Samhain 12

The full moon burned changes and that will very often be the case. For some, the burn fueled the passion and the joy. For others, the fire scarred and injured. For all linked to the SOURCE, the forging will result in strength. The fall from the mountaintop can be painful but the next mountain offers even more spectacular joy.

Samhain 11

The adjustments are many and the shifts continue. The herd is up to the challenge and the tribe protects and shapes. Energy surges inside each from places far and near to embrace and even chain with sweetness. There is that much motion in the cosmos that pulses to each connected to deep inside their soul. This journey begins deep inside and then goes even deeper. To the core. Core of self. The core of self is the pathway to the SOURCE. Few go deep enough inside to link to SOURCE but that is the way of the herd and the tribe.

Cheers (Recycled)

Created by the Moneychangers, a mighty damn good elf.

Seemed to know him better than I knew myself.

Sewing what we reap and reaping what we sew.

Hanging by our balls and singing bout the snow.

Gifts of touch we have and things that need no box.

Charge away our happiness to give what we have not.

Curries and Ives me please to dear old Hickory Farms.

Must be something here to eat that won’t do too much harm.

Fa La La. Fa La La and a couple of ho-dy hoes.

Star Light. Kid Light. Alright. Things bright. Blue Light.

Buttons and Bows. Who’s gonna know?

A-shopping we will go.

Ho-dy fucking ho.

Samhain 10

The herd sees clearer now. Embracing what comes since what comes builds the worth of all in the herd. The processing is quicker and far less painful. The acceptance of being led fuels the pace. The feet are not dug in anymore. The herd does not stand and watch now but moves in tandem. While what is ahead has not been, nor ever will be, revealed completely, the herd sees that what is ahead is much better than what was behind or even what is here. The herd sees it wants to move forward.

Mustang (Happy Birthday to my brother, Jack Shaeffer)

Mustangs make me think of him. Real Mustangs. THE Mustang. 1964 Candy Apple Red Mustangs. He had one. Brand new when they were brand new cool. Before they became even cooler over time. He had a new one and it just fit him because he was that cool. He was my older brother, my idol, the coolest of cool. Of course, he had to have the coolest car ever. It only made sense. He showed up in the car one day and it was natural that he did.

He was more to me than any other male at the time. More than Roy Rogers. More than Elvis. More than my father. More than any priest, politician, or hero…and he was my brother. He eeked cool. He had a leather studded garrison belt that he handed down to me. His hair was slicked back and pushed up in the front just like the guys in movies and the best TV shows. He was living cool and he was my brother. Old Spice was his choice of cologne, Elvis was his choice in music, don’t push me around was his attitude, he had a tattoo….and he was my brother. At that moment in time, he was what I wanted to be when I grew up.

When he joined the Air Force, joining the Air Force became cool. His garrison hat had a 50-mission crush before it was called a 50-mission crush. It was his hat, his way. When the way it looked was called a 50-mission crush, that became cool too. It was his first. He was cool before cool had other names. If I looked up cool in my life’s dictionary, his picture would there, circa 1964. He changed since then. I changed since then. The world changed since then. Yet, cool survived.

Mustangs are even cooler, Elvis even bigger, and memories even sweeter. Cool took lots of different shapes over the decades. Some cools are silly in hind site. Some past the test of time and still feel cool. He is like that. Cool is his because it was his first. Cool stays with him and always will. He is my brother and that is so damn cool that it trumps all other cools. He is the root of all cool and everything else follows our first cool.

He crashed the Mustang. Tore it in two in a crash that would have killed some. He broke a few ribs and wondered what the fuss was all about. He was cool even in a hospital bed having just dodged death in a Ford. The Mustang was gone but the cool was still his and would be regardless of what he drove or where he went. Cool was his and stayed with him…..after all, he is my brother. That is so very cool.

Happy Birthday, Jack.

I love you, Gil.

Samhain 9

Be the example for in being the example the appreciation of self and place begins. Open to usage in ways that take you close to the SOURCE. As you serve, see what you have and how the service completes you. Take from those moments the sweetness of the energy for that is the sustainment so necessary for those times away from tribe and herd.

Know that you are never truly away. Once of SOURCE, you are with SOURCE and SOURCE is with you. SOURCE does not just accept, SOURCE selects. SOURCE does not just use, SOURCE improves. SOURCE does not just tolerate, SOURCE understands. SOURCE does not just own, SOURCE values. SOURCE does not just care, SOURCE loves.

Change

Knock, Knock.

Who’s There?

Change.

Change Who?

Change you, that’s who.

Change your locks.

Change your password.

Change your diet.

Change your banks.

Then change your underwear cause you are going change even more.

Hope you are doing enough because we all deserve joy.

People panic all around, running from the mirror of self to avoid the forest fires that may burn their beliefs.

Some scream out their pain in blame hoping for the company of others that surrender responsibility.

Changes comes.

Messages, messengers, cosmic signs, revelations, re-evaluations, economic upheavals, political promises, system failures, terrorist attacks, wars for peace, counterinsurgency, special bulletins, bank defaults, tea parties, gay bashing, teeth gnashing, Mayan seminars, crystal skulls, chem trails, underwear bombs, full body scans, partisanship, demonstrations, recriminations, recessions, genocides, and suicides.

The word is out. Duck and cover, slash and burn, scrimp and save, gate your community, retire early, stock your larders, cash out your IRAs, short sell, long sell, re-sell, bankrupt, dig in, dig out, but dig it.

Change comes.

Worthy

Kneel to your Master. Crawl forth to the almighty dollar and surrender your worth. Ensure you show your gifts for then you may be valued and the Lord may allow you to travel and be with the Chosen Ones. The Master may allow you to be one of the elite. To live among them…safe from the rabble.

Come. Kiss the feet and beg for your portion. Give your time. Demonstrate your obedience. Give deeper obedience and be granted more worth. Accrue. Invest. Increase. More will come as you show your worth in the ways of the marketplace. More will be yours to give to those you love.

The Master is generous to those that give. You do not want to feel the worthlessness of being without the Master. Put the Master before your family and you will be granted great riches that will be theirs in your memory. Put your service to the Master before your self and the Master will tend to the wreckage as your frail body crumbles to nothingness. Health is in your Master’s hands. Wealth is in your Master’s hands. The Master’s measure is your gauge for all things. The Master determines the worthy and the worthless. If it does not come from the Master, it has no worth.

Beware of the hands out. Hands that fail to serve the Master and expect your rewards to be theirs. Hands that have not sacrificed as you have. Hands that will drain your worth later when you need it the most. Beware of them for they will pull you down to their level. They would have you depend on others. Beware for they have not earned. They do not understand. They have not paid their dues. They expect a portion of what is yours and there is not enough to go around.

Come to the Master. Learn the skills to move above the place of your parents. Rise to ever better places and have ever better things. Please the Master and let the world see what you have amassed. Let them witness your good fortune and see it in the riches and pleasures that are yours because you live life on your Master’s terms. Come. Kneel so that you may find the peace that is yours when you have the worth that only money can buy. Come. Kneel. Show that you have learned the ways of your God. You have nothing to give unless it comes from the Master. Come and feel your place of peace.

Another Anniversary? (Happy 38th to my wife, Sharon)

Five years longer than Jesus.

Miracle in many ways.

Weddings and funerals and costume parades.

Boxes and moving and goings away.

Mourning and worries and bills to be paid.

Children and laughter and birthday mobiles.

Elvis, Melissa, and musical bliss.

Five years longer than Jesus.

Years built day by day.

Virginia and Texas and where we are.

Clunkers and cherries and now just one car.

Leather and lace but mostly blue jeans.

Taxes and tattoos and who we are.

Cancer, toothaches, and morning breath.

Five years longer than Jesus.

Likely we’ll stay.

Faces and places but just a few fights.

Cheesecake and coffee and cuddles at night.

Breakfasts and lunches and even nights out.

Dancing and reading and wow we did that?

Loving, sharing, and changing the rules.

Five years longer than Jesus.

Lucky I’d say.

Real, real lucky I’d say.

Happy Anniversary to the girl I sat behind in tenth grade English.

Hallmark doesn’t have a card for us.

Happy 38^th, Sha

I love you, Gil

Emotional Shit

I am on the edge of darkness and know it. Anxious and ready to snap. My emotions are in a new place. Right on the surface. On the outside almost. They used to be deep inside. Where I could feel them and control them. Kinda. They used to be much, much deeper. It was easier then. Easier to move and pretend to feel rather than really feel. Easy to go to that place and say it was alright for them to come and play at life for a while. My emotions were there when I needed them and I knew when it was alright to need them.

Sure, they ran amok at times. A bit when Dad died but that took some joints and a crash I could blame on weed rather than really feeling. A lot when Mom died. The boy came right to the surface and cried at the graveside even though I was all grown up and in uniform and everything. The tears came and wouldn’t stop and I didn’t care. Actually, I did care and didn’t care who saw that I did. The emotions ran amok that day but that was understandable.

They hid for a while after that free-for-all. They hid about a year and then burst out of prison when I really had to let Mom go. Had to realize she was dead and I was alone and that was the way it was gonna be forever. So I went on a hike and let the vengeance come until I could feel again and stop hurting. She died and I was dead for about a year but moved through life anyway. Emotions are part of life. Death is part of life. Emotions are part of dealing with death.

Now, it is different. I feel everyday. Really feel. Really love. Really understand. Really cry. Undercover Boss brings tears to my eyes. My grandkids bring smiles that start deep and burst to my eyes and then all over my face. I watched some damn show with that really quirky and cute actress and understood exactly what the actor that played her brother meant when he said he was angry all the time. He was angry at being angry. He struggled to understand why he was so angry at things beyond his control. He punched a guy in the face in the Supermarket and felt good about it. He knew enough that feeling good about it was bad but he felt good about it all the same. Sometimes we feel so much we just do. We do and then wonder what the hell we did and why we lost control.

Control is bullshit. We try to control our feelings by not feeling. We buy into the shit that men don’t cry. We try to live up to some image. Some stereotype. Some bullshit bravado that says don’t show your emotions. Emotions just get in the way. In the way of what? Feeling? I feel. Used to control my feelings and then realized I was trying to feel what I was told was right to feel and when it was authorized. Trying to react in the way I was told was right. Bullshit. Feel! Feel deep and long and hard. Laugh loud at silly shit. Cry when you need to cry. Feel enough to realize that emotions are felt…not controlled. We are emotional creatures and that is our strength.

My emotions are at the surface now. My soul is there for people to see. My soul likes the light. I used to control my emotions. Now I feel them. I honor them. I choose to live at the emotional truth that is my humanity.

Music is sweeter and more important. Hugs are realer and kisses deeper. Kids are kids and that is enough. Emotions are what we need. We need to feel when we see pain in the world and care enough to do something about it. We need to feel the disgust of hate and deceit and ensure it feels unwelcome in our world. We need emotions. Beginning with love. Ending with love. With love in between and all around. I love my emotions. Holy shit, I think I really love my emotions. Holy shit. Holy shit! Whoa Man. I think I really love my emotions. Holy, Holy, Holy shit.

No more bottling them up. We bottle them up and calmly make bombs that kill people we don’t even see. We bottle them up and then beat the shit out of someone weaker so we can then cry when we say how sorry we are. We bottle them up and then rage at the car that dared to get in front of us just before the turn off. We bottle them up and then try to drown them with stuff from another bottle. We bottle them up and screw up our bodies, our lives, and a lot of stuff we touch. We bottle them up and blame anything and anyone for the shit state of the world. If that is control, jam it up your ass and watch me laugh like a maniac. I might laugh so hard I cry. Depends on how I feel. I feel a lot nowadays. A real lot. Still trying to understand how I feel about that. Got a feeling it will turn out alright once it stops feeling shitty and hard. I just have to learn how to feel and not do anything about it. Doing is often an excuse for not feeling. Feeling is about feeling. Doing come later….after we understand what we feel. Let’s not mistake reaction for action. Deal?

A very important Birthday (Happy Birthday to my wife, Sharon Van Wagner)

Birthdays are important. Each of us have one and that day feels sorta special each year when we remember when we arrived and kinda celebrate that we made it through another cycle around the sun. We like that we are here and measure how long we live based on own very special birthing time. Birthdays are important.

One of the most important birthdays in my life isn’t even my own. It happened after mine. Almost 10 months after. In the state next to the state where I was busy learning that milk came from less beautiful places, too. New York, in fact. (Not the milk. The state next to my state. Keep your mind on my words and not on my images.) A birth that had to happen after mine so she could say she was younger all the time. She had to be born then to the people that were her Mom and Dad. It had to be that way so they could move around a bit and end up in Keansburg at exactly the right time. At exactly the time she thought she wanted to meet boys and I was discovering new hungers, too. If she hadn’t been born to those parents and ended up in my life at exactly that time, you would be reading about something else from someone else….even if that someone else was still me. I am who I am because of meeting her when I did and doing the things we did from that time until this time.

Yes, we did those things. Once she got over not liking me and I got over not liking her, we did those things a lot. A real lot! We did those things in the back seat of cars, in her house, my house, a delivery van, on some pine needles, then in North Carolina, Germany, Massachusetts. Florida, England, Virginia, Texas, Utah, and even on trips, too. Those things like sharing and caring and loving and changing. Those things that made us an us and then let us become me and her without losing the us part.

Her birthday had to be when it was and where it was so she could be who she was and is and becomes. Her birthday changed my life. She changed my life. Along the way, we each got better. We celebrated the highs together and weathered the lows together, too. We became parents and then grandparents. We fought and then made up. We changed and then adjusted. We are very different than we met and we get a little more different as the years become decades and the odds of us making it increase a bit everyday.

Today marks the day of a very important birthday to me and it ain’t even my birthday. Birth is once. Love is forever.

Happy Birthday, Sharon

I love you, Gil.

Samhain 8

They will come crippled and hurt. Hiding from self with good cause yet with the seeker within peeking out in longing and need. They will come with expectations and desires, most often shaped by the very forces within each one that has pushed the seeker to the shadows in hopes of denying its very existence. Once the seeker within is shown the light of acceptance, it will emerge from the shadows. Cautiously at first for it has been beaten into hiding. Opposed by the complexity of denial and deceit that so effectively bound it.

This is the very purpose of the herd as others come to each of them with trust of a calling they do not even understand. The journey to the herd will be littered with barriers but still seekers will push them to it. A hope in almost final desperation to change. To understand. To be in the light of understanding and acceptance. Light that is theirs and always has been but that has been kept from them. Light that the herd lives as property of the tribe for the tribe is of the SOURCE. The SOURCE of all light.

Samhain 7

Each that enters your realm is there for a reason. See each as a chance to assist. Each is a chance for you to show by example. Example of compassion. Example of appreciation. Example of ability. See some as example to you and others for whom you will be an example.

In each of these cases, reflect afterwards in ways of insight and thanksgiving. That is why you are brought to others and others to you. It is for growth and for sharing. That is the way of tribe and herd.

A Question for Jesus

My moment with Jesus arrived. He looked like I thought he would. Except for his hair. Healthy. Happy. Robust. His smile was beautiful. Perfect teeth that shined almost as much as his eyes. His eyes was deep brown and his hair was short. That surprised me a bit. Always pictured him with long hair. Like the paintings. Like the time he lived. Folks had long hair and beards back then. Jesus had short hair and for some reason that made him feel more real.

Just him and me. I could ask him anything. So I did. Asked him about his birthday and the stress it caused. How the day was a challenge, emotionally and financially. How the pressure to ensure the day was perfect, the gifts were right, and the family all got along began building around Halloween and lasted well into the new year. How much it distracted from his birthday and peace on earth and goodwill to men. I asked him about that and how come it was that way.

He smiled when he answered. “Cause you brought into a whole bunch of crap that has nothing to do with me.”

“Any other questions?”

Veteran's Day

Somewhere there’s a memory that used to be at home. A face reduced to photographs as time keeps marching on.

Somewhere there’s a tombstone seen less each passing year. A name from distant longings next to strangers just as dear.

Somewhere there’s an empty seat where we would share our bread. Now there is just what used to be for another soldier’s dead.

Somewhere we feel sadness yet know what tomorrow tells. For people are still dying and families living through that hell.

Tomorrow's Child (For my granddaughter Gracie...Happy Birthday)

Writing for an audience beyond where you might ever go is a change for this writer. My words are normally timely. Of the moment. Sharing my truths be it from memory, mind, soul, or all of the above. I am a storyteller that stays in the story even when I try to step out of the story. This storyteller tells his story, others’ stories, wishful tales, dark sagas, hopeful yarns, emotional rants, and whatever the voices in my head say to share. The target audience is whoever needs and reads the words. What I write is for them even when I am not sure who they are or why they need it.

Today’s writing is a bit different. It is for someone I know right now. Yet it is for her later. Much later. When she is grown up and might wonder who that Pop-Pop guy really was. Much later. When she is as adult as her Mom and Dad are right now and they are where I am in the way of kids having kids and time marching onto wherever it beats second by second. This writing is different because it is for Gracie as she will be. Way up there beyond what I can see and even expect to see.

So it has an echo-y feel to it. Like I saying it from someplace else. Someplace that will have her hear me but feel her. Feel her as I know her now and as she knows herself in the fragmented memory that is our own knowledge of what we were when we were two years old.

She likely will not remember how grown up she was at two years old. She gave me looks that said she understood stuff she just could not understand at that age. She was a sage. She went from silent observer to not so silent observer in just a year. She is fully present in a way that amazes me. I see ancient wisdom in her eyes. She crosses time and space and says “I get it”. She comforts me each time I look in her eyes. Gracie is pensive as Elders are. She contemplates and shows understanding far beyond her years. Gracie is, fittingly, graceful and dignified. All that……at two years old.

Every so often, she becomes a kid again. I think she does that for my benefit. To remind me that whatever gifts we have, they are improved by living life as we are supposed to when we are supposed to. She is a kid because she is two years old. She is much more because she is much more and always will be.

Someday she will read this. Maybe. I think so. I hope so. Because I want her to know I saw her for what she was as well as what she will be. She is Grace. She is Hope. Just like kids and grandkids are supposed to be. They are why tomorrow matters so much. Gracie already knows that. I got to see it first hand.

Happy Birthday, Gracie.

I love you, Pop-Pop

Bumper Sticker This!

It’s official. I tried to think in Bumper Stickers. Had deep and wonderful thoughts about how we must feel and remember our yesterdays. Bring them forward in lessons learned and things celebrated. Looking there for blame and excuses is the mirror that avoids putting our face to what created today. If today is fucked up, I let it happen. You let it happen. We let it happen. We made it happen. Yesterday and the day before and the day before that. My today is the sum total of my yesterdays and everything I did, failed to do, should have done, shouldn’t have done, didn’t know I did, knew I shouldn’t have and did anyway….all that happy horseshit that flows out our mouths when we chase the tales of our yesterdays. Want to know what got you the way you are? You did. Yesterday. Face it. Get over with it. Get on with it. Treasure your yesterdays. Just don’t spend a hell of a lot time there. They’re over!

Then I thought about my tomorrows. Our tomorrows. My kids and grandkids and their kids and grandkids and all their tomorrows. There will be a lot more tomorrows than just mine. I have zero control about how many. I might be dead before I finish typing this sentence. Might be dead as you read it. Zero control over that. Yet, my tomorrows are effected by everything I do today. Everything. If I drive when I could have walked or waste shit because I have extra and can just buy more. If I sit on my ass and watch life rather than live it. All the things I do today directly effect my tomorrows. It also effects your tomorrows. The stuff you do today effects my tomorrows too and I have zero control over that. I do control what I do today and that has to be enough cause I am just one person. I will support those that make the choices I think are right for all our tomorrows. The rest of you? Wake up. Everything you do today effects us all so live like you have a damn clue, will you? I ain’t wasting my time and energy trying to show you how far up your ass you have your head. The world is fucked up and that is because of our yesterdays. Today, we fix it or fuck it up more. Me? I fixing it. I am glad if you are, too. We will have better tomorrows once we have better todays.

Today is what we have. It is all we have. If it is fucked up, we did that yesterday and have to do stuff different right now. What we do today matters. Forever. That is the truth. Every single thing we do today matters. What we say, do, think, eat, feel, touch, share, sing, kill, hug, breathe, fuck, kiss, hurt, heal, forgive, read, watch, wear, wash, clean, cuddle, love, hate, and any other action, reaction, or inaction that we live. Today is when we save the world we screwed up, improve the world we saved, and change the world we want tomorrow. Today is what we have. Yesterdays gone, tomorrow ain’t here, and now is what we have.

I walked and had those thoughts and tons of others. Tried to get it to a sound bite. A bumper sticker oozing with message, positivity, and depth. Something catchy, politically correct, and quick. “Treasure yesterdays, value tomorrows, and own today”. Maybe “Yesterday’s gone, tomorrow’s watching, and today is here.” So many possibilities. So many clever and right ways to get the word out there. To touch folks that hear and maybe ever a few that need that one nudge to really change. I wanted the Bumper sticker.

What the hell is that about? We are way beyond the bumper sticker stage. If you haven’t got the message by now, you need the bumper sticker on a train that runs you over to get your attention. No more bumper stickers. (Alright…a few more….but just because sometimes I like them.). If you can fit your message on a bumper sticker or a placard, run for office because some people believe in placards, sound bites, and one vote is all it takes to save the world.

I tried to think bumper sticker thoughts today. That is soooooooo yesterday. Retro, my ass. Let’s live today like it matter tomorrow. Cause it does.

If you are still reading, thanks. If you aren’t, cool. I can’t reach people who don’t read and think and do….don’t want too. My reach only goes so far. Meanwhile, I will be doing what I do and that matters tomorrow so I better do it right today,

“Tomorrow will be a lot better if we do the right things together today.” Kinda catchy, ain’t it? That won’t fit on a bumper sticker but that’s alright with me. We need less bumpers anyway. Remember, I was walking when all these thoughts flowed. Walking is a good thing….today and tomorrow. Try it. Please! Leave your bumper stickers home. Bumper stickers ain’t the target audience anymore. That’s a road too well traveled.

Father-Son (Happy Birthday to my son, Patrick Van Wagner)

We are a father and a son. He is a son and a father. There is a complexity in each of us. We are so different. We are so alike. Living under the same roof. Two men. Dancing around each other as equals and enigmas. We peacefully coexist. In silence. A few feet, several decades, and core values apart.

Respect keeps us at bay. Love keeps us together. I learn about myself more by being around him than likely from any other source. It is hard at times and that is when it is best for me. Then is when he really shines. For he is his own man. He made choices that are his and his alone. He lives with them with an acceptance that is likely bravado or bullshit but works for him. When I question it, it is my question to answer for the question is of me rather than of him. There comes a point when Fathers are not to question sons anymore. There comes a point when fathers have to realize the son they would question has become the man who has his own questions to handle. At some point, sons stop asking fathers. At that point, the man handles his own questions in his own way. My son is a man and it is my place to let him ask himself questions of his own making.

When I want to remember my son’s strength and beauty, I need only see him with his own son. He plays with him. Really plays with him. Two buddies. Just as his Grandfather wanted to do with his father and his father wanted to do with him. Yet, life kept us doing what was right. Right for who? For the kid that is now a Dad that plays with his son? I thought so. Maybe that is the reward for having missed a boat long ago and realizing my father missed that same boat. Maybe that is the lesson. Life is about learning.

Lessons learned as a man watching a man father in his way. My way was different than my father’s way. My father’s way was different than his father’s way. Life is a continuum of trying to get it right. I have evidence under my roof that my son loves his son more than life itself. Who am I to question whatever the hell I would question? He is a good man for being a good father. That is enough. Maybe that is my lesson. Maybe that is his gift to me. He is different. As a father, he is different. As a man, he is different. What is the same is that he loves his son just as I love him and my father loved me. That is enough. More than enough when it is all said and done.

Happy Birthday, Pat.

I love you, Dad

Coma

How long was your coma? Mine was forty-two years long. The answers were back there. Behind me. Waiting for me to wake up, caught up, and do something. Waiting for me to do the things I knew were right in 1968 when I was fifteen years old. I am that man now. The one I thought I was the year Elvis did his Comeback Special. Today, I am that man. Doing those things that were right back then. Those things are still right now. It is just the stuff in between that screwed things up as bad as they are now.

Things were screwed up back then too. It just would have been easier if we did what we said we were going to do back then. Those things we have to do now. The tree hugging, fuck the politicians and the machine in Washington, and who the fuck needs war things that had kids born under the red, white, and blue burn the colors in front of their parents, teachers, leaders, cops and robbers, and whoever the heck else said to just shut up and color. Those things we started and then let fizzle once we got laid regular and got a real job that paid real money.

Then they threw money at us. Money out there. On Wall Street. In Wal-Mart. They put our backs up against the wall and hit us right in our wallets. Jeans got tighter and then looser and more designer. Flowers went from in our hair to out there in those parks where bums slept at night and drugs oozed like memories that haunted us. Haunted us with “there but the grace of god” bullshit and “shit it just might be easier in those parks” conflict of purpose and place and gotta get to work cause the bills ain’t gonna pay themselves justifications. They threw money at the problem and the problem was us and the problem went away. Into a sugar and credit card induced coma that kissed the 70s hello and raped the planet with a vengeance. It never looked back. We sleep walked the rest of the century and heard Mayan whispers of a wake up call that sounded a lot like Abbie Hoffman, the Momma and Papas, and Dylan at his best. We opened our eyes and voted for a black man that felt like we did at our best. He was beat up and sent to his room with the threat of no dessert after one term.

Now the screaming has started. Luckily we are screaming louder than the idiots who want to pretend we didn’t fall asleep at the switch. Enough of us are screaming inside where we woke up first and realize that Rip Van Winkle ain’t that far from the truth. We took our eyes off the ball, let them keep their fingers on the button, and now we have to pay the piper. Peace, love, dove, motherfuckers. We got things to do. Things that feel like 1968. Only this time I will do them, am doing them, and don’t fucking care who likes it or who doesn’t. My coma was forty-two years long. My hair didn’t survive the trip but I like the whole shaved head, beard, kinda look. Maybe I should have done that in 1968. Oh, well. Better late than never.

Thomas Merton

He was great man, muted to me. Words deep and rich from places important that spoke in nothing whispers and said nothing things. I wanted to hear him. To know him. Yet he was shadow man. Ghost of seeker that went from feeling to hiding and deeper into the feeling because of the hiding and ended up feeling so much that he was afraid of feeling nothing and everything at the same time. So he wrote.

He wrote to himself and for nobody and spoke to many but I could not hear him. Yet, he was there. Whispering. Words lost on some wind that warmed me and kissed him long ago and embraces him now wherever he is. On some Mountaintop. In some hole in the ground that is the place where he rested so he could travel in ways he knew would come but wondered if they would come as he imagined. He had to believe. He was wired that way.

He had to question. First himself. Then everything. Bombers. Lovers. Singers. Protesters. Warriors. Especially warriors. Dispatched to death by causes that hide true causes. So he questioned. Zen mind away and into and though and back again so that his questions were about his own nothingness and all that he was and we were and are and will be. He was like that.

I wanted to hear him. Maybe I did. Maybe I heard him before he spoke and now just feel what he was and what he said and have to add my two bits because we say the same thing in our own way. Maybe that is why I couldn’t hear him. He was right. I find that reassuring. Nice to know he was heard and is heard even though he didn’t say much to me. Even though I wanted to hear and feel him and came here inside. Inside to where my words were kissed and warmed by feeling without hearing.

He is a ghost. He was a man. He did his thing his way and linked to things that still need to know he was there and heard them and cared. Bombers still fly overhead. We still need those that see and question. We still need those that say why. He did not hide. He just went to a place where he could be in all of it since all of it was everywhere he went. He was a ghost while he was alive in a way. He is alive now that he is a ghost in a way. Meanwhile, bombers still fly and we have yet to hear their true payloads. We have yet to wonder who filled them and why they want to be so brave and go boom, boom, boom so that we can sleep at night while others wonder if they are our next target. He wondered. I wonder. Ain’t that wonderful? Not really. Not while the bombers still fly overhead, dead presidents still take bullets for us, and the land that we love becomes something less. Not really. Ghosts just want to be heard. So do people. When will we really hear? When will we really speak? When will we really have a ghost of a chance?

Samhain 5

Why alone? Why apart? Why the struggle? All questions as Samhain weaves on its course of acceptance. There is inner turmoil. The new is here as the year began. It is as if the snake shed its skin of old and adapts to its new skin. A new feeling. One that has new lines and new looks and new feeling and new places.

That is why alone and why apart and why the struggle. Things are new and the tribe is stronger and filled with resolve. The herd pauses to understand and then will be lashed into motion at a newer and faster pace. A joyous pace. See not the pause and the loneliness. See the respite. Breathe deep and look ahead. The harnesses and yokes will be strapped on firmly and the lash will let all know to spring forth.

Treasure Hunt (Recycled)

Once you found it, you can quit looking.

It ain’t on the shelf. Any shelf. Never was. Can’t make enough money to buy it. It ain’t for sale.

You’re born with it. Live for it. Die without it. Live forever with it.

Someone can hand it to you. You must be present to win.

Try and hide from it and you will succeed. Keep it for yourself and it dies. Worry about keeping it and it runs away. Won’t come when you call it. Can’t force it to stay.

Ache for it. Long for it. Pine for it. Wish for it. It is inside of you. On the other side of the pain you inflict on yourself by keeping it from others.

It was yours and can be again. When it is yours, it will stay as long as you share it. Feel everyone, it is all yours. Let others feel you and they will give you even more.

Hear it in the music and speak it in your words. Read of it then sing of it to all that hear you. Dance to it, for it, and in it. See it in the paintings. Paint it for the seeing.

Dressed to the nines or naked as the jaybird, flash it in your eyes as you smile and high step in the silliest celebrations.

Give it and have it. Have it and give it. Wait for it and wait alone. Hunt for it and hunt alone. Be it and feel it. Feel it and be it.

Have a bite of mine. Feast until you are full. Yum, Yum, eat ‘em up. There is a lot more. Plenty more. Good and Plenty more. More than enough to go around. All the way around. Round and round we go. Makes the world go around.

X marks the spot. XXX. OOO. Hugs and kisses.

Tag, you’re it.

Samhain 4

Be what you are. The search to find what you are can be littered with self denials and pretenses and those self denials and pretenses can begin to feel real. Be what you are. Ask the difficult questions when looking inside and then digest the answers fully. The changes will be many but you will know they are right. The lightness of self will guide you. The confidence of acting on what is natural to you will fuel choices that are long overdue. Be what you are.

Samhain 3

Inefficiency is a cancer that must be identified, treated, and cut out if necessary for it threatens the bounty of the tribe and the herd. Samhain is the New Year and resolutions of improvements and changes must be more than words. The energy of the SOURCE pushes more and more to the tribe and the herd and those that come raise the level of expectations for all that are.

See the life around all as the field that it is and tend to it well. Nurture and reward those that give so willingly and so well. Tend the weak to heal and strengthen. The work ahead is hard but the rewards are vast. Rise to the challenge and earn what is yours for the taking. What you give of self will be returned many-fold as joys escalate and happiness soars. Fear not the changes that come about as this happens for those things were of the old and anchored you in the old.

Samhain 2

Feel the tide rise and rise with it as do boats at sea or in the safest harbors. The only boats that do not rise with the tide are those anchored so securely that the water moves above them as they hold firmly in place. Rise with the tide for the moon is new and there is no stopping the force that raises the tide.

The storm clouds of change gather in the west and the winds will howl forth to cleanse and energize the air. Feel the sweetness of the storm and breathe it deep. A much needed storm to weed out what has withered and prune for future growth. Batten down the hatches to not just weather the storm but to welcome it.

Declaration of Interdependence (Recycled)

We hold this truth to be self evident---all life is linked.

We will respect all life.

We will work as one to ensure balance in all things.

We will live in peace and respect the peace of all.

We will focus on our commonality and celebrate our diversity.

We will share resources.

We will use our resources for the betterment of all life.

We will foster positivity in all we do.

We will be a global family.

We will ensure all that represent us honor these values.

Samhain 1

The balance of light and dark. An equinox of seasons and cycles and circles. This is what is here. The Harvest is now. Marks placed and envied and more ceremonies to come. Circles. Rings. Cleansings. Dances of ceremonies with equals of purpose and place.

Outsiders move inside. Examples gather. Guides point the way. The clouds lift slowly but the visibility is sensed before the clarity is truly seen.

Ask for the questions are better ones now. Accept what is and do so with pride in self for the tribe and herd will not have anything that is not of value. The belonging and acceptance is the first and surest proof that you are worthy. Drink from what you seek and be refreshed of self.