Evolving Souls Club

What if my life is a cosmic Deleted Scene?

2011-09-07T15:02:00.000-07:00

I could start my own movement; 'the Deleted Scene'...

Thoughts on route to the grave...

Existential My Ass...

2011-09-07T14:33:00.000-07:00

Stop saying existential! It now covers so many feckin' things...it doesn't even deserve to be it's own thing any more! The existentialists might just as well call themselves...'LIFERS'! I used to call my second script an 'existential police drama'. Horse puckey. EVERY police drama is existential!! I NEVER saw one that WASN'T!

'LIFERS' of the world unite!

Johnny of Arabia...

2011-08-02T18:08:00.000-07:00

My mother has all but given up on human beings.

Loving people unconditionally and having this love thrown back in her face has worn her out.

She's tired of it.

I dig her vibe...but I can't give up.

I'm not ready.

And I don't know why.

I have no reason to keep going...there is no evidence trusting people will get me anywhere...

I just feel drawn to keep going, like a man wandering lost in the desert...looking for relief, just over the next ridge...

I think anything not based on evidence is faith.

The question is really, why do we keep forging through that desert, hoping things'll turn out OK????

You tell me...

Taking a break...

2011-08-01T21:53:00.000-07:00

I'm taking a break from the political stuff too!

I think I stopped when i realised most of my attention was directed at the US. (not the worst world offender, but certainly ther most startling.)

I expected so much more from the US after the sixties than what has come to pass, & it saddens me. so much promise...

But we're not dead yet. I haven't written the US off quite yet.

She'll be back- but i hope not too many more innocent brown people have to die in the process.

Anyway- when my posts voicing my concern for the US (you know how much i love yr country) became too oft interprited as insults, I think threw my hands in the air too.

I would have thought we were beyond 'love it or leave it', but it would seem we are not.

Don't even get me started on my 'its my planet too' argument- it's pointless trying to have a battle of wills with the unarmed...

So I have changed the subject for a while.

Tijuana bibles, anyone??

In the darkness...

2011-07-31T19:26:00.000-07:00

For Obelia...

I hear where you are coming from, and I feel your pain.

You sound a lot like me; for I have faced dilemmas such as these so many times.

Can I share something with you?

Let me say this; I never witnsessed such rabid animosity, never bore the brunt of such unrestrained hatred- nor lost so many 'friends'- as when i decided to honour my truth.

I don't know if this is of any help to you, but from what i know of you, you are worthy, of enormous value, and WORTH standing up for.

And you might as well; most times, no one else will step in and do it for you- they are too busy looking after their own interests.

Try to remember, most people really CANNOT handle the truth.

They say they can- but in my experience when it comes to the cruch...nope.

The truth takes a lot of courage. In fact, it is far easier, far more rewarding to live a lie than to embrace your truth.

But it seems you have made a committment to it- not unlike I have.

Much bullshit is spoken about truth; like when you allow the truth 'to set you free', all of a sudden the dark clouds disappear, and it it sunny days, blue skies and plain sailing all the way to Disneyland.

Not so; like an alcoholic who gives up the drink- things only become tougher. Now you have to find out who you are.

You also have to face the fear that the reality might be- under all the lies and bullshit mostly imposed by other people and soceity- there is nothing else and nobody else there.

But some people just have to find out- painful as it is.

Pain is the price of choosing the path of truth.

You will most likely be very lonely as you journey, so you better be certain it's the God's honest truth; because many long dark nights it will be all you have to keep you warm.

But over time- you stick to your truth, and the correct people for you will be drawn to you like flies to a flame.

And they will be fire flies...and will help you light the way.

Faith and hope are my allies in this- the lonely journey of truth...

It might turn out they will be yours as well.

Good luck, and I am here for you...

ONE FINE DAY...

2011-07-30T22:25:00.000-07:00

Someone will walk into your life, turn on a light, and show you what real love is.

Until that day comes...you will have to accept you don't know shit.

Until you die.

And then, of course you will know it all...

But who wants to wait?

PROOF

2011-07-26T18:36:00.000-07:00

A child is nothing more than irrefutable proof somebody has fucked.

Until the support mechanisms kick in.

What becomes of a child depends on the parents, the community... socialisation.

If you want to play the odds with your child by bringing it into the world without supervision or guidance- seeing what becomes of it, like some kind of high school science experiment...

Be my guest.

But it is NOT the way to build better people, or a better world...

It is vivisection.

Cruelty.

And it is wrong...

GOD

2011-07-24T17:49:00.000-07:00

"GOD" is the cosmic equivalent of an abusive father. I don't want to SEE another irresponsible parent in my lifetime, let alone deify one...

Amen.

FEARLESSLY

2011-07-19T20:13:00.000-07:00

For Obelia...

Write your truth fearlessly, is all I can say.

All this, everything we write, speak, do or say we do online- and in the real world- might one day be read out in a court of law.

So you BETTER make it your truth, your whole truth & nothing but your truth. And be ready to go to prison for it.

Even die for it. Because you might have to.

But what a way to live??

Nice to know we still have freedom of choice- the only choice that matters.

Whether to die on our feet, or live on our knees...

APPROPRIATE...

2011-07-19T19:48:00.000-07:00

For Lyric...

I think about what is 'appropriate' all the time.

I think this is healthy.

Well, it is for me.

'Policitical correctness' can be frustrating, & I have on occasion called it to task; but PC is not always inappropriate...

I often muse out loud whether something is appropriate or not, and people occasionally ask me 'why'?

As if they are saying 'why hold back'?

As if I am some kind of pussy.

Well...I'll tell you why.

Clint Eastwood as Dirty Harry once said, 'a good man knows his limitations'.

As an abused child walking around in an adult body, I know trauma in the early years can have an effect on the brain, and the behaviour.

This is not an excuse- merely statement of fact.

An adult coming to terms the rest of his life with a traumatic childhood is capable of all manner of psychological abberration.

This can manifest in what might be called 'anti-social', or 'inappropriate' behaviour.

How?

Let me count the ways...

No, you count them; you know as much as me.

But we all know what some of them are.

And most of them are not pretty.

So- my point is that the checks and balances I apply to myself in my day to day life- particularly with regard to my interaction with women- might not be sexy, or harcore, or 'in your face'...

But they do ensure that I not allow myself to wander on unchecked, engaging in the kind of behaviour unbefitting a decent friendship.

Trust me, you would not like me if I did not have that thing inside me that asks, "Is this appropriate"?

If I stop asking...if WE ALL stop asking...

all hell might break loose.

And not in a good way.

Remember, "The Price of Liberty is Eternal Vigilance"...

So I try to keep myself tidy.

Trust me; it's better this way...

HELP??

2011-07-19T19:27:00.000-07:00

For La Lauren...

When my nephew was a little feller and he could not do something, he would look up inquisitively and ask "help"??

He needed it- and had not yet developed a complex enough to ask.

We need it then, as children...& some of us still need it now.

I am on record as someone who believes FB helps more than it hurts.

It helps if yr not a nutcase, of course- but that goes for any pursuit in life. Trust me- being one myself I know these things.

I firmly believe an interactive social network like this one can help a human being heal, and grow.

Don't expect too much from it; it's may not save your life, deliver you from evil, or give you the love of your life, but if you use it in the manner in which it was intended...

You may surprise yourself.

I would not be a filmmaker were it not for FB.

I would not be chasing my dreams.

I would not be better at communicating with people.

I would not be mostly happy.

It's called a community.

Remember?

Communities are supposed to help.

At least they were, once upon a time.

They can again.

Some people come to FB to talk about the weather.

Or their favourite movie, or song.

Some come here to talk about love, and life.

Health, and hope.

I come here to heal and grow.

Much to my surprise...when I visit some people in particular, not only do I feel better about myself, about other human beings...about life...

I find the interaction helps my creative flow.

I might not always make sense on your wall- but at least I am myself, free to be so in the creative space certain people provide for participants to express, to create, and to grow.

And in such a place...

Anything is possible.

Yesterday, I engaged interacted with someone who helped me move from a place of comparative ambivalence...to optimum creativity.

She even helped me explore certain themes which gave me some answers that were eluding me in preparation for my next film.

This feeds me.

Literally.

Feeds me creatively...and puts food on my table.

She helps. She gives.

This is the way it is supposed to be.

This is the way it can be again for all of us.

I have faith...

Rare souls like her give me faith.

Thank you, LL.

THIS OLE HEART OF MINE...

2011-07-18T17:27:00.000-07:00

My heart has either a shocking memory, or no brains.

It forgets how painful love can be- and it just keeps coming back for more punishment, on the off chance of some remote promise of true love...

I haven't the heart to tell my heart that it is just a pump, and gets above it's station sometimes.

Even if I did- It probably wouldn't listen to me anyway...

Sound off...

2011-07-10T23:23:00.000-07:00

Nice to see a couple of you standing up to me.

I sound off as though I'm the king of knowing things...but I'm usually just trying to beat the bullrushes.

I'm engaging in something old fashioned known as 'asking'. The hard questions many/most are too cowardly to ask.

I'm reading a book at the moment called 'Why Do They Hate Us?'

My last three visits to the states have been about finding the US voice. Who is this country? Who are it's people we fight alongside? what do they really think?

I have spoken to everyone from housewives, to Marines to Congressmen to whores, & it's a mixed bag- with more than a few surprises. It's called looking for truth.

Why do I care? Because you are we, and we are you.

Why do I 'poke you with a stick', as I have been accused?

I'm a little scared you won't make it. WE won't make it.

& that would be dreadful.

I told my brother he should take his family to the US, before the gas fracturing make the water undrinkable, & the land unsustainable.

That's awful.

I get a bunch of shit each time I come through US customs.

But once I'm through...I start meeting the people.

And they make me smile. They make it all worthwhile.

I won't stop fighting alongside my US buddies for a better world.

I won't stop asking the hard questions; the ones you should be asking yourself.

I don't care if you do spit at me.

I know It's the right thing to do.

You wouldn't have invented free speech if you didn't actually want it.

WE don't even have free speech in our constitution.

I know I can do this. W can do this. We can put things right.

It's tiring; times like now, i would rather be dead than keep allowing this poor inquiring brain free reign to keep asking.

But i have to keep going.

Until I die, or the spooks delete me.

I seem to need to try...

one last time...

FREE SPEECH UBER ALLES...

2011-07-08T18:53:00.001-07:00

Freedom of Speech is a Civil Right, Francine; if you have a problem with my civil rights- what i say, & how i say it- then you are no friend of mine. I would never deign to judge you for who you are; so don't judge me. You know damn well neither of us are perfect. The WORST thing on earth you can do to me is try to change me into being something more to your own taste. This is obscene; it is what the Nazis tried to do, & the final solution is no solution at all. Free speech uber alles...

And another thing...

2011-07-06T22:36:00.000-07:00

One more thing while we are on the subject; you CAN'T hate an entire country. Unless you are an imbecile. A country is not a single entity- it is made up of lots of bits, equally fascinating and infuriating. And I don't hate religious people; I don't hate Islam, nor do I hate Christianity. I have SERIOUS reservations about some of the proponents of these faiths, but really, most forms of hate are demented.

Hate- like hell- as the impossibility of reason.

STOP SAYING I HATE AMERICA!!!

2011-07-06T19:26:00.000-07:00

Stop saying I hate America. Just stop it! If you know me, you KNOW that isn't true. If I didn't love the US- from a little kid up- then I wouldn't give a shit. I'd walk away. So just stop it. Being critical...even concerned...doesn't mean hate, & you know it. Being critical is called 'Freedom of Speech'. Remember that? Opinion. Based on observation. It's written in your constitution. The founding fathers? All from another country. Just like me. As an insightful American friend of mine said of me, 'the proudest American patriots were foreigners'. What business is it of mine- an Aussie? Well, number one, this is our planet too, & we have a right to speak up about anyone on this terra firma. And two? We are mates. And mates speak up to-and for-each other. We been allies a long time. ANZUS Treaty? Remember? Mates. We might not always agree with you, but we spill our blood alongside you, even in your dopiest wars. So try to listen when a friend is worried about you. It's not hate- although to the really ill, love seems like hate sometimes. It 'aint. It's genuine affection. Because what happens to you...happens to us. Whether we like it or not...

GUTS...

2011-07-05T23:17:00.000-07:00

Some days I'm happy. Some days i get the shits something fierce. All the strife in the world, the strange craziness- sometimes i get wild, & take it out on those i care for most. Not sure why- just do. I know it's cowardly, but i'm working on it. Don't get shitty with me- don't cry & wet your pants. Stand up to me, have your say- show some guts- & we'll meet again down the track & laugh it off. Guts. Hell, we need it now, more than any other commodity. & i need you...

And another thing...

2011-07-03T21:50:00.000-07:00

And one more thing; this bullshit about life 'being a dream' is fine if you're fragile & too emotionally insecure to face the real world, but it is no way to deal with things like Genocide, illegal war, famine, hunger, etc. If you use the 'life is but a dream' to hide, or to cover up some horrible past trauma or some hideous bad deed...then you might as well go. In my opinion we been asleep long enough. This dream is over, people...& the wide awake only need apply...

America the Pitiful...

2011-07-03T21:23:00.000-07:00

Hmmm.

Just lost another friend because I had the cheek to tell her she had no reason for getting all choked up about the wonderful ol' USA on what must be some kind of patriotic holiday at the moment.

I cited that disaster Katrina where thousands upon thousands of 'blacks' were left for dead, and she took me to task for using the term 'blacks'. Aside from the fact that they refer to themselves thus, and it is accepted nomenclature in the South, (because AA excludes a large number of people NOT from Africa), she was also splitting hairs while Rome burns.

(If we are going to split hairs over skin colour in such desperate times, then lets be accurate; the bloated bodies floating in the dirty New Orleans water were closer to PURPLE'.)

Let's argue about semantics...& in the meantime, wipe ourselves off the face of the planet.

I'm tired of tip-toeing around this; If I seem a little critical of the US...it's because I AM.

The US has nothing to be proud of. Not any more.

The fracturing of the earth? The poison in the air? The dirty dirty water? Bush, Iraq, Katrina...the beat goes on.

And the response to all this from the population of the strongest country on earth??

Almost nothing.

A few waving flags, rousing tunes and picnics on the lawn.

Where's the anger? Where is the outrage?

Where's the American Spirit?

Student activism only emerges when the tuck shop runs outta' Coke.

And the general populace...

Too many good things on TV.

I believe the choice was 'love it or leave it'??

I choose the latter, mate.

And my mission now?

To make bloody sure that we in this country do not go the same way as America, the once beautiful...

Ye Gods.

Interested Parties...

2011-06-30T20:41:00.000-07:00

I am, as ever, humbled by the interest in my work of late- particularly from those amongst my new friends. Thank you for asking.

To sum it up for those who might not be familiar with my own particular type of film making, I would be best served re-asserting my primary hypothesis, but it will take a moment...

I watch a lot of documentaries; I think I am addicted to them.

I love the medium, and the message.

I was watching one doco in particular recently, on Dr. James Orbinski, profiling his work in Genocide torn Rwanda.

A friend of James- on his attempts to write a book of his experiences in Rwanda- said this of him...

"I think intellectually, James is trying to put together a series of ideas that don't come together easily. I think he's working with dilemmas that are real, I think he's working with contradictions that are very profound. He's trying to encapsulate some ideas that no one has...and I think...he...needs to find a synthesis of all these ideas...a larger look at them, as it were. By writing, you simplify the complexity of the world around you. It's what the exercise is all about. And I think he's finding that it's not easy, because the complexity is almost intractable. It's almost overwhelming."

I understand this struggle in terms of my own work, trying to come to terms with man's inhumanity to man through the medium of writing and film.

It can almost drive you insane...

And during the doco- although this is not elaborated upon- it can be surmised that James' experiences may have driven him a little insane.

I also understand this.

I'm don't think he's insane, nor do I think I am; I suspect we are two healthy adults, two very sensitive men who have healthy brain's. What might seem like insanity to others, in my opinion is merely the NATURAL reaction of a healthy brain to insane times.

The question is...how do we make sense of it?

My suggestion is that we cannot. Hate, war, genocide makes no sense at all, and there is no point trying. We do this. As a species. We ARE this.

A hateful, fearful, self destructive species.

Or are we?? Is there hope for us??

Which begs the next question...as posed by Dr. Orbinski himself, "How do you get out of this?"

This forms the basis for my own work, and will be the work i devote myself to exclusively for the remainder of my time on the planet.

We can chat about the whys and the wherefores until the cows come home.

We can discuss and theorise and hypothesise until doomsday; but there has to come a point where we act.

I can crap on about how I was abused as a child until I am blue in the face; but I cannot contribute anything of worth to mankind until I let go of the past, and move on- looking for solutions to the problems in the environment that caused what happened to happen...

Dr. Orbinski further said, "We are responsible for our lives; for our world. And if we don't engage that responsibility, no one else will. And we will live or die with the legacy of our failures..."

I have made a conscious decision to be informed of the issues, but not to dwell upon them. I have made a conscious effort to own who I am...all of it- the good and the bad and the ugly- and try to offer possible suggestions to what might best be called the 'Humanitarian Dilemma.'

There are many docos out there, focusing on the 'wrongdoers out there'...everyone from Enron to McDonalds. Excellent work all, and important.

But my own view has been to look within.

I have always had the nagging suspicion that the source of the wrongdoing, and the ultimate solution was within; inside ME.

So my hypothesis is that when we look inside rather than outside, we make a real, authentic, more lasting and sustainable difference. Because when we look at ourselves honestly, fearlessly- we see that the wrongs inside us can be extrapolated to the larger picture; the evil that men do, mankind does- and vice versa.

And when we do this- when we right the wrongs in ourselves- by so doing, we think better, live better, and make a more positive contribution to the world around us. And ideally...we influence others to do the same.

This is my hypothesis; this is where my film work takes me. Not those 'bad guys over there', not 'those evil corporations', but me.

And I believe, if enough of us do this searching soul work, we will make a difference not only in our lives, but the lives of those around us.

And the world at large.

My only worry is that the work is too hard for most, too time consuming-'too little too late'.

But you never know.

We are here; now. We might as well try to do something constructive...

We have to try...

John Warwick Arden
July 1, 2011

All you Demons...

2011-06-29T23:09:00.000-07:00

This is for my poor wretched brothers & sisters throughout the US, who are forced to drink flammable water- courtesy of the mongrel corporations. You who serve the almighty Dollar- you demons from Hell- you have feasted well. Your time has come; you and your evil spawn, will be sent straight back from whence you came, anon.

So it is written- so shall it be done...

Let them eat...chocolate...

2011-06-28T18:20:00.000-07:00

'Life is like a box of'...actually- this is a little on the bogus side. Most people know EXACTLY what they are going to get...day after day after day. For many poor souls out there, life is only like a box of chocolates in that it is brown...brown...and more goddamn brown...

Today is for the lost, the lonely, the miserable and the enslaved.

My thoughts are with you. May you find...

Freedom...

Situations Vacant...

2011-06-27T21:29:00.001-07:00

If anyone knows of any German citizens (travellers?) interested in doing an ensemble piece on the Holocaust & the modern German perspective, I would love to hear from you. Would prefer people not afraid of Aboriginal Mysticism & healing...

Who's in?

2011-06-27T18:41:00.000-07:00

Ascend. Or ass-end. Deep down you know- in your heart- the choice is YOURS. I'm not saying this is Gospel, but in my opinion...it boils down to this; shed the restrictive cloak of hate, fear, anger, jealousy, lust, etc...and you are on your way. All we have to do now is figure out how.

Who's in??

The Continuing Adventures of Trevor the Alien, as he Struggles to Understand Human- Kind...

2011-06-26T21:57:00.000-07:00

Message from Trevor 14 channeled this day, & translated verbatim into English): "So, let me get this straight; human beings built huge factories for the specific purpose of killing millions of people? Why??"

Channel Schmannel...

2011-06-23T19:46:00.001-07:00

Sometimes I channel the divine. Other times, I channel a hybrid of Lenny Bruce & Benny Hill. Most times, I cannot distinguish the former from the latter...

Dreams...

2011-06-23T18:45:00.001-07:00

They say follow your dreams. As a kid...I never had a dream. (well, I did wish Mum & Dad would stop fighting, but that was unrealistic) It took me years to figure out what my dream was. So today, I dedicate to those who do not yet know what their dream is. Some things take time...

Beauty...

2011-06-22T22:19:00.003-07:00

Beauty is not afraid of you. It will welcome you, but only if you learn to extinguish ALL the hate from your heart. That's the deal...

The Love Imperative

2010-08-16T18:19:00.000-07:00

You might remember a few weeks ago I mentioned that a local doctor committed suicide; it has been a topic of much conversation in town ever since.

I spoke to a friend recently, who shared with me the details of his own suicide attempt. As I heard his story, I waited patiently for the reason why he wanted to end it all. And the reason?

A broken heart.

That makes sense; those MF’s can hurt. I listened as he spoke of being in love, and then from out of nowhere- no warning- she left. I sympathised, from the comparative safety of my own relationship, and thanked God this was not me- until my own relationship collapsed in a similarly unexpected fashion shortly after.

I am not the most stable chap walking the planet, but I was not seized with a frantic urge to end it all. I’m not against suicide; certain toxic creatures ought to finish up if they imagine there is a chance they might hurt or kill others. But I did not feel possessed by an urge to take an early exit myself.

Why? Because I know how to break up.

I’m not all that good at keeping a relationship afloat, but I am well versed in the art of the collapse. I have had plenty of practice at it. And it was at the conclusion of my latest effort that my mind went back to the friend who shared his own sad story, and his own ensuing suicidal feelings.

All this man wanted was to love, and to be loved.

I remember at the time, saying to him, these were not unreasonable expectations.

Or are they?

I know the importance of self-love, and unconditional love for others, but I also know there is another kind of love; and in this age of the self-help generation, it has almost become an unspoken filthy little secret.

I would rather tell people I have a foot fetish than a childlike crush. By force of habit, I seem to have become conversant in hiding my need for a special ‘groovy kind of love’ as if it were a dirty magazine. In the age of existential chic, diminished expectations, and the romance of living ‘lone wolf’ style, I realized over time I have come to be almost ashamed of my secret desire- the desire for romantic love.

I wonder if I have not become so estranged from this not unreasonable or unnatural desire that I now exist in the half life of a perpetual state of self sabotage?

I am so cool, I know romantic love is a rarity- and it remains so because I keep it so. Not unlike regarding a hamburger as a delicacy merely by not allowing myself to have one- or having one, denying myself full enjoyment of it.
Henceforth, I keep love at arms length, so that when it inevitably ends, it does not hurt the way it might do if I immersed myself fully.

Nor, of course, do I feel the relationship as deeply as I ought.

The answer? Probably to shoot myself.

Which brings me closer than I imagined to how my suicidal friend at the beginning of the story felt- albeit in a very different way, for different- and yet in a strange way identical- reasons. We all want to love, and be loved.

We fail, and are told it is something we are doing wrong, until we correct it.

We then fail again, in different ways.

Over and over again, as we drift further and further away from our core self and its natural, authentic impulses, in a tangle of weird compensatory strategies, knot upon knot until we no longer know who we are or what the hell we want; and in the process we become so desolate, self-destruction makes perfect sense.

My own hypothesis is that humans are stuck with this self- perpetuating destructive streak, and pursue it to its inexorable conclusion into war and desecration of nature…

All because we are unable to love.

We had better find a solution; ere we wipe the species from the face of the earth in an orgy of addiction to self hate…

Time to lay down our weapons of fear and loathing, and return to where it all began…

To genuine, old fashioned home-style love??

Maybe…

THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH

2010-04-20T15:47:00.000-07:00

Here is where the truth can be problematic.

I have spent a LIFETIME trying to express myself (usually in words), but I have never found a medium that suited my unique form of expression.

I have tried everything from prose, film scripts, poetry, video presentations, & the like; you name it, I've tried it.

No matter what form I used- it never quite worked.

Not quite.

There is something inside me, true- and it demands to be heard.

It is clear that I have something to say (I think most of us here do)- but most who have tried to hear and understand me agree (& I am one of them) that the forums in which I have laboured to express myself have been mostly infuriating.

Not only for others, but for me.

And that is not to say that "I" am necessarily infuriating- surely not to EVERYONE- but that my choices for expression & dissemination are.

If you have tried to read my blogs, you will have realized that I am verbose- almost in the extreme; even my FB posts are voluminous to the point of tedium.

I wish I could express myself in the Haiku- but wishing don't make it so.

I always seem to have gone back to go long sentences, an enormous number of thoughts, concepts, ideas, & an almost incalculable numbers of words.

& once I start- I cannot seem to stop.

And the only time I feel I cannot express myself is when I am conscious of the seemingly inherent restrictions of form & structure.

Structure is important- certainly because we have come to expect it, but also technically speaking it assists in clarity of expression, & ease of understanding for the listener, or reader, or viewer.

There is nothing at all wrong with that.

Nothing.

However I have always felt somehow that all the existing mediums and structural forms somehow stymied my expression.

In short- no vessel seemed capable of containing me.

Sometimes I wonder if my own body is structurally capable of containing all I have inside me, working itself into a lather, trying to find it's way out in such a way that does not cause trauma to this ever more fragile vessel, nor the diligent individuals and their respective consciousness out in the world trying to receive and make sense of the information I generate.

There is apparently a reason for this.

I discovered today that I am in fact a 'channel'.

Not a writer in the traditional sense, or even an artist in the accepted sense.

Of course to an extent ALL artists channel.

Of COURSE they do.

But my kind of channeling seems to be the type not dependent on any form of vessel to carry it in.

What I do does not need to be captured within the pages of a book, captured on film, or stored on an electronic device to be consumed.

Nor does it want to be, it seems.

In fact- it needs nothing more than me.

One other person to hear the message is to an extent important, but only because I need to be heard. What I have to say must be witnessed- must have an audience.

And people have tried bravely; over and over again, to hear me out. I have no problem attracting audiences, who have courageously tried to hear me out.

But in ways that were simply N.Q.R.

Channeling- in the purest sense of the word- seems to be what I was born to do.

No wonder my work never seemed to 'fit' anywhere.

This is the one medium I never really tried; mainly because it a medium dictated by- and unique to- the form in which it asserts itself.

Which is as an energy, much like heat generated from my person.

Rather than being reliant on some form of container.

I would no more feel right containing my thoughts and ideas than I would my body heat.

Both would seem to be not only impractical, but pointless.

That which I strive to generate & articulate is not actually supposed to be captured, formed, shaped, packaged and disseminated.

Or sold.

It seems the persistent reservations I harbour pertaining to the accepted mediums of expression & dissemination were more than simple questions of taste; they failed to offer a practicable means of containing the message.

Because it is not meant to be contained.

Nor is it meant to be packaged, or sold.

Which is convenient, given the state of the publishing, film and art industries.

Now...the problem is, if this is true- & It makes perfect sense- what does one do with this information?

I have been everything from a librarian, a farmer, a cop & a screenwriter.

But a channel?

The way I express myself fits in with this understanding, as do my opinions, values, mores & my politics- not to mention the reality of the 'marketplace'- but what does one do with this realisation once one comes to it?

I have said previously that we are afraid of truth because- when we actually happen upon that truth- we are often at a loss to know how to act upon it.

I have never seen 'channel' on someone's passport.

In fact, I am resistant to the notion, because I always felt there was something fraudulent & somewhat disingenuous about people who 'channelled', unless it was a practical articulation of the process of the capturing of inspiration as it comes in the heat of any kind of writing, painting, sculpture or performance art.

But channelling for channeling's own sake??

If I am indeed a channel- and I am still coming to terms with this somewhat delicate and disturbing intelligence- what the hell do I do about it?

How do I channel?

Where do I channel?

And to whom?

Do I simply stand on street corners like some weird busker of cosmic intelligence??

Is there a school for such a thing??

I have no idea.

The 'truth' in this case could not be more abhorrent to me, because it poses more questions than answers...

And who isn't afraid of that??

Hacked Facebook Account

2010-04-19T09:10:00.000-07:00

OK.

My first hackers.

It's cool; I'll be more careful next time.

Maybe I needed a shake up like this- getting soft, lazy, complacent...

I am going back and adding people again, one by one.

If you can think of anyone who is on on my page who you remember liked hanging out with me, I could really use some help getting back in touch with them.

Otherwise, I will get to them in time.

If you come across anybody who has not heard the news, or been warned about the hackers and their money grubbing antics...

If you get any emails from me asking for money- ignore them.

That is the hackers.

I never stooped to asking you for any money- not a red cent- & I never will.

If you think I would ever come to you for cash to visit a 'sick uncle in the UK'...

Then I guess you didn't get to know me very well.

Take care, and bear with me while I put humpty together again...

JWA

SFW

2009-11-16T04:22:00.000-08:00

So I'm happy.

SFW.

So I post message of peace love and understanding.

SFW.

I AM a helluva lot happier than I was; but if you know me at least a little bit...you will notice I also have an angry streak.

And I don't mind showing it.

And to be honest...it 'aint going anywhere.

Why? Do I just like being angry?

No.

I think there is still much to be angry at in the world.

No matter how happy I might be, as long as there are bastards out there exploiting the weak...

I don't think I'm gonna be able to relax.

I said something today, along the lines of 'when I said peace love and understanding, I didn't mean you should let yourself be treated like a doormat'.

And I meant it.

It's sweet, to find love and happiness.

But some people mistake this for being weak, and they exploit it.

I will not stand for that.

And I will not stand for people who think they are better than others because of money, fame, or education.

We all have to take a crap at some point- monarch or ditch digger.

I have been in a holding pattern lately, revelling in my new found peace.

But it didn't last long.

You see, being happy does not mean you breathe a sigh of relief, and go stick your head in the sand. At least, this will not work for me.

There is much to be done.

Much to be angry about.

So I ditched the bastardry in 30 days.

SFW.

This does not mean I have lost my canine teeth, or my testicles.

There is a part of me that still loves a scrap.

A fight.

A challenge.

Like I said, there is nothing wrong with fighting, as long as you pick your fights well.

On FB, it is easy to be tempted into fighting over bullshit.

Crap that really does not matter- just for the sake of a scrap.

Ego Wars.

SFW.

Better to use that energy fighting for something that matters.

And me sitting around posting messages of peace love and happiness won't really wash either; these things are kind of a no-brainer.

I get the kudos. And only a fool would howl me down.

But I should NEVER buy into my own hype.

A good fox smalls his own crap first.

Messages of love are fine. But Lennon was talking about this years ago, and Gandhi before him...and back into history.

The amazing buggers did not lie about all the time drinking in the love.

Occasionally, they got of their asses.

OK, so Lennon and Yoko went back to bed for peace.

Gandhi protested.

Each, in their way, could not rest on the peace laurels.

They had to act.

The point is, I did not invent the messages of peace.

I'm not saying anything new.

I like the applause, but I am not here to have my ego massaged.

I am a lazy bastard sometimes.

This is the 'Evolving Souls Club'. I don't see much evolving going on.

I need another plan.

A plan of action.

It is one thing to know all this stuff, to embrace the importance of peace love and understanding, and to decry injustice, but the question is not what is wrong, but how do we fix it?

How do I fix it? What action can I take?

I can't just drift along posting messages of love and hoping something will come along...

I need a plan.

Of action.

What will it be this time?

I turn 45 on Friday.

I promise to have a plan in place by then.

And this plan will work...

Can't Stop Being Happy...

2009-11-12T18:22:00.000-08:00

I just can’t seem to stop being happy.

Despite whatever the universe might throw at me to test my resolve, it cannot take away the fact that I am extremely happy.

Even though, a few days ago, I waded knee deep into a couple of giant puddles of hate, which bothered me very deeply…even though I have not been able to access my blog for quite a few days now…

I still seem to bounce back happy.

It occurs to me today, maybe I was not supposed to access my blog.

The three blog entries I had prepared might not have been supposed to see the light of day. There are no accidents; perhaps these blogs were not supposed to be published, and I was supposed to publish THIS one instead- all along. The inaccessible blogs feel like they should not be released. Perhaps one day as a book, but not as a blog.

They feel like archives…rather than ‘current affairs’.

This blog, contains the ‘current affairs’…

Where I stand today.

Waist deep in water.

As I wade out into the cool, clear water of the ocean near the house, I think of how happy I am, despite the mentioned setbacks.

Since setting out on this odyssey, I have never had to fight so hard for my dream. Beset on all sides by animosity and adversity.

And yet, I have been driven to continue by my good friends here, who have remained loyal, and by the hope in my heart of a better tomorrow.

I feel a bit like Frodo and the ring.

The killer spiders have tried to poison me along the way; I have had many dark nights, and fearful moments, where I thought I would give up.

And yet, despite this, I have found a place where I am happy.

There are two schools of thought; that happiness comes from within, and when one lets go of pain and hate and fear and the past, happiness seeps in.

Others believe you have to fight for that happiness- to struggle for it.

Either way, the happiness still lies WITHIN, and how you access it matters little; it might even be a combination of the two. Fighting AND surrendering.

Perhaps that is why happiness is so elusive.

What if it a contradictory process of letting go AND holding on at the same time?? A process which is difficult for our minds to understand, and yet, if we let go of trying to understand it, comprehend it, deconstruct or question it…

And if we let it be…let go of hate, and embrace the love…

It finally just happens??

Whatever it is…for the first time in my life, I have it.

And I need nothing more.

But to say it was my battle alone would be to negate all the people who helped and encouraged me along the way.

The technology has plagued me. Bugs and obstructions.

People have plagued me; not more than a few days ago, I wandered into a group of vegans talking animal rights. I was thinking along these lines…giving up eating meat…but after meeting these hateful people…

I don’t know. They were filled with more hate and disdain than the Nazis.

They were cruel; clearly in love with animals, but with an abiding hatred for humans. I hate neither; and despite their hatred, they did not stop me for long.

Even they could not stymie my happiness.

As I waded out into the ocean, I turned these events, and others over in my mind.

And nature had some things to say about my state of being as well, ironically enough.

Nature always has something to contribute to whatever you are dwelling on.

Well, it would, wouldn’t it? It’s all nature, isn’t it??

I saw a dead penguin on the beach.

Penguins are protected.

They cannot be killed. Or- I guess- eaten.

I have never eaten penguin. I suppose Eskimos might have, but I never have. I don’t know that I would want to, even if it was permitted.

They are a gorgeous animal.

But, as I looked at the penguin, it occurred to me; deceased, it looked pretty much like any other edible bird; wings, breast, legs, etc.

Why is the penguin protected, and not the chicken?

Is the chicken any less beautiful?

As I looked at the dead a penguin, I thought of the difference between the chicken and the penguin. Not much difference.

Difficult to get a playing card between them; as I stood in ankle deep water, watching the water lap and coax the corpse, it occurred to me that the penguin is no more worthy of saving than the chicken. They are both beautiful animals.

And forget about whether the penguin is scarce or not; the Koala was all but extinct here in Australia in 1920. A deliberate effort was mounted to increase numbers with controlled breeding, and now, in Victoria, there are too many Koalas.

We can do the same with penguins if we want to.

We can save all animals, if we want to.

I thought about giving up eating meat.

I can do it. I HAVE done it.

And I will not let the vicious vegans stop me from doing the right thing.

It might help my health, and it might change the way I see the world.

Meat may indeed make me an angrier man.

It might affect my karma.

I can give up meat; I have given up smoking for two weeks, and it is going quite well.

I just have to WANT to do it.

Like I wanted to give up HATE.

I have reconciled with my Mother in the last few days, while she has been unwell.

Miraculously, she has recovered significantly over the last few days.

She told me that she felt her illness was a result of our inability to reconcile the past.

True? Or bullshit? Only she would truly know; the mind has been known to manifest physical illness. Doctors are beginning to accept it on a wider basis. Natural healers have known it for many hundreds of years.

I believe it.

She felt enormous guilt for the violence she and my father inflicted on me, and I could not move forward because she refused to acknowledge it.

Don’t ask me why; I simply could not.

All I needed to hear from her was that I was not mad, the violence did indeed happen, and I was not inventing the trauma I had carried all my life.

I did not even want an apology. I simply wanted an ACKNOWLEDGEMENT to that I would know it happened, know she knew it happened, so that I could forgive and move on.

Nelson Mandela said ‘I cannot forget, but I CAN forgive’.

I agree.

Yes, what happened IS in the past, and hence unalterable.

I wanted nothing altered. Merely acknowledged.

A reconciliation.

For healing- that I might move ahead, and transcend.

Evolve.

I simply needed it, before I could move on.

I decided to talk it out with her.

And finally, she admitted what she did to my brothers and I as children, the way she abused us. And she apologised.

I did not ask for an apology; merely an acknowledgement.

But she gave me both. And I was set free.

And we reconciled; after years of bitterness, and anger.

And miraculously, she is recovering.

I thought she was going to die; but she has recovered significantly.

Don’t ask me why.

A miracle?

Today, we went for a swim together, just like in the old days.
I went out into the deep water, as is my wont.

And she called out to me to come back to the shallow water in case of sharks, as is her wont.

I told her I was not afraid. Not any more.

Those who wade out into the deep water are not afraid of sharks.

And it hit me what I said had literal and metaphoric meaning.

I had been wading out into the deep water for the last six months.

Exploring myself.

Trying to find what I needed to evolve, and transcend the past.

And I found it.

The ability to forgive.

To love.

To be truly happy.

I had encountered the ‘sharks’ that were a part of the process; those things that come into our life to try to test us, and tear us apart.

And I had survived these ‘sharks.

With the help of my friends, and my own abiding sense of hope, love, and trust in a better tomorrow…

And with my own courage, I had the prize, the Holy Grail, the Big Brass Ring; reconciliation, forgiveness, love and happiness.

This has all been worth it.

All of it.

There are no accidents.

NO ACCIDENTS…

Nightmares

2009-11-04T21:00:00.000-08:00

Yes, my own blog gave me nightmares.

I didn't mean it to.

The thing is...

I have always tried to tell my truth...no matter how ugly.

That has not changed since I became a happier man.

But what good is a happy man, who does not try to set right the things that bother him?

It's pretty simple; I hate war.

War will destroy us all.

It DOES NOT have to be this way.

And the answer begins with me.

Tapping into my dark heart- the collective darkness- that which is responsible for all wars...

And lancing it for good.

And that will be ugly.

I said yesterday, that the truth is sometimes ugly.

In response to a woman's comment "YUCK", in answer to the blog.

It was the only comment.

After a restless, nightmairish night...

I can only agree with her.

I like her.

And I know she is right.

But the dark heart of man is an ugly topic. And my truth is to go there.

Do I have any choice?

Yes.

I do.

Some have said...'do you really need to do this to yourself, John'?

Maybe not.

I could go back to the land, grow sunflowers, and meditate.

But...

That is not my truth.

I do not feel that urge.

I feel the urge to have my say, about all the hate and war.

To say, 'I know something about this! I know why this is! I have a theory about where it comes from, and I have some suggestions for fixing it!'

Even if I am deluded...

Have I not the responsibility to follow my heart???

You tell me.

What would you do?

Do you want a blog full of starry eyed bullshit, or my truth?

I know which one I prefer.

Truth.

Yuck?

Yep.

I'm not here to turn you on.

I've been trying to impress people all my life.

Left me empty.

Now...sure, I didn't sleep...

But this morning? Writing this?

I feel justified. A little bit crazy??

Maybe. If you are awake, and listening to what the warmongers are doing to this planet...

Then you are probably a bit crazy too.

So...I am not here to impress, or seduce.

What I do here might shock...but it is done with love. A love for the planet, and a desire to make the changes that need to be made, to keep the planet and the people safe.

I can impress you. I'm a good writer; I can make you swoon.

But I am not here for that.

I'm here to blow your mind.

I am here to shock you.

War is a shocking thing; but it has become sanitized.

Manageable.

Somehow palatable.

It 'aint.

War is ugly.

Like the language I used yesterday.

I have been there.

I am ugly, in the dark places hard to detect with the naked eye.

And I am not the only one.

And it accounts for our bloodlust.

Our love for war.

If we took a closer look at the ugliness, instead of being seduced by the jingoism, and nationalism...

There would be no more war.

We would all rise up and say no!!

Except...

That we are somehow addicted to the ugliness.

Where...the fuck...does it come from???????

I'll tell you where mine comes from...

If you can handle it...

Skull Fucked.

2009-11-02T21:46:00.000-08:00

'I'll gouge out your eyes and skull fuck you'.

You know that expression?

Christ! Where do you start with something like that??

Homicidal and psychotic-erotic.

That expression worries the shit out of me.

I've seen hate fucks...I even caught a rape happening in the act- a guy fresh out of the pokey, with nothing but hate, anger, venom and torn female assholes on his mind.

This was a ferocious brute.

I don't think...sitting in the interview room with him...he gave a fuck whether than girl lived or died; he was hate fucking the world that 'fucked him'...

War stories.

War.

Hate and war.

War is like fucking.

George Carlin said in war, 'you gotta stay in there and keep fucking 'em, until they are all dead...'

Spot on, really.

I won't argue.

I've seen it. Even in me.

Sex...and War.

Fine line.

Fighting.

War.

Macho.

Sexy. (we imagine)

Fucking.

War and fucking.

Man, the combination in itself is a 'skull fuck'.

A mind fuck.

I can hardly get my head around it.

Taking a man's eyes out, and inserting your penis into the sockets.

That's what it means.

Think on that a moment.

That is some hateful language...

Is that kind of language that will bring about 'truth', 'love', 'peace', or 'freedom'?

No; it is a verbal, linguistic manifestation of the psychopathic love for killing.

And war.

War gives us a heavy metal hard on.

What makes us this way??

Yes...'US'.

Not all, but most.

If you don't agree...then I will not actually 'gouge out your eyes and skull fuck you', but you might want to leave.

Because if you do not agree now...

It's only gonna get worse.

I'm going somewhere with this; OK?

An excerpt from one of today's threads, which feeds into the topic- brings it alive- repeated, in case you missed it...

I started with a random quote- a song I like.

John Warwick Arden
Oh Lord, please don't let me be misunderstood...

My good and trusted friend Mary Ellen responded: I'm sure you're just a soul whose intentions are good!!!

John Warwick Arden
Mary Ellen...you know the saying...about "the road to Hell being paved with good intentions"...but I figure it has to be paved with something!

And a bit more...

John Warwick Arden
Here's something for free. I am a fairly typical man; nothing special...not the best, not the worst, not the prettiest...not the ugliest...not the smartest, not the dumbest...BUT...I have spent a goodly portion of my life getting a kick out of deliberately misunderstanding people. Especially women. This is a trade secret, but for some reason...(which I am tackling at the moment in 'evolving souls') we have an addiction to misunderstanding. I think it stems from the love of conflict. But you guys probably figured this out. You know; we only like to kid ourselves you don't. But you do. You do know. That is why many of us men fear you.

Mary Ellen:...and rightly so... All kidding aside, I feel like men often times get the short end of the stick, no pun intended...The things I have see women do are unbelievable...To be fair, I have had my share of heartache, but each time it was because I ignored my intuition...The days of it being a "Man's World" are over...Things will never be even..and that's ok with me..The only problem is that I am old fashioned and like manly men...and they are a dying breed, except for all the pseudo war mongering type men...and they are not a turn on...

John Warwick Arden
Yes. The irony is that the US bombs brown people in 'sanctioned' incursions, (& we ride shotgun) and yet you fry your 'domestic' murderers. The difference? People are not permitted to go freelance...and this includes growing dope, prostitution, etc. The government needs it's cut of the action.

But then...war will always be hip amongst men...sadly...

I'm trying to turn it around in my life. Folly? I don't know. How many drunks get off booze? I stand as good a chance as the next addict...

Addiction.

We like to fight.

We are addicted to it.

Period.

And it is an addiction.

Not just an individual addiction, but a COLLECTIVE ONE!!

We need to wean ourselves off that addiction, BIG TIME!!

But...to do that...we need to understand the drug of addiction, how it works, why we got addicted to it in the first place, and how we go about shaking it.

...

Fight Song 3

2009-11-01T18:31:00.001-08:00

I like a fight. That is my truth.

But unlike Fatima, who fights for a good reason- for a better world- and for what she believes in- many men like myself have spent a lifetime fighting...

For nothing. For bullshit.

We think it matters- that we are fighting for honour- but it is utter bullshit.

We fight for nothing. Constantly. We might as well not even bother getting out of bed, the damage we do to the planet, fighting over nothing...

For nothing.

I hope over the next few blogs, to explore how I have done this, why, to what extent it is an integral part of the predominant masculine idiom, the degree to which this behaviour pattern has threatened the survival of the species, and what to do about it.

I posted this today...

I have a plan. As my plan unfolds over the comings days, weeks & months, you will see that it is a 'plan of action', not just words. It involves- at it's core- the principle that to fight those who turn 'good' to 'ill', we must reciprocate in kind by turning 'negatives'... into 'positives'- otherwise known as 'Transmogrification'. Big word, simple process; and one we have been working toward our whole lives...

OK. We will come back to this, as it forms part of the 'what do we do about it' portion of the process; we do need to know where we are going.

But to get there, we have some work to do.

Let's take another look at 'War'.

Men like war.

We are warlike.

We might even be in love with it.

We have a major crush for it.

A massive erection for it.

It might be about money, it might be about territory, it might be about global supremacy, and power, but I think, really, we just love war.

Conflict.

Drama. (later)

We men love war; that's it.

We will start a war over almost anything.

How do I know? Because I've seen it.

As a cop, I saw it- constantly- and I did it.

I still do it.

You might not know this about me, because I talk a lot about love, and peace, but deep down, there is something inside me that still loves war.

I still- even now- am waiting for a scrap.

I want a fight.

I like war.

Why??

We love to fight.

But we get things confused.

Take a look at Fatima; she likes a fight. She is scrappy- I can tell- but she fights for the right reasons.

Most men- we just fight for it's own sake.

We twist things around. We are good at that.

It's a bit like sex. We men love to fuck.

We call it 'loving'...but we are confused.

It is just fuck.

It 'aint love.

Like war. War usually 'aint 'fighting'- for freedom, peace, harmony, truth, justice...

It's just war.

Fight for peace?? Bullshit.

Not even men are that stupid. We know they don't fit.

We don't fight for truth, peace or freedom. We don't really care about those things; if we did, we would talk it out, hash it out without a single drop of blood spilt.

We just love to fight.

No reason. Just a fight.

Tell me I'm wrong, and I'll gouge out your eyes and skull fuck you.

Fight Song 2

2009-11-01T18:02:00.000-08:00

I did a little bit of business last week about how ‘it is OK to say you don’t know when you don’t’, and how it can be a tricky business, admitting you don’t know.

Sounded fairly rudimentary at the time, but you would be amazed how many people out there and in here are not prepared to admit they 'do not know', take that ignorance as gospel, and even kill, or die for what is basically bullshit.

I am still wrestling with the my own truths. I will deal with why this is such a problem shortly, but it has to do with the issue of ‘self-knowledge’.

I have arrived at one very important truth to date; that love is the only truth I feel certain of, and am willing to lay down my life for.

There are all kinds of other truths, of course, but the majority of them seem to spring from that one inalienable truth, which is love. Of course, I can’t be certain; but until something better comes along, I have to stick with that for the time being.

Good enough for John Lennon, good enough for me.

In fact, I have been reading a book at the moment- ‘Messages From Michael’ by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro- which I found in a thrift store for 50 cents. It is basically one of those cheap paperbacks that were popular around the time of ‘Seth Speaks’, where books on channeling entities from beyond the dark veil, the afterlife, and the supernatural were all hugely popular topics. (it is debatable whether this interest has in fact waned or increased, but I seem to have built up a hell of a collection of these kinds of books from the seventies.)

I love reading them, but I have to take them with a grain of salt, for the most part. Most books on channeling- right up to ‘Conversations With God’ and beyond- might well simply be channelling the author’s own talent. And there is no question- many of these writers are very talented, and the books interesting. But actual channelling from a particular entity on the ‘other side’…I tend to go with the ten percent rule.

It is said that 10% of UFO sightings are authentic. I use that as my rule of thumb for other phenomena. This stuff is pretty detailed, and reasonably persuasive. I would like to think 10% of it is authentic- rather than dismissing it all outright.

I prefer science, but I like to leave the door open wide enough for that percentage of phenomena ‘not readily explained away’ by science.

Anyway, the reason I mention ‘Messages From Michael’, is that in the opening pages, there is a quotation I like, and think sums up my opinion on truth perfectly;

‘Truth is the greatest good, and love is the highest truth’.

I like this. And where I am now, is a very good place to be.

But as much as I would like to believe that I have found the answer, I have to honest with myself, and admit that at least for me, it is not the entire answer.

It is only part of the answer. The remainder of the truth encompasses a great deal of writing and research I have done on a fundamental masculine idiom which needs to be addressed, before I- and men like me- can pursue love as truth with any kind of authenticity.

And I assure the reader, I bring this up not because I have ‘run out of ideas’ for moving on, and not because I have all these notes dealing with it here on my hard drive which otherwise would be wasted, but because they are there- and the issue keep coming up- and I have no choice but to deal with them.

Unless I shift them once and for all…I will never be able to truly love.

Any attempts to love, without coming to terms with this persistent failing, will be nothing but bullshit. Lip service.

Lip service might be fine for you- for a while- but not for me.

Ever.

Now, I did mention on thread that just because I have changed, and struck the healing power of love, does not mean I am out of the woods.

I have found a peaceful place, and a better sense of my own self, and what I want.

But that is not the end of it, for me.

There is still much wrong with the world, and much work to be done.

As much as I am tempted to count my blessings, pat myself on the back, and rest on my laurels, I am reminded- again on thread- of just how much work there is to be done, and how many are doing it. Without fanfare.

Take this woman. Fatima Uygun.

She is still fighting.

But she is not fighting for the hell of it...the 'sheer fuckoffness of it'...she is fighting for a better world- and for what she believes in.

A woman living her ideals...and paying for those ideals with her freedom.

Puts me to shame.

Here is an excerpt from her thread.

off to try and see if I, along with other anti fascist campaigners, can collectively wire Nazi Nick Griffin's ugly jaw this mornin to stop him from airing his views in Hamilton. L107 radio station now have a history of allowing nazis on our airwaves. Scumbags. Im really peeved off Im havin to get oota ma cosy bed cos of that turd.

home finally but tired & a wee bit battered by her majesty's finest scum, wrist a bit worse for wear & shoulders sore. In custody for 8 hours on a piss stained matteress & forced to read Mills and Boon! That'll teach me for demandin 'something to read'.CID dectectives thought I was the ...'ring leader' idiots! Time to sleep....Ahhh but it was good to see Nazi Nick duckin battery eggs. Nite nite & Increase the Peace zzz

Amazing. Friend this woman, if she will have you. She is incredible, and I admire her enormously. A true inspiration.

Follow her. Support her. Endorse her.

She does what I hope one day to have the guts to do.

Act.

Risk life and limb to act for that which I believe in.

Fight.

This is her fight song.

So what does she and her fight have to do with me, other than the fact that I admire her??

There is a connection.

I have indeed found a peaceful place.

But that is not the end of it, for me.

Fatima is still fighting. Just as we all should.

Love is one thing, but there is still so much hate, and it is no use ignoring it- living in a peaceful bubble, hoping it goes away.

Speaking for myself, I was born to fight.

There is nothing wrong with fighting- you can be a lover AND a fighter.

Like Fatima. The key is to learn to PICK YOUR BATTLES.

Fight the GOOD fight.

I have spent most of my life fighting- mostly myself.

Fighting the wrong people, over the wrong things.

Many men are guilty of this; and contrary to popular belief, it is of no particular benefit to anyone, and we might as well not bother getting out of bed, to fight for 'nothing'.

I like a fight. That is my truth.

But unlike Fatima, who fights for a good reason- for a better world- and for what she believes in- many men like myself have spent a lifetime for nothing.

I hope over the next few blogs, to explore how, and why, and what to do about it.

Fight Song...

2009-10-30T17:20:00.001-07:00

I have been putting this off, and putting it off…so I hope you will bear with me.

I was about to move on, but there is one more thing I had to deal with before I can start pulling out of the station and on to a better life.

It does have quite a bit to do with my past behaviour, and despite my denial of it, and my desire to let go of the past and move on, it still seems to haunt me in the present.

I said I was finished with the past, but clearly the past has not finished with me.

So, despite my premature and slightly naive attempt to bury something I knew was still alive in me, I know now I have to deal with it once and for all.

Otherwise, it shall continue to plague me.

In fact, the reason I bring this up is quite complicated- but the truth is not.

The truth. Always elusive- especially if you deny it’s existence.

Sometimes truth is very ugly, and there is a truth about me that is so ugly, and so deeply ingrained in my personality, I am not even aware of it.

Or I pretend I am not aware of it.

In fact, it is so much a part of me, I do not even notice it most of the time.

And upon noticing it again last week, and in the light of the work I have done up to date- I was startled to learn that when this truth reared its ugly head again, I was still so enslaved by the habit itself, and the denial of that habit, that rather than facing it, I truly did want to ignore it, and move on.

Of course I cannot move on until I have faced this ‘truth’. It is so fundamentally a part of my own- and many other men’s- personalities, and far too crucial an impediment to even try to move onward and upward without shifting it.

This is the truth. And I know it to be so.

I know. I truly know.

And for me, that is so rare. In fact it is one inalienable, irrefutable truth- a truth so significant, and so much a part of the ways in which we as men- and we as a species fail- that is could even regarded as imperative; perhaps to our own survival.

So how do I know?

Where To From Here??

2009-10-26T17:16:00.000-07:00

I have not posted a blog in a while; but then, I don't really feel I have anything to blog about, for the first time in God knows how many months.

I ALWAYS had something; but at this moment in time...

It's not like I have no material; there is still hundreds of pages of fragments and ideas there, but it really feels like old stuff.

And unless it can somehow shed some light on my current state of being...

My current state of being. What is that?

I have reached a plateau, where words seem redundant.

For the moment, I am going with the feeling.

A better person.

I have noticed that a better person does not talk about being a better person- he just does it.

It seems as though for the moment, there is no need to go on about it.

I'm not saying the work is done...not by a long stroke.

What I am saying is that this place of peace, where the war inside myself has come to a well earned armistice, has left me with no further burning desire to let it all out.

I knew there was a reason for this purging, but there is no need to wallow in it.

If I start talking about my past again, I WILL be wallowing; for to revive any more about the past- and there is still a lot of it- serves no truthful purpose any longer.

Which leave me with nothing to say, but sit with the feeling.

The feeling I have actually made some progress.

Despite the criticism of the way I have gone about this, it seems to have worked.

It is working.

And in all candour, there is nothing more to say about this state of being that would not be narcissistic, or indulgent.

It is an authentic place, I am happy to be here, it is a firm footing from which to continue, but beyond that- there really is nothing more to say about it.

It seems to me bad manners & an insult to the intelligence of the reader to blog when you have nothing to say- & I would hate to be though of as bad mannered or insulting.

I have never been in this situation before; how do other bloggers manage this one?

Or does it not happen to them?

So what am I doing here?

Why am I blogging?

Is it merely out of obligation?

No.

I don't do that. I am too lazy. If the fire is not there, I say nothing.

Right or wrong.

I compose today because of what I said above; that I feel in a position of strength, a firm foundation beneath me, from which to carry on.

For even though I feel I have nothing to say about my work to date, I am still aware, on some level- that there is so much more work to be done.

It is not a BLATANT feeling- because quite frankly I am still high on the joy of finding my peace and happiness.

To some extent I feel I have earned a break to enjoy this.

But I am also aware it is not overly healthy to rest on ones laurels.

Because don't forget, I have only achieved part of my goal.

It is a truly magical experience to be able to change yourself; but what is the point of that, if you do not maintain, and sustain that change?

Why change for a day or two?

I know enough about myself to know I have rested on my laurels before, and then toppled off.

This is a day to day proposition- keeping hold of the change.

If I do not nurture the change, it will have been for naught.

That, to me, is a good reason to keep blogging.

A rest is fine, but there is so much more work to be done; not only on myself, but in much broader terms.

For although personal transformation is to be admired and congratulated, there would be no point to it if the fruits of this transformation were not realised.

And those fruits involve maintaining the transformation, and using that transformation for the common good.

It is one thing to be a better man, or a better person, and to know certain fundamental, inalienable truths, but how does one take all this in theory, and apply it in practice??

Part of the contract was ALWAYS to be a better man, but the remainder of the contract involves not only thought and word, but deed.

It is one thing to change yourself; but another entirely to take this change, and make a difference to the world around you.

How does one do this?

We all know the 'secrets', so much so that they are no longer 'secrets'.

But the trick seems to be, once you have learnt, how do you then apply?

This is well worth posting about, and exploring.

This is neither bad mannered or insulting, to my way of thinking...

So, having reached this plateau, where do I go from here?

In order that I do not wallow again, and stagnate in my own exaggerated sense of personal achievement??

I have grown; a great deal. But how do I KEEP growing??

Love changes EVERYTHING!!

2009-10-21T18:44:00.000-07:00

"BLUE REEF" block has been lifted!

WHOO-HOO!!

OK, enough joviality, back to business...

Being somewhat cynical, I assumed my transformation would be a fleeting thing; something that would last a few days, then I would revert back to my old ways.

But there are some fundamental changes in my life which seem to be happening without me even trying. These seem to me to be changes that are occurring not in my surface, superficial
being, but in my very foundations. It is hard to explain, but I will try.

Let me start with my subconscious, which is, I feel, a fair representation of the core being.

I dreamt just an hour ago- this was one of those early morning dreams- that I was helping a single mother. (Don’t ask me why- it might have been something to do with the fact that as a cop, I noticed these women were particularly vulnerable) The mother was a beautiful blond woman. She was cheerful, intelligent, a mixture of archetypes- a little bit mother, and a little bit ‘whore’- but in a nice way. It is hard to describe, but she was a good, honest hard working soul, with a but of wildcat in her sexually, but not in a sluttish way. Nothing at all wrong with any of this- I find it very exciting and interesting.

However, to my knowledge, there was nothing in the dream to suggest a sexual relationship; I just looked after her, and did my work.

Then one day, as often happens, the ex showed up on the doorstep, swigging from a bottle of vodka and snarling hate.

He forced his way into the house, and as I watched him pace about, spitting hate at me for taking ‘his woman’, I noticed less about him, and more about me.

This was nothing new to me; as a cop, I came across a shitload of these hateful jilted pricks, mostly piss and vinegar, and usually gutless. Some backed up their words with fists or guns, but most were just talk.

This one paced about the placed sneering and looking surly. He looked identical to the actor Robert Carlysle- you might remember him as ‘Begbie’ in the film ‘Trainspotting’- one of the most accurate and chillingly authentic portrayals of hate and violence ever portrayed on screen.

Anyway, it was around here I noticed that he had a young boy with him- I assumed it was the son. It was then I felt his presence as the dream unfolded.

Normally in this situation, I would have battered this bastard senseless. In fact, to be truthful, I did try one of my maneuvers on him, but funnily enough, there was simply no strength in my arms. Something was telling me to reconsider.

From then, it was like the dream was a long, complex negotiation.

You see, from my experience, I have no illusions about the shape and nature of hate, and violence. I have had enough experience, in and out of the force, to know that some of these venomous bastards are for want of a better word, a ‘handful’.

I was, at one time, one of them.

And I also know that just because I have come to know peace and love, does not mean I can go out spreading the word and converting types like this.

But, as I carried out this negotiation, I was aware how hard it was. It was so complicated, and involved. I remember thinking how easy it would be to just belt this guy, but I knew I could not. Something more organic was going on.

It was one of those tiring dreams; a game of cat and mouse, between this man and myself, which seemed to go from location to location, emotion to emotion, until the angry, violent man simply dissipated.

I did not fight him, as much as we played tag, hiding, chasing, catching, wrestling, pulling apart, negotiating etc…until…

I realised the angry man was gone.

Perhaps this angry man was me.

To be Continued…

NEW DIRECTION PART THREE

2009-10-10T05:06:00.001-07:00

Which is why I have decided to say ‘NO’ to my critics.

I will acknowledge these people, and when they take advantage of others or me to their own end, and seek to do me harm, I will bless them and let them go. Just as I will my Father.

I will not engage, for then I will become a part of their games of jealousy, manipulation, and insecurity. And I will end up like them, trying to manipulate others.

Which I swear never to do.

And when it all hits the fan, I will end up trusting no one.

Like father taught me.

Which I swear will never happen.

I never want to avoid people; I am really growing to love them. And care about them.

That is like growing a garden. A community garden.

My true friends- the ones who are not trying to judge me or shape me- these people stick in my mind.

I remember them when I log off, and I know if they are happy, successful, had some good news recently, or are hurting. I know. I remember them.

And I know to check on them. Those struggling, I start with by leaving a message on their wall. (I only just learnt to do that- I am usually a ‘homebody’)

And I am not all that comfortable until they call back, and let me know how they are.

And then, I work my way through, checking on my friends in order of the extent to which I feel they would be most likely to welcome my visit, right down to those I would call ‘low maintenance’.

And then I do some general chatting, posting, and then work on my blog material.
I have noticed things; some of the people are much as they were when I met them.

Some are changing, just like me.

They started out as people who had little to say, and called rarely, into people slowly starting to open up, and show their frailties, like a flowering bud.

I like it.

I like these people, and am honoured that they grow with me. And I like to think we are all growing.

And that is beginning to take hold. That is coming naturally to me. I can do this.

I CAN DO THIS!!I CAN DO THIS!!
I AM learning to do it well…Better and better each day.

But like any garden, it needs pruning.

I finally let go of a girlfriend recently.

It was one of those on again, off again things, where I did not just want to give up on a good person, but she was yet another soul, insistent on shaping me, manipulating me, forcing me to be something I was not.

And I could no longer take it.

I said ‘enough’.

I simply have to be who I am. And that is a person in transition.

And if that does not suit my partner…

Of course, in a moment of weakness, she admitted she was jealous that I was doing what she could not- writing, and evolving- and she felt stuck in a job she hated. And her hate will spilling over onto me, and corrupting my own good work.
I could not allow this to happen.

It caused me to look at myself again.

Checking to see whether I was indeed wrong, to see if there was something more I could do to keep this relationship.

But I could see nothing; she was so jealous of my journey, she wanted to divert me from it. With her anger and jealousy.

Just like father, and just like the control freaks who friend me from time to time, and follow the blog, see my intentions, ignore them, and try to make me into what THEY want me to be.

I appreciate their interest, but it doesn’t help.

It merely brings up memories of my father, and how influential he was in trying to shape me the way he wanted.

And I am reminded of how much damage that did.

People wonder why I spend so much time with the past.

Because so many people remind me so much of the harmful influences in my past life. And until I stop being a slave to these people in the present, according to the way my past has equipped me to live- then I will never be set free from the past, or from toxic people.

I will be justifying each and every step to them, when I know they seek to hold me back, and shape me as their own.

One woman- the worst of these manipulators- actually had the gall to say she ‘felt like my mother’.

How dare she? And like my mother, she was beginning to do me the exact same damage by manipulating me.

All over again. And people wonder why I get angry. Wouldn’t you?

At first, I regarded these some of these people- like a mother- as people helping me grow…helping me to monitor my progress, and to check when anything is going awry.

To see if there are any adjustments that need making.

But not all these ‘mothers’ were right; and some got very snakey when I went in a different direction to what they had in mind for me.

I cannot follow the whim of every person here. Each person who has an idea of what they want for me. If that keeps going, I will be adjusting myself until there is nothing of me left.

I cannot please everyone all the time.

And that is the most important lesson.

For the most persistent challengers are most likely the most harmful.

Can they all be right? No.

Most of my friends are positive.

One man said I was an agoniser. I can’t argue. He was right. I wish there were more men here, like him.

He was spot on; and it cannot continue. Who can agonise forever??

Who would want to??

So it is time to let go of the agonising.

For it breed a kind of self loathing, and self loathing spills out onto others- some who deserve it, and some who do not.

I don’t like any kind of loathing.

I don’t want hate.

So I let go of these thing.

And start with myself; loving myself, that I might love others better.

Perhaps there is not as much to change as I thought.

Perhaps I am not the bastard I imagined; I might merely be keeping old programming alive, and am only tempted to become one, when people try to shape me, and manipulate me- control me.

When what I should be doing, is letting all that go.

Walking into the light.

I believe in me.

And I believe in who I am. I believe I am heading in the right direction; and if I change each thing I am challenged on, then I will become a pawn in someone else’s game.

And they will have won; and I will be a zombie.

I let go of anger, hate, loathing, contempt, and I make my home out of love.

Love.

Of people- including myself.

Most people here have given me a home.

I don’t distinguish between FB friend and community; to me they are the same.

In fact, FB is better.

I have learnt more from FB in two months than in the real world in two decades.

The possibilities of community, love, and growth.

And I love it.

And I love being here. I want to drag what I learn here, and take it out into the real world, and then bring that back here, until there is no distinction.

It is all the same thing.

I want to be with you, and I would love one day for us to be together.

Fact. I have made mistakes.

I’m sure there were times my ego came out, as well as my libido.

I am human.

But I have got a lot of things right, too.

And I feel like a better man.

I feel I am growing, and evolving, and it is part me being open, and part you helping me.

Even those who sought to harm me, have helped me, in a perverse kind of way.

That is the way communities used to work, and it is the way they still can.

It could save our lives.

FB could literally save lives.

You play vampire wars, and I will work at relationships, communities, and being there for one another.

Saving lives.

When I have felt down, my time on FB has made me feel better.

It is as place of hope.

And that is good enough for me.

I am evolving.

And I am satisfied I am doing g the right thing.

Despite the criticism.

I have to listen, and take it on board, and assess it, but I cannot cow tow to it.
After all, it is me I have to live with, not the critics.

Their opinion is their own business.

I like my conduct here, and although it is not perfect, it is truthful. And I am moving onward to a better place, and growing. Evolving. And that is good enough for me.

I am only human, doing the best I can.

That is my truth.

I don’t rehearse this stuff. That would be manipulative, and that is why it is not a book. I write it as I feel it.

So of course, it will not please everyone!

Of course!

But I am not here to please like a puppy; I am here to do the hard work of being a better fellow.

Of course I will make mistakes, if I write as I feel, the truth, at the time I feel it, not matter what the emotion or situation, without editing.

That is my choice, to share that truth.

So not everyone will agree with me.

I might be right, and they might be; but it is my truth, at the moment I write.

Warts and all.

I might be sad, or angry, or just plain irrational! I might be wrong thinking! It’s like a box of chocolates; you never know what yr going to get!

It might be good, or it might be inedible to you, but it is what it is, my truth.

Hell, I might even go a little insane!

But the insane see things others don’t!

The insane- or those perceived to be inane, try new things, and develop new innovations, that help the world.

So if that is insane, fine by me.

Because I believe I am better, and I am making things better.

Doing better, despite what anyone else, the critics, Dad etc thinks.

So I thank them for their opinion, their truth, but respectfully disagree.

All I can say is I am sorry they feel that way, that they see this in my words, but it is only their opinion, and they are entitled to it; and although I had to weigh it up, and consider it’s merits, I truly cannot see it is my prime driving force. Not at all.

I cannot allow these critics to capsize all the good work I am doing; whether it speaks to my deepest fear or not. For I do not operate from a place of fear, but a place of love.

Like my walk against youth suicide, if I let one little criticism, one little accusation, one nagging failing or perception of failure (from within or without) tear me down, I will get nowhere.

If I allow myself to be blown off course by every wind of exception, then I will never get to my destination. I will remain lost.

My compass is true.

I owe it to you to keep going, and keep getting better at being a better man, a better member of the community.
A community of people here who have accepted who I am, accepted the changes I am making, and let me know that for the most part, I am too hard on myself.

Perhaps I am.

For when I relax, and just be myself, I am fine; it is only when I am challenged, I allow myself to be sucked into the drama of conflict- conflict that just doesn’t matter.
For I only engage because I am insecure with myself.

I am proud of myself, and who I am.

And the work I have done.

Maybe I am not as bad as I think I am.

The past is the past.

I am me, now.

And I am a better man.

Today.

Tomorrow is not hear yet; but damn, it look promising…

NEW DIRECTION PART TWO

2009-10-10T04:52:00.000-07:00

“Blue Inferno”, a ‘fictional’ script I wrote about my experiences as a cop, was my way of facing a Police career that was too painful to write about accurately.

I have the notes of what happened, but I could not bring myself to tell the whole truth of my life as a cop.

What was I afraid of?

The truth. In time past, the global currency was tea; now, the global currency seems to be oil. I dream of a time when the global currency is truth; how much easier my own life would have been without lies.

How much easier things would have been had MY OLD MAN faced the fact that he was unhappy and had done something about it.

I look at the value of my own decisions- my newfound sense of worth- the day I decided to tell the truth about my own dissatisfaction, and to do something about it.

If one does not like their life, they need to face the truth, embrace it, not judge it, but change it.

But the true answer to my angst- my answer- was to actually, finally face the truth. And deal with it. It is, in actuality, the only way.

This is one of the reasons why it was crucial that I embrace my own past, make friends with it, learn from it and move forward.

My Father was an example of what can happen if you do not- what is known in dramatic language as a ‘cautionary tale’.

He was right to feel pain, anger and frustration at his past, and his inability to connect with his true purpose. But he was wrong in the way he released that pain, anger and frustration.

He was not angry with us. He was angry with himself, and his own past.

Which is the reason- I think- so many bring their hatred to me.

Here.

They hate themselves so much, they cannot help but take it out on me when I will not bend to their will, their way of seeing me- that I will not be subservient to what they want me to be.

I understand it. I have been similarly manipulative myself; and it DOES NOT WORK!!

Instead of looking to change or manipulate others to rectify some nagging sense of shortcoming in ourselves…

We need to look within, at ourselves, and that which has brought us here- to this point in time- and change what needs to be changed.

We need to understand that which we identify as negative, or harmful in our lives. We need to understand it, to come to terms with it, if any progress is to be made. Like an unbalanced eco-system, a human being fed bad nutrients (conditioning, faulty morality, poor self opinion) and mistreated will continue to operate in a dysfunctional pattern, until the programming is changed, or reversed- a new diet, a new living system.

I was brought up to be unpleasant, and unsociable.

Being nice to people was only something you did to get something.

I got a buzz from being pleasant late in life, because I was brought up to be rude and distrustful; thus, lying became a valid life strategy, but once changed, I became a healthier person, and realised that once one kind of lying was removed and my life improved, then the same could happen with other falsehoods in my life.

As a child, one lesson passed on to me by my Father, and by the bullies, was the importance placed on violence; they fought, but it was mere bullying.

Bullying is retrograde; but fighting can be productive.

It is right to fight, physically if necessary, but it is important to distinguish when, for what reason, and how. Random, motiveless violence is an attribute of the poorly developed human being. It is primitive behaviour, and does not belong today.

And yet, there is nothing wrong with the instinct to fight.

Sometimes we need to fight to save our life.

Fight those who attempt to pervert our growth, our healing, our evolution. This is the best, most honourable fight of all.

A man should fight.

It is right that he should fight. But he should fight for his rights. He should fight for a fair go.

He should fight to defend himself when his life, or the lives of his family, are directly threatened. He should fight if he has been financially deceived.

But we need to take care that how we fight, and when we do it is correct.

Otherwise, fighting for it’s own sake is retrograde.

It is especially correct to fight for ones moral point of view. No matter how long the battle takes, no matter what the odds.

I need to have the courage to stand up, and fight for my own salvation. I need to cast off the shackles of my oppression, say no to that bad conditioning, the faulty socialisation, the critics who try to change me, and circumvent the path of my evolution, and to fight to be my own person, and to fight for what I believed to be right.

There are many things out there- many injustices- begging to be fought. Mindless violence against strangers is unnecessary.

It is more advisable to transfer our pugilistic tendencies out on the many social injustices our society is still fraught with.

I knew that I wanted to fight; but I had been programmed for violence against others for pathetic reasons. I knew inside I had the courage to fight for important things.

But what? And how?

But how does achieve this?

By delving within.

I needed to have faith in myself, my own compass, my moral and ethical yardstick; the ultimate truth that lay within myself; the little voice inside my head that whispered to me when something was not quite right- AKA my conscience.

Why could I not deal with these issues head on? It was too painful. Of course it was painful. It is a painful process, like removing a band-aid from an old, festering wound. But there is no healing without pain; this I knew almost instinctively.

And this was the purpose of this project.

To face up to my past; to write down all the things of significance that have happened to date, and to engage in a form of ‘deconstruction’; pulling things apart to look at them, to see how they might work (or, in this case, not work). To know and understand what is merely interesting, and what is crucial to the story, to discard the chaff, and salvage the wheat.

This is the process of 'rewriting' myself. Being brutal.

We use this tool in much the same way, to pull apart our own life, see where it doesn’t work from our past, and to figure out how it might be conducted in a more productive fashion.

We do not, however pull the mechanism apart to destroy it- judge the parts, and then throw them away. We do not examine one incident, or one set of values, or ineptitude, or individuals in our life, blame them, judge them, and then dismiss them.

We need to explore them, understand them, accept them, and integrate what we learn into our new plan. We need to regard our life as a complex eco-system, and see how each part, no matter how unfortunate, and no matter how ashamed we might be of it, or how much it hurt us, and understand how this has shaped our lives to date, and what can be learned in our process of rewrighting the future.

How many of us are yearning to be better, truer, more satisfied people, but are so used to lying to ourselves, we do nothing about it?

What if we all face up to our need to be true to ourselves, and acted accordingly?

What kind of change could this en masse revolution affect on a worldwide scale?

What if the example of those bravely responding to their own personal truths spread to others, also sick to death of lies and deception, not only by self, but also by those in charge of our government?

What if the only true currency, the only worthwhile commodity- truth- came into it’s own on a global scale?

How could this be applied to my own life?

By learning from history, and from past mistakes.

I knew that I loved my Father. I truly loved him, and that was why it had been so hard for me to let go, and break away from him. When it came down to it, I loved and admired him more than I feel it is possible to love and admire a single human being.

And yet, I had to let him, and his memory go.

As long as I blamed him, I would not be myself. As long as I blamed myself for being like him, I would not move on.

Goethe said, ‘If one has not had a good father, one must create one’.

And I had to create a new, good Father, rather than living in the toxic memory of a bad one. I knew that I had to. It would be the only thing that would save my life.

The human being is a self-guiding mechanism. Whether we like it or not, the image we give it will be what it will gravitate towards.

I did not want to be like my Father.

And yet I did not provide another alternative.

I told my self what I was not to be, but did not think to tell myself what to be instead. There was not positive. So, the image my mind had was my Father.

And slowly, I became him all over again.

I can hear his voice in me so clearly.

It was time to start afresh, to set for myself a new goal.

To strive not to be a person unlike my Father, but to be a new person, guided by my own principles, my own strategies.

But who is that?

WHO AM I??

I realised that I needed to embrace who I was, take into account my past, embrace it all- the positive and the negative- and to take counsel from it to correct my present stagnation, and to move forward, armed with a new appreciation for the past, a new sense of self and ambition needs and desires to take me into the future.

It is the intersection of all my skills and talents, and it satisfies me on every level.

It is, in effect, a search for self, a search for family, a search for home and hearth.

I have spent my whole life, looking for a home.

Like a peg, looking for the right shape and size hole, I have been searching.

Many false alarms, many wrong holes, so to speak- often trying to force my way in where I did not belong- I never gave up hope that I belonged somewhere. After a lifetime of searching for a place to go home, you can become blind, or go mad.

I have spent a long time not knowing who I am, or where I wanted to be, because I had my dreaming taken from me.

No one should give up their dreaming. If you do, you feel lost, and will take anything forced down your throat as home.

And this will not do.

This new direction is where all my work- all the months of struggle- slowly come together, and help propel me forward...

NEW DIRECTION PART ONE

2009-10-08T22:09:00.000-07:00

For want of a better word, I have decided to deal with the problem of ‘hate’ for my final blogs.

‘Hate’ is a choice.

I have a friend who yesterday told me she was ‘too lazy for hate’. It amused me; and yet, I realised she had a point.

Hate is a pointless emotion, that saps the body and the soul.

Anyone who reads this blog regularly, knows that my Father was a man of hate.

Even from a young age, he encouraged me not to trust people.

I have grown out of that. My father tried to encourage me to avoid people. I have such a strong belief in people, that I am willing to lay my life on the line for them.

In fact, I have been making myself ill by caring for them almost too much, and leaving nothing for myself.

I am too quick to believe I am full of flaws, and that others are not; and I am too quick to defer to what I perceive ‘the better judgement of my peers’. And I have discovered of late, that the opinions of others- and my reticence to question those opinions- are as toxic, and as harmful as my harsh judgement of myself.

In opening myself up to the criticism of my peers, I have allowed myself to be judged across the board, with little or no discernment. And as such, I have fought and flashed like a fish on the line. Snagged on the hook of others assessment.

I have worked myself free of this hook, for it is a hook as flawed as my own readiness to be hooked.

I have effectively hung a sign upon my own back, saying ‘I am a bastard; kick me’. And there are those who have taken this opportunity.

Who could blame them? The temptation must be irresistible.

The worst kickers, though, are those who purport to be champions of my development, my evolution, but who have turned out to be people filled with hate, looking for a place to put their hate to work.

Through my work, one of the most important lessons I have learnt is just how much the people in my life wanted to control me, and to take out their hatred upon me, and shape me toward their own ends.

It is incredible.

It still happens.

I have had many supporters in my work here; but I have to say, I have had many critics, who worked so hard to make me feel bad about my work, to insult me, and to make me live according to the way they live.

It was as if I was ‘leaving the fold’ somehow.

There was also a person here recently who claimed she ‘was a chosen one, come into my life to show me the way’.

I have had six or seven people tell me they were a ‘chosen one, come into my life to guide me’.

Six or seven ‘chosen ones’.

Wow.

I am very happy to believe that life sends you angels to guide you; but all these people thinking they are the ‘one’? The only ones who understand me, better than I understand myself?

And when these people become angry because I will not evolve according to their grand plans…

These people worry me.

And I take their anger to heart; but I need not.

I ‘bless them, and let them go’…

For those who become angered that another person will not grow, and heal, and evolve at the instructed rate are no more helpful to me than my father.

Those who help me are those who encourage me, who do not judge me, and allow me to heal at my own pace.

And if they do not agree with the way I am doing it- if it is at odds with their way- they do not get angry, and let fly insults. They either wait until our paths meet again, or they leave quietly, or go onto something else.

These people know who they are.

One in particular has been with me from the start.

She understand me the best because she listens, rather than instructs, or forces herself upon me.

She might well be ‘the chosen one’- my one true guide, because she has NEVER claimed to be such.

And a true guide does not claim to be one, and become angered if I do not follow them.

I have had to de-friend these angered ‘guides’, because they have become insistent on the verge of harassment.

‘Now John, this is so wrong; you are exactly what I was talking about. You are not doing as I instructed…’

Etc. This is harmful, because it is camouflaged as though it is not.

It is a form of coercion, and I have no time for coercion or harassment.

I realised their hate is not my fault, but it is my responsibility not to entertain such hatred. Especially when it is so well camouflaged, I missed it. And not to judge it; for to judge it, pulls me down to the same level- the same depth- as that hatred.

I must cease allowing myself to be taken in by this hatred, and rise above it. I need not blindly follow this hatred. I can, and should, exercise some discernment. But that does not mean I should judge these weaknesses of character, ere I fall pray to the same weakness as they.

One must learn to understand other people’s flaws and failings, as well as ones own, and keep the two separate.

My father had flaws and failings. He was a failed writer, and he took his anger out on the family- as well as others.

I do not have to be that way.

I am writing; and I am learning to come to terms with my anger.

And my way of doing that is to deal with my past.

In my own way.

My past is not a ‘ball and chain’, as has been suggested by my critics; it is something to be acknowledged, and learned from. One person here insulted me, and became angry with me for reviewing my past.

Many people seem so concerned for me that I am dwelling on my past, as if it is toxic waste. It is not; from the past, we can learn to have a better present, and future. Some people are so terrified of the past; they do not want others to make use of it.

My past is no imposition at all. I accept it, own it, and review it in order that I might learn how to live better, and access the ear of the divine.

And this is most definitely 'worth it'...

It is a form of alchemy- a way of taking what others regard as ‘base matter’, or ‘shit’, and forming something useful from it.

The only way to face the troubling past is to acknowledge it. Not run from it, grieve over it, or even wallow in self pity it, but go back in time not for it’s own sake, to feel sorry for ourselves, hold onto ancient trauma and conflict, but for practical purposes; to exorcise the demons, dispel the past. It should be a healing journey- and our travelling companion along the way? Courage. It takes courage to do this honestly.

Effectively. Impervious to the slings and arrows of the iniquities, jealousies, hatred and failings of others.

To stay focused on the work that needs doing, digging in the dirt, finding where we got hurt, and then using that information to move on.

It is indeed hard work. No telling what dark secrets, what pain we might uncover. To sift the material of our life, to examine and accept it all- the good and bad- to isolate that which was useful to the narrative as a whole, and to set aside, or delete that which was of no particular help to fashioning my future, the final act.

One has to be ruthless. To know and understand what is merely interesting, and what is crucial to the story. To discard the chaff, and salvage the wheat. This is the process of working the material.

Being brutal. To sift the story, to examine and accept it all- the good and bad- to isolate that which is useful to the narrative as a whole, and to set aside, or delete that which was of no particular help to fashioning my future, the final act.

I had to look at the conflict in the first influence on my life- my first role model. I knew I had to examine the conflict in his life, in order to understand the conflict in my own.

I knew it would not be easy; and often, I became side tracked. There were times I was stuck; this is known as writer’s block. It is common for writers to be stuck, because they have lost sight of the intention of the piece, are too jaded by their work, or simply do not want to put in the required labour, or do not want to face the often painful experience.

I would use any method I could to avoid the truth of my past; even camouflaging it in fiction.

Camouflaging.

Hiding the truth.

Like my critics, who ingratiate themselves with me, then attack once in the fold, and in my good graces.

Like my father, who I trusted, and who bedevilled me.

Like the cops- who on the surface seemed so pure and noble…

Ended up being so corrupt.

And Hell followed with them…

Sabattical Part Nine.

2009-10-04T14:55:00.001-07:00

Make yourself write. Cleanse your heart and soul. Permute the letter back and forth. You will feel then, as if an additional spirit is within you. In this manner, you will reach beyond yourself. Go slowly, as the path is dangerous, and must be travelled with caution.”

“You love to talk. Talk about things that don’t come from your heart. You talk and talk and talk and talk. Are they all empty words? Do you want to understand? Understand me, this.”

I had a girlfriend once say to me 'I was using empty words'.

It is a process; I am not finished yet.

So many want me to finish at their schedule.

But I resist. I will do it my way, not theirs.

Words are fine.

In understanding yourself.

But to really learn, it requires putting into practice what you have learnt about yourself, and listening to the hearts of others.

I am beginning to learn to do this.

But I check back with my own soul intention.I ‘cleanse my heart and soul, permute between myself and others, permute between FB and the real world, and as I do so, I begin to feel an additional spirit.

A voice in my left ear…a deep voice, in crises, telling me what to do, what is right. And in this process, I reach beyond myself.“You can talk, really connect with God, not just pray, but have God listen. And sometimes, in special cases, have God talk back.”

The closing words in "Bee Season" again; “My father told me, that I could reach the ear of God, that words and letters would guide me, to reach beyond myself, to know the world as whole again. And like the ancient mystics, God would flow through me, and we would be together…”

I use a lot of words. Alchemy.

Path to refinement, path to the divine.

Coming into the being I was always meant to be.

But...

I will have to the criticism and the accusations go, and move on.

Why? Because I don’t believe them to be true, and because they tie me too directly to the computer- which is in danger of metamorphosising into one giant rationalisation- where every time I am criticised, or perceive the existence of criticism- I feel obliged to react.

That is far too accountable; and it is not sustainable.

Who could? And who would read a constant defence update?

I cannot go on blogging forever about, and reacting to every negative comment or criticism.

I will get nowhere.

I realised that right before I hit the road again.

It is too overwhelming.

I found myself sitting on the computer, yet again dealing with someone who said I had a ‘chip on my shoulder’, and that she felt she had to ‘walk on eggshells’ around me.

Hardly surprising.

That’s what being in a state of siege does to you.

I realised I was becoming so used to answering the criticism, it has made me defensive.

And the more defensive I got, the more criticism I got, and on it went, stuck in another hell.

As I answered this woman’s charges, I thought- ‘why does she have to walk on eggshells’? I never asked her to walk on anything.

And quite frankly, I became heavily fatigued with defending myself.

It was remaining locked in a never-ending cycle, and I was not doing my work.

I finished the letter to this woman, and decided it would be my last.

I closed the computer, and vowed to take the time to let the criticism go. I do not have to react to all of it.

And I decided to stick to my plan, to head up North, and hook up with some friends I know who have invited me to look at some land, with a view to the possibility of setting up an intentional community.

A country trip will do me good.

It feels like I am getting back to what I originally intended- some kind of balance between my FB community, and a real community, a like-minded group of people, looking to live differently, and in the process make a difference.

It will not hurt me to take a look.

And in the meantime, I can take some time out to get back to nature, before my overseas trip to the US.

It will be time to let go of the war I have been waging with my critics. I can scarcely even see the good that is being done by my process.

If I remain obsessed with the negative, I will completely miss the positive.

I make mistakes, but we all do.

I think my intentions are honourable enough to continue.

And the results Have BEEN too remarkable- too miraculous- in me, and in others, to justify giving up based on the opinion of one.

The evidence to the contrary is overwhelming.

But when criticism comes up, I will still look at it, and myself honestly…You know I had to do this.It is in my interests to take any and all criticism on board.

I just won’t dwell on it, to the detriment of my own good work.

And some very good work is going on here- not just for me, but also for others.

There are people opening up here, and that is a miracle!

And I am moving from a place of self-indulgence, to focusing on others!

More and more, and consistently! Regularly.

And that is a miracle.So why am I really here?

To form a community. I like it here; it is everything I imagined a community to be.

An ‘Evolving Souls Club’.

A place where I, and those like me, can feel comfortable being honest.

No matter what anyone says, FB is a privilege, not a right; and you pay for that privilege with your private information.

That’s a fact. If you don’t like it, leave.

I am here, and I am growing, and evolving, and it is because I am open.

I have nothing to hide. I don’t want vast chunks of my bank savings removed, but beyond that, I don’t mind what else anyone knows about me.

I’m going to go FB one step further, and surrender the information before they take it.I’m not hiding. Hiding gets us into trouble in the first place.

Privacy? Please! I live in a city, and there are cameras everywhere, people watching, and recording when I pick my nose, and when I scratch my balls!

Privacy?

Forget about it.And being an open book helps me be better.

I tried lying, and hiding, and deception, and it is fraud.

And in evolving, it simply does not work.

Which is why I am so open about looking into my faults as well.

It is an obligation. To be a better man, and part of that is not hiding from flaws that might sabotage that process.

Not just to revel in my honesty, but also to check myself, monitor my possible faults, in the event I might be going off track.

So, if FB is a privilege, and your friendships the honour I believe it to be, then I knew I could not come back until I was satisfied my intentions were pure.

Am I here to have my ego massaged, and have people rub my tummy and feel sorry for me? Maybe partly, but it is not the major impulse.

Not at all. To say it is would be lying.

If I wanted to have my ego massaged, I would go back to the way I was, and I would have women do it for me.

And they did.

The same stories, over and over again, the tales of woe, and the sympathy fucks.

And it got me sex, and made me feel indulged, but it was not sustainable.

It did not help my growth.What is helping my growth, is the work I am doing here and now on FB. Some people believe FB is wrong. I feel it is a virtual community, where you can learn to be a better citizen.

People say that FB friends are one-dimensional characters.

And that they are not putting on their real face.I disagree; I am putting on my real face, and people are responding to it, by doing the same.

And it is working. You people are not just characters; you are people I would love to be with.

To live with, and to learn from, about living in a community, with a common purpose- evolution. I love it, and it is working.

I feel the more drawn away from myself I am, the happier I am thinking of others.

I know in theory it works, but in practice, I seldom tried it.

But it really works. You may have had some experience yourself; nothing takes you out of yourself and your problems quite like looking after others.

And I have been learning how to do this. After a lifetime of self-indulgent narcissism, I have slowly been learning to think of others. Not just occasionally- anyone can do it occasionally- but consistently.

Making an effort to check on others.

And it feels good.

Sabattical Part Eight.

2009-10-04T00:25:00.001-07:00

OK, this will be the second last post in this series.

Getting there.

One important point, raised by a message I received yesterday.

"John, this will be my last post on your blog.You wrote: It has been suggested; one email told me, ‘instead of bitching about yourself and your problems, why don’t you just do us all a favour and die’. I am sure you are referring to my comment."

This person thinks I am blogging about her. She is so convinced I speak of her. I have no time for people who think I am talking about them, and then bring that insecurity to me. I cannot cope with the insecurity of others, as well as my own.

She knows nothing of the hate mail I don't publish. That was just a taste of it, and believe it or not, nothing to do with her. I dealt with that yesterday, so I am not going to review it.

She continues.

"You know that i did not say that, in those words. Right now you are so transparent and everyone who interacts with you can see, see the hate and pain that you have suffered at the hands of others, and now you mite it right back to others. Don't you think your FB friends realize that you see red and react when someone challenges you, It is so obvious. Squeeze an orange and orange juice comes out, squeeze you, just a little, and look what comes out."

Why on earth does a person feel compelled to squeeze me? To test me? Apply extra uneeded pressure? To torture me more??

No. I will not tolerate being squeezed. This blog is not 'come and apply random pressure to JWA by squeezing him to see what happens'.

In addition, this person speaks on behalf of 'everyone'. I wonder how you feel about that? That none of you have your own minds?

It's like the school yard; 'everyone thinks you're an asshole'.

I have my own thoughts on schoolyard bullying. I will not sink to those depths.

I believe YOU all have your own thoughts and opinions.

"If you know how, please remove me frm your blog page. Although I don't regret extending my hand in friendship to you, I do regret that you chose to take such a low, low road when it comes to telling the truth."

Remove? I am not your father. You can remove yourself.

This is sad; all the expectations some people have of me, suggestions, and all the work I am expected to do for them.

I never promised to be a leader, guide, or surrogate parent, or to spoon feed you. And most of you have not asked for it. This person actually did, at one point, and I felt very uncomfortable with it. It did not feel like MY truth.

Leader? Who the hell am I to lead? Frankly, I am glad that is finished with.

I am not 'the leader'; and I don't believe most of you want that from me.

I am your equal, walking beside you.

This club has no boss. At worst, I facilitate discussion with my work. But not circumvention. Aggravation. Or jealousy, or rage, or destructive tendencies. I have enough of that to contend with in my own life, and I will not tolerate it from others.

If they 'squeeze' me, then who will be next?

This person can 'squeeze' me for fun and amusement, but they cannot delete themselves from my blog. Work it out for yourself, my dear.

You would be amazed what you can do when you try. When you cease to offer advice. And learn to take charge of your own affairs.

And she has the gall to judge my road.

This is her opinion of my road. 'The Low Road', whatever the hell that means. I have chosen the road that seems the best for me; might not be 'her' preferred route, but I never said I would take my road for a while, then take a turn at someone else's.

I see this decision as taking the 'high road'- no matter where it leads. And this high road is very rocky indeed, fraught with danger. 'It is a long road out of Hell', but I am not afraid to take it, for I know it is a hell I built for myself.

A lot of people are afraid of hard work.

Not me.

I always looked at this process as the equivalent of writing your angry thoughts on a piece of paper, then rolling them up, and throwing them away.

And it is working, for me.

As I work through the last of the crap, and leave it by the side of the road, I KNOW I am doing the right thing for myself. I know what works, and what doesn't, and this works.

The point of this final blog is to re-iterate I can no longer take to heart the criticism, or vanities of others. I am indeed a tad angry, and I am angered by people who try to direct my journey for me (especially when I know they are wrong), and angered by those who judge the rate and pace and style in which I do the work.

I once suggested to a fellow blogger to 'do what YOU need to do, regardless'. Eleanour Coppola, wife of the film director Francis, once said 'whatever the artist needs'.

I say the same. Whatever I need, you need, is fine by me. I will never judge another's journey.

And I ask the same of others in mine. This blog is called 'Evolving Souls', not 'please rally round and fix me'. I don't know who would join a blog like that. Or stay.

This is simply my healing journey, with all the rocks and stones and snakes and jagged bits left in for authenticity.

If I fall down, I will pick myself up, and carry my own pack. And you are also welcome to walk with me.

I never asked for your help; I said by reading, and being there, you 'help me'. I never asked you to carry my load for me, or tell me where to go, or how to do the job better.

I welcome suggestions, but the above person said I pissed her off, or something. If you are pissed off with me, then you deal with it. You defriend me.

Don't expect me to do your dirty work and mine.

A little angry? I AM angry that people are starving and dying in the world, and we still have enough money for bombs. I will probably stay angry as long as that is the case. And may remain angry as I position myself to do something about it, rather than griping about it.

And I am angry at those who try to shape others by judging, then try to pervert their course.

As I said, I read the real nasty stuff, so you don't have to.

Low road? If it seems low, then that is because some people choose to keep me down.

You have probably seen it.

I will not stand for people like the above person getting angry with the way I am doing it, paranoid that I am talking about her, and angry that she is not in my constant thoughts- that I might well have other critics.

I won't play favourites, and I won't kowtow and massage one over the others.

I am not here for that.

I said to my blogger friend, 'even if you lose all your friends to follow YOUR truth- then so be it. Keep going, and start again. Until the work is done'.

And you find who YOU are...

None of my information tells me it should be done a particular way, by a set date. I am not charging by the hour; nor are you.

The work will be done when it is finished; my way, not someone elses.

Which leads me nicely into the final blog.

I said our future depends largely on how much we want one.

I DO want one with you.

And that would not happen if I were not becoming a better person.

With my writing.

Words.

That is my way.

‘We read to know we are not alone'.

I write for the same reason. I hope you read for that reason.

The highs and the lows, but always the truth, sharing, together for a better world.

The words express my true being, and my being- and intentions for my life and the world- are shaped by my words.

Indeed, it is my tool to access the divine, to reach the ear of God.

I watched a film on my Sabbatical; an extraordinary, and very timely film.

‘Bee Season’. Starring Richard Gere as a man of faith, struggling with truth, family, himself.

His daughter says of her father at the opening of the film, “My father told me once, that words and letters hold all the secrets of the universe. That in their shapes and sounds, I could find everything, and see beyond myself, to something special. Perfect. My father told me once that I could reach the ear of God.”

I agree with her.

This theme is elaborated upon by the Father.

“So our paradox: God is everything. A perfect, luminous essence. But even God wants more. To experience more, to give.

So God creates a vessel, a container that can receive this gift…of God’s pure light. This divine light pours into the vessel. The vessel, of course, can’t contain the magnitude of this light, and it shatters…destroying the vessel, and scattering it’s broken shards…in a big bang of creation.

Now man’s job, is to locate and gather these shards to make the vessel…our world, whole again. Now, the Cabbalists call this fixing, this mending, they called it…Tikkun Olam. The fixing of the world. Now any act of goodness, altruism, kindness that contributes to that idea…is considered Tikkun Olam.

It’s an extraordinary idea, that we can restore what has been shattered.

In fact it’s our responsibility to try, each of us.

Out of the very pieces of the destruction, God has left us hope.”

And how does he suggest we do this?

“Make yourself write. Cleanse your heart and soul. Permute the letter back and forth. You will feel then, as if an additional spirit is within you. In this manner, you will reach beyond yourself. Go slowly, as the path is dangerous, and must be travelled with caution.”

I completely agree with this; and it speaks directly to my own process.

But caution is crucial. Indeed.

For there are many traps and pitfalls along the way...

What are they??

Sabattical Part Seven.

2009-10-02T21:31:00.000-07:00

I am posting a few hours later today so that I can get my body clock back onto the usual routine, posting around midnight my time, getting back into my preferred pattern of working during the night. This will mean posting again tomorrow a few hours later, until I am back on schedule.

OK, so FB is not perfect.

I had a comment today- that I was a 'bit defensive', as if I had a 'chip on my shoulder'.

Any wonder. I have had a lot of criticism about my work here. You don't see it, but I receive it in my email inbox, and the accusations charge from the fact that I have so few men, to the fact that people are sick to death of me living in the past.

It is all I can do to remain focused on my development. If you are a regular reader, have you not noticed how often I am sidetracked in my blogs, to address some criticism or other?

Between that an my non FB friends and family...who wouldn;t have a chip on their shoulder?

If you had to read some of the poisonous scuttlebutt I had to wade through, you might understand the chip. I try to keep it bay, but I am only human. If I get touchy...you know someone has insulted me.

It is hard enough doing my work, without all the other garbage I have to defend myself against. Why do I bother? Accountability. Much the same as the charge from DG about my motivations here, I feel as obligated- if not more so- to defend myself.

As a means of remaining accountable, and to practice doing it.

Because as long as I am engaged in this process, the critics will not go away. I know it. In fact, I would imagine they would increase, and intensify.

Such anger, jealousy, and judgement out there. It is hard enough doing my work, without that. But that is the price I pay for doing it on a public social networking site.

This is the only reason I ask for no sympathy.

The work I do here asks for criticism. I was not prepared for the level and intensity, but I had to expect criticism.

That is the nature of the world, and one price for doing this in the first place. But the benefits far outweigh the costs. Believe me.

Being a cop gave me a good sense of what it it like to be spat on literally. Being spat on here on FB can be just as bad, trust me.

But it is a price I am willing to pay.

The benefits are being made manifest. For all to see.

No wonder I am so passionate about it, and never give up, despite the venomous criticism. Why should I? I fought long and hard for this.

And I am not giving up without a fight.

There is nothing wrong with FB that does not already exist in the person. Simple.

FB will give you PRECISELY what you contribute to it.

People weep and wail that FB ripped them off, or it took this, or took that, or they were stalked, or they did not get what they wanted…

People were disappointed, and did not get what they were after, because they expected too much. And they did not understand that you get back what you want when you remain flexible and altruistic in terms of what you want, and when you give. And keep giving.

And one day, either it will give back, or the giving will be enough for you.

Like the real world.

‘I can’t make money off FB!’ they cry.

FB never promised money. Not to me, anyway; any more than God did.

My God promised peace and love and community.

And I expected no more from FB, and I got it, and am satisfied, because I am learning to give, rather than receive.

I never ‘wanted’ anything from FB that I could not deliver myself, with the help of the universe. People are so disappointed, and quick to judge FB and the people on it. I have been, but it is bullshit. And I am getting over it.

FB- like the world, like people- owes you NOTHING.

You/I owe it to your/ourselves to give, and give freely.

Of your love, your time, and your purpose, and your ideas, and expect nothing in return except the same. I have said this before- if you want money, you may not be in the right place, or doing it the right way.

I never wanted cash. I have enough cash; I saved hard as a policeman, and there was still some left after the estate agents wiped me out.

I still have a place to live, and some savings.

I don’t want money; I would not know what to do with it, even if I had extra. I would be foolhardy with it, and give it to the poor and suffering, and everyone knows that is insane.

That is what I would do, if I had extra.

If I had the wit, the talent, the stage presence, I would travel the world telling stories, or playing my geetar, or some wild thing or other, and give the cash to the needy. To the people dying because of poor/nonexistent health care.

The world is not right, and I am not right with that, and I think we…I…can do something about it. And I believe everything else you need flows from that.

Everything is that- it might just be all we need.

Is that really a disorder?

‘You can’t fix it all by yourself’.

I never knew I was trying to. The good Rev Kimberley asked me once- when I posted one of my positive comments about ‘having another plan, and this one working’- did ‘I need any help’?

Of course I do. Of course I need help.

She, and so many others, are helping me. We are in this together. I am simply saying what I think out loud, and enough people agree with me for me to keep going, and not worry about the critics, or that I might have some kind of mental disorder.

I cannot let anyone hold me back; keep me in the prison of my past transgressions. If I do, I will remain trapped, just as I was after my charity walk.

Trapped in a Hell of my own creation.

I cannot control the opinions of others, nor would I want to.I also cannot let these opinions control me. I have to take them on board, consider them, and if they do not fit, move on.

I have to let DG's opinion go, and continue to walk into the light.

Leave her, my friend departed, and the bastard, and walk into the light.

I owe you- my dear friends- and myself, that much. And I know I can do it.

I AM doing it.

Here on FB.

People bitch about FB.

I know I have- but I also owe it a big thank you, for all the wonderful people all around the world I have met, who are so much better than the real world.

Or maybe it is me who is getting better at communicating.

Who cares- whatever it is, it is a good things.

And it is working. Whatever works. I will pay the price. For the cost will be far outweighed by the miracle of what I have learnt, and what I am learning here.

Every day.

And I am getting better and better.

And if people don’t like it, why should I take responsibility for their liberty?

Assume the responsibility of their self-determination by taking on board their ire?

If they don’t like me, they can hide me, or de-friend me.

But I cannot do the same to myself. Nor do I want to, for as much as I have hated myself in the past, I am starting to love myself more and more, and others too.

And maybe- just maybe- they are starting to love me more.

And thus, you help me. More than the real world; more than an army of psychologists.

The more love you show me, the more you help me show you love, and to the world, love, and to a better future.

Sabattical Part Six.

2009-10-02T09:58:00.001-07:00

I am still coming to terms with the spelling of Sabattical. Or Sabbatical? I like them both. I also mistyped, and wrote Sabbastical before...I think I like that one the most!Here's hoping I have it settled before the Sabb...the time out is over!

Major shifts at home; I visited family to try to paste over some of the cracks this week, and gradually, one by one, as I take my cautious, infantile steps on this new path to transcendence, I find them disowning me; turning their backs and walking away.

This has been unfolding over a long period of time. Laura said 'be yourself'.

It can be that simple. thanks Laura.

To reiterate, I only have a couple of rules; no advertising, no touting for cash, no judgement and there is NO deadline for evolution. Take all the time you need, on my page. I do. Yr journey is precious, and will not be judged here. Joanne, even if we lose everyone, and have to start again; that's life, people can be transient, but integrity and principles are eternal. With few exceptions.

As I mentioned before, I had a message from someone telling me I was a 'bad friend'. 'Bad' friend? What's that? Makes me sound like a naughty doggy!

Something to do with my 'candour'. Canine candour. That's OK. At least I was me. Bless them and let them go, someone said, and Laura, I think that is what you meant.

No hate, anger, guilt or sadness.

Only love.

There is actually only a very thin layer between the two.

It simply looks like more of a barrier than it is.

Enough.

On with the...'show'??

(I am getting somewhere, BTW...just getting through a little gravel. I can see the bitumen up ahead...)

Many people ask me, how can you do this- reveal so much of yourself in public?

It even goes against everything my father taught me.

The king of liars.

“Keep it to yourself”, Dad would say.

And that was why lies were so powerful.

The politicians are powerful, and they lie; and we are letting them, and we will all be killed for our addiction to lies, and ‘keeping things to ourselves.

I am not afraid. I have nothing to hide.

Not any more.

Hiding things only makes it worse.

Like dad and his letters.

Here are my letters; every sordid detail. And not camouflaged by innuendo, or deceptive language-Like dad’s.

He used to hide the truth by lying, or by using his own form of sincerity, but not telling the whole truth.

This is how it works; imagine you are a married man, and your wife suspects you of sleeping with another woman. Imagine she confronts you, and asks ‘have you been sleeping with another woman’?

Let’s just say for the sake of the illustration, you have. If you are a man, there is a very strong chance that you have, so it should not be much of a strain to the imagination.

All you have to do is say ‘No’.

And you are not lying, because you didn’t sleep with her- even though you might have fucked her brains out.

That’s how dad got away with it. And it is probably why he was a lawyer.

My father was a bit like the ex PM when he talked about ‘core’ and ‘non-core’ promises. Dad, like the ex PM, was an officer of the court, so he knew a thing or two about getting around the truth as well.

There are always ways.

Trust me; I’m an ex-cop. And my father’s son. And I know about these things.

And they simply don’t work.

Which is why I am not afraid of the truth.

I know that; truth is the only path to my salvation.

Perhaps even the collective salvation.

It feels right for me, and we are running out of time. I am running out of time.

Desperate measures required, in order to meet my spiritual deadline.

Much work to be done.

You may feel a similar urgency yourselves.

But we all have to do our own work, not look to the work of others, or look to others to do it for us.

It is time we took responsibility for our own transcendence.

It is why transcendence and 2012 is so little to do with waiting ‘for God’ to lift us up, but so much more to do with us raising ‘ourselves up to meet God’.

It is imperative that we connect with our own afterlife; for it is only we who can create it, tailor it, if you will, that we might fuse our own soul, our being, and the work we have done, with the universe as part of our own self made immortality.

I somehow always knew this was true. And knowing my time is almost at an end- this truth I always suspected had been confirmed for me, in so many ways.

I simply know it. And it puts me at peace about my time here, my perceived failures, and my place in the hereafter.

I simply know it.

Of course some people think I am mad.

For I am finding peace.

Is that some kind of disorder? You tell me?

To me, it seems like the human condition, and I am simply laying it out for others to see.

To share something meaningful, as I try to be a better man.

Others have done it before, and it looks so simple. As if it has been packaged.

Neal Donald Walsch was in despair, he had a conversation with God, and then everything was OK again.

It seems so easy.

My battle for understanding, solace, community and direction are not quite so cut and dried. Mine looks like a wrestling match between a couple of drunks.

All over the place, not that easy to look at, and bloody near impossible to package.

And to the outside, this battle for transcendence looks like some kind of disorder. ‘You have a disorder’, and you need help’, person told me.

‘Professional help’.

Funny how I have sought all the professional help in the world, and none of them found anything wrong with me.

I simply want answers.

I want to help my world, before it is too late.

I am not built to be a guru.

When I used to do classes at ‘Magpie House’, this schizophrenic guy used to bawl me out in public, in front of my group, saying ‘how can you help others? You can’t even help yourself!!’

It hurt.

I was not aware I was trying to do anything but find meaning, and other like minds also looking for meaning, and to share the need, life experiences, and try to make a different, to be agents for change.

This is an admittedly extreme example of the resentment some people feel toward someone who is doing some serious healing. Some people seem so jealous of a person who is finding a way out of Hell.

It is like they want to heal themselves so desperately, and they feel so bitter when they see others healing, and being so open about the way they are going about it.

And so in their anger they try to stop it.

I get that all the time.

The most frequent accusation is that I am a fake, and we have already been through how much that hurts.

Are we all so terrified we will be seduced by a shyster?

If so, I understand. Because I have been a victim.

Agents ripped me off when I had depression; so of course I am very sensitive to it. Which is why I am so sensitive to charges I might not be sincere.

It kills me, like I am a real estate agent, or something. But I also ripped myself off.

No more. I do not deserve it.

The criticism. If I surrender to it, then I am continuing to be a victim, and weak.

There is nothing wrong with what I am doing. My conscience is clean.

I am merely in the process of helping myself, - and in that same process, trying to help others as well.

With my journey.

I am still learning to find my way, but the critics do hurt. Which is why I look at myself so intensely when I hear this accusation. I feel I owe to you, but I also feel in my insecurity, as if it might be right, and I need an excuse to give up.

But it is NOT right, and I am not giving up. ‘A saint is a sinner who never gives up.’

But I have been a victim enough to know that intelligent adults are not victims unless they allow themselves to be.

I was ripped off, and abused because I did not allow myself to heal from the sense I deserved it.

On some level, I was party to the exploitation, because I felt I deserved it.

We cannot control others, but we can control that feeling.

Some say you can’t fix others until you fix yourself.

I am not trying to ‘fix’ others. I am sharing, and in the process, in finding a community, they are helping me.

For free. I am honoured, and flattered, and humbled, and while I am on FB with these people, I am not so self-destructive.

Without people, I just want to die.

It has been suggested; one email told me, ‘instead of bitching about yourself and your problems, why don’t you just do us all a favour and die’.

Don’t think I haven’t thought about it.

But I am not going to do it. Because I have finally found meaning. Here and now, I have all the meaning I could possibly want, and more.

People are visiting my wall, and I am so delighted.

That is not just and honour, and a privilege…that is a bloody miracle. Make no mistake.

I have looked all my life for one single miracle, and I have found it on FB.

I will die, soon enough; I know I will not be here for long.

But for now, I am content with my work.

I have finally found it.

Sabattical Part Five.

2009-10-02T09:44:00.000-07:00

I felt inside the box, and could feel the books.

Paperback books. I pulled one out. “Ulysses”. I pulled another. “Crime and Punishment”. And another. “Pride and Prejudice”.

I heard the sound of a car pull up in the driveway. I put the books back in the box, closed the box and shoved it back where I had found it, squeezed myself down out of the ceiling hole, and replaced the cover, almost toppling onto the floor. I jumped down from the stool, and dragged it back into position. I dusted the footmarks from the leather seat, just as the door opened. I dusted off the old copy of “Pride and Prejudice” which I had found in the box in the ceiling, exactly where I had found it months before.

I was oblivious to the sound of my mother in the kitchen, preparing the evening meal. I could hear her peeling the vegetables, but it did not register.

This was important. I was right. I had seen the book, and I had saved myself a few dollars by climbing into the ceiling to retrieve it. I flicked through the book, as if to get some kind of overview of the work before plunging deep into the ocean of words.

As I brushed the pages with my thumb, I noticed something fall out onto the ground. I thought at first, I had damaged the spine, and some of the pages had fallen from the book. But as I looked at the floor, I saw that what fell out was not pages from the book, but an envelope.
I picked the envelope up, and examined it.

The writing was scrawled, and I could not make it out properly.

It looked foreign, in that special way that all correspondence not of your own hand, does; as if the holding of it in your hand is, in itself, some kind of violation; larceny. I sensed that what I held in my hand was no ordinary correspondence. Not because it had been secreted within the pages of a novel; but because when I held it in my hand, it urged me to put it back in the book, put the book back in the box, and to seal the crawlspace up forever. Something told me I was on the cusp of releasing something terrible; something which would shake the house to it’s very foundations, and rock the world clean off it’s axis.

But before I could do as I was urged by the document, my mother took it from my hands. I was too late. She said nothing. She just looked at Jane Austen in my hand, and turned the letter over between her fingers. She carefully examined the writing on the outside, turned it over to look at the back of the envelope, then she opened the flap, to remove the letter inside. She took a cursory look at the contents, then moved into the front living room, and sat on the sofa to read the communiqué.

I stood up, holding Jane Austen in my hand, and I looked at my mother, watching as the letter shook in her hand. I could see her face also begin to quiver, and watched as the tears ran down her face. I looked down at the book in my hands, then back at my mother.

This was all Jane Austen’s fault.

If only I had bought a fresh copy. It was my fault; anyone but Dad’s.

And his love letters to another woman- not my mother.

The next thing I knew, I was my Father's worst enemy. I felt guilty because I had betrayed my father; it was a strong urge, my desire to please father, society, the world, but I fell short, time and again. In his words- and these words still echo in my head to this day- I was a ‘traitorous fucking dog.’ He must have been right; I believed him. Either that, or he was a particularly charismatic man. Or I was piss weak.

My father called me a ‘Disloyal Dog’ for accidentally exposing his affair.

And never a day goes by where I do not hear this voice.

And to hear it again, so clearly from friends I trusted…

I had to see if there was any credence to them.

Am I still a fake, a fraud, and a ‘disloyal dog’??

I had to examine these words, and see if they held any truth for me. And even after I made this clear, as to why I had to take some time off, even though most people were kind, some people thought I was doing it for effect.

One lady told me that ‘I had no right to give her an addiction, and then take it away.’

That is so far away from my intentions, so alien from the message I am trying to share- that I cannot come to terms with it. I simply do not know how to deal with it.

To suggest that I would deliberately try to get people addicted to something is akin to cult leadership behaviour, and to be accused of this only supports the charge of fraudulent behaviour.

I never asked anyone to become addicted to me.

Never.

And the fact that people might, worries me greatly, makes me question my mission, and only serves to add to the weight I must carry on my shoulders- the ever present voice inside, that nags at me each day- ‘Fraud’.

This woman has not come back since my time off. Perhaps for fear that she has come to me in good faith, and she perceives that I ‘took something away from her’.

All I took was time out to check, and double check my heart, my soul, and my intentions.

That is all. I have a responsibility to do that daily- to you and to me. And I will continue to do so, with your help that I not veer from the righteous path.

Let this go to my head.

But I cannot get that woman out of my head.

She has gone, and she might not come back; just when we were doing such great work together.

She sounded angry with me. ‘You don’t give an addiction, and then take it away. That’s not the way it works.’

No, indeed. The first part- for I never intended to be ‘the man’, giving out dime bags to a collection of junkies.

All I wanted to give was love. And all I asked in return was love, and understanding, and compassion.

I was getting from you- from HER- so much more than I perceived I was giving. Am giving.

And in order to continue to give love efficiently and effectively, and in a wholesome manner, I had to take time out to check myself in light of the allegations.

But still, she is gone. And she will not answer my attempts at communication, or reconciliation.

And that breaks my heart. I was coming to truly love her, and love that she was opening up, and sharing with us. You can even track her progress on FB; it is open, and can be viewed, right up to the point where I took the addiction away, and left her angry for doing so.

I never meant to be anyone’s addiction. I want to be your friend, and I want to love you, and share with you.

But addiction?

The misunderstanding worries me; I can sympathise with it, but I cannot condone it.

I would hate someone to become addicted to me, or my work. Because it can be taken away for any reason.

Even no reason at all.

I might have to go away, and take a look at myself again.

And one cannot be addicted to another human being successfully, because we are an unreliable source.

I am not a person to become addicted to, or reliant upon, for I might die.

Heroin will outlive me. Coke will outlive me. Cigarettes will outlive me. TV will outlive me.

I am not the one to become addicted to.

For I know, I am not going to be here on the planet for very much longer.

I am not the one to become reliant on.

But my message- my words of love- can be embraced. For I feel they are sincere.

They are nothing, if not the truth. My truth.

I have said it before.

But I know I will not be here much longer.

Which is why I am so passionate about finding my answers, my way, my path, and reaching out to others as part of the process of forming a community built on love, before it is too late.

It is why so many truths are being revealed to me, not only from my own work on myself, and my past, but from others, and from the universe.

It seems, when you know you have not much longer, if you are fortunate enough to be on the spiritual path, certain truths become revealed to you.

I know now, for a fact- after a lifetime of being afraid of death- that there is something after.

Not might be, or could be, but IS.

I know that now.

But it is highly dependant on the work I do here. It is almost totally dependant on making peace, achieving completion, finding closure to certain nagging doubts, and preparing myself for the next level.

And this is why I am no guru; because I have NO answers for you. Except that I do now, the afterlife is dependant on the work you do for yourself- on yourself here and now.

Which is why it is so important to turn off the TV, cut off thew addictions, look not to me for answers, but look within.

Anyone who says they have the answer for you is out to exploit you, and siphon your cash.

I NEVER said I had any answers for you.

I ALWAYS told my story, and of my journey toward my own answers.

Which you also, must do.

To quiet the noise, and find your own tailor made solution.

My answer is NOT your answer. And to suggest it is, IS FRAUDULENT.

My spiritual path has had to accelerate, and heighten in intensity, because I am running out of time.

Just as the species is running out of time.

Sabattical Part Four

2009-10-01T17:44:00.000-07:00

Sabbatical Part Four.

I am not going to chat about who is right and who is wrong, forever and ever, mired in the opinions of others, or my own low opinion.I tried psychiatry, and I remained mired. Agonising. Ruminating.Here…on FB…It feels like I am moving on.

Don’t think for a second it is easy.

It is so easy to be tempted to be swayed by what people say, for all the reasons I have given.

I logged on briefly today to post my blog in the local library.

I was only on for about a half hour- it was near closing, and I have no other Internet access while my Internet connection at home is being rectified.

But I was on long enough to notice that all my friends have been wiped from my home pages, and I only have a handful left, and they are people I have never met before.

And some nasty emails, telling me I am a ‘bad friend’. And they want to unfriend me, and block me, because I am ‘rude’. ‘Crude’. ‘Unrefined’. And they do not want their Christian friends to read what I have to say.

My honesty is too honest, and my spiritual growth- in all its guts and glory- is too much for some people.

Apparently I am not, indeed, a creature of God, but of the devil. And that hurts.

But there were some nice people, asking after me as well.

My new friend Rev Kimberley told me that ‘A saint is a sinner that never gives up’.

That really put the hook in me; I have not been able to stop thinking about it. I love that. I loved her for saying it, because if is reassuring.

I thought about what I was doing on FB- why I try so desperately to keep on line, and in touch with my friends, and stay on mission.
Because I really believe in everything I am doing here. Despite the consistent setbacks, and virulent critique.

I read yet another article today, criticising FB, by a guy who found it wasn’t to his liking, and he cancelled his account.

Sure, it is not for everybody; we don’t really know what it is yet. Early days yet. We are as yet uncertain as to the full potential, the capabilities, the possibilities of the technology, but is it not a little premature to be dismissing the tool across the board as harmful, or damaging? Like any tool, it has that potential, but I am more convinced by the positive qualities.

It is like any possible answer; it requires faith.

And time. And patience.

People think it is something that will work for them- provide all the answers, and deliver meaning to them- overnight.

Nothing in life works like that; why should FB?

It could take me months, even years- possibly even decades, for the full potential of this medium to reveal itself; along with my OWN full potential.

Just because I am ready, doesn’t mean the universe is.

I might die before I become fully manifest.

But that is OK; because I am happy that the work I am doing now, is useful, constructive, meaningful and loving work.

I love my friends here, I love the conversations, and I feel justified, even if I do die tomorrow.

This is the right place for me to be.

Now. Power of now.

I watched an incredible movie tonight- “Off The Black”. It is notable for two reasons.

The first is that I have always loved Townes Van Zant, and Syd Barrett- two very different artists- and yet I always somehow felt they were connected. I’m not certain why. But at least now I know there is at least one other person on the planet who feels the same way. The director of “Off The Black” who book-ended his film with Syd at the opening of the movie, and Townes at the closing.

The second reason the film is notable, is that it is the story of an alcoholic baseball coach dying of cancer, who tries to make one last connection with a young ball player before he dies.

And he does. And it is meaningful for him.

The message is ‘the power of living in the now’. Finding meaning right here, and right now, regardless of the past, or the future. And the Nolte character’s past was most definitely chequered.

This theme is reiterated when the Nolte character goes with the young boy to visit his father in hospital with Alzheimer’s. The old man sits there, watching TV, and does not even recognise Nick.

The old man lives in the moment.

The disease has robbed him of his future, and of his past, but it has given him ‘now’. Moment by moment. A gift of sorts, we could all learn from.

I sat when the movie was over, and I thought of the Nolte character that was trying to ‘pass something on’ to the young ball player.

Pass on a shred of something meaningful.

And when he had…he died peacefully. (This is not a plot spoiler- you know from the start Nolte is going to die)

He was not trying to be a mentor, or a guru- he simply wanted to reach out to someone in his sadness and loneliness, and pass on something meaningful to the boy.

And he succeeded.

One of the worst criticisms was that I am trying to be some kind of ‘guru’.

Who the hell would listen to a ‘guru’ like me?

I am confused a lot of the time. My posts are based on my moods. They are all over the place; one minute I am angry, the next, elated.

Well, apparently some people do listen. But not in the way I would have preferred.

One lady in particular referred to me- and my work- as an ‘addiction’. When I announced I was going on Sabbatical after my criticism, I made it clear I owed it to myself and to my friends to take any and all criticism seriously in this, my process of evolution, and personal growth.
Because the critique was not dissimilar to the critical voice in my own head. It sounded so familiar- “Fake”! “Fraud”! “Shyster”! – that I could not ignore it.

I had to take some time to weight up the words.

They were identical to the words of other critics, my father, who called me a ‘Disloyal Dog!’ and to every other accusation of insincerity in my life.

My own father, my first and most powerful role model, regularly accused me of disloyalty.

As if I were splitting from the one true faith; I felt like a separatist, sequestering myself from the only true embodiment of righteousness, and decency.

Of course, nothing could be further from the truth. I separated from nothing; I loved my father.

My only failing was to make a terrible mess of maintaining his cloak of secrecy, with which he disguised his infidelities. For this crime, I was ‘disloyal’.

I was a ‘traitor’.

I was reminded of a terrible childhood memory, of the first time my father accused me of being deceitful, and why the fear of being disloyal has woven itself so deeply into my being.

Between Jane Austen and I, together we sealed my fate as a traitor to the realm of the kingdom of Father.

Or rather, within her pages, she held the secrets, which, once revealed, exposed the other life my father was leading; the one apart from his family.

One day, I raced home from school, charged with uncharacteristic zeal for my schoolwork. I raced in the door, and made for the shelf, which contained my father’s books. I had been instructed to read “Pride and Prejudice”, and I just knew that I had seen a copy around the house. My father still kept all the books he read at University when he was a young man – before the dirty water really got a chance to take hold. I just knew he had a copy somewhere, and could save the money of having to purchase a new copy.

I poured over the rich lush shelves of literature, running my eyes over the spines assembled in a disciplined orderly fashion like a platoon of soldiers, standing to attention, awaiting their instructions. Awaiting their mission to go forth and educate, and to enlighten. I searched. “Ockam’s Razor.” “That Hideous Strength.” “Armies of the Night.” “All That Fall.” “Waiting For Godot.” “The Upanishads.” “You Can Negotiate Anything.” All here; but no sign of “Pride And Prejudice.” I searched, again and again, determined to save a few dollars. Determined to prove myself right, that I had in fact seen the book, somewhere amongst all the others. Perhaps it elsewhere? I stood by the bookshelf, kicking it with my school shoes, and tried to think.

Where could it be?

Then I remembered. I looked up, and saw the square panel in the ceiling. I knew Dad kept some of his books up there. I looked about the empty house (mother and father were at work, and my brother was at school) and jumped up to try to touch the panel. Once. Twice. I could not quite reach it. I jumped one last time only this time I swung my arms vigorously in an attempt to give myself that few extra inches I needed. My finger just touched the square panel. It moved. A trap door! A trap door into the roof! A portal to other dimensions, perhaps?
Who knew what treasures lurked inside?

I went back into the kitchen, and found the stool. The four-legged stool with the leather seat came up just above my waist, and would be easily tall enough to get me through the trap door in the ceiling. I dragged the stool into the passage, and placed it just under the hole; first kneeling on it, then slowly standing upright, until the side of my face rested on the ceiling, and my hands were pressed against the plaster for support. If I pressed hard, I could hear the paint crack.

Not wanting to bring the roof down, I released the pressure a little, and then ran my hand slowly along the ceiling until it reached the trap door. I gave it a slight push, and the plaster panel moved. I pushed it aside slowly, and then repositioned myself so that I could stick my head through the hole.

I looked about. It felt warm. The wind seemed to whistle about the secret place. It was another world, in that ceiling; like discovering another aspect, another dimension to the world you knew so well. As I looked about the small crawlspace, dark and filled with cobwebs and the smell of neglect, I noticed amongst the unidentifiable rubbish, a cardboard box. I looked at it for a moment, and then reached out for it. I stretched as far as I could until my hand curled around the box, and I pulled it towards me.

Slowly, the box edged its way in my direction, until it was close enough to open.

I pulled at the flaps on top of the box. The stool beneath me began to wobble, as if to warn me against what I might find within. I pulled at the flaps until they came away, and peeled back the nearest one.

Sabattical Part Three

2009-09-28T09:14:00.001-07:00

Just looked at my FB account, and virtually all my friends have been deleted, bar a handful.

Not sure if everyone deleted me at the same time, or whether someone/something else intervened, but I will press on anyway.

Not sure who is left, so let's continue with the story.

The big day.

The "Walk Against Youth Suicide."

We expected about 80 people, but ended up with 240 participants, more volunteers than we knew what to do with, and by the end of the day, the event was a success, and we raised 20 thousand dollars for the cause.

I achieved something.

Something that was personally fulfilling, and was of some benefit to others.

I got a little criticism, but mainly a lot of credit for the success of my endeavour. The community pulled together to rally behind the cause, which I felt worthy of attention, and a large group of dedicated citizens felt similarly, and helped the event to be the great success that it was.

This should have been my saving grace.

But again I am sorry to say that it was not; not by any means.

As I reviewed my past, I realised something interesting about myself. I really did want to help, which was encouraging.

As I pondered the material to date, I admired the fact that my spirit wanted to do the work I was put on the planet to do, but somehow I would not allow myself to progress.

There were a number of reasons, my past being one of them.

But then, I knew I could not fall into the trap of blaming anything, for fear of upsetting the progress I was making now, with the new blog.

I had to be so careful to focus on the positive aspects of my past, rather than the negative for fear of remaining stagnated.

I could easily blame the past, as I had done, but there is no way of knowing whether I would have had the same problems in life had I not had a bad upbringing.

There simply was no way of knowing.

I knew that this story was not about anyone else, or anything else but me. And the choices I made, according to the inclinations within my own breast, within my own soul.

And it was this that astounded me the most.

So why was I not happy then?

Happy with my efforts to help my community?

I was a confused person, but my intentions were good. But as they say, "The road to hell is paved with good intentions"; and in my frail and fragile emotional state I wanted salvation, and I was prepared to try anything to find it.

But I was not happy with my work.

Still it was not good enough for me. I did not consider myself worthy of the attention the exercise brought me. I became impatient, and rather than congratulating myself and moving on to other things, I wondered why doors did not fly open, and rescue me from the job I still hated, but had proven I could shape to my own demands.

I was still unwilling to accept that I had done something extraordinary; I had persuaded a conservative organization to back my efforts to make a difference to the young people in the community at a time when it was still largely an untested field.

When I proposed the walk, it had not been done before; I had to approach "Walk Against Want" to tell me how to organize a charity walk.

There were no events quite like the one I was proposing.

Now they are many.

And yet, no matter how unique or groundbreaking my work might have seemed even based on an independent estimation, I still felt as though I had fallen short.

I was trapped in a job I hated, and failed to understand that I had shaped the job to my specifications, rather than the other way around.

I refused to acknowledge what I had done, and I went back to my old ways; being miserable, and regretting the life I led, and the job I was in. I became dejected. I felt betrayed that the world did not fall at my feet. I felt resentful that my one little exercise in the direction of philanthropy did not cause doors to be thrown open, with offers of other similar work in other fields.

I either did not realize, or refused to acknowledge, that one needs to persist with these things.

I cannot let that happen again.

And this is important in the way I conduct myself now.

The irony was that the big day- the "Walk Against Youth Suicide"- was a success; but all I could think about was the small things that went wrong.

One of the bands turned out to be quite angry, and the music offended many of the families who had turned up for the day, and we lost a good portion of the crowd before the event was finished.
And I found my one failure impossible to ignore, despite the overall success of the day.

This proved to be a key flaw in my personality, and a stumbling block in the path of my own spiritual growth and personal development; the inability to congratulate myself for the things I had done right, and put aside the things I had done wrong.

Which accounts for why I am so sensitive to criticism. The kind of criticism DG had for me.

I felt like she was father again, the voice in my head, telling me I was still not good enough, despite all my efforts to the contrary.

Dad was always critical of me.

I can be of myself, and that can be aimed at others.

Like religion. I thought of my recent tirade against fundamentalist religion.

Did I need to be that critical?

Or was I simply voicing my own anger, and my own frustration?

I have a problem with Christianity.

But there is one lady in particular, Jami, who pops up to say Hi from time to time.

She is lovely. She has never judged me, and always encourages me.

She is a Christian, and yet she does not force it down my throat.

I like seeing her.

She believes in God.

I guess I would have to say, so do I. I don't know yet what 'God' is- I suspect it is a force, and energy, rather than a person, but there is no denying the presence of a divine force.

Or my feverish desire to get to know that force, and get in touch with it.

I simply don’t believe in fundamentalist religion.

I think it is essentially hateful.

But I have no right to eliminate people from my friends, because they believe in it.

That makes me worse than I perceive them to be.

I have no right to criticise them so vehemently. How do I know they are not right?

What makes me think I have all the answers? And is punishing them for their beliefs, their journey, not in a way, punishing myself??

It is a catch 22 situation. A cycle of hate and distrust. I hate myself, I hate fundamentalists, then I perceive that they hate me, and on and on...

Locked in the grip of an insane battle.

I don’t know God; yet. I doubt he is bearded guy, dishing out punishment.

I like Eliot’s take. And I like Jami, very much. I know her heart, and it is a good one. How can I take it out on such a good soul, simply because I was molested by priests?

The Christians might be right, I might be right; but when we hate, we are all wrong.

And anyway, what of we are all aiming for the same God- love- and heading for the same destination in different ways?

For we are all different people.

What’s the point of making everyone like me?

That’s no fun!

I like that people are all different.

I need to stop being hard on them, and on me.

Sabattical Part Two.

2009-09-28T09:00:00.000-07:00

Why am I on FB in the first place?

Have I really, truly explored the real reasons??

I wrote about it; I wrote, into what remained of the night, and into the early morning.

Is it really to get people to feel sorry for me??

Hell.

That is an awful thing to do, if it is true.

Why would DG make it up, if that were what she sees?

She knows me better than anybody here; I have to take the criticism seriously, and see if there is any substance to it.

So, I rested, and meditated, and mourned, and meditated and rested some more…

All the while taking notes, about my conduct for the blog.

I owed it to myself, and to my friends, to check that this was not all a giant ego massage.

I had a very restless, feverish night, thinking on it.

Dreaming strange snatches of dreams, an hour here, an hour there, about family, friends, lost loved ones, failed commitments…

Outright failures…

DG’s claims really made me take a good at myself, and as I did so, I went into my past.

I have always been introspective; an agoniser.

You have heard of the “The Terminator”?? “The Exterminator”?? “The Punisher”??

My father was like the “Punisher”, but he didn’t have a cool logo and a great costume, or his own comic. And nor do I; and yet, I am still “The Agoniser”.

I seem to agonise- some call it ruminate- all the time.

You can probably see it in my writing.

I remember in my younger days, I wrestled with my fears, my doubts, my anxieties, my depression, my lack of direction and focus, I would walk.

When I was a policeman, I went through many such days as the ones I go through now.

I remember at one point in my life- over ten years ago, when I was stationed in the country- I was in a particularly dark place.

I was lost in the desert, desolate and alone.

And I would walk, looking for answers.

I walked, and I walked. For miles and miles, through the deserts of my loneliness. I would walk through the sand dunes, looking. Looking for the answers.

The more I walked, the more lost I seemed to get. I would walk, kilometre after kilometre, until I had no idea where I was, nor what I was looking for.

I walked until I could walk no more, and then I would walk some more. I tramped and I tramped the desolate wasteland that was my soul.

Then, one day, I had an epiphany. I came up with an idea.

I was pondering the concept of suicide; possibly fortuitously. And rather than dwell on my own state of depression, I thought of a young man we had found in the forest, not long out of high school, who had blown his brains out with a shotgun in despair.

I thought of that boy, and I sensed I felt some of his pain.

But rather than take a similar way out, I saw a possible way of turning the situation around; making a positive out of a negative, and in this way, making a positive out of my own perceived desolation.

At the time, in the country town where I was serving as a Police Officer, youth suicide was an issue of growing concern to the community.

I saw much evidence of suicide and self destruction in my Police career, and in my own life, and was bothered by the phenomena.

I understood the feeling of disconnection, and certainly felt similar self destructive urges, but I had never acted upon them. I always felt that life had something of value to offer all people, no matter how depressed they might be, if only they reached out for it.

And, I could scarcely believe that there were actually individuals out there- some of them well respected doctors- who believed that speaking out about the issue was in fact not only not advisable, but might in fact worsen the situation.

I felt that the issue needed some attention.

I have always been open. I have always felt it preferable to speak openly about emotions, rather than hide them.

Many suicides do not feel they can speak freely. For whatever reason, they are unable to reach out, and in their desolation, they resort to drastic, unnecessary measures.

The young fellow in question who shot himself had given no indication of his depressive state. He must have been desperate, and had no way to reach out.

I always felt instinctively the value of reaching out.

I felt the self destructive urge was a bane on our existence- I understood reticence and had hammered into me by my father the creed ‘keep it to yourself’- but I never saw any evidence that it was a beneficial stratagem.

I felt that the truth needed to come out about this curious and worrying state of affairs, and that we needed to start paying attention to our young, and listen to their concerns, in the hope that we might go some part of the way to addressing them, and circumvent the premature curtailing of their valuable lives.

I felt so strongly about it, that I came upon an idea as I walked along the rocky cliff face, looking out over the crashing waves searching for an answer; the answer to my own problems, might in fact be the same answer as the one for the young people in the community who felt lost and confused.

I felt their loss and confusion, and I understood it. And the idea popped into my head; "Walk Against Youth Suicide".

"WAYS"

It had a ring to it.

And I decided to act, instead of just thinking; focus, instead of searching aimlessly.

I would coordinate a charity walk in order to raise money for young people in the community.

The very next day, I went into the local newspaper, had my photograph taken, and declared that I was going to hold a "Walk Against Youth Suicide", in order to raise money for youth in the community, and to get the topic out into the open.

I had little experience doing what I was doing, and yet I felt as though I was on the right track. I did not have time to wonder, and to worry, or to fret or fuss over whether I was doing the right thing or not; I just did it.

I declared a meeting, got the OK from the officer in charge of the Police station, and I went ahead and did it.

I had my first meeting. Only a handful of people turned up. We discussed the concept in general terms, and resolved our commitment to the project.

Over time, we gradually noticed more members of the group turning up to throw their weight behind the effort, and to help the cause along. As the days, weeks and months went by, I became adept at every aspect of event management.

A combination of research, communication, liaison, community cooperation and blind luck, every aspect of the "Walk" came together, on schedule. We had the day picked. We had the route mapped out. We had the flyer's printed up, the T- shirts organized, marshals employed, insurance in place, the bands organized for entertainment- everything right down to the sausages for sale to toilet rolls in the toilet.

Everything went according to plan.

Sabattical...

2009-09-27T11:41:00.000-07:00

Damn!

It is one strange night tonight, people…

A windy, very windy, kind of unsettling- but not dread unsettling- night.

One of those nights where…

Well, let me pull back just a bit.

I thought in light of what my friend DG said- about the fact that I was only here to garner sympathy- I thought I should take stock.

Given how much what she said hurt, and how deeply it resonated for me, connecting with my deepest darkest fears about being a fraud, a fake and a phoney, I thought I should take some time out during this tricky period- after losing a very good friend and all- to take a look at myself. I don’t mind shedding the bastard skin, but I never expected to shed old friends.

And I don’t mind telling you it was painful.

A time of pain and loss is a time for introspection.

There have been big changes lately, and if someone believes I am being fraudulent, or manipulative, then I have to investigate the charge; for this is my deepest fear for myself, that I am indeed not being authentic, and am merely looking for sympathy.

So I thought I would take the time- while my friends were telling ‘it like it is’- to accept any and all truths.

It was all actually an accident. I never meant it to happen.

I like to fiddle with things. Ideas. Words. Hence my comment about ‘Coalition of the Willey’ as a twist on that ridiculous coalition of the willing. Absurd. But it was helping me with the pain of a lost relationship. (Male or female, who cares. Some think it was a woman. Can I not mourn the loss of a friendship, rather than a partnership? Maybe not then, I can now- the new me can.)

Then, as I was reading other people’s posts, by complete accident I saw someone else’s request for ‘one single word you think best describes me’- that stock standard thing people post when they are feeling low, and need an ego boost.

I find these things a little sad and needy, a little comical, so instead of insulting the person, or making fun of their frailty while I was feeling fragile, (as is a common strategy for dealing with my pain) I left a single word comment on their thread- ‘intriguing’, I believe- and then thought about how silly, self indulgent and narcissistic I find that particular exercise, and said to myself…

‘Why don’t I fiddle with it?’

Turn it around.

I cut and pasted the request, and wrote, asking for the negative. Why? Because I am getting a sense of the positive- people tell me often enough, and to pig out on the positive would be greedy, and greed is a sin; so I asked for the negative, as a change.

It fit in with the second of my two purposes here, as a process of self refinement (alchemy is you will- turning base matters into gold); to weigh up my positives as well as my negatives, in order that I might get the full picture, in order to fulfil my second purpose- that of being here for others.

But it backfired on me.

I wrote it out, and as I was typing it, I was not having fun with it.

I meant for it to be satirical, a light hearted, sporting critique of a practice which I feel is narcissistic and indulgent (I might be wrong, some people need to hear some positive feedback), and even a though I tried to turn it on it’s ear…

I was exploring my own fears about myself, and people did not see it as a joke.

I had inadvertently set our to make a whimsy, and in the process, without even knowing it, I was inviting people to expose my faults and flaws in this frail time.

But as much as my intent was to deflect this practice, and satirise it, people in their candour and willingness to help me, responded in sincerity.

Many could not find a negative to assign to me.

But even in my attempt to lampoon some of the needy practices on FB, and to turn the exercise on its head and try to attract negative criticism toward myself…hoping for words like ‘Prick’, or ‘Bastard’, or ‘MF’…

In a somewhat self flagellatory punishment style mode for my alleged ‘sins’…

It was STILL about me.

Good or bad, negative or positive, it was still about me.

Where did that come from??

Was it merely a place of grief, or was it something deeper?

DG’s comments challenged me with my own worst fears.

That I am a fraud, and a fake, and a phoney; pretty much what my recently lost friend said; pretty much what my Dad always said.

And what DG said, about me doing this for attention.

So there was my own uncertainty, as DG’s comments. I had to take a break, and look at myself again, and realign myself with my soul intentions.

Why I am here in the first place.

Maybe she was right. I trust her, I trust what she says; she is my oldest regular FB friend. I like her, and value her opinion. She is very persuasive to me.

Perhaps it was my deepest fear made real, and I am full of shit, and this is for my ego, and I am only here to get people to feel sorry for me. God, that hurt.

But I know her, and trust her. I asked for ONE word- I know she is not a dullard, I know she understands- but she gave me more than anyone else. She must have had something she needed to say to me.

And she would not have, if it were not true.

I never saw it in myself, but I feared it.

It is my Achilles heel- to actually be a giant fake.

I have been accused of it before- not often, but it has happened- and it hurts me, very deeply. And DG’s truth hurt me very deeply; because there was the chance she might be right, and I was not even aware of it.

Hell, my suspicision about the exercise would go a long way to supporting it.

I had to log off, and ‘check myself’.

So I have been on a short retreat, meditating, and looking at my inner self, my intentions, my inclinations, and my ego.

I have slept, and meditated, and taken notes, and slept sand meditated and written…

Turning it over.

I was in bed, slept for a few hours, and turned things over in my mind. I had to write it down. I was so tired, I slid out of bed to write what was in my mind, what had to be assessed and evaluated, wrote a line or two, and could not go any further.

I was in the house, and I wandered from room to room.

And none of the lights worked.

And I wandered, and went from room to room, trying to find a light that worked, and I could not get past the first couple of lines.

And I was not happy with those lines.

I was not even happy with the first letter.
I used white out to correct the first letter, and I could not correct it.

I have not used white out in a decade.

It was a capital ‘C’ I was trying to correct.

So I went into my mother’s room, and she was still awake watching TV, and I wanted to watch with her.

But I had to do my work.

And I went into my brother’s room, and woke him. And I asked if he had a light that worked.

And then I stopped.

I don’t live with my mother or brother.

This was my old family home.

I woke up, and found that I had fallen asleep in the process of getting out of bed!

I was fully clothed, and one leg was on the ground- shoes still on- and the rest of me in bed!

I had fallen asleep even halfway through getting out of bed!

I have never done that!!

And I was wet.

I had been feverish.

It was a fevered dream.

And here I am, writing the results of my ponderings, and my inquisition.

What are my true intentions?

At my very core…why am I here?

Is it for the right reasons?

I had to know.

I truly had to know.

It mattered to me, and it mattered my intentions were honourable.

I had to ask myself, why am I here, on FB?

BASTARD NO MORE!!

2009-09-24T23:24:00.000-07:00

The 'Bastard' has left the building.

I don't really feel like a bastard any more, and I have had this feeling for quite some time. The title doesn't suit me any longer... indeed, it may have held me back.

No more.

I am moving on. I HAVE moved on. And you helped me do it.

I'm am what I was always intended to be; an 'Evolving Soul'.

It might be as simple as saying the words, and stating my intention.

I am now free- free to grow, and evolve- as was always intended for me.

Free now, to join the other evolving souls, just like me.

I know you can live without me, but I need you.

I need you.

I need love, and you are love.

Would you honour me with your company, as we proceed onward, and upward to transcendence?

Thank you, all my friends.

You KNOW I would not have made it this far without you...

Love and Peace,

JWA