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I.P. Freely

I have made mistakes in my life. Its true. I also have learned to accept the consequences and take responsibility. It sounds easier than it is, but it seemed necessary and important. I have been on a growth journey learning to be completely honest. IT has been rewarding, albeit painful. I was about 7 years sober when I moved to Idaho. I had applied for a medical license here after having trouble in Colorado. It is a long story that can be gleened from my other posts. I met with the board here and they offered me a stipulated license. I commented that if that was going to be, please just dont give me one as it is pretty useless when stipulated. I had applied for 500 jobs and couldnt get one because of the stipulation. The board understood and awarded me an unrestricted license if I would voluntarily submit to random urinalysis tests. I agreed.

The way it works is every morning you call into the screener. I have an image of the banks of computers like in the 70’s evil genius movies. The computer then identifies you and whirls its wheels to determine if you should submit your liquid gold that day. In an even tone, the computer voice then tells you that you have not been chosen or you are chosen.  I was never chosen for teams in grade school, so this confuses me a little. I want to be chosen, to vindicate my 8 year old chubby self. But I dont want to be chosen because of the hassle that will follow. This day I was chosen. I am elated and bummed.pee

The preparations for leaving liquid gold is complex. There are rules of no caffeine three hours before testing, no more than 100cc of water 30 minutes prior. It has to meet criteria on having at least some color.  I generally would drink my morning coffee and water. I would hold it until about 10 am. Then I would pee and chase it with a glass of water. This way I would have the required amount of concentrated urine at noon. Generally, things go much better if you are proactive enough to fill out the paperwork ahead of time. The machine alerted you to the secret test that was to be done. You have checked the box and filled out the paper. You approach the building. I know it is sanitary and well cleaned, but for some reason whenever I remember it, it smells like urine in my head. You hand over the triplicate form that says, “This person has urine and we need it.”pee3

After they know you, they will get you in quickly. This is good, because generally you present needing to pee badly. The program changed after I started and all the urine collections had to be observed. This never really bothered me, but many people talked about having a shy bladder. I cant imagine exposing yourself to some stranger and then not being able to pee. It would prolong the discomfort. What do you say at that point? “Sorry, it was working earlier”?

One of the guys who watched us pee was a very large guy. He had the shape of the guy in Green Mile. His teeth were not as straight nor his voice as deep. His fingers were at least 2 feet long. If I stand up very straight, I can be 5 foot 7. My fingers are average and my voice is also not as deep as the Green Mile guy. There is no guy I have ever met that doesn’t wonder if he is long enough below the waist. The average size has decreased from 6.3 inches to 5.5, reportidly. A popular wives tale about the size of hands reflecting the size of genitalia has never been proven clinically. As the Green Mile stand in leads me to the bathroom, these are not the facts that cross my mind. I can feel my testicles hiding in my abdominal cavity. I wonder if I will ever be able to pee.  I have a thought that as I prepare, this massive guy is going to giggle and pat me on the head and say, “Good for you, little fella.” I was able to pee and two days later my testicles emerged. pee2

I have not had to pee for points in a few weeks, having completed the requirement. I still get up, drink my coffee and water and about 10 am need to pee. I consider holding it at noon every day and have often wondered if I will ever be able to spontaneously urinate without Green Mile watching me.

 
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Posted by on January 30, 2017 in journey, life, Uncategorized

 

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moments in the Sun.

“Do or not do, there is no try,” He bellowed. He was the scariest fellow I have ever met. He is the scariest guy I call my friend. He said this as he used a 6 inch knife to remove a splinter from his finger. It was 10 degrees outside and he was wearing shorts. I have only seen him wear long pants once, it was zero degrees. He is one of those strong but not muscle head individuals. You can tell his build comes from hard work, not the pansy gyms I enjoy. He has scars and abrasions. He is crass. He swears and uses harsh and sometimes abrasive language. He buzzes like neon and you get the feeling he is constantly ready. There are times, I wonder how he sleeps with all the noise you feel oozing from him. My first impression was that this man might well have no heart. I wondered if he cut it out himself and ate it, protecting himself from emotions and making sure no one else could get to his heart. I wonder if it was still beating as he swallowed it whole, chasing it with a pint of ice cream.

And then he spoke. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t eloquent or in iambic pentameter. It wasn’t flowery or soft at all. It was direct and to the point. It was piercing. It was powerful. I would say it was straight from the heart, but I am still not sure he didn’t eat his heart. He spoke truth. It was riveting. It was powerful. It was humbling. It was motivating. It was laser focused on solution.

Years later, I would be in a different state, a different time, a different meeting. My head adrift with finding the perfect response. Planning an eloquent answer. Id seek to make eye contact to be called on and deliver the soliloquy. It would work and I would be chosen to speak. Suddenly, I’d feel a splinter in my finger that really wasn’t there. I’d flash on that knife and my legs would be cold. I would forget everything I had been thinking. It was as if I swallowed my brain. I spoke truth. I spoke from the heart. My soul echoed his words, “God is everything or He is nothing, whats our choice to be?”

 
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Posted by on January 13, 2017 in life, Uncategorized

 

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ghosts

I’m sitting here alone in a much too big house, starting yet another year, watching the snow fall on a foreign and unfamiliar place. Ive done this a lot over the last few years. Nothing has been familiar or trustworthy. I have tried to find a solid to hold onto. I find myself grasping air, ghosts, at the best, liquid. When particularly afraid, I try to hold on tighter, which just makes me tired and more desperate. Ive been chasing ghosts, spectors, illusions, dreams, and lies.

It started a long time ago. I have always wanted the dream. I wanted to be happily married. I wanted to be popular, successful, brilliant, and tall. I led a façade life. IT was play acting. I was a good actor, well good enough to believe my own performance. I thought that was me. I pretended I was popular, successful, even brilliant. I never did get to be tall. As the turmoil of not being who I really was began to rip me apart, I ran. I was in full flight from reality. I hid. The separation of who I was grew from the truth. I chased the illusion of becoming what I wanted to be. I believed I could be what others wanted me to be. I kept running. I kept grasping. The wind ran through my fingers as I sank more and more into despair. The ghosts haunted me. They teased me. The pointed out how I failed. They showed me who I really was. Over 10 years ago, God spoke to me in a church basement through a group of people that also ran to ghosts. HE told me, “Find me or die.” He said I had a choice to keep moving away, or to stop and change directions. I have tried. I wanted life. I wanted to be whole. I wanted to be a real little boy. I learned. I clamored. I sought. I keep trying. But it feels lie chasing ghosts again. I feel the presence of the Spirit. I can see His hands, feel His love. When I try to hold it, it vanishes.

Since the original message, I chased several ghosts. I tried to chase the ghost of love. I asked for a time to heal my family. I sought real connection I was rejected and tried to seek heart through different ways. IT failed. The host turned on me, biting and hacking. IT was nasty. IT reminded me of the scene in Raiders of the Lost Ark, when they open the Ark and the beautiful angel turns into a ugly spector. It kept getting worse. My screams and pain only fueled the vengence. The venom, the hate would leak from my wounds. I would lose my life, my kids, my illusions. I would be erased. I held onto the ghost of love, hoping that the love of the kids would outweigh the hate and hurt. It didn’t. I keep sharing my heart. I keep putting the whisper in the wind. I speak love. I speak connection. I speak truth and solid. MY wind is not as strong or present at this point. It aches.

I chase the illusion of success. I have struggled to rebuild a life and a career. I make decisions that I think are the right ones. It all seems to fall in line and then crumble. The illusion is maddening. It taunts me that the success of being who I am is not as important as what I do. I know it to be a lie, however it would be easier to give in to the lie. It would be easy to surrender to the false self again. Chasing the ghosts has worn me out.

I search for the ghost of love. I panic when it eludes me. I open myself to its wind and am met with cold and heartless breezes. The breeze hurt, it leave icicles on my ribs, shielding my heart from the warmth. I close myself again, deciding to not open up again, only to find myself aching once again. The world is so worried about being hurt, we cant open, we can no longer love without fear. Again, I am confronted by the same condition, “Find God or die.” I can fight for that connection to God’s Spirit or die, existing for chasing ghosts. The same ghosts that my heart and mind crave, desire, ache for.

I’m sitting in a foreign land, watching the snow fall, covering the world in ghosts. I’m afraid.

 
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Posted by on January 1, 2017 in divorce, journey, life

 

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sure, but it will cost your soul

“Anger is like spending a piece of your soul,” he said.

I am fascinated with this idea. I have dabbled in the dark art of anger. I have seethed. I have had righteous anger. I have held grudges. I have had resentments. I have flipped people off, cussed people out, held it in, let it out. I dealt in anger like a peddler deals in trinkets. I had some for every occasion. I had so much I wasn’t even aware of some of it.

“So when I feel myself getting angry, I ask myself is it worth spending some of my soul?”

Brilliant. Seeing anger as harmful to ourselves, as costing part of our soul. I used it as a commodity for a long time. However, I felt like it was earning me respect, power, stature. I relished the opportunity to wield it like Conan or the Highlander. The anger hid my fear, my hurt, my pain. The anger protected me from being known. I saved it in my reservoir and would relive it , reuse it when I needed to protect myself. I had gotten to the point that all I had was anger in varying degrees.  Even my humor was sarcasm, or passive aggressive anger. I even had anger directed inward, or depression. It had eaten my soul. My soul looked like Swiss cheese. Hard winds of life would whistle as they blew around me. A haunting hollow sound followed me everywhere.

“When you are angry at yourself, does it cost extra soul?” I pondered

“Resentments are like eating rat poison and waiting for the rat to die.” I mused

“”How do you earn the spent soul back?” I asked out loud.

“Forgiveness”thDWQRVD9T

 
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Posted by on June 9, 2015 in journey, life

 

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blind, blind, blind, BLIND

“Turn left”

“forward”

“less forward”

“arms out”

Blind Man’s bluff. Remember this game? Also used as a group building, communication exercise. One person is completely blindfolded. An obstacle course is set out with a myriad of traps and knee-busting barriers. At the end is some flag, or medal, or prize of some sort. Your partner stands aloft and yells instructions to you that, frankly, never make any sense. Everyone has a great laugh as you stumble through the course. They giggle as you pick up the items meant to disguise from the real treat. The caller begins to get frustrated at the communication gaps and yells more forcibly. Many times it dissolves into verbal altercation. On Survivor, I’ve seen it get physical.

Take the same people. Blindfold one and let the other walk beside him through the course. The voices remain calm. The giggling stops, the laughing ceases. The fake prizes are moot. The seeing friend alerts to the misdirection, shares the experience with their friend. They walk shoulder to shoulder or hand in hand to the goal together. They share in the journey. They partnered rather than ordered. There was companionship through the twists and turns of the course, rather than frustration and yelling.

I feel like I have been playing a cosmic version of Blind Man’s Bluff. thYM006QUTI have been lost for some time now. I am totally blinded to the course and the prize. I have stumbled around and did my best to hear the soft voice above the cacophony of jeering or cheering voices. I was frustrated, discouraged, and unsettled. I clung to one base, knowing it wasn’t the final prize. It was safe and comfortable. Walking away would be scary. I wouldn’t ever be able to cling to it again. I wouldn’t even be able to find it again. I would try. I was afraid. I would have a false bravado at resuming the course. I’d hear the whisper and begin to move again. I’d leave the security. I’d take a few steps and the voice would quiet.

I clamor for a partner. I felt it as a need. I felt like I couldn’t do this alone. I needed someone to help me. I needed someone to depend on. I found someone for a brief moment in time. My need suffocated them. I felt more alone after they left. I was lost, and now, lonely.

I drifted above the maze. I saw me bumping into different objects. I saw my knees and shins bleed. I saw the giggling, the condemnation, the judgment. I watched my pained smile. I saw the tears and the fears. I saw the loss. I ventured to the whisper. I got to glimpse the design of the game. The purpose. The real prize. Both people were blindfolded. The prize was not the prize, but sharing the journey. Helping each other towards the end, growing and changing, laughing and crying, is the point.

I know something is on the horizon for me. I have stumbled and listened. I have tried, failed, and succeeded. I have loved, lost, and lived. I have been knocked down and gotten up. I know it is there. I can feel it. I call it HOPE. hopeinfieldI call it LOVE. I call it JOURNEY. I am frustrated as it feels so distant. It seems as I travel to the horizon, it never gets closer.

“Trudge forward, my friend.”th3AJM7KLS

 
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Posted by on June 2, 2015 in faith, journey, life

 

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click three times….

I am the scarecrow.scarecrow2 I walk funny and have very little fashion sense. I also really want to be smarter. I keep getting myself into hurtful situations by not thinking it out. My dad used to say that I was thinking, just with the wrong head. My life in BD (before Dorothy) was not very exciting. I fumbled along looking for a purpose. I analyzed myself and could tell you all my shortcomings and faults. As I wondered around aimlessly, a smart and wholesome woman suggested I would like to be of service in the fields. She described how it would make me a good Christian to protect the food source and be of service. She suggested it was my calling and I could do it for a lifetime. I hoisted myself on the cross and hung there. I beamed at her and she at me. I had found love and a purpose at the same time. The woman grew to resent me. She wanted to control and for me to be in control. She didn’t like taking care of me. I grew to resent the woman. I tried to wiggle out of the victim role, but didn’t know how. I just hung around. The woman left and I stayed on the cross, lamenting. Dorothy came along and invited me to share in the journey. She wasn’t going to do it for me, and made no promises. I fell off the cross and learned to walk all over again, resuming the stumbling journey. I wanted a brain.

I am the tin man.tin-man I have been frozen in time by my ill timed tears. I have felt hollow and empty. I have longed for love and to be loved. I have felt like my heart was taken and destroyed. I have lived a life pretending to feel. I faked not having pain or despair. I have run away in fear from love because I was worried I had nothing to give in return. Dorothy came along and suggested a voyage to my heart. They would love me until I could love myself and then I could love someone else.

I am the lion.The-Wizard-Of-Oz-Cowardly-Lion I put on a brave front. I was a bully and fierce protector. I humiliated others and used my false bravado to intimidate. Inside I quivered. Inside I fled. Inside I screamed. I was afraid of life. I was afraid of risk. I was afraid that if anyone could see my insides, they would reject me. I set out to prove them right and rejected them or made them reject me. I was cowardly. I couldn’t state my needs or wants for fear I didn’t deserve to have them. Dorothy came and rejected only the exterior. She denied the bravado and slapped my nose. She loved my interior. She acknowledged the good in failing and getting up again. She encouraged journey, rather than destination.

I am Toto. Clueless and yappy. I offered little to the story but comedy relief. I existed and wondered, but didn’t really live. Dorothy didn’t help me at all, I got nothing from the Wizard. I didn’t change or adapt to any situation. I refused to grow, and just kept wandering, pointing out the flaws in everyone else’s story of magic.

But of course, Dorothy and the Wiz didn’t really give me anything I didn’t have. I had the brains to know how to survive in a loveless marriage, and the brains to get back on the path when that fell apart. I had the love to love again. I hurt not because I have no heart, but because mine works. I didn’t need a new heart, just to heal my own. I had courage. The courage to protect myself the only way I knew how, and when shown a different way, the courage to change. I had the courage to arise once again. I am not clueless or a clanging cymbal. I have experience, strength, and hope. I also have boundaries. I wont believe something or follow something just because everyone else is. I insist on reality and honesty. I desire relationship with authenticity.

and then I clicked the third time…

 
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Posted by on May 31, 2015 in journey, life

 

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are you dead, or just sleeping

Its a Dead Mans Party…who could ask for more?

I have been all worked up about the small groups I go to. It seems to me that the job is to share experience, strength and hope. You tell about who you were, what happened and what you are like now. Its really simple. However, I have been going to groups that allow for more of a group counseling approach. I have heard stories about brothers diabetic feet, some 2nd cousin who might or might not have a problem with porn. I have heard more at an hour meeting than I heard all day at work with psychiatric patients. I am a little annoyed.

Its a Dead Mans Party

IT came to me today. The group dynamic lends itself for being a dead mans party. The whole idea of trying to be authentic with your journey beckons to be melo-dramatic. It becomes a competition on who has it the worst. The one upmanship of being downtrodden. It is the idea of stripping away life and allowing for the rebirth. In order to be reborn, you have to die first. You die to who you were. You have the option of being resurrected or resuscitated. You can be fully dead and move onto your new self…resurrected. Or you can hold onto the past and resume how you were-resuscitated back into the same old stale life. You get to live like a zombie. You get to join the dead mans party. You get to leave your body and soul at the door. You are without substance.

Its a Dead Mans Party.

I also had another idea of the dead mans party with relationships. I am scared to death of being in love. I lived my former life behind a mask. I hid from authenticity. I manipulated. I lied. I would tell long stories about how miserable I was, and how I needed someone, to put them in a hero role. I could then be the victim. It manipulated relationship into a duty. I have changed. I see now the only way to resurrection is absolute vulnerability. The concern for me is that vulnerability seems like leaving your body and soul at the door. I feel exposed and transparent. It hurts, like an open wound. If I stay in the mode of fear, I join the dead mans party. I can allow myself to shed the corporeal. I can shed the past. The vulnerability doesn’t have to hurt this bad. It takes practice to be exposed and still live. I want to live. I want to love. Do not resuscitate. I want resurrection.

 
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Posted by on May 29, 2015 in journey, life, Uncategorized

 

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