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break the ice

Do you remember the game, “Don’t break the Ice”? It was a stage and there were maybe 25 plastic ice cubes wedged into it. There was this red man in a chair that you would put in the middle of the ice. The goal was to knock out ice cubes until someone let the guy fall through the stage. And then you’d laughingly set it all up again and the guy would be perched, unfazed, on the ice once again.

I have this terrifying thought that life is like that. We are set up a foundation for our life, based on expectations, beliefs, emotions, etc. They fit together nicely and fill the stage. The world then chips away at our ice, piece by piece refuted or humiliated. We back bite, cheat, steal, lie, injure. It is a game of chip the other guys ice before yours is broken. We are sanctimonious and rationalize why we chip at the other ice.  “IT is for their own god.” “It is God’s Will.” “I injure you to protect others.”

The ice breaks and we fall. However, unlike our placid friend, we feel the cold water. We plummet in the depths. We struggle to breath as the water and the cold engulf us. We sink or swim. Sometimes the decision isn’t clear and we gulp water as we try and surface. Nearly drowning in the icy water. We crawl to the surface and laughingly rebuild the ice. We perch in our chair, grinning to face another round of the maddening and sickening game, shivering in fear, cold, and isolation.  Never bothering to question why we are out on the ice.

The ice feels solid. The ice feel real. Even though it is cold and cuts the fingertips. Even though it is slowly eroded by the water underneath and the chipping from life on life’s terms, we trust it. We believe in it. IT is tangible in a world of intangible. It is solid in a world of icy water. And so it lends comfort. It lends the illusion of safety. We can even imagine we are warm. “At least I am not in the water right now.” “I have more ice then that guy.”

Stand up, walk off the ice. IT isn’t easy. IT isn’t safe. You will be called back. You will be taunted. You will be told of expectations and rules and limits. You will be told that the rules cant be changed for you. You will be exposed. Its lonely because few people are ready to trust, honor, share, believe in anything but the ice and the water. Few people will ever take this voyage. Most who do, return to the chipping, to the sitting. Most sit in the chair of discontent, waiting for the ice to break.

 
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Posted by on January 2, 2017 in journey, life

 

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walk about

I have gone walkabout. Yes, I am quoting, “Crocodile Dundy”. I am a product of the 80’s. I ponder the question, “What IS so funny about peace, love, and understanding?” I secretly hope that a mullet will once again be in fashion, and I can break out my white sports jacket and hang out with a guy named, Crockett. I am not embarrassed to say that I have put a message in a bottle. It was only this year that I figured out that Sting might have been a Sage and the message in a bottle is internet dating. Everyone does it, and everyone who still does it is still lonely. I ponder keeping my knit ties, just in case. I think “Every girls crazy about a sharp dressed man,” and wished I wanted to dress nicer.

Back to the topic. I have gone walkabout. I was in a mope. I couldn’t see any of the positive surrounding me. I was melancholy about the past and my obvious failures. I had morphed into becoming the failures rather than having them. It had become apparent to me that I was destined to living life as “The Dude,” and my soul purpose was to have my rug not peed on. Beck sang in my head, “I am a loser, baby, so why don’t you kill me.” I had lost my smile, my joy, my love. I hadn’t lost it, I gave it away.

I had a few experiences, recently, that bitch slapped me awake. I had a patient complaint filed. Sounds odd, but it was sort of a nuisance complaint. Complaining about a doctor giving you medication and when you filled it, took it, and 3 days later had an unrelated side effect, isn’t all that sound. Still it bothered me. I like being a doctor, just not being punished for being a doctor. Our current system punishes medical people for trying to help. Nasty system. Then, I had more than one person tell me to choose my path. I just needed to decide where I wanted to be headed, they proclaimed. Novel concept, choose to be happy or growing. Then finally, my ex girlfriend told me to leave her alone. I miss her and love her, always will. However, her setting a boundary made me aware that I had slipped back into the idea that it is all about me. I could only see my side of things and had gotten so lost in the darkness, I had forgotten to enjoy the light. I had to let it, and her, go.

So I went walkabout. I decided to just disappear for awhile. I got books on tape and got in my little car and headed out. I decided to visit a friend from high school. We were glued to each other for years and years. I drove down from Idaho to California. My overnight stop was going to be Las Vegas. I had visions of the Rat Pack and figured the people would be the same as 25 years ago when I had last been there. They would scream my name, a la Norm from Cheers. I would have some funny quip and then win so big at the 2 dollar black jack table, I would get comped a room. Umm, not so much. I stopped and watched the slobbering drunks try and stay perched on the bar stools, smelt the cigarettes and alcohol, and recoiled. I hopped in the car and head on down the road. I stopped in Baker, California. I was pretty tired and pulled into the first hotel I saw. It seemed safe, and the rooms were cheap. I was handed the key to room #7. Yep, the key. I pulled in and opened the door. I was transported to the Caribbean, and not in a good way. There was a bed, an 80’s TV, with a cable line attached that draped over a bare wall. The tile floor was clean, but dingy. There was a bed and a chair, that in 1983 must have been brand new and very nice. There was that round table that you had in your first apartment next to the bathroom. The bathroom had a bare bulb and pink tile. There was a mirror that I could see my chin in if I stood on tiptoes. It was the lap of luxury. I laid down on the most uncomfortable mattress I have ever been on. I wondered if the bedbugs would carry me off the bed in the night. I giggled for 30 minutes as I fell asleep.

I got up in the morning, luckily unbitten by the bedbugs and rats that haunted my dreams. I headed down the road and stopped at a 50’s diner in the middle of nowhere. It was great. Campy as all get out, but great.

I watched my friend with his new wife and their baby. We hung out and did nothing. We talked. We just were. Today we will go to a beach, strolling around A town in California. I will go and meditate on a beach North of here for a few days tomorrow. I am not bad, or lost, or “less than.” I just am. I am the guy who giggles at cheesy hotels. I am the guy who rejoices in the campy. I am peaceful and loving. I am the guy who grows and learns. I am the guy who can weather the storms. I am me.newport

 
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Posted by on May 24, 2015 in journey, Uncategorized

 

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change, change, change…change of fools

” I AM OK.” I scream at no one in particular. I don’t feel ok, and all I am doing is trying to convince myself. Somedays,  it works for awhile.

I don’t like being this way. I read an article recently that was talking how some people just don’t let themselves be happy. It suggested that they feel unworthy of good things happening and so they sabotage them. Or they dread being happy or content because it means something bad is going to happen. It has been a long time since I felt truly happy for any duration of time. Decades. Am I want of those people? Am I incapable of living in the world letting water flow off my duck like back?3523448240_77823295a9_b I have enjoyed many moments in my life. I have laughed. I have triumphed. I have loved and lost. I have failed and persevered. But, I cant seem to be content.

“I DONT WANT TO BE THIS WAY.” I screamed at no one in particular.

“change,” he whispered back.

“how?” I blubbered.

“Be and Do differently.”

There was a time that I just felt at ease. I drove a school bus for 18 months or so. One morning, the Sun was rising as I checked over the bus. The air was nippy, but not cold. I took a picture and sent it to my girlfriend at the time. It was only a fraction as beautiful as I think she is. I was overwhelmed with a feeling of contentment. I had no money, no real prospects at the time. The love of my life lived 500 miles away. But I was safe, I was warm, I was loved. It lasted all day. I relished the feeling and didn’t want it to ever go away. I held on too tight. It slithered through my fingers like squeezing play doh.squeezing-playdough I didn’t see that I was sabotaging myself and my happiness by being desperate. I lost it.

“It hurts.” I whispered.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

 
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Posted by on May 19, 2015 in journey, life

 

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sucking chest wounds

I am made of Velcro. I seem to let fear hump my leg like an annoying dog, then attach itself to my chest. It is almost like I believe that if I have fear, at least I don’t have pain. Its a lie I tell myself.

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I have spent a huge amount of time over the last 8 years, and more so over the last 3, digging into the muck and filth of my heart and soul. I have surveyed, considered, addressed, dispensed of so much pain, so much turmoil, I had thought I was done with it. About 3 years ago, I discovered some more pain and more filth. The fear that hid it from view was tenacious, a yellow eyed, heavily armored demon. The implosion and explosion of my life and soul was just barely able to shake it loose. It left me with a sucking chest wound.

The sound was deafening. All of the horrors I had dispelled came back with such force and such glee. It was a homecoming of terror, bewilderment, fear, and despair. The yellow eyed demon of fear scampered back to cover the wound. I had learned to use it to protect myself as I grew up and hid. It was only then that I recognized it as holding the pain inside, not protecting me from more. The noise of the inner turmoil, the cacophony of despair was louder than the sucking chest wound and felt comfortable. It was something I knew.

I went back to work, allowing God to remove the fear. I sorted, surveyed, considered, addressed and asked God to dispense the character defects once again. I thought it was over. I felt relief. I seemed to feel the warmth of the Spirit of the Universe working in and through me. I started to rejoin life. But Fear and Pain are like a foreign body in a wound. It isn’t really going to heal while that is present. In fact, the wound festers. Eventually, all the healing is for naught.

th5CKMUA0U

When my fears laughingly deflated my life again by ending the relationship with my girlfriend, the wound opened and festered. The wound opened and sucked in the Panic and Despair. The wound roared a horrible roar, and gnashed its awful teeth. As I saw the relationship deflate, and I heard the whirlwind, I knew the Pain would return. It did. I have been trying to work on it again, and thought I was approaching the feeling that I could pray for her to just be happy and content with or without me. I prayed the same thing for my ex wife and my estranged daughters. I felt the emotions. I allowed healing.

I was getting better, but the final blow on parental alienation. I am having to make a decision to let my daughter go and not pursue the legal wranglings that would just reinforce her resistance. I am having to accept that this is what my ex wife wanted and has attained. The wound opened. The sound returned. The fears, the pain, the insecurities attached to me like Velcro. They were gone. They were removed. But when I felt the rejection and pain, I invited it all back again. I let the Velcro adhere. I panic and try and cover the whole. The closest items are fear and the hurt. It makes it worse but dulls the noise. I scream in pain. I ask God for help. He is there, he begins to pull the fear away. He strips the despair. He whispers and it is louder than the wound.

JesusvsDemons

 
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Posted by on May 6, 2015 in children, divorce, faith, journey, life

 

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scourge

“How do I get over her?”

“You just do. You allow yourself to feel the feelings. You recognize the good things and the less good things. You look at what you have learned and how you have grown. You don’t ignore it or rush it. You live through it and into it. You may never really be fully over her, but you will always be able to let go of the pain, someday.”

“Part of me doesn’t want to let go of the pain, its all I have left of her. We don’t talk, I don’t see her, and she has moved on.”

“Another emotion you will have to live through.”

“I really screwed it up. I let go of her. I was afraid and needed to prove myself unworthy, I guess. I have fed into the idea that if I reject myself or if I run away, then I wont be as hurt. It was self-sabotage and now I just ache to hear her voice, see her face, watch her blow kisses at the moon and birds.”

“Sounds like you did mess it up, now ask yourself, “Why?””

“I was afraid. It wasn’t perfect and I was scared. I was moving away and knew I’d be isolated and lonely. I thought I wasn’t good enough to want to move with, so I pushed away so I didn’t have to feel the pain of her saying she didn’t want to be with me. I knew she needed to stay and I knew I needed to go.”

“Sounds like it was a choice. There isn’t a right or wrong, just different kinds of pain.”

“I don’t know how to live into this. I am an escape artist. I hid behind beer for 20 years, and calmed my rejection feelings with flirting and pseudo-connections with women. How do people do this?”

“You just do. You allow yourself to feel the feelings. You recognize the good things and the less good things. You look at what you have learned and how you have grown. You don’t ignore it or rush it. You live through it and into it..”

“I heard that somewhere before.”

Transistion and growth is always difficult. I am in a Saturday experience and I feel very lost and alone. I have often spoke of how I think all events in our lives are akin to the Easter weekend. We are going along in our life, either trusting God or pleasing God. If we trust God, we are living that out in our daily life, leaning when things are good or bad. Exploring and growing in relationship. If we are pleasing God, we are faking it. We are doing the right things, saying the right things, looking good, but there is no depth to the relationship. Then our metaphorical Friday hits. It is a life changing event: it can be good or bad, big or small. It is just something that changes us. We have to die to who we were. It is the child birth, the divorce, the job change, the move, the lottery winner, the missed flight. After Friday, we are place in a tomb. That tomb is the time of change. It is the process of leaving who you were and becoming who you will be. I like the image of Jesus sitting in the tomb, considering his wounds, lamenting and forgiving Judas, smiling at Peter, sore and healing. If we have been pleasing God, we end up asking, “Why me?” We delay our own healing. We cant see God with us, even in the darkness. If we trust God, we aren’t alone in the tomb. We can heal and grow. It is only through trusting we get to be resurrected as something new, rather than resuscitated back into our misery.

I didn’t trust God. I wanted to. I even thought I was. I was self seeking. I was willing to give up on myself and my journey to not have to go to the tomb. I was afraid of the cross. I was afraid of the scourging, so I ran. I hid. I gave up on something wonderful, on someone wonderful, in order to not be hurt. It took me quite awhile to get to where I saw I didn’t trust God. I have know been scourged with the chains or despair and loneliness. I have been nailed with the reality of my situation. I have been hung to die. I was carried to the tomb and buried. I am in a Saturday. Sundays coming!

 
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Posted by on April 6, 2015 in divorce, faith, journey, life

 

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walk with purpose

Please don’t say another word.

I don’t want to hear it.

I can’t, I won’t, I shant.

Please listen to my heart.

Please see me.

I can’t, He can, I think I will let Him.

Growth. Learning.

Pain. Love. Wrestling with God.

Terror. Bewilderment. Fear. Despair.

Didn’t know how. Didn’t learn fast enough. Hip hurts.

Please let me see me.

Please let me hear my heart.

Learning, Growth. healing.

Trudge on!

Thus begins a long period of reconstruction. Not mine to do, but His. Mine is to take one more step over and over again.

Walk with purpose. The purpose of being the Best Version of Myself and to keep learning, growing to that end, which has no end.

Walk with me, shoulder to shoulder. watch the birds, the sun and moon. Soft kiss, holding hands.

Loving. Growth. healing. Partnering.

 
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Posted by on March 31, 2015 in journey

 

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to choose or not to choose

A dark room. A scared boy. Naked. Skin raw with cold and exposure. Vulnerable and desperate.

A spot light slams on, searing his eyes. He can make out shapes from where the voices came. Hidden in shadows, protected. Fully clothed, coats, gloves, and masks. Protected, but isolated by space, darkness, and protection. The voices taunt and tease. The voices fear the vulnerability. The voices speak hate. Occasionally, they call the boy to them, saying soothing words. The boy, desperate and vulnerable, feels drawn to the words. He feels there might be love behind the darkness. He stumbles towards the edge of the light. He blinks, arms outstretched. As he nears, the words change. The barbs and the taunting return. They claw at the raw skin. He bleeds. He sobs.
Over time, the wounds scab and scar. He is more protected from the darkness. He develops a thicker skin. It feels safer. He can’t move as freely, but it is a small price to pay to not be so overwhelmingly exposed.

Still the voices call him, speaking words of vulnerability and connection. They speak of warmth, comfort, and love. The boy feels his heart becoming exposed, vulnerable. He wants to feel and hold the warmth. He stumbles to the edge of the light and is greeted with more taunting. “How silly to be so open and so needy.”

Dejected. Scared. Scabbed. The boy leans against the darkness. The circle of light glaring before him. He sees the harshness of the light. He blames the light and the desire to be in it. IF only he hadnt been taken in by the light. If only he hadn’t assumed that everyone would want to be in the light.

The decision. Lean back into the dark, join the voices. Be cautious, protected, and blind. Or, stand in the light, sometimes all alone. Be afraid and fearless. Be exposed and protected. Be vulnerable, open, alive.
What’s the choice to be?

 
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Posted by on January 9, 2014 in journey

 

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