did he die for Joseph even though Joseph was a step-father? Did he die for his mother even though she had a child out of wedlock? What about the inn-keeper who refused him his first room? What about those that denied him, mocked him, and killed him? What about all those that came after him? What about us? Did he die for the whites even though he was likely olive skinned? Did he die for non-Jews even though he was Jewish? Did he die for women even though we are told he did not choose any for apostles? Did he die for every single living thing regardless of what they were and what they did? Did he come to save everyone before he lived, just those after he lived, or all that ever were and ever will be?

Perhaps he was the wake-up call. If so, we need a louder alarm. What changed since mankind killed him? Perhaps the sin was the price he paid to try and get our attention. Perhaps the sin of mankind was that we killed him. His followers celebrate that he came for us and died for us and shines the way to salvation for all of us. Jesus cleaned the slate for us. What have we done since? What are we doing now?

We sing praises of him. We celebrate what he is. We mark his birthday, his death, and his resurrection. We pray to him to save us. We look to him and ask ourselves how we can be like him. We ask ourselves “What would Jesus do?”

What would Jesus do? He would live his truth, be responsible for himself, and do what he could to save the world. He would not give up…despite all the evidence to the contrary. He would wait and hope…then celebrate those that get it. He would be as he was…inclusive and loving and patient and so much more. Just like his Mother. He would be at the head of the picket lines and in the darkest alleys. He would touch and heal and sleep and snore and then touch and heal some more. He would open the doors and say come on in. He would go into the desert or up on the mountain and cry and ache sometimes. He would laugh and dance and celebrate whenever he could. He would hold his brothers and sisters when they cried. He would cry in their arms when it was his turn to cry. He would own all his faults and ignore all ours. He would know his kingdom was inside of himself all along and that he would be back where he came from after he did his best here. He would ache for those that blamed him for what they did and love them all the more in their cluelessness. He would want to quit at times but then continue. He would ask himself, “Why me?”, answer himself with “because”, take a deep breath, and live a lot of Mondays. He would be lonely at times and question.

Jesus would question. That I know without question. Jesus would trust. Blindly. That I see more and more. Jesus would love. I love that. Christ knows, we need a lot of love to forgive our screw ups and make things right. What would Jesus do? He would do what is right and that’s enough.

Mabon 1

Harvest comes in many forms. Seeds planted long ago sprout in seemingly random places and ways. Little blossoms of abundance surface for that is the way of Mabon. See the flow of the harvest and connect back to the time the seeds were sown for the sowing will be necessary again when harvest is stored and shared.

Mabon is more than just harvest just as harvest is more that just harvest. Mabon is reward for work done long ago. Some seeds harvested exactly as expected in the places expected. Others harvested after thought thrown to the winds in waste. Any seeds given to any with good intent will harvest. From other directions perhaps but the harvest comes for the seed was sown well and freely. See the trickle now. Prepare for three fold and three fold that. Mabon Magick. Earned not just given.

Quiet (For my granddaughter Annie--Happy Birthday)

Once upon a time, there was a little girl born with a very special gift. She was born with the gift of quiet. Not the “thank goodness those kids finally shut up” kinda quiet some people mistake for a blessing. This little girl’s gift of quiet let her feel and share things from a place of calm and beauty.

Now, she was still a lot like other children her age. She ran and played. When she visited her Pop-Pop’s house, she loved to jump from the kitchen onto the porch like a superhero arriving just in the nick of time. In dance and tumbling class, she, of course, danced and tumbled with the best of them. She was a kid just like a kid should be in those ways.

It is the other ways that quiet made her more herself somehow. She read. A lot. Just like her mother did when she was that age. That was one of her favorite quiet times. A time when she took in other worlds and adventures that rode the expansion of imagination. She was quiet here because she was there. Inside the stories. She disappeared for a while and returned all the better.

She disappeared into movies and television shows as well. A magical suspension of belief that made the impossible possible. In moments like that, she was very far away. Part of her gift. Yet she was able to return to the now quickly. Provided of course there was something here to catch her interest.

Gardens and nature caught her interest. Walks. Playing. Sitting with her sisters, brother, cousins, and friends. Being with her family. Visiting her grandparents. School. Church. Drives in the car. All get her attention. All those thing caught her interest. When things caught her interest, she was fully present. She could participate or just watch. That was part of the gift of her quiet. She could watch from her quiet place. Inside herself.

Others got to be center stage. She watched and enjoyed as they showed their gifts. She was fully attentive….when she knew it was time to listen and feel. That was the gift of quiet at its best. She was able to be fully engaged for others.

We can learn a lot from the quiet ones. We can learn to focus as well as share. We can learn to really see things. To really feel things. To really let others know we are there. We can learn when to show and when to see. The little girl had the gift of quiet. Her name is Annie and I know here because she is my Granddaughter Annie is one of the quietest beings I ever met. That impresses me so much it can even make me quiet at times. Now, THAT is magic!

Happy 6^th Birthday, Annie

Love, Pop-Pop

The Shift

The shift is over. We are where we need to be. We understand our gifts and how to share them. Now to settle in and align the routine of life to the doing of what is right. What can be fixed, has been fixed. What needs tending, is being tended. What was begun is in to the beauty of the doing. All is ready. What is needed for the coming storm is where is must be for those that do. What will be needed for even more doing will be provided. This is your needed message this special day. It is what you spoke inside. This is our needed message this special day. The voice of the Gathering was heard. You are ready. The doing is yours for the doing. Settle in and be.

Mabon

The shift to the dark and the cold. Harvesting what was planted to sustain us through the season ahead. Mabon touches some as a time of dying and assures others of the circle of life. It is the time to prepare for what is known will challenge and even isolate…and enter that time when sharing is sweeter and warmth comes from deep in the soul. We taste the movement of our own time as dark and light switch their balance. This is the season where some mourn what passes and others celebrate what comes. Light has provided and will return. Cold comes and will nip for as long as it can. All things needed to move the circle again to where the circle goes. Mabon comes round. Gather up what you have harvested and light the fires of home.

Lammas 33

Each season has a feel. A purpose. An energy. The season effects all for all things are linked. See the flowers bloom in time or fade to other existence and feed the flowers that bloom again in time. Know that the brightest buds burst first with the brightest sun. Yet less luminous flowers shine as in days of cooler light. Some flowers seem un-phased by the nearness or distance of the sun as they show their petals throughout the year yet even these drink in the solar sweetness. Thousands of differences yet all are flowers and all linked to sun.

Lammas 32

At the beginning, the signs are subtle. More tests than signs. Tests to see if you are paying attention. Once you begin to see the signs, subtlety shifts quickly. Soon, the signs scream. Screaming forward not to just confirm but to affirm and further. Soon, the signs become so blatant as to pass any realm of doubt. To confirm the path and affirm the higher powers at work. When this is the case, all is ready. See through eyes of total belief and trust and you will see that much is ready and has been waiting for the here and the now so that what was can link to what comes.

Signs for you and yours. Signs for tribe and herd. Know this as well. Others begin to see as well. Inside. They begin to look. Outside. They look for you.

Lammas 31

The joy of the now and the bliss seen ahead is exactly as promised. This is not a dream. This is not an illusion. This is the new reality. This is tribe and herd linked to the SOURCE and moving to what has been there all along. What comes is indeed what was long ago but even better. Reunions are sweeter than first meetings. Hands reach out to welcome. Thoughts reach across time and space to say hurry home. Soon, the waiting will be over. The difference is that this is not a trip that is to a destination. It is a trip that is a bridge itself. Not just blazing the trail homeward but marking it for all to see that are shown how to look again.

The threshold is here. The bride will not be carried across but walk through on her own with those she loves in tow. The bride is not just a bride. She is they and they are tribe.

Lammas 30

The abundance will come in many ways. What is right and intended will happen quickly once faith and trust fuel the drive. It will seem at times that things take on a life of their own. It will seem as if moving too fast since many will struggle to keep up with a timeline that rockets to completion. Let the flow go freely and be open to all that comes. Some that come will not truly come at all but will open doors needed to be at the right place when the time of completion drawers nears. The sources will surprise you. Look not at eyes that see other purposes as wrong but as means. The tribe is of the SOURCE and the outcome will be determined by the SOURCE.

Lammas 29

Change is as the whirlwind as all that was is scattered. Some things are bashed and broken. Some survive the change and show their sturdy construction. All are changed. See not the disarray. See the opportunity presented to purge, replace, reorganize, and streamline. See the new order. See the improvements that can be.

The whirlwind is not alone. Change is a world of whirlwinds. Plan for that and the whirlwind dances through what is yours with welcome for the path is cleared and ready. Leaves dance and objects fly while you and yours watch from the safety of tribe and herd.

Time Is On My Side

One of my all time favorite songs is by the Rolling Stones. It is not because I am a die-hard Stones fan. Bear in mind, the Stones rock. I got the see them live in Istanbul, which says quite a bit about my life actually. They deserve to be honored for living like the Rock Stars they are. It is just that the Beatles songbook stuns me. Elvis is my foundation. If there is anyone else on the planet that can say they did their Masters and PhD work on topics related to the King of Rock N Roll, reach out. We can form a small club cause right now, I am the only one that can say that. Still, one of the Stones’ songs touches me every time it plays.

As songs from that band of how the hell do they keep on going guys go, it is likely one of the softest. It is danceable in a hold the other person close to you kinda way. Untypical for Jumping Jack Flash and Satisfaction makers. Still, it gets to me. It is loaded with people for me.

Kathy Langan is in that song. She went to Saint Ann’s school with me. Really nice girl. Long black hair, fair skin, great smile, and, before I even knew what good energy was, good energy. She was nice to be around in any setting. She was the first girl I ever slowed danced with. (Besides my sister and my mom……and I don’t care where you are from…..THAT IS NOT THE SAME.) Kathy and I danced to that song several times a long, long time ago. Each time the song plays, we are dancing to it again.

She was easy to dance with, smelled good, felt better, and pretended not to notice how nervous I was. (Sounds like rate a record, doesn’t it?) It was a magic moment in life and Kathy is mine forever even though I saw her only once since Grammar School. That is the power of music and touch and energy. Kathy is in that song and always will be for me.

She is not alone. Jimmy Donlon is in there, too. It was his birthday party at his house. He is gone. Died young. He is in that song though and will be for as long as I am on this side of the grass. Maybe even longer thanks to these words. Jimmy had a birthday party and I still celebrate that he did. He is remembered all these years later.

Just like another friend, Kerry Walters. High school, passing in the hallway, a few classes together, friend of mine. A nice, really nice kid. He died young too. I think of him right along with others when Time Is On My Side weaves it magic spell. Denyse Tynan is in there, too.

Denyse went to school with me for one year. Ninth Grade. Pretty girl. From another town girl. Talked to her a lot. More than I realized at the time. She wrote a deeply personal note a page long in my ninth-grade yearbook. She died a few years later. She touches me every time I think of her. She steps out of a song, draws my attention to a note on a yearbook in a closet downstairs, and smiles.

Time IS on my side. It is on all our sides. It is all around us and is something much more than what we measure with our feeble timepieces. It is bigger than life. It is in the music and words and more. Thanks for having a party, Jimmy. Thanks for the dance that opened me to the Land of a Thousand Dances, Kathy. Thanks for being there, Kerry and Denyse. Say good-bye, Annette. See you when I see you. Keep your dance card open for me.

Time Is On My Side

One of my all time favorite songs is by the Rolling Stones. It is not because I am a die-hard Stones fan. Bear in mind, the Stones rock. I got the see them live in Istanbul, which says quite a bit about my life actually. They deserve to be honored for living like the Rock Stars they are. It is just that the Beatles songbook stuns me. Elvis is my foundation. If there is anyone else on the planet that can say they did their Masters and PhD work on topics related to the King of Rock N Roll, reach out. We can form a small club cause right now, I am the only one that can say that. Still, one of the Stones’ songs touches me every time it plays.

As songs from that band of how the hell do they keep on going guys go, it is likely one of the softest. It is danceable in a hold the other person close to you kinda way. Untypical for Jumping Jack Flash and Satisfaction makers. Still, it gets to me. It is loaded with people for me.

Kathy Langan is in that song. She went to Saint Ann’s school with me. Really nice girl. Long black hair, fair skin, great smile, and, before I even knew what good energy was, good energy. She was nice to be around in any setting. She was the first girl I ever slowed danced with. (Besides my sister and my mom……and I don’t care where you are from…..THAT IS NOT THE SAME.) Kathy and I danced to that song several times a long, long time ago. Each time the song plays, we are dancing to it again.

She was easy to dance with, smelled good, felt better, and pretended not to notice how nervous I was. (Sounds like rate a record, doesn’t it?) It was a magic moment in life and Kathy is mine forever even though I saw her only once since Grammar School. That is the power of music and touch and energy. Kathy is in that song and always will be for me.

She is not alone. Jimmy Donlon is in there, too. It was his birthday party at his house. He is gone. Died young. He is in that song though and will be for as long as I am on this side of the grass. Maybe even longer thanks to these words. Jimmy had a birthday party and I still celebrate that he did. He is remembered all these years later.

Just like another friend, Kerry Walters. High school, passing in the hallway, a few classes together, friend of mine. A nice, really nice kid. He died young too. I think of him right along with others when Time Is On My Side weaves it magic spell. Denyse Tynan is in there, too.

Denyse went to school with me for one year. Ninth Grade. Pretty girl. From another town girl. Talked to her a lot. More than I realized at the time. She wrote a deeply personal note a page long in my ninth-grade yearbook. She died a few years later. She touches me every time I think of her. She steps out of a song, draws my attention to a note on a yearbook in a closet downstairs, and smiles.

Time IS on my side. It is on all our sides. It is all around us and is something much more than what we measure with our feeble timepieces. It is bigger than life. It is in the music and words and more. Thanks for having a party, Jimmy. Thanks for the dance that opened me to the Land of a Thousand Dances, Kathy. Thanks for being there, Kerry and Denyse. Say good-bye, Annette. See you when I see you. Keep your dance card open for me.

Fast Forward (Happy Birthday, Trish)

Life fast forwards sometimes. That whole “where did the time go” thing we feel a bit more as we live a bit more. Photographs of faces gone, changed, and even forgotten for a while do it. Reunions are merely catalysts for epic dosages of those hole mackerel moments. Life moves at its own pace often much faster than we wish and even faster than we can handle. Time waits for no man. Bang. Zip. Boom. Time marches on.

We connect with people and then fate has us part. Them headed in one direction, us in another. It might be for weeks. It can even be for years. With acquaintances, the gaps in meetings are expected and handled as such. With family those times between hi how are ya and has it really been that long are thought to be bridged somehow and lesser. As if blood connection forced meetings and moved encounters from happenstance to we really have to get together. Family and those ties are supposed to bind more tightly.

That was not the case with a cousin in law of mine and myself. We met decades ago. Me a young adult ready to conquer the world and her barely a teenager hanging out with her cousin and her cousin’s boyfriend. A trip to Pennsylvania complete with the now stereotypical hippie-ized, barely running, VW bug that consumed oil in equal proportion to gas. Her visit to that long ago first home away from home in North Carolina. A few family gatherings with back yard pools and more fun than we realized at the time. Then fate had me move around the world as I grew up and her grow up and move around the world in her way. My family expanded and then expanded to the next generation as her family expanded to the cusp of the next generation…only because I had about a decade head start. We only heard of each other as family did the so and so is doing such and such updates as families do.

I wondered. Was she happy and fun as she had been? Did she find her joy? Did life turn out as good for her as her cousin, now my wife, and I wished it did? Life had us meet a few weeks ago after decades of near misses. Life showed me her fast forward. The cute little kid that was just fun to have around was a wife of one and mother of two. She was all grown up.

Life’s fast forward was wonderful in this case. She grew up and understands love as well as family. She is lovely from the inside all the way to the outside. It had been years and we had but hours. Sweetly, it was enough time to see all was well. She was content in who she was and loved her family in ways few dare to. She lived well and happily each day and it showed just by her being her and her being here for a while. Nice when life turns out well for people that are good people back when and even better people when life jumps to the now with a jolt. I am glad she is who she is.

Happy Birthday, Trish

Let’s get together again soon, Gil

P.S. Thanks for helping remind me to write things for folks like Trish and you, Laurie. I catch you next year. Deal?

Lammas 28

Seek not the answer for there is no such thing. There is An answer. An answer that is exactly right to the question that must be answered to complete each. An answer that is exactly the key to unlock the door that bars your progress. There is An answer. Seek it and it shall be yours. It shall be yours again when you discover the next question and the next.

Many seek the answer. This is folly for those that do because when they think they have found it, they settle and journey no more. They establish routine and ritual around the answer. They begin to die for growth is no more. They find the answer and stop asking. In fact, they discourage questioning from any who fail to see the answer as they do.

Baby No More (For my grandniece, Ellie. Happy Birthday)

When does the baby become something more than the baby? She knew exactly when. It was when she turned seven. She was in school, understood more and more grown up things, still liked to play but with things that were not for little kids, and had friends that had lots of stuff going on in their lives. She was taller, prettier, and felt like a lot more than a baby girl.

Yes, she was still the youngest in her family. She was bigger now and that meant she deserved to be seen as bigger now. She would be the youngest for a long time. She grew more every day and at seven was much more than a baby. She knew it. She just didn’t make a big thing of it.

She kinda liked that she was baby girl. Her sister helped her in ways only a big sister could. Her two brothers were much bigger than her and would protect her and love her as only big brothers could. Those aspects of being the baby were good things. Plus, her Mom and Dad still thought of her as baby girl. Their littlest. That was special. Each of the other kids came first. Each of them was the baby for a while. She was the baby for the longest time since she was the last one. (Dang, she hoped so. Dad and Mom didn’t need another kid around this place.) She liked that she was baby longer than all the others put together. It was her title to keep.

So she accepted she was not baby any more. She just kept it to herself. No sense making a big thing out of it. She would keep the perks of being baby girl while being all grown up too. Being seven was cool….especially for a baby girl.

Happy Seventh Birthday, Ellie Marie Sheehan

Love, Uncle Gil

Bits and Pieces (For Misti--Happy Birthday

She was a collector. She collected things that were very rare and difficult to find. She collected bits and pieces of her husband’s life before he became her husband. It wasn’t really for her. It wasn’t for him either. It was for the kids. So they knew who he was when he was a kid like them. They deserved to know so they could see they were just like him sometimes and not like him at all some other times. She did it because she believed in legacy and continuation and life circles of family and more. She did it, quite frankly, despite him.

He didn’t talk much about the past. Just not his thing. He was about now and later. Back then was back then. Not quite gone but not quite here anymore. He just wasn’t interested. For a collector, that made the collecting all the harder as well as all the sweeter. So she collected the stories in any way she could.

Pictures were the first place. To see her husband as the cute blond kid that looked a lot like their son inspired her. So she asked questions. Questions her husband answered with, at best, short sentences, and at worst, with “whatever.” She gathered precious and rare fragments at family gatherings where the telling of the old stories were blue moons of joyous sharing. Then she found a source. A storyteller that spoke of the family she knew existed but knew so little about. She drank of the tales and enjoyed.

Soon the images of her husband’s youth showed some clarity. Perhaps she would learn about the strawberry patch that was his side yard as a child. In time, she might just be able to picture the grape arbor that shaded the patio so well in the house that is now someone else’s home in Belford. His dog. His dad’s mustang that was almost his undoing. All of it might come to life to be shared and to become part of the legacy that is family that preserves what we are long after we stop being it.

She collected. She knew it was important work. She was right.

Happy Birthday, Misti.

Add to the collection.

Courtesy of Uncle Gil

Lammas 27

Finishing work approaches on many long overdue and much needed changes. Lammas moves to closure with projects well underway and close to completion. Projects that, now seen as much closer to what they will be, changed things totally. As if completely new. Remnants of the old even difficult to see unless you look very close. The work honored the past but prepared for the future. Finish it well and then keep it well. It is like new and that will impress all that see it.

Lammas 26

Tribal energy draws more to it. The curious. The longing. The lonely. Those in tune and in search feel it more and more. A magnet that brings them from the darkness. Many will want to know. Answer all who do for within those that do are the tribe and the herd. Not all of them. The best. The truest. The most sincere. This is not an easy journey so many will choose not to take it. Leave them to themselves and forge ahead. Those that do will live in joy long overdue but now forever.

Page Turner

A glance at the photo flashed the memory to fullness. She smiled one of her “please notice me” smiles that sucked all eyes to her pitiful need for attention. A waste. Most would have noticed her anyway, just in a good way instead of a who is that asshole kinda way. So be it. Ruined the photo but helped me realize why she was out the picture book of my life. Those beautiful teeth were tough to swallow. I got fed up and left for greener pastures. Hope she is happy. I turned the page and continued the search.

Three pages later, a face in the background was the face in my foreground. Thirty years ago? Would I know her at the restaurant? Would she know me? Who were we now and would who we were then be enough to sustain us until we knew? Was she still sweet and cute and take good notes? Did she still like French Fries more than any other lunch except on pizza day? Did she still do that blowing the bangs out of her face thing that made it difficult for me to focus? Would desert be what I hoped like it was yesterday all over again? It was only Thursday night but felt like Saturday and this Saturday was three decades overdue.

Polo where Hai Karate used to go, I headed to the restaurant to dine with yesterday’s why didn’t I. Damn. My palms were already sweating. Come on, Dude. Get a grip. It’s only dinner. Don’t blow it before she even has a chance to see what she missed out on all these years.

Lammas 25

Handle the abundance well. Ensure the many resources moved to you and yours are shared with all. The abundance is earned and moves to you now. Rule it. Control it. Monitor it. Invest it. Share it. All that moves to you is intended for use. Use determined by tribe. Use for the SOURCE. Be examples in this regard.

Animus

Barely walking erect. Feeling the place we all came from and most deny. Animal nature is natural. It is the place where we roar in need and in heat. Animus. Garbed as those that declared themselves gods and less. Trapped inside this bag of bones and made to endure emotions, rationalizations, commercialization, and the curse of holier that thou. The beast in me ain’t tactics, honey. It’s me.

The call of the wild is inside. Inside self. The bottle, needle, darkness, carnal, and evil are facades. False alarms. The primal is not in those places. It is there humans go to hide. To silence the sirens. To quell the edge of our truest reality. It is there we hope to kill our truth and embrace evolution in surrender of strength. It is there we die by the suicide of denial. We are at our best animals in the same herd. We are at our worst human at the top of the feeding chain we wrap around the planet. I am free and roam the land in place and purpose. Woof.

Lammas 24

Rally in the most trying times for the strength of tribe and herd will grow. When needed, harness the beasts and push them to exhaustion, tend them a bit, and then harness and work them even more. The beasts will see how hard tribe can push and will relish whip and crop. The beasts will sleep deeper and savor more each tending at hands that push them to help build bridges of hope and community.

Darkness fell. Sorrows drowned. Be the light in the way tribe and herd should and reach forth to help. Tribe will be more tribe as a result and the herd will be more herd as well.

Lammas 24

Rally in the most trying times for the strength of tribe and herd will grow. When needed, harness the beasts and push them to exhaustion, tend them a bit, and then harness and work them even more. The beasts will see how hard tribe can push and will relish whip and crop. The beasts will sleep deeper and savor more each tending at hands that push them to help build bridges of hope and community.

Darkness fell. Sorrows drowned. Be the light in the way tribe and herd should and reach forth to help. Tribe will be more tribe as a result and the herd will be more herd as well.

Lammas 23

Be what you are naturally or you are not being natural. While this may sound easy, this ability is a gift. Those with this gift are what they are in all settings and play not to the crowd. They merely do things that should be done in the way they do them. They are open to change and to growth but not to doing things that feel unlike what they would do. Their pace is their pace. Their way is their way. They move with intuition and instinct.

Those linked to SOURCE and self will know they are being natural for anything unnatural to them feels wrong almost immediately. They take counsel. They seek advice. They listen to criticism. They adapt and change. They do not compromise self in the process. This makes them true. Not by choice. By nature. By ability. By birth.

Lammas 22

Claim what is yours and use it freely. The very usage is a joy and will draw others unto you. As tribe and herd wallow in the totality of their service, look to each other to embrace the totality of the SOURCE. There has been celebration but the fullest celebrations are to come. In unions of tribe to tribe and herd to herd and tribe to herd. Claim. Act. Rule. Live.

Windows

Come look in my window. My soul is yours to see.

Writers show their inner works. Daring. Sharing. Cleaning out the darkest corners and letting them see the light through others’ eyes. Hiding places disappear no matter how hard you look for them. When you are up, the façade is far away. When you are down, the facade is even farther away.

Life on display. Slight of hand in character. Lettering in the school of the living. Stories that take you right along with them and taunt you to speak of what you see, feel, hear, touch, and know. Show it to the world. Figure it out in tandem with others you have not met but that get to see you naked. Unfiltered. Unfettered.

It is daunting. Less and less once you surrender to the Muses. It intimidates. Less so than silence. Silence is where you feel. Writing is where you speak. Reading is where you learn. Thinking about what you write is much safer. Not writing at all is death. The choice to bury your gift on an unmarked map to treasure turning dust. I write because death is for later and silence is for cowards. Speaking passes. Writing remains to be seen. What I write remains to be seen.

There are many windows in my soul. Some have pains in them. Others look out on wide vistas of amazing beauty. The rooms in my soul that do not have windows actually do have windows. Peek through the walls where I think to hide. Hiding is unspoken things. Come look in the zoo as my animal shows itself. Don’t be afraid. It would turn on itself before it turned on you. Hurt is best kept inside and torn to shreds by the one who birthed it. No one can hurt me as well as I can hurt myself. My words hurt sometimes. Healing hurts sometimes. My words scare me more and more because there are so many more in there than I realized. Into the fray I go.

Open the window. It might get pretty hot in here. Likely to be pretty dang windy too. Tis the Season.

Flux

When you are in flux, you are in flux so you better just deal with it. That is the hard part though because flux is, well, flux. It is change that is new, each and every time. Even if you are used to flux fluxing as it fluxes, each flux fluxes differently. Hints of commonality are not germane to fluxes.

Flux unsettles, disrupts, and disorients….and that is just when you first notice it. Then it really kicks in. Questions sprout in the Garden that is your life. Flares of self-pity and doubt arch across the sky as you warn yourself to dangers unseen. Fear peeks back with a “remember me?” that laughs at all you have accomplished. Flux suck, drains, and strains. Flux is back. Did I mention that part?

Lammas 21

Leadership of the strong is for special rulers. The strong must learn to follow. The strong move to leadership when there is no leadership and they mistake situational leadership for rule. These strong beings lead and begin to think they are not followers and could not be followers. This will challenge rulers for beasts that have roamed free are tough to corral and beasts that have roamed free and herd others are the toughest to move to pen and field.

The rulers know this and move with the wisdom of caution. Once moved to following though, the strong will be worth the investment many times over. There will be other followers as well for there are, and always have been, many followers. They are as special as the former leaders but in a special way. The former leaders will follow well once taught and then controlled. The former followers will see this change and be further awed by the rulers that made it so. Respecting still the former leaders but holding the rulers in even higher regard for their ability to harness the power of the strong. In following, their strength is enhanced and that will impress tribe as well as herd.

Hell's Bulletin Board

Bulletin Board Notice

From the Desk of Lucifer

I am taking tomorrow off. Thank you for the amazing progress you have made in helping forward My efforts on earth.

Hell is indeed on earth and spreading. For some, it looks a lot like Cleveland. The clock punchers move with such sweet surrender. Wars continue. Scarcity becomes truth for our future minions. Imbalance increases. The smell of hopelessness perfumes the planet. The book burners move exactly as I would. It encourages Me to see how well we have tapped those simple minds. Exclusion moves more and more to exactly where I need them to quell the light forever.

Fear escalates. Tribe separates. Herd wanders. Humans embrace their inhumanity more and more. It pleases Me to see the borders and fences………yesssssssss.

WELL DONE, TEAM!

All is well on good old planet Earth. I am barely noticed. The work they do in “His” name is so much more than any work they ever did in Mine. I am deeply pleased and greatly honored by the progress. We can focus on expansion until they consume the planet totally and begin their work here.

We began the Millennium well behind schedule yet we are now on track for record achievements in negativity, fear, hate, and weakness.

If you need to reach Me, I will know it before you do. Get back to work!

Night Driver (The whole thing)

The world was nothing beyond my headlights. Me and the road. Only an occasional flash of the white lines even reminded me they were there. Someone laid this black carpet. Someone tended it. Less than it needed. Less than it deserved.

I was headed nowhere and making good time. This land was not mine so it didn’t matter what I was missing. A few hours before the sun made me a smaller part of a much bigger canvas. Until then, it was me, a machine, and a world that knew as much about where I was as I did where I was going.

Driving is for the driven. I was alone and much better company than I have been for a long time. Fuck sleep. Up there was waiting for me. It didn’t know I was coming but it was waiting for me just the same. Breakfast at the end of my drive with folks who just started their day. New for me. Same old for them. I was the spice in their mix. They were the comfort in my meal. Three hours left for just me to move away from whatever and to whatever and be just right.

Night air is quiet and it calls to me real loud. Interstate. Real estate. No mistake. Three quarters of a tank of gas, money for breakfast, and no reason to disturb anyone at this time of night. Kansas is flat and, tonight, that is a good thing.

Breakfast was as expected. Eggs, coffee, and strangers. I am much better with strangers. The waitress was second, maybe third generation. One of those special beings where waitress is in the genes. She played to stereotype in her own style. Her gimmick was her crooked, Elvis-like, smile. The girl knew how to makes instant friends. Her secret ingredient was a sneer.

Coffee refills were quick exchanges. Little substance, lots of touch. She knew a diner type when she saw one. I played along. Spotted the regulars pretty quickly. The head nod, non-smiler acknowledged as he turned the page of his USA Today. He was mid-west right from central casting. The three older guys wondered where the completion of their foursome was. He showed up as I checked out. Norman Rockwell and Garrison Keller kissed a boo-boo on where did America go. It was right here any morning you pulled in. Sometimes partially there, always fully accounted for. The waitress wished me well knowing I would be headed out of town soon after dinner, if not before. Two blocks down she said. Shady Rest. Nice clean rooms, family run, and the best price in town. She knew I would say hi to Patty. I was the type. She had me in her radar before the eggs left their home.

I was good tired. Drove to the motel right through Back to the Future. Time warps still get to me. I ain’t afraid of what’s ahead. What’s behind can still look good all the same. If this wasn’t called Main Street, they screwed up. A nickel and a dime didn’t even cover the tax anymore but the hardware emporium still fit the bill. Hard to resist going in. They would have streamers as well as handle grips for my bike. A bike somewhere back then that moved with me as the true value of the same old stuff increased my self worth. I smiled from the inside and carried it into the motel office along with my car keys and a message from the waitress. Patty looked like I expected. My eyes was happy. Soon they were closed and deep in sleep.

I was up ten minutes before two, just in case. She knocked on the door ten minutes after two, just in time. Her kids got home at four so we got right to it.

She tasted like she just got off work. I sopped her up like Thanksgiving gravy. Every nook and cranny held a whimper and a moan. Each sound fed my hunger. She was my reward for passing through. I was her consolation prize for staying. I did my best not to represent him. She did her best not to resent him. Still he was there. We both wondered where he was and if he knew what he was missing. We both knew he did and it was still not enough for him to stay. For the moment, this was his loss so we both celebrated.

For just less than two hours, she loved me. I loved her. We spent too little time in that place where bad stuff looks away and good stuff joins the party. We both needed exactly what we each had to offer. We rode the first wave for as long as it lasted and surfed a few until life called us to other places. There weren’t many words exchanged. They weren’t needed.

I headed out of town before dinner. She was eating alone with her kids. Nothing in that town would taste right knowing that. A little bit of me stayed in that town when I headed East. A little bit of her left. Fair exchange.

She understood travelers. She just chose to stay home with the kids. She is that kinda good. Good for her. Good for them. Good for a lot more than she appreciates and most folks ever really understand. I could still taste her inside and out as Kansas shrunk. I smiled because, quite frankly, she tasted damn good.

I pulled off the Interstate just before the State Border. Needed smaller and slower things. Back roads slow me down. More about driving, less about thinking. So I headed North and eased through soft countryside and occasional hamlets. Small places known to those in them and but a few more. Places we blow by or pass through. We forget them either way. Needed to see them. Notice them. Let them know I was here.

My body felt the setting sun. Still visible, its shift would be over soon. The waitress was less than two hours behind me. Kids likely doing whatever it is she has them do between dinner and get to bed time. She had them to distract her. I had a few traffics lights and stretches of narrow roads. Distractions are a good thing sometimes.

Then there were fewer traffic lights. My own doing. A country road here. State road there. A country side, small time maze of who the fuck cares if this really goes anywhere. I just drove and turned without noticing, caring, or remembering. Dove into the process of driving. Let it own me. Consume me. Focused on the act. Danced the dance of the drifter. Turned down a road with limits and followed it to the end. Smithville. Not that it mattered. Roads like Paradise in name and solitude. Not that it mattered. Pulled off at a park. Clay County Park. Not that it mattered. None of it really mattered. Parked the faithful steed. Walked.

Everyone was home. All was quiet in Smithville. No pressure to keep up with the Jones. Folks were tucked into their after dinner routine. Twilight was almost here and the locals knew it. So did their park. Clay Country Park eased to night. When the only visitors ain’t there for the sights. It was too late for those that used the park as a park and too early for those that just came here to be in the dark. It was between. I walked a bit.

Walking normally soothes me. Calms me. Not tonight. Not even almost this almost tonight. Not by a long shot. Tried to sit. It didn’t work. Skipped some rocks. That didn’t work for long. Parks are places for the connected. Trimmed and kept and ready to comfort places for trimmed and kept and ready for comfort people. I was an outsider tonight. On the edge of wild abandon. Uncivilized. This was not my park. Not my place. Not my time. I did not belong here and the park helped me realize it. My joy was not in Smithville tonight.

Skipped one last stone and headed back to roads that went somewhere. Turned left when right was back to where I came from. Purposefully. Four lane roads with junk food and repetitive scenery were out there and I needed one of them. Headed West to get back on course. Kansas City was too big and this place was too small. Needed a place in plain site that nobody noticed. I needed a hot meal and a good night’s sleep at night time like real people with real lives. Another night in Kansas wouldn’t be that bad. Sometimes traveling means stopping at places longer than you expected.

I crossed back into Kansas without even knowing I left it. Fitting. Not even sure what state I was in. Kept on the four first four lane headed South and leaning West. Pulled into and out of a La Quinta. What the hell was that all about? If I wanted to sleep in the same room anywhere, I wouldn’t travel in the first place.

The sun ran out of steam before I did. Stopped at a place to eat. Not a diner. A generic, eat at one, eat at any restaurant for a generic eat one, eat any meal. It lived up to its promise. The crowd was cookie cutter. I was a cracker in this box of vanilla wafers. They didn’t make me feel unwelcome. They just didn’t notice me. An affront of the worst kind.

Ate quickly and found a room. More personality than the restaurant, less than I needed. The bed was comfortable though so I put it to use. Sleep was a good place to hide tonight. Alone in dreams is easier than alone in reality. An early start tomorrow might be just the cure for whatever the hell ate up my travel plans from the inside.

Woke in the middle of the night and reached more in habit than in need. She blocked me though so I punched the pillow and forced myself back to sleep. It was hard. Still, sleep won out.

The sun nudged me awake. Not the good waking. The mouth tastes like a war zone, really should just lay here a bit, kinda waking that begins the day on the inside of molasses. Went for a walk. Made it halfway across the parking lot and headed back to shower. Needed a fresh start. Needed cold water. Needed to feel right again. Time to hit the road. Headed to the room with the urgency of leaving it far behind. Didn’t really know it and didn’t care to. Needed billboards, asphalt, and stretches of nowherevilles that made you wonder what they hell they did with all this freaking corn. It was time to hit the road hard.

Pedal to the medal, the King for company, and the road was mine again. Time to make where I am where I was and head to where I need to be. Traffic accommodated. It was light to non-existence. The car knew it was time to run.

Music soothes my savage beast. Road time is church. I communed and felt better pretty quickly. Then the first Interstate sign showed. Did not like that twinge it induced. Did not like it all. Shifted in my seat. Turned up the music. Shook it off. Sang along with the best voice since……well, ever. Just me and him. A powerful duo, strong enough to resist any call of any highway no matter how smooth the ride.

Five miles to the Interstate. Knew I wasn’t going West. Didn’t want to head East. Wondered where this road went. Where did it go once I got past that Interstate bridge? Maybe South was the right thing today. Maybe. Three miles to go. Looked at the speedometer. Whoa, boy. Don’t need a speeding ticket right now. Don’t need to draw any attention to what I was chaspng or what was chasing me. Eased off the pedal and slowed down to just over. No big rush today. Felt good just to be in motion.

Elvis shifted gears. Slowed down right along with me. Loved the ballads. Loved the love songs. They said he could sing the phone book. Maybe they were right. He sure had my number. He was exactly right just about any time. Not right now though. Ballads ached and I didn’t need more ache. Two miles and I needed some alone time.

Breathed deep. Noticed the increase. More stuff. Leeches close to the main artery. More and more of the same the closer and closer the Interstate was. Soon, it was stop for lights, Wal-Mart, and drive through anythings. The overpass ahead was the draw. I looked at it as it went from up ahead to just behind. A few miles later, it lost most of its effect on the roadside. I still felt it though.

Music time. A bit more over the limit time so I eased the needle to 70. Seventy. The number of the Interstate that seemed to be ahead of me even though any map said otherwise. Elvis was in Vegas live. I was in Kansas lost.

It was a bit too early for lunch but that didn’t stop me. It was a Diner and it was time to stop. Sat at the counter and had a sandwich with fries. Had a shake, too. Chocolate. Comfort from the cocoa bean. The sandwich was alright. The fries hit the spot. The shake capped it all off. Normal was closer now. Maybe it was just hunger all along. Gnawing at those fries calmed whatever was eating me up.

They had one of the old-fashioned, kinda original, clocks that kept time safe in diners. Round. Simple and stark numbers. Outlined in neon. Sweep second hand that moved with glacial speed as fries were eaten by a mind on something other than how good they were. The minute hand inched past eleven and lunch moved to memory. The road called. A check. A tip. A look to my right and left as I headed North. Three hours, more or less. I pushed the pedal forward since less felt just about right.

The parking lot was afternoon empty. At quarter to two, the lunch bunch was fed and the dinner crew were hours away from hungry. I parked in plain site, got out, and leaned on the warm fender. Sometimes a guy just knows things. This was one of the times. I was comfortable in the moment and it showed for anyone that cared to looked. She would know it as soon as she looked. I knew it. That and a lot of other things.

Knew she would see me through the window before she did. Smiled and drank in her only slight surprise. Anticipated her look over the shoulder with the constellation of freckles as she looked at the same kinda diner clock to see how long before she walked to my car and me. It was sweet to witness it all the same. She formed ten minutes with her hands and I confirmed there was no rush with mine. All just like it ought to be. Already had the exact feel of her when she went from there to here and from her to we. Knew it because some things are meant to be and they will unfold just as they should, when they should. Today was the when. We were less than ten minutes from the exactly right way they were always meant to be.

When things are right, they are right. I didn’t book a motel room. Motel rooms are for travelers.