Wednesday, June 21, 2017

Suffering is Optional

It is balls-hot where I live.

Today the walk was in 110°F blasting heat. I’m thankful that it is only about 10 minutes from the bus stop to my home. I’m thankful that it is pretty much a straight shot from my work where I pick up the bus in the afternoon to where I get off to walk home.

The reason I walk home in the afternoon is that my car will not turn over. The reason that I did not take the car to the mechanic is that I had a $2300 plumbing bill to replace a clogged p-trap that is in connection to the waste water line that goes out to the street. I also had a $2900 hospital stay for pneumonia in March. Most recently, I’ve got a $750 bill to take my cat to the vet to have two teeth extracted. In January, I had to make an unexpected trip to Albuquerque that cost about $1200.

This appears to be the Year of Price.

It also appears to be the Year of Humility.

Possibly the Year of Endurance.

Whatever the case, I am grateful that I have the ability to take the 10 minute walk so I can keep paying off the bills at an accelerated rate. There are other benefits to my walking home from the bus stop. It’s about a half-mile course and it helps me keep moving.

At current, I’m a bit wiped when I get home because I’m grossly overweight and out of shape. Even in the cursed earth, there is a gleam of hope if I look. It takes a certain perspective, I admit.

I know that there are folks out there that have it worse than I do. My minor complaints pale in comparison. My objective right now is to be grateful for what I can do rather than piling up the reasons I’m suffering.

As it is said, pain will come but suffering is optional.

Tuesday, June 20, 2017

The Obstacles and the Path

It has been over two months since I’ve written anything substantial. I could list of the multitudinous mass of reasons why I didn’t. It wouldn’t matter. What does matter is that the itch to vent and create has been driving me mad whilst I was on hiatus.

I’ve been doing micropoetry and other short prompts on Twitter, but that only served to pass the time. I don’t want what I’ve been working for all of my life to be something that passed the time. It is not what I want for myself.

It is not how I want to be remembered. I don’t want to be the man who passed his time well. It will simply not do.

I’ve been on the cusp of manifestation for too long. I’ve been touching the envelope, being afraid to push through it. It is the same as dipping into a pool of cool water. It is shocking if one steps in slowly. The cold creeping up.

I need to build the wherewithal to jump.

This is where I practice. This is where I build the courage to dive into the chill of the water. This is where I recognize that there exists in me a talent that I have long known about but was afraid to truly embrace. This is where I try to move the bricks in the wall I’ve put up over the decades and see what was put away so long ago.

Visualizations, strings of words, thoughts both logical and transcendental, and most of all feelings have been put into this vault for far too long.

Here is where I will try to remember how to be human again.

Sunday, April 02, 2017

Sunday, March 26, 2017


Original photography by clair0bscur
Here in the silent times, I remember the thoughts and words we share. I remember the lessons. I remember the hunts. I remember the soaring flights that we took. Johannes was not the only one who was taken into the fold of a wing. He was not the only one to experience the connection.

I too, was chosen.

Yes, mother, you were.

For us, it is not one over the other. It is us together. We are of one mind sharing the disparate bodies. We gain the experiences of one another for a grand collective to be shared further on down to the new generation. It is not just for you or I. It is for us all.

I too, am sharing.

Yes, mother, you are.

What we have is beyond intimacy. Our symbiosis has given each of us so much. Our decedents may one day understand what passes between us. It is beyond love. It is beyond care. It is beyond what could ever be explained in the mundane world. Our destinies are intertwined and will always be so.

I too, will be with you.

Yes, mother, you will.

Tuesday, March 21, 2017


Here I am.

Gathering strength to shoot roots down. Through the rocky ground. Through to the fertile soil underneath. Through to the source of energy and nutrients.

It is the ball of tendrils that slowly shift through it all that it begins. It is the model of regeneration. It is the metamorphosis of growth. It is the beginning of change. It is the personification of intent.

The movement is slow, yet deliberate. It could appear that there is no movement at all. It could appear that there is only stasis. That is not the case.

In the seat of it all, there is faith. Without it, there is no growth, there is no movement.

Movement is movement, no matter how small.

It is the nature of roots.

Monday, March 20, 2017

600 Minutes

I just got out of a hospital stay. It was the first time I was admitted as a patient into a facility like that. It was a test of patience. It was a test of family. It was a test of faith.

Nearly a month ago, I had a cough. Rather simplistic and plain. I thought it would run the course and I would be buffeted but none the worse for wear.

This was not the path I was supposed to take, apparently.

Congestion, cough, chills, fever, and night sweats all came and went. Hacking mucus, constant nose blowing, and heavy sighs were companions. Sleep deprivation, annoyance, shortness of breath, and worry also came.

After several OTC solutions and an Urgent Care visit, my wife insisted upon my visiting the Emergency Room to see what was going on.

It took 10 hours from my walking into the ER until I was admitted into a room. The struggle was in the form of a seemingly endless cycle of being called upon to enter the magical double doors to answer questions, raise hopes, only to be sent back to our seats in the waiting area. It was my own personal Bardo.

Finally, I was selected to be examined. Again I was called up to the wooden gateway and allowed to pass through. The attendant was in azure. Darker hallways fanned out before me. Muted lights, grey walls, and painted floors revealed a different caliber of hospitalers buzzing about like moths gathered into cones of light.

Ushered into a small room, I was asked to repeat my story again with an almost jovial, “Well, what brings you here today?” I recited in detail what had happened. I had failed two rounds of antibiotics, spent time and money fighting whatever was inside of me, and finally came to a place of healing to get more expert advice and care.

Fast-Forward through a breathing treatment, a series of intravenous fluids, antibiotics, and a significant wait, and the attending physician agreed to admit me into hospital care. I was wheeled off into another holding unit until they got a bed ready for me.

Admission questions came next, medication lists were verified, and yet another retelling of my story to yet another physician started my stint in this purgatory. The long room used to be for Physical Therapy. Remnants and equipment were scattered throughout the space. It felt of remembered pain.

My bed was ready before my admission questions were completed. Still, I waited for ‘transport’ to my bed. I waited through the rest of my Antibiotic IV to be finished. I waited through being disconnected from the pump and having my vitals taken for what seemed like the hundredth time for the night. I waited until I had to get up to go to the restroom and come back to my gurney.

Depleted, I sat at the end of the gurney and attempted not to be irritated. I was tired and hungry. I was fatigued and had a headache. The wall was coming up fast. The attending nurse took pity upon me.

In an act of defiance to the order of things, she moved me herself. Somehow, ancient stars were becoming into alignment and freeing me from this prison of clinical lighting and sterile scents.

Finally, in a bed, I relaxed. It was a mistake, but the respite from feeling like I was on display was wiped away. Other invasive atrocities took place, but those are perhaps fodder for another story.

Today, I am back to work as an #officehero. There are things to be done.