Question

To question or not to question, that is the question. No question about it. I question everything. I am a Questioner. Question to learn. Question to ensure I actually understood what I learned. Question how to share it, how to give it away, and how to keep giving it away. Question all the time and then question why I question all the time. It happens all day, every day. I wake up with a question of what the day holds and then go to sleep with a question if I did my best. My dreams walk right into my questions. Questions about the light. Questions about the dark. Questions to learn.

Questions are joyous. Each question is the Divine Child opening to be fed. Maybe my mouth should be a question mark. Maybe my Divine Child has a question mark rather than a halo. My Divine Child questions all the time. I even question the Divine. How dare I? How could I? How could I not? I question to learn and then to share and then if I shared enough and if it was what others needed and if it will really matter. If it does, cool. If it does not, so what? Tomorrow is an unknown. I do not question that. I do my questioning in the moment.

Some questions are to attack. When asked them, I realize they are not truly questions at all. Yet when I feel myself asking those type of questions, I honor them. I choke them back and ask myself why the hell I would do that? Why would I question my joy or my choices or ever dare to question others joy or their choices. All of those questions are actually all about me anyway so I choke them back and must become a Master Questioner.

Why do I question? What drives this question? I own the questions and question right through the questions to find the fear that drives them. To find what I need to feel to understand why the heck I would question my very joy. To understand the weakness that is mine that would have me question others rather than ask why I question them rather than face the question of self I avoid by questioning them. Those are the questions of deeper learning. I go deep into them because there is sweetness in deep learning.

I question to learn. No question about it. I question to grow and shine and share and live and die and love and love even more and then even more than that. I question because I am human and we are here to learn and questions are all about learning. Learning about me so that I can be the best me and then a better me and then even a better me. Learning about me so I can be a We and We We We all the way home. Right back to where I came from. Wherever that was. Any questions?

Simple Fi

(Another peice from "Report From the Frontal Lobe"....being edited to life as you read.)

I started a club a while ago. You can be in it if you want. Anyone can. That’s just the way I do things. Inclusive. A nice word. Inclusive. If I eliminated people from my club…well, that would be bad and short sighted and just the opposite of what is right. People do belong. We are all in the same club. The “I have been born, I am going die, and I doing my best in between to make sense of what the heck I am doing here” club.

The ain’t the name of my club. If that was the name of my club, t-shirts would be out of the question. My club is “Simple Fi”

Kinda sounds like one of those things some people do at colleges and such. For some, those kinda clubs were the best part of their college experience. For me, those things were not any part of my college experience. Just because my college experience was a tad bit different that most.

I took classes at twenty-seven different colleges/universities, graduated from four, and, until a road trip a year ago when I went out of my way to drive onto the campus of University of Nebraska at Omaha, never stepped foot on the four I graduated from. It’s the facts, Jack. I was a migrant worker (twenty-eight years in the US Military) and took classes wherever I could and whenever I could. Even took some night classes at an All Girls Catholic College in Nashua New Hampshire. Turned out it was the very first time they opened their night classes to co-ed…myself and one other guy were the only two males that attended that first quarter. Just me and him and all women. Dang the luck! Had a nun, a room full of women, and a demanding class. Still shows up in my dreams. Only on good nights though. Learning can be such a dream come true.

Along the way, I amassed a few degrees. BA. MBA. PhD. That impresses some folks. Letters after a name are very important to some. I was one of those for quite a while. Maybe the letters after my name should have been BOZO (In training). Well, I achieved the highest level of learning there. I am Bozo Emeritus. Screw that shit. Take the letters after my name, stamp them, and send them to the dead letter office. If you need letters after my name to care about what I say, you most likely would not believe what I say anyway.

With the slightly different path my college education took, the opportunity of Sororities and Fraternities just did not surface. Just as well really. The only time I attended anything close to a full time college experience was just recently when attending Utah College of Massage Therapy. The Principle called me to her office one day, and it had been over forty years since I was called to the Principle’s office, said a student had filed a complaint against me, and kicked me out. Just like that. No questions. No explanations. Fifty-six years old and I was kicked out of college. Wow.

What the heck would have happened if I had attended college back in the 70s? Holy Moly…..I can only imagine. Timothy Leary…eat you heart out. It is easy to be radical when in your 20s. Bring radical when you are 56 is…..well, radical. Helps me understand why I am not a joiner. Like Groucho said, “I refuse to belong to any club that would have me for a member.” Until today, that is. I like being in Simple Fi.

Simple Fi is different than Fraternities and Sororities. Although my path did not include time in clubs with Greek Letters for names, hazing ceremonies, and the opportunity to be three sheets to the wind while wrapped in a sheet, I understood the basic math. Fraternities + Sororities = Paternity.

My club is an Eternity Club. Your eternity is welcomed. My eternity is welcome. Here an eternity. There an eternity. Everywhere an eternity. Maybe that could be our theme song. Sung to the tune of Old MacDonald had a Farm of course. Our mascot could be a Ewe. My you. Your you. Everywhere a you-you. Not a yo-yo. If you are a yo-yo, you are still welcome but you are probably busy amassing letters after your name.

In Simple Fi, you play. Everyone plays. Unless, of course, if someone is sad. Then we all cheer them up and then we all play. Kinda hard to play when someone else can’t. So we play. Alone. Together. Whatever works.

Today I played on the ice. Wasn’t much ice today. Spring is the air. Still there was some ice. For me, the best kind. The ice over puddles. I love cracking it and seeing the water kiss the open air. Maybe it is the open air that kisses the water. Whatever. A kiss is a still a kiss. Sometimes the air kisses the water, sometime the water kisses the air. You put the lime in the coconut, You drink them both up. I don’t play that game. Playing on the ice is enough for me. Life on the rocks is, well, life on the rocks. I let air kiss water and watcr kiss air and the Doctor can heal someone else’s belly ache. My belly is fine and full and not even hung over my belt.

So I walked. One foot on the street. One foot cracking the ice. Foot. Crack. Foot. Crack. Foot. Crack. Did it safely too. Foot. Crack. Never fell on my butt crack. Not today at least. Today I played. Today I started a club. Simple Fi.

Simple Fi. I think I will. I am a simple kinda guy. Don’t let the letters after my name fool you. I am smarter than they might make you think. Simple Fi. Lessons in life trump college every time. The colleges you attended, didn’t attend, wanted to attend, and even got kicked out of….lessons in life trump them all. I got a lot to learn.

Join the club. You already paid your dues. You were born. Now you can Simple Fi for life.

Up-Write

(Another piece from "Reports from the Frontal Lobe".)

I looked for my relevance and it wasn’t there. Not the life changing, mid life, see the bald guy in the Vette kinda thing. Just a quiet inside awareness of life choices and their long-term impact. Right age. (Midlife crisis in the 50s. Either we are just bad at math or eternal optimists thanks to Willard Scott). Right time. Right place. It seems easy for me. To reflect and say quietly,,,,,”Wow, blew that one.” Then think more and watch rather than feel the sting of “What was I thinking?” Interesting to be so deep into the process that it is lived as well as observed.

Years of changes helped. Some made. Some foisted upon the sometimes slow to grasp the evidence at hand believer in SOURCE that I am. Years of preparation. Broke me. Yet I remained in tact. My life was just broken into a million little pieces. Shiny bobbles that I looked at one by one. Gems that assembled into something more façade than real in reflection. They shined quite beautifully. Felt wonderful in my hands covered with the eyeballs of hindsight. Understood the beauty in each one. Mistakes shown. Wisdom spread in the wreckage as well. The gambit of the priceless along with the worthless collected by the clueless.

Seems this is when folks get bitter. Dive into bottles. Hide inside drugs. Get really bad haircuts. Lose their fashion sense. End up in places with “Yeah, I belong” on their faces and a “Holy Shit” feeling in their gut. Run for the borders of all they know. That is the stereotype. The expected. Woooo Hooooo. I ain’t typical. Not this time. A ten-year head start might be my key to being different. Left the military a decade ago and entered the world I had prepared for and prepared. Lived the dream of the Defender of Truth, Justice, and the American Way. Exited the guard post and headed into the bank vault. Yahoo, Bobba Looey. Where are my withdrawal slips? Time to make some money and live the dream.

Didn’t feel greedy. Didn’t feel wrong. Didn’t feel disconnected from reality. In fact, I felt damn good. Had lots of stuff and got more stuff and the money was rolling in fast. Almost as fast as I could spend it. Alright, not that fast. Still, money would come so bills were not an issue. Could liquidate if I had to and that meant I was solid. Had enough savings and investments to pay all the bills so the ride was safe and sound. Worked hard, spent fast, and traveled tons.

Things changed. Drastically. Forever. In ways beyond my expectations that tested my limitations and challenged my foundation. My foundation turned out to be pretty damn solid. (Man, it is good I was well laid. A good foundation comes in handy when your world crumbles to pieces). Turned out my foundation was just well hidden by the stuff I thought meant living. Had to excavate. Had to dust off the remnants of my monetary Pompey.

I am living archeological dig. Can you dig it? My logic went astray. Arch-logic. Bizarro thinking that become my reality. A life inside the dream I defended and then pursued with vigor and even righteousness. A life not relevant because it was disconnected. Disconnected from nature and the rest of the world…at least the world that did not have unlimited resources and the innate right to everything on the planet.

The dig is a work in progress. After all, the foundation survived and that is important. My life went to pieces, my world expanded, and my spirit soars. Digging out from under and adjusting to the light is a bit like birthing…..it happens at its own speed. Good to know the foundation is ready all the same. Rocky starts, Rocky Horrors, Rocky Road Ice Cream, Rocky and Bullwinkle.......all go better on solid foundations.

Dig It!

I looked for my relevance and it wasn’t there. Not the life changing, mid life, see the bald guy in the Vette kinda thing. Just a quiet inside awareness of life choices and their long-term impact. Right age. (Midlife crisis in the 50s. Either we are just bad at math or eternal optimists thanks to Willard Scott). Right time. Right place. It seems easy for me. To reflect and say quietly,,,,,”Wow, blew that one.” Then think more and watch rather than feel the sting of “What was I thinking?” Interesting to be so deep into the process that it is lived as well as observed.

Years of changes helped. Some made. Some foisted upon the sometimes slow to grasp the evidence at hand believer in SOURCE that I am. Years of preparation. Broke me. Yet I remained in tact. My life was just broken into a million little pieces. Shiny bobbles that I looked at one by one. Gems that assembled into something more façade than real in reflection. They shined quite beautifully. Felt wonderful in my hands covered with the eyeballs of hindsight. Understood the beauty in each one. Mistakes shown. Wisdom spread in the wreckage as well. The gambit of the priceless along with the worthless collected by the clueless.

Seems this is when folks get bitter. Dive into bottles. Hide inside drugs. Get really bad haircuts. Lose their fashion sense. End up in places with “Yeah, I belong” on their faces and a “Holy Shit” feeling in their gut. Run for the borders of all they know. That is the stereotype. The expected. Woooo Hooooo. I ain’t typical. Not this time. A ten-year head start might be my key to being different. Left the military a decade ago and entered the world I had prepared for and prepared. Lived the dream of the Defender of Truth, Justice, and the American Way. Exited the guard post and headed into the bank vault. Yahoo, Bobba Looey. Where are my withdrawal slips? Time to make some money and live the dream.

Didn’t feel greedy. Didn’t feel wrong. Didn’t feel disconnected from reality. In fact, I felt damn good. Had lots of stuff and got more stuff and the money was rolling in fast. Almost as fast as I could spend it. Alright, not that fast. Still, money would come so bills were not an issue. Could liquidate if I had to and that meant I was solid. Had enough savings and investments to pay all the bills so the ride was safe and sound. Worked hard, spent fast, and traveled tons.

Things changed. Drastically. Forever. In ways beyond my expectations that tested my limitations and challenged my foundation. My foundation turned out to be pretty damn solid. (Man, it is good I was well laid. A good foundation comes in handy when your world crumbles to pieces). Turned out my foundation was just well hidden by the stuff I thought meant living. Had to excavate. Had to dust off the remnants of my monetary Pompey.

I am living archeological dig. Can you dig it? My logic went astray. Arch-logic. Bizarro thinking that become my reality. A life inside the dream I defended and then pursued with vigor and even righteousness. A life not relevant because it was disconnected. Disconnected from nature and the rest of the world…at least the world that did not have unlimited resources and the innate right to everything on the planet.

The dig is a work in progress. After all, the foundation survived and that is important. My life went to pieces, my world expanded, and my spirit soars. Digging out from under and adjusting to the light is a bit like birthing…..it happens at its own speed. Good to know the foundation is ready all the same. Rocky starts, Rocky Horrors, Rocky Road Ice Cream, Rocky and Bullwinkle.......all go better on solid foundations.

Yesterday

(A piece from "Reports from the Frontal Lobe"....a book making its way to completion quickly.)

Was it that long ago? There was a boy although he moved just like a man. Maybe more saw him as a boy than he knew but he was man. A big man. A big man making manly decisions. Life decisions. Big decisions. Decisions that were here and now yesterday. Some questioned the decisions. Others celebrated them. He made them. It was easier for him when they celebrated them but he made them for himself. At least he thought he did. After all, it was yesterday and today is different. Today he might make other decisions. A lot changes as yesterday becomes today and today becomes tomorrow and tomorrows become memories.

Yesterday was 1972. At least it feels like that. Just a kid. On his first plane ride. From the one state that he knew into places he only knew of…..and really didn’t know at all. Jumping into the unknown is exciting once we are confident we jumped into the right unknown. We buy in and then we do it. We jump. We jump from all we know into all we want and need and really don’t know. Sometimes it is a big jump. It was back in 1972.

That yesterday changed all my tomorrows. Yesterdays are like that. Today is a new day and I love my today. I honor and celebrate and remember my yesterdays. I love my today….and I kinda love my tomorrows…..but tomorrow is further away than yesterday and today is really all I have right now. All my yesterdays are right here….even that one way back in 1972. My tomorrow? Ask me about that tomorrow. When tomorrow is today and today is yesterday. Right now……well right now is really damn good. I didn’t see it coming yesterday……but it arrived right on time.

Graves

(Another piece of "Reports from the Frontal Lobe"......finished except the editing and flow and that is coming along quickly.)

Graves. One waits for each of us. Not the one they put our body in. That one can be avoided. We can float our ashes on the wind. We might cast the vessel that was ours into the sea. We might let them have us in the labs. Parts of us might move about in others thanks to donating what we won’t be using anymore. Doesn’t really matter. We ain’t there anymore. We died, boys and girls. We can’t really be late for our own funeral. We ain’t even there. Our grave might be that one for someone else though…that grave that really gets them mad about death.

My mother’s grave was that one for me. Stood there, all grown up and decked out in the uniform I wore for twenty-eight years. Stood there to make her proud. To make her smile that smile that said, “This is my son. Look at how well I raised him”. The follow on thought “..and rest assured, it was a hell of a lot of work!”…lessened over the years. There I stood…and that smile was gone. The big brave officer and world traveler and all around happy man….wanted the smile and it was gone. The little boy cried.

Over a year later, I emerged from the grief. It took that long to handle it. Was walking wounded….went through life without living it that long. People who knew me knew it. People who didn’t know me knew it. Anyone that looked knew it. The only one I fooled was myself.

I stood at my Mother’s grave and hated death. Hated that she was gone. Hated that I had to pretend to be alright.

Heard about Elvis and how he threw himself on his mother’s casket. He clawed at it. He wanted her out of that box. He wanted to get in that box with her. He hated death at the moment. He hated life at that moment. He was clueless about how he could possible just keep on living anymore.

Some people wale. Others cry. Some claw at the casket. We handle death in our own way. That one grave waits for us. The one when we really hate death. The one when death steps into our lives and changes everything.

Death is part of life. Until that one grave arrives, we fool ourselves. After it arrives, we are changed. Changed for the better actually. That is when we know how much we can love. How much we can care. How much living matters. How much one person can mean to another. That grave arrives and we begin to live. To truly live. To appreciate what we are while we are still here to be it.

It’s only one grave that gets us like that. Our heart has to be really ready to understand life. Once we understand life, we understand death. We walk away from the grave more alive….or more dead. My mom gave me life. Her death showed me how precious life is. One grave. Death is pretty serious stuff. Life is about living fully…once we face death and decide we will live.

Stereotypes

(Another piece from "Reports from the Frontal Lobe"...making its way to your hands free soon.)

Before they were stereotypes they were the people in my life. They were real before they were fictionalized, fantasized, anesthetized, vilified, elevated, deflated, and homogenized.

The shoe repair man that lived in the back room of his shop. A shop of so many shoes. Cast-offs, waiting pick-ups, forgotten, beyond hope, those under those other ones, ladies mixed with men and coupled with children’s….I saw something different each time and felt the effect of the collected. The appearance, leather vest, round rim glasses, silver ring of very little hair, the name, the way he moved, the way he remembered things…Hollywood casting would love his lovability and Jewish name.

The crusty mechanic. The darkest man in a lily-white town before rainbows were really valued. Chewing on what looked to be the same stogie, wearing the blue coveralls held together by decades of axel grease, concealed behind halves, fenders, that joist, a Model whatever on cinderblocks now home to a raccoon and close knit starlings, driveshafts, crankshafts, and potholes, and named Cookie. Stocky, eyes that smiled a split second before the face, arms like stubs, fingers that looked anything but what they were, agile, and that shuffling walk of one drop light on the head more than he ever wanted. His mechanical prowess was more rumored than evidenced, no one knew where he really lived, and the gas pumps didn’t and hadn’t for a long time. He smelled of fossil fuels and reeked with character. Curmudgeoned wise man with a red rag in his left pocket and a socket wrench looking for a home in his right hand.

The Irish Priest too old to function and too spry to be ignored. He drifted from absent-minded to brilliant and let the youngsters think they knew better. Then he helped them fix things. He was the power behind the throne and didn’t care as long as things were right. Everyone knew him. Everyone loved him. Everyone underestimated him. His grave is halfway between my grandparents and my parents…and I look for him just like I did when passing the Rectory that feels much lesser now.

Sister Mary Joseph John, the Bride of Christ worthy of the hand selection. Luminous. Intelligent. Hail Mary, Full of Grace Kelly. She inspired, quieted, and loved. She knew you and him and her but you were enough and always tried to be when ever she entered your thoughts. Any one in Habit got the respect you felt for her. You were one of many yet she made you feel one of one. She was one in a million yet claimed to be just one of many. You had her in Fifth Grade and know that heaven is a lot like Fifth Grade. You got all A’s except that one B and you have made it up to her in the three going on four decades since. You loved her. Not in that way. Not then. You still love her. She was as Feminine as they come. You were as studious and pious as you could be because she knew your best from your bullshit and demanded your best.

The short order cook at the Diner on the Highway. If he wasn’t there, he’d be in prison. He was Navy, or liked that Tattoo that looked like Popeye’s and peeked out just under his rolled up undershirt sleeve. You wondered if his hat came crooked. You knew you would crush and bend yours the same way if you ever entered that world. He didn’t speak but you heard who he liked and who he didn’t loud and clear. You were in the like column, most of the time. You were semi-regular…just on the edge of his give a shit meter. The flipper never left his hand and he never called it a spatula. He knew over easy real well and dismissed special orders with a look hotter than any grill any where. The few times he came out from the opening in the wall and had a cup of coffee were your moments behind the curtain. You wanted to call him Cookie but were smart enough to shut the hell up and just drink your coffee. You hoped he didn’t notice you put cream in it, wussy, and took your next cup black. Left it that way long after he put out his cigarette and disappeared into his world.

They weren’t in Walmart today. They won’t be tomorrow either. They are still real though. Keep living the dream. Another cup of Jo, please. I got a date with an Angel and the roads are slicker than snot. One more for the road.