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Captain Funkadelic

Funky. Yep, funky. I feel funky in various meanings of the word. I have felt them all as of late. I think I might be Captain Funkadelic. Its a bitter sweet nickname, but I am learning to embrace it. I am looking to purchase the Technicolor Dreamcoat that Cosmo Kramer wore in Seinfeld. I cannot decide if I will do a fedora or a top hat.

Funky can mean morose. I had a week or so that I was certainly down and out. I was truly in a funk. I really don’t know why. There were many things going on. I felt ignored by those of whom I have affection. I have felt that often in the last few years. I have been belittled and tormented. I have been pushed away or hidden from. I have had a broken heart. I have mended and healed. However, from time to time I feel the pain afresh. There wasn’t anything overt, just messages dropped or phraseology. It was subtle. It was pervasive. it draped me in a Funk. 

Funky can mean an odd smell. Not a stink or a stench, but an odd odor. Perhaps, moldy, but certainly funky. I had stopped growing. I had stagnated. I had staled out. As I became a still pond of goo, the funk began. It didn’t stink, and it wasn’t bad enough to call it a stench. It was just a funky existence.

My favorite thought of funky is the best. It is Captain Funkadelic. It is the 70s elevated shoes, a cane, and a technicolor Dreamcoat. It is that internal jig that happens when there is a funky beat from a great song in your heart. It is that moment in time that the song, Renegade speeds up. It is that jive talking, fast thinking. It is the emotional honesty. It is the heart felt joy. It is delight in life, regardless of circumstances. Yep, I have been there. Intermittently with the smell and the morose, there are those times when deep inside my ass is shaking and my heart is thumping.

Trudge on, Funk Brother.

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Posted by on November 10, 2017 in journey

 

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but, I have the suit

There are times I have been accused of being able to see into another persons soul. Ive had people turn away from my gaze feeling it is too intense. I have been told I am an empath or super intuitive. I have had people tell me that I get them. I was told that I understand and have great insight..

So, how come with all of that in my ego bonnet, I thought I might be ready to do relationship better. I was sure I was armed with a heart and mind that could navigate connection. I carried my super powers with me and set off to find me a connection.

I have no idea how to use those super powers. I feel a little bit like The Great American Hero. I have this great suit and some really cool powers and no idea how to use them. In that 70s TV show, he tries to fly and crashes frequently and each show he learns a new thing the suit can do for him. He learns and tries and falters. 

I am that guy. I tra la la’d into the land of dating, wearing this new suit that had the capacity to be wonderful. I tried to fly and be mindful and open and crash landed. I flew crooked and waved my arms in a comical fashion. All the great tools I had and I couldn’t figure out how to use them in relationship. I tried again and again and each time, I learned new things but they never added up to much. The suit and powers never made me a super hero. No matter how much I wanted to be.

After crash after crash and tending to my wounds and bruised heart, I rested. I evaluated the suit and the tools and the powers. As I counted them and sorted and regarded, I came to realize that none of them were really me. I was trying to love from a place of façade. I was trying to fake and bluster into love. I had nothing but being honest. I had to be emotionally honest with myself before I could be with anyone else. I had to be me. 

I’m going to miss that suit, stretchy pants rule.

 
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Posted by on November 8, 2017 in journey, life

 

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11!

I’m 11 years old today. More of my rebirth date than my birth date. I returned my old life to God’s store. It was tattered and moldy. I had worn it out. The colors had faded and it no longer kept the wind and cold out. My life walked around like a man without a mind or heart. I was the walking dead.

The difference is that you cant really kill a zombie by shooting him in the head. I had to be shot in the heart and soul as well. I had hardened to life. The pain was so great in my heart. I felt empty and unloved. I craved connection. It was empty and desolate. I had protected it with the concrete I had at hand. I couldn’t let the pain in, but it also blocked the little bit of love from getting in and any love from getting out.

There were many attempts to shoot my heart and soul. The scales I had developed to protect myself from the pain were unpenetrated. However, inside the scales, I suffocated. I begged God to remove the scales. He told me it was going to hurt and so I walked away. As the pain got worse and the scales grew thicker, the light dimmed. I asked for the scales to be removed and again I was told it would hurt. Again I walked away. The pain became unbearable. I was so burdened with the scales, I couldn’t cry, I couldn’t move. I begged for the removal again. God aid it was going to hurt, and I stood still. Over and over, God peeled the scales. He struck and swiped and clawed. I bled and screamed and felt the exquisite pain.

The pain did not stop when the scales fell away. Years later, my life was in turmoil. Everything vanished.. The pain has been intense followed by a slow white hot burn. The intensity increases over and over again, burning like vomit in your esophagus, coking the life away. There are some days I can keep it at bay. There are times I can work through it and live a life. There are also days that the pain devours my soul. “Some days you eat the bear, and some days the bear eats you.”

It is said that after a rebirth, life gets better. IT wasn’t that way for me. Things got much worse and now, I could feel it. I wasn’t sure I would survive.

I didnt

I find myself deep within myself. I discovered that I could show my inner self and be safe. I could allow myself to be accepted or rejected without it affecting who I was. I did not get to play the country song backward and have my dog live, my wife return and get my pickup back. Things have not been easy. The difference is that I am present. I am alive. I don’t ever want to live it again and wouldn’t wish it on anyone. However, I wouldn’t trade it.

 
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Posted by on November 6, 2017 in journey

 

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dance of the walking dead

I want a vacation. I want to totally rest. I think it is a fools errand to take vacation to go do stuff. I want to do nothing. I want to expel no energy whatsoever.

Here is my plan for a restful vacation. I have saved up some money and I am going to admit myself to a hospital. I am going to demand tube feeding because it is a suckers game to spend all that time chewing and tasting. I would forego food all together but I think that dying would take more energy then just maintaining a caloric intake. Originally, I thought I would want to be on a ventilator so I didn’t have to breath on my own, but It looks rather uncomfortable. I decided on an iron lung. That way I don’t have to use muscles to expand or deflate my lungs. Again, I had an errant thought that perhaps I could retrofit one to also be a suntan booth, but I don’t even want my melanocytes to have to work that hard. There could be a TV in there playing movies that I didn’t have to think too hard, but all the energy of keeping my eyes open seems exhausting. There was one flaw to my plan, yep my heart. That silly thing just keeps pumping, it speeds up and slows down but it seems to be more reliable then any Timex I ever had. When I was an intern working in the ER, I was disimpacting a bowel (hmm another thought) when this horrific plunging noise came from the trauma area. IT repeated every 8 seconds or so and I had to see what was making the racket. “Hold everything,” I said to the constipated patron. In the other room was a huge machine with a plunger like apparatus. IT was shaped like a c-clamp and the plunger dove down the middle pinching to the gurney. Beneath the gurney was an enormous blue limp fellow. The only movement was the reflex movement or his arms and legs as “the thumper” performed CPR. The ER attending explained that the man was so big that no one could compress his chest well enough to perform CPR I asked how well it worked, and he replied, “only slightly better than not doing it at all.” My over active imagination immediately saw it as a garbage disposal for damaged hearts. I’m going to need “the thumper” please. I think 5 days will be refreshing and give me enough time to be ready to return to work, pale, thumped, and well rested.

I have lived a life on life support. The reality I am facing is that I spent time just surviving and not really living. I didn’t let my melanocytes work and it stopped the glow of joy. I feared life and it dulled my experience and my participation. I hid in the darkness, shutting myself off from the Sunlight. I refused to be inspired or to inspire. I longed to breath but held my breath wanting to keep what I had at the cost of not letting anything else in. I begged for the thumper, my heart is broken and damaged and instead of letting it heal, I covered it in layers of inert thought living it on like fatty tissue. I kept longing for the old familiar beat of every 8 seconds instead of letting the changes occur naturally and living into them instead o running away. I help on to the waste and garbage. I retained all the pain and despair .I was the walking dead.

There is a moment in time that all life began. Regardless of world view, at one point nothing, in the next everything. I have had 2 such moments. One I don’t remember except for some masked man spanking my cold butt. The other was nothing more than a whisper. It said, “Trudge.” For me the definition of trudge is “walk with purpose.” Slowly, I listened. The word echoes in my brain and in my heart (now beating on its own, thank you). I knew I was not completely sane if I was choosing death over life and I made a decision to follow that voice. I began by looking at and eliminating the waste I had accumulated. There would always be residual and more would appear, but I can deal with that when it happens. I asked the voice to remove the thumper and teach me to mend my broken and misguided heart. As that happened, I began to be inspired by others who have begun to dance the dance of the living rather than the walking dead. I joined in the mainstream of life. I took a deep breath, letting the wind dwell inside. The Ruah (wind or Holy Spirit) danced inside. It was gasping and choking breath at the start. It felt foreign and unnatural. It burned like when it is hot and humid outside. The Spirit inspired.

There are times that I still want a vacation. It isn’t always easy. I am still mending a broken heart and will breath short rapid breaths that do little to fully inspire. I long for easy. I long for love. I strive to Trudge.

 

 
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Posted by on July 8, 2017 in journey, life

 

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kaboom my guts

It’s about a guy trying to hold it together while it all falls apart.

Truer words were never spoken. There is a panic. There is a desperation. Remember the scene in Forest Gump where Bubba is sitting there after being shot and he is trying to put his guts back in? Bubba does this amazing job of portraying the madness. He focuses on picking up his spilt entrails instead of the inevitable fact that he is totally screwed. His life is completely over, a moot subtext, a lost cause and he is trying to do the scoop and run with his alimentary canal.

I have felt that odd necessary sense of denial. IT is like the truth eludes you. It feels like at that very moment you have to believe in a unicorn because the horse is in the desert with no name. There is a scene in my life when I was shot. It was self inflicted, and more emotional then physical. I had a moment in time that I was holding all of my life in my hands. I was holding my career, my business, my wife, my kids, all of it, in my hands. I knew it was no longer part of me, but all I could do was to ask people to help me shove it back in. I knew in an instant that the horse that was wondering the desert was me. I knew I wouldn’t ever find my way back home and I had no idea how to move through the desert.

I asked many people. I begged for solution. I went to church, spiritual retreat, AA, talked to the guru, no one knew. I wondered and tried to bury myself in the sand. I remember the pain of losing my daughters. I can feel it anytime. It is devastating and humiliating. I want to fix it, I want to go back. I have this image of trying to put the pin back in the grenade.

It took my a long time to take any steps at all. I stood and peered into the distance in every direction. All I could see was absence. I couldn’t see anything.  I have friends that talk about the darkness. To me, it was blinding light. The heat was unbearable.

It has been years since that. I took cautious steps. I stumbled, bumbled, ran, walked, tripped, fell and got back up again to do it all over. Every once in awhile I get a reprieve. I get a text from my daughters. It is a moment of bliss as I trudge in the heat. Or I will get a kind response to an email, a friend reaches out. There are moments. Sometimes they are uplifting, sometimes remind me of the pain. However, I wouldn’t  ever not receive them. It is a blessing. Its a glimpse of the unicorn and I believe it.

 
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Posted by on May 14, 2017 in children, journey

 

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50

I’m 50.

That is so odd to say. I frankly never thought I’d ever be 50. When my older brother turned 35, he said that was the age he thought of as old. I didn’t have a number chosen at the time, but 50 feels very old.

I’ve been sober 10 years. I have 2 kids under 20. I was married for 20 years and divorced for 4 years now. I have worn glasses for 32 years. I have friends that I have known for 35 years or more. I have been mountain biking for 28 years. I have lived in 14 different places, 10 in the last 5 years. I drink 3 or 4 cups of coffee a day.

I have been very pensive about this birthday. That isn’t really because of the number, but rather the circumstances of my life right now. I am 50, sure. But I am single. I have seen my kids sparingly over the last several years (not by my choice). I have moved, yet again, and started a new job, yet again. I don’t know many people here and am feeling pretty lonely as of late. I stumbled pretty hard 5 years ago. I was out of work, out of the house, and beat up pretty bad. I have clamored back to a stand over and over again. I have a job. I have a little cash in my pocket. I have a roof over my head and food in the fridge. Don’t get me wrong, I am so very grateful for what I do have. I just miss being part of a partnership. That ended for my 15 years ago or so. I haven’t lived in a partnership, a true dynamic relationship. Now is that because I don’t know how or it doesn’t exist? I read books and listen to experts talk and they seem to think it exists. If it doesn’t, what a cruel trick to play.

Anyways, I am alone and isolated. I am 50. I feel sad, but not because of the number.

What I do have is 10+ years of sobriety, despite the stumblings. I have Hope despite the darkness. I have had to learn to like myself and I can be alone most of the time without being lonely. I have perseverance. I trust myself now. I know that I will get back up. I know that I can survive and be content with next to nothing. I know that I can climb back up. I know that when Lady Luck grinds her heel into my chest as I lay floundering on my back, I will rise again. I know that when I am beaten and tormented I will heal. I know that I have the capacity to love unconditionally in the face of contempt and despise. I know that I crave dynamic relationship and don’t have to settle.

I am 50 and have just begun to grow, yet again

 
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Posted by on April 26, 2017 in divorce, journey, Uncategorized

 

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fascinated

It has been 5 years. 5 years since I consented to leave my house and wife. 5 years since I have had a thriving relationship with my daughters. 5 years of seeing the faces of former friends and heard the clicks of tongues. 5 years since the goal to humiliate and decimate me was paramount. 5 years since I heard the thud of hitting rock bottom.

It has been 5 years since I planted a new seed. It has been 5 years since I had to be an adult and learn to take care of myself. 5 years since I began to learn how to like myself. 5 years of learning to get back up after being knocked down. 5 years since I was given the gift of seeing who around me was really a friend. 5 years since I hit my rock bottom and bounced.

I cant believe it has been that long. It seems like such a short time ago that I was desperate to be liked. It was a short time ago that I craved intimacy on any level. It was a short time ago that I needed someone else to state my worth before I could see it.

I cant believe it has been so long. It seems like the pain should be over by now. It seems like my journey since then has been a million miles. It feels as though I have been in a sprint for the entire time. I scramble and collect. I trudge. I regroup. I stand firm and I waiver. I still hear the echoes of the clucking tongues. I feel the angst from my estranged children. I feel the thud of rock bottom.

I will trudge another day.

 
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Posted by on April 21, 2017 in journey, life

 

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