Ramblings From the Shadow Warrior

And So This is My Kryptonite

2009-03-20T10:28:00.009-05:00

It is amazing how every step along the trail somehow works into our eventual destination... we certainly are not privileged to the how's and why's and why nots... but I am convinced that they are out there. We just need to settle... we need to find that place and moment of silent gratitude... and we need to listen, listen to the wind. Life. It is an incredible complex puzzle of which we are a part. And each of our pieces is equally complex in its make up, its history, its destiny. But we make it complex, we make it hard. The simplicity is out there. It really doesn't have to be that hard... and yet... it is.

And so this is my kryptonite. And everything inside of me wants to collect this fading energy... and raise the sword. To have the battle that seems to have always been in the background of this consciousness. And so this is my kryptonite. And I am fearful. That is the challenge. Choose fear or choose love. Those are the only choices.

How does one fight an enemy that seems so powerful? How do you fight an enemy that is not outside the borders, but entrenched inside. I am reminded of my OIF / OEF experiences and one of my favorite topics of conversation - the definition of an enemy.

"Love your enemies as yourself."

And this one is deep inside. Is it not part of me? Has it not always been there - forever - and now, for whatever reason of God's providence, it raises its form and apparent ugliness? Lucifer has showed himself and I am nothing short of fearful. But Lucifer was an angel once... God's greatest angel... this is indeed a battle... but not one of sword and shield... but of spirit and salvation. It is not us against them... no battle ever truly is... it is us against ourselves.

"Love your enemies as yourself."

How we react to our enemies defines us for who we are... and where we fit into that amazing puzzle of God's grace. And it answers the question we really all have to answer... have we learned anything with this precious gift of life?

So... do I hate this kryptonite? Do I hate this Lucifer? I truly do not know... Part of me wants to get back into a jet and rage hell upon that enemy... yes... it would feel good to light the hair on fire... go really, really fast... and blow the eternal shit out of something... but my enemy is inside of me... to kill my enemy means killing me...

Instead perhaps this kryptonite is a teacher. An enemy? Yes... but still... a teacher... its lesson is one of subtlety and grace... but don't be fooled... its lesson is nothing short of pivotal, is nothing short of survival.

So the lesson of Course in Miracles is love. As one of its students, give me strength and wisdom to choose love and not fear... even if it means loving my enemy... even it means loving Lucifer... even if it means loving kryptonite...

I pray that God's Holy Spirit will show me that way... that Earth and Sky will give me insight to the subtleties that happen amongst such a bizarre set of circumstances... I pray that my ears and eyes will remain sharp to the lessons to be learned, that my heart remain open to the wonders that truly surround me, and that my faith in a loving Universe remains steadfast. And with these gifts, finally, may destiny allow me to recognize the hidden beauty in Lucifer's age-old demonic face - a face whose true essence was created as Angel and not demon.

And so this is my kryptonite... my destiny. Blessings upon my kryptonite... my Lucifer - may we finally see each other's purpose and reach God's understanding peace.

This Ain't Your Daddy's New Year's Resolution (Or Perhaps It Is)

2009-01-01T11:15:00.005-06:00

The original title of this was "God, don't let me fuck this up..." - stealing a quote from Alan Shepard (sitting atop his Mercury Redstone rocket), the first American in space and one of the seven original astronauts. But then, I thought that might offend... so I moved it to the lead sentence... that should be less offensive... right?!? Shepard was, duh, referring to a historical moment - I am, however, just referring to life in general...

New Year's Day - 2009. And I have reached that stage in life where all the cliches are no longer stupid sayings - but truisms. It seems that there is good reason that they are cliches.

Where does the time go? It is passing too quickly - these moments - these slices - this life. I must be past the halfway point - because this question is becoming more and more important. I am no longer bullet proof. Krytonite seems to be stronger then ever... and I can no longer just damn the torpedoes... I find myself adding more weight to the options... and counting the cost. And the roles keep changing...

My eldest, Keith, was in from Los Angeles for Christmas. A week flew by. Didn't we just pick him up at Austin Bergstrom - with his smiling face and lanky body bounding down the steps as we waited downstairs by the luggage return? It was only a second - I swear it was - and we were dropping him off at curbside checkin. The seasoned traveler, my son, heading for LAX and his blossoming life in southern California... I watched him as he hugged his siblings and mother good-bye. And then he turned to me... and my tears welled up. His 23 years passed before me - in that moment - in that second. (As I type this - I take more then an occasional glance of a photo on my desk. It is of Keith and I from sometime in 1986. He can't be more then a year old... I am holding him in front of our first house in Dallas. Coincidently - "Hanging by a Moment" by Lifehouse drifts from the laptop speakers.) I hugged him like there was no tomorrow and asked him to text when he lands in LA. He nodded and took his bag... gave us all a big smile... and SWOOSH... he was through the automatic doors and gone - once again out of our everyday. I tried to avert eye contact with the others... I was almost back in control... but I watched Kristen out of the corner of my and she watched me. I immediately thought that she would probably be next - the next one to take the step and find the trail of her own destiny. They're just babies though - not old enough - not ready for the parts of the world that I don't ever want them to see... but so ready for the parts that fill their dreams and visions. You want them so much to learn to fly - and then they prove that they can... and it is bittersweet. Yet you watch them - and it is magnificent. They swoop and soar and slowly learn to trust their wings to ride upon God's undercurrents.

(not finished... to be continued)

God Is All of Us

2008-11-15T14:26:00.005-06:00

I sit here listening to the Joan Osborne version of the song "What if God Was One of Us?"

This song has intrigued me for some time... and whenever I find a quiet place and blast it out of existence with these lyrics and notes echoing off the walls... I see the video (playing in my head) that I have always planned on making, but never did.

In the usual style reflecting my love for edge and dirt and noise and hard cuts and cameras and movement - it always makes me uncomfortable - this unmade video - the faces I see - the images that splash before my mind's eyes. Why uncomfortable? Aren't I the director of even the images that dance about inside my head? Maybe - maybe not. Uncomfortable because of the message that they seem anxious to drive past my soul - into the heart - its depths of dark and light. Into the core, into the night, into the day. That kind of uncomfortable - the kind of uncomfortable that makes you immediately transport back forty years into the Sunday School classrooms of Northway Christian Church. "I am the light - the truth - the way." What would those teachers say? "For whoever believeth in me shall have eternal life!" Would they be proud of this supposedly independent thought? "The Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost" Or would they be horrified by my conscious endeavor to tear apart the words - tear apart the ideas - tear apart the nice, the comfortable - shine the light and watch the darkness flee.

The question is not "What if God Was One of Us?" We stopped at the edge, but didn't jump off. The question is not a question at all. The question is a comment - with a twist - "God is All of Us!" How can he not be? Sure, that is easy to accept if we edit it, if we use selective show and tell. It makes perfect sense if we are talking about us - the collective us - our families, our friends, the people like us... the ones that make it easy to love.

But love isn't about easy. And we cannot edit God... we cannot see Him in One and not in All. He is in the All. He is the All. But love isn't easy... and I certainly haven't begun to figure it out. So all of this is fucking theory... Mr. Big Stuff with his high ideas. Pretty lame. Anyone can type. Anyone can write. Anyone can write a statement - God is All of Us.

Love isn't about easy. It's about seeing God in the rat bastards that deserve a 9mm tap-tap to the skull... and not any fucking recognition of God or Christ or the Holy Spirit. And they do! They deserve the tap-tap and some of the rat bastards I'd be happy to be the one to pull the trigger. So... How does that work? God is All. There is light in everyone of us. I am cursed to see it. I am blessed to see it. And yet, what happens? What happens in these fragile shells that allows some to be Ghandi... and others... PolPot? If God is in Sister Theresa... He is in the Hitlers just as well. And that is where the discomfort comes in...

This has haunted me since 2003 - that's when the light first came to me. It was sometime around 3AM. I was in Qatar, at Al Sayliyah - our HQ in the MidE for the fucking roadshow we call OIF and OEF and ask good people to deal with the very heart of this issue.... anyway... I can't remember the date... but the entire day was one where the warriors had trapped Saddam's kids in the north city of Mosul... and had trapped the rat bastards in an "apartment" - more like a frigging armed camp... anyway... it took a lot of brave men and women and lots of things that go boom to settle that little score. The pictures you saw were different from the ones I did. You understand what a TOW missile can do to a human being? Well... there you go... 'nuff said. The good news was was that these two criminals - these two rat bastards that had caused more then a billion times the pain and suffering that anyone should be allowed - these fuckers were no longer amongst the living.

The HQ erupted in cheer and good will when the news came across the net that the prince brothers of Iraq were dead. Literally, screams like you hear in a football stadium echoed around the warehouse offices. It was truly good news. And then I headed back to my quarters for some sleep. It was about a 15min walk across the base.

I can still hear the platforms of the air jockeys coming and going from Al Udeid Airbase as I strolled back. They weren't to far away... and their afterburners lit the sky as every type of war machine that prowled the skies sortied from its runways. Against that backdrop came the light. The press pictures of these horrible men kept playing in my head - their cockiness, their pride, their horrid smiles of power built upon the bodies of thousands of long dead innocence. And every now and then - images from their day of destruction joined in.

And then the nausea hit. And the tears flowed. And the light came. This was a tactical victory for this temporal setting. It was a symbol a gesture of good over evil. And I still believe that.... the rat bastards died more merciful then they themselves had ever showed their victims. And yet there I was - nauseated, crying... and mourning the deaths of two of the worst fuckers known to walk the planet. This was a tactical victory, but a strategic failure. A failure for us. A failure for the God in All of Us. What happened? What happens? Are not all hearts capable of love? Are they not capable of hate? What happened? What happens?

That night the light came. For good... for bad... it came. As time moves on... I think about that night less and less... determined to think about its implications rather then its details. There is God in All of Us. There is light in all of us. It's there. It was in Uday. It was in Qusay. Maybe for but an instance, but it was there. It had to be. Leaning against that wire fence that early morning, I decided that it had to be. There had to be one moment. One moment where they were the hope of the world. Certainly, if not for more then that moment - they were the light of the world. What mother has not gazed upon their new born and not thought the same?

"I am the light of the world." - John 8:12

If God is All of Us... then we all are the light of the world.

What happens along the way? How does one choose light and the other dark? What does that say about them? What does that say about us? And what does it say about me... fore given the same situation... and opportunity... I would have been happy to have pulled the trigger...

Recognizing the Inevitable

2008-11-01T16:53:00.005-05:00

Sitting with my adult son last night (but making him get up to answer the door for the trick-or-treaters), a small puzzle piece seemed to slip into place - and the Sioux idea of "Hoka Hey" once again whispered wisdom across my consciousness. It really is all about the present... the past doesn't matter... and the future... well... the future may never come. I have been so lucky in not being in that proverbial beer truck's path as it swerves around the corners.

The moment, this moment is it - and what a shame it would be to waste it. And how many have I wasted in vain attempts to change a world that I can do nothing about??? Or trying to change people that I have no business in trying to change? Certainly they are trying the very best that they can with what they are given to work with... and who am I? I cannot see their whole story...

Maybe "do nothing" is not the right idea. We all have impact - we change history with everything we do - everything. Every word spoken, every thought processed, every feeling felt. Our action and reactions impact the rest of those riding this impossible ride. All of us struggle and question and wonder and gamble... it's a crap shoot. Who am I to use such judgment? God reminds me of the log in my eye as I bitch at them about their sliver...

So, I showed my son my blog... it's adult warning... and my favorite titles. He mentioned, "that's intense." I hope he reads these. I hope all my kids do... eventually. At the least, it will remind them of my humanity - and for once and for all bury any self- inflicted hero / martyr image that I might have tried to implant upon them. It will also remind them of the struggle. My struggle. Their struggle. The collective "we" struggle of those of us privileged enough to live and work in God's School Planet Earth. And, it will remind them of the victory. The victory of recognizing that struggle - the victory of having lived through one's own crucifixion. The victory of having faced one's own demons... the victory of letting the light burn through all adversity and having it reveal the darkest places of one's own history. And, most importantly, the victory in just lying there - completely exposed, exhausted - completely open, wounded - the jugular beating life's most precious liquid. And then, the victory of risking everything - and showing that - to another. For the victory is in the showing - and in the self acceptance of that risk - knowing that the sight you reveal maybe too ugly, too grotesque for another to stand there - and yet you show it anyway. Damn the consequences.

And that is the precise point of hoka hey. "It is a good day to die." It is a good day - because at that point, the seeker has achieved what their soul was placed here to do... It isn't morbid. It is moment. It is the moment. The west doesn't understand that. We are near sighted. We are instant in our need for gratification. We are instant in our need to feel good. We numb ourselves to pain. We numb ourselves to struggle. We numb ourselves to consequence. We miss the moment. We miss its purpose. We miss its lesson.

I pray for hoka hey. Perhaps I will pay attention one day. Perhaps I will learn from the precious teachers and their awesome lessons. I must. To live each moment to be the moment - that is my quest, my nirvana.

...and feel free to remind me... when the demons come... even if they don't....

Borders

2008-11-01T13:49:00.002-05:00

That's really what this - whatever this has been - it's what this has been all about. Borders. Maybe boundaries. A) Where they are drawn? and B) What do they mean? So maybe not my best analogy, but that's where I am today. I am sure that tomorrow will be different as the perspective once again shifts and shimmies and settles into whatever it is going to settle into.

Border disputes. They are fascinating things. Why does Kashmir come to mind? No symbolics... just a random thought. Border disputes. They really don't have to be that big of a deal. They are what they are - and once both nation states (or whatever) finally understand just what the crux of the discussion is... then... progress can be made... negotiations held... back and forth diplomats... etc. etc. Shuttle diplomacy. Just ask Henry Kissinger or Jimmy Carter about that. And the outcome will be the outcome. Nobody's good, nobody's bad. They just are. We all ponder our way first - our perspective - our position. And, of course, since it is ours... we like it the best. And it certainly must be "the right one". Depending upon the specifics it may be the only solution that we will accept - or not. Too many variables to make a blatant statement. Of course, the other party - the one looking from the other side - has their own perspective - their own sense of what should be - of what is fair - what is good - and what is just. Which makes the whole thing quite fascinating.

So who knows. Nations have stayed at war over border disputes - and others have never been questioned. Hmm. Oh well, the only thing that stays the same is change. And change is not necessarily bad - only different. And everything really will be ok.

Angels and Demons

2008-10-30T06:09:00.004-05:00

I am delighted that director Ron Howard is in the editing stages of his latest film, "Angels and Demons" - the prequel to "The Da Vinci Code"...

Angels and Demons. What are they? Easy. They are us and we are them. Isn't that, when you break it down to the bare basics, how we see one another? And it changes, doesn't it? And it can change in an instance. How can the same being - the same life force - be angelic in one moment and demonic in the next? How does that work? What changes? Is it a change in us? Or, is it a change in them? Can the two truly occupy the same space at the same time? Can an Angel be a Demon?

Of course they can. They are Angels and Demons. We are Angels... we are Demons. So when do we use which definition? Depends on the moment, I suppose. What we see. How we act. How we respond. Notice I say we... not them. Isn't it our senses, our perceptions that are collecting the data? Sure it is. Our brains do the analysis and come up with the conclusion. But will that conclusion always be the same? From one vantage point to another? It can't be. One minute, we see an Angel. The next, a Demon. And time - time changes our perspective. We gain data - we gain input - and it changes our evaluation. They were an Angel - now a Demon. They were a Demon - now an Angel.

Which is more valuable? Shouldn't that answer be obvious? And yet - it isn't. It isn't to me anyway. Of course, I am a fuck-up... how can a Demon be as valuable as an Angel? Isn't that heresy? I'm sure it is... but WTF? Aren't they really equal? Aren't they?

Demons materialize because of fear. Angels, out of love. Again, HERESY! FEAR on par with LOVE? No way. But then again - I didn't say that... I said that Demons were as valuable as Angels... big difference.

Demons SUCK. No doubt about it. But they teach us. They mold us. How we respond to a Demon - better yet - how we respond to our personal Demons - those little devilish traits and characteristics inside each of - how we respond to them... defines who we are. What are we but a summation of our thoughts and deeds and actions and reactions? Don't demons (note no capitals) play a huge role in all of that?

"Love thy enemy as thyself!" - How we respond to an enemy - a demon - defines who we are. What we are. By serving as a catalyst, even a catalyst to pain and suffering, should we not acknowledge that as a valued role? One that shapes us? We are who we are because of the challenges in life - how we chose to deal with them - how we chose to live them.

And Angels. Yes, Angels. Angels come in when the battle is done. When the smoke has cleared and nurture us, love us, shower us with such compassion - knowing the fight - knowing the challenges that we have faced. Notice I keep the capitals. Angel.

Angel. demon. Two sides of the same coin.

More on this.

Some Insight From the Looney Bin

2008-10-26T11:42:00.004-05:00

The best thing about being labeled a "fuck-up" is that nobody then really expects anything out of you. Talk about freedom! If no one really expects anything out of you because, "you know, he's stupid and a fuck-up" - then the world is at your doorstep. You are suddenly transported into the power group with all of the cool kids - errr - other fuck-ups. Of course, the real secret is that we are all fuck-ups... a more socially acceptable term is "humanity". Go figure. The real division is between those who are self-aware - and fully realize that they are fuck-ups... and those who still hide from reality and think that they actually have their proverbial shit together. And you thought it was all a class struggle... or economics... or politics... or religion... or sex... well, all of those play into it... but the root of the struggle of the human race is between the fuck ups and the illusionists.

I find myself watching people - a lot. Starbucks are good places to set a spell and watch people. So are airport waiting areas... anyplace where people choose to spend time in transition... coming and going... the in-between. Anyway, I love to watch people. It is amazing when you open your eyes and really start to see. There is such beauty - and we ain't just talking about a women's curve outlined by designer jeans.... ...

I do so love the broken ones - a category of which we all belong - we are just separated by our willingness to admit our brokenness. We play this game of cover-up. We tried to hide the fuck-up portion of our beings. And it always gets us in trouble. We are denying who we are by pretending to be something that we are not. We all put on masks. We have these prefabricated masks - masks of beauty, of wealth, of power, of position, of importance, of ego. Yes, we all have these masks. They are quite useful. They seem to help us get through the day. And maybe they do.

But - what happens? One day we start believing in the masks. We start believing that the masks are true - but they aren't. Then, we have a problem. Which is real? The mask? Or the fucked up being that is underneath? Masks are masks. I don't think that they are really who we want to be... but we get trapped. The mask seems glued on... and we try to pull it off... but something stops us. Fear stops us. Fear stops us... because without the mask - without the beauty - without the wealth - without the position - without the illusion - then people will see the fuck-up! People will see us for who we really are! Then how, oh how... will we be loved?!? Without the mask, who am I???? Surely... no one can love this fucked-up being beneath the mask!

We all want to be free of the masks. We all want to be accepted for the humanity that is underneath. But we are scared. We are all too scared. We've been hidden for so long underneath that we have forgotten who we are - what we are - what our very being is... or was... or maybe should be....

Surely underneath is too ugly... too poor... too confused... too sick... too powerless. Who could love such pity? Who could love such humanity? Remove the mask? No way. Fear leaves us powerless. Pain immobilizes us... won't we lose everything if we show the humanity that we really are?

God bless the fuck-ups. God bless those with the courage to take off the mask and face the sun.

I love to watch people. I love to see them - really see them. I love their ugliness, their humanity, their fear. I wish they knew the freedom of a world without the masks.

But what do I know??? I am a stupid fuck-up....

Best from the Bathroom Wall Writings

2008-10-26T10:42:00.003-05:00

Surely, God has a plan-
He drives me to my knees...
Where I ask blessings for my enemy.
And I ask for His dull sword to cut out all my deficiencies.
His truth is sharp and cuts for deep remembrance.
My power is no longer in my fight.
Like Chief Joseph... I will fight no more forever...
My power is no longer in my fight.
But in my heart.
These tears flow without prejudice,
They see the world as it is.... but better...
they see the world for what it will become.
The salt of tears may sting... but they
nurture hope and will certainly cause the sun to rise tomorrow!

If This is the Trail, Then Where is the Fucking Bus Stop?

2008-10-12T15:52:00.008-05:00

No. The title does not mean a damn thing. But... it did get your attention. So I got that going for me. I guess.

I am sitting on my porch... literally... the porch - the concrete and just finished about a billion Nilla Vanilla Wafers. They were really good and I needed them like I need a hole in my head. But they tasted good. It has been a day of feeling out of touch and out of sync. I keep going places just to try and feel connected. But each time I return to my little house.

I just found myself doing a google search on keywords like shaman / emotion / journey. The hits are all very interesting, but are a bit concerning. Seems like I have more in common with tribal medicine men of ages long ago then I do with my own society, my own present. What is with that? How does all of this tie together?

Articles read of rituals where shamans would connect their people with all sorts of mystic and magic - and it was mostly done in ceremonies that entailed intense emotional condition and being. Immediately I flash to my own sessions - self-inflicted emotional gunshot wounds (or so they seem) held every 10 to 14 days. Images of people flow through my head - some from just today - some from many yesterdays ago. I see them all. They parade past - and I feel. Boy do I feel. And I never know exactly why - or for who. Sometimes I know that it is strictly for me - and others - it appears - are for others. I call it surfing energy. They surf my energy. Like I connect them to some of healing power or something.

It's crazy. I know it's crazy. Yet sometimes my instinct feels so right. It convinces my consciousness - my here, my now - that it knows what is going on... and then... I find the courage to hint with whomever I may be "caring" for - but there is no confirmation. In fact, many times I get the deer in the headlights look of "what the heck?" I am fortunate that my friends have not banded forces and taken me off to the funny farm.

Is that the way I am to connect? At that sub-conscious, dream state? I know it's real... but it isn't very warm... I don't feel another's arms or comfort. Sorry I need more cookies... and this is just sooooo pathetic....

The Beast Within

2008-09-20T17:50:00.008-05:00

The Incredible Hulk is an interesting comic. I don't read it. And I never saw the recent movie - it was at the box office for what? Three days? I barely recall the old TV series with Bill Bixby and Lou whatever his name is... I never watched it - so no matter. But there is an entertaining premise in this character that changes from normal human being into a big green strong guy with incredible strength and rage. It is the beast within.

The beast lives within each of us. Whether we want to admit that or not, it is there. It is always there. It will always be there. It's a matter of how much we let out - of how much we admit to - of how much we recognize is really us. Because it is. It is us. It is our strength... and our weakness. It is the best and the worst inside each of us.

Mine seems to come out in a cycle. Speaking of which... I am certain that males are victim to the rhythm and rhyme of nature... just as much as females. It is just in a different state. Not so much the physical evidence - but certainly the emotional, the spiritual. Maybe they will take my mancard away for that one, but think about it. Let's use one example. The moon's impact creates tides all over the world, everyday. That's a hell of an impact on a hell of a lot of water. What are we? Something like a billion percent water? And our egos are big enough to deny that there is impact? Bullshit. There is. We just fool ourselves with our masquerade of control and even keel - two things we seem to lust for... and two things that will always escape us.

The beast is not in control - the beast is not even keel - although we try. The beast is not civilized, nor social. The beast just is. The beast is primal and makes us aware of primal things. Makes us do primal things. Feed, sleep (or the lack thereof), fuck... the basics... the primal. The beast must feed. The beast must sleep. The beast must fuck. The beast is animal. The beast is nature. The beast is us.

Of course civilization sets boundaries. Civilization demands limits. Civilization demands protocol. And if you can't fit in... we'll drug ya... and if we can't drug ya... we'll imprison you... and if we can't imprison ya... we'll kill you. Maybe in the literal. Maybe just in the figurative. Lots of walking dead these days. I'm betting on the figurative.

...and i need to finish this someday... too...

Jungle Rules

2008-09-11T17:24:00.000-05:00

Jungle rules. They are the basis for how the rest of the illusion falls into place. Jungle rules offer no luxury. They offer no comfort. They do not fit well with polished pomp and circumstance and yet they are the very reason that we can move beyond the basics. Surviving another day is the reward for their successful employment. And everything else, and I mean everything else, is built upon the presumption that “those kinda things” are taken care of – as if they are on auto-pilot. They aren’t. Winning under jungle rules is anything but automatic. Winning under jungle rules is anything but sexy. It is not glorious. It rarely has honor. Those are words and ideas and feel good things that we have made up to allow our group conscience to make it through another day. Those are feel good things that we have made up to allow our conscience to accept the image staring back as our reflection. Jungle rules are not pretty. They place us between the rock and the hard place. And it’s not a concrete slab – it never has been – this foundation we have supposedly built upon their shoulders. We allow ourselves to drift – to distance ourselves – to ignore – to pretend that it is automatic. That jungle rules are instant and that we are clean. But they aren’t ; we aren't – and it isn’t a solid slab – it’s bubble gum and barbwire. And that, my friends, is what we base the trappings of our civilization upon. We base those trappings - our hopes, our dreams, our visions on assumptions - simple assumptions - that there will be food on the table, that the lights will come on, that we will have choices. None are guaranteed. None. But we don’t like to think about such things. It makes us uncomfortable. It makes us fearful. It makes us face who we really are…

So why bring this up? The symbolism of the date is obvious, but the intention is not. None of us like jungle rules. Jungle rules remind us that we are vulnerable. We don’t like to think about such things. Jungle rules are savage. They have to be. They impact upon us the realization that we are still so primal, so instinctive, so basic. And that is what really makes us fearful. Very, very fearful. Jungle rules take us to places where our logic and our technology are useless. They take us face to face with who we really are – and who we really sometimes have to be – and we may not like that. We may not like the conclusion that such inspection will inevitably lead us to. Jungle rules. The conclusion? That we are primal, that we are savage. Despite our blue jeans and our bow ties. We are savage. Life is not clean. Life is not black and white. Life is jungle rules. And yet, if we don’t go there, if we choose not to participate, if we choose to avoid facing the fear – we don’t survive. The rest is mere illusion. Remember, the foundation is not solid. Civilization dissipates – like a vapor.

But we are who we are. We are who we have to be. Certainly by now the species should be well beyond this place. But we aren’t. We should be, but we aren’t. And thus, jungle rules. And that is ok. Despite what some may think is bleak, it isn't meant to be. Serious, yes. Bleak, no. Jungle rules are evolution.

9-11. Jungle rules. To get to where we have to be, to get to where we want to be. Jungle rules. Choose to face them, choose to invoke them. The fear – your fear. Choose to face it. Choose to participate. To be truly civilized, we must recognize that we are truly savage. And then and only then, can we truly move on… can we truly evolve.

And That's Why They Invented Gray...

2008-08-16T14:52:00.011-05:00

For evil to triumph - all it takes is for good men to do nothing.

We were supposed to be the white hats. That's how the fairy tale goes anyway. And that's the way life should go - real life. But I struggle with that one.

We looked damn good - twenty years ago that is. Supermen in our olive drab supersuits - flight suits with their patches of pukin dogs and angry wildcats. They were us and we were them. Slipping on the speed jeans. Taping up the helmet - sucking down O2. Strapping on the jet. Going to Whiskey and hearing the radar calls. It was all so easy then. You just got in and rode the ride. We were young warriors practicing an art and pretending to be important pieces in a forty year old game of chess. We were America's best - and all the time praying that we'd meet the Soviet's best. Not here - but up there. We were the white hats. They were the black hats. How easy was that? Their best against our best. It was poetic. It was for God and country. It was for family and friends. It was worth the consequences. Their best against our best. Their best against us. Good vs evil.

Twenty years later it's become a question of Linkin Park's "What I've Done" - or better - what I hadn't. For evil to triumph, all it takes is for good men to do nothing. No glory. No honor. No best against best. Just innocence - sacrificed - again. And all we did was watch. With our satellites we watched. The pleas went out. The tears were shed. But we did nothing. And evil triumphed.

For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten son... well... we certainly didn't help things.

We watched with our satellites - and did nothing. It's antiseptic - watching from above with the technology of a movie like "Enemy of the State". It's before and after. Not the in-between. The in-between, however, is where the game is won or lost. It's where the action happens - or doesn't. It's where the bombs go boom and where the blood runs and where the screams happen. The in-between. You know it happens. But all you see is the before and after. A bridge, no bridge. A house, no house. A village... no village. But its so damn antiseptic. Time to change the maps. The in-between is life. Or was. No mirrors allowed. No need to see the hat. It isn't white.

We're four years into the after. The maps have been changed - if anybody even made such a fucking map in the first place. Nobody cared in the before - so why should they care in the after? Nobody remembers. Nobody remembers a one time village in a country nobody cares about and on a continent that nobody gives a shit about. But there was a before. And there was an after. And an in-between. But now, even I find it hard to keep on caring. I find it hard to remember. Probably because it is easier not to. It's easier to forget the before. It's easier to forget the in-between. The in-between is where the bombs go boom...

... and I am just the dipstick medicine man - not even the fucking warrior - I am just the medicine man - watching from above. It's so antiseptic.

i'll have to finish this someday....

Sometimes

2008-01-06T20:44:00.000-06:00

Sometimes you really just don't give a fuck about a thing... such is one of those moments...
to quote Fogelberg -

The meanings get lost
And the teacahings get tossed
And you don't know what you're gonna do next...
You wait for the sun... but it never quite comes...
Some kind of message comes through to you... some kind of message shoots through...

well... that hasn't happened in this case. in short, fuck it

Reflection on the Intimacy, Sex and the Side of Things

2008-01-02T13:03:00.000-06:00

Ok.

First off, New Years has come and gone. Happy 2008 to all us here on planet earth. Only a few more years until 2012! If that means something to ya - cool - if not, it will.

Anyway, lots of thinking for me - AS ALWAYS. Big surprise. I really need to learn to quiet the mind.

I have been thinking alot about intimacy. You know, those wonderful amazing moments when we are actually in touch with another human being at an indepth level of one kind or another. Maybe I am showing my middle aged maleness... but it seems like such times are few and fleeting. Wait - that's my experience - I should not make such a generic statement.

How do we get there? Those moments when we actually trust another enough to expose the jugular - to expose our vulnerabilities - to expose the open nerve - and at the same instant, we hope like all hell that the other will not strike a blow - or if they do - hope they use a sharp blade, ok?

I think we confuse intimacy and sex. Their roles. Their responsibilities. Their capabilities. Their wonders. I don't think western pop culture gets it. Don't get me wrong, I am all for sex - go for it! But intimacy is not an automatic. Oh sure - I approach it from only my experience - certainly my glasses are colored with being a 40+ year old white, Anglo-Saxon, male. But, again, intimacy is not automatic.

As a culture - I don't think we really understand the power of sex - not on the level that I imagine, anyway. Sure - it takes hold of us - the instinct, the urge - the drive. Nothing wrong with that... but there is so much more to it then that. To sex, to intimacy. We have lost something in all the glitzy ads and school boy shenanigans. There is so, so much more. Then, there is the possibility that I am completely crazy. As a Keitz, that is always the possibility.

I think that fear is involved. Sex takes us to the brink - but then it is decision time. After the impulse, the instinct... then what? Where to go? Easier to withdrawal, to retreat, to cover up and cocoon in our own being. And it is precisely that attitude that excludes us from the real power and play of sex, of intimacy. The impulse, the instinct is everything. But it must be kept open... we venture, expose ourselves... then retreat. We must stay open - we must stay connected - we must keep ourselves in the firezone.

The ancients had it figured out. Perhaps because survival in the everyday world was a bigger question for them. Making it to the next day was not a guaranteed - so moments - moments of pure sex were moments of pure celebration. Celebration of life - of living. We still have the images, the mirages, of those feelings - but without the immediate death threat the power and purpose of sex is somewhat lost. We have the pleasure - but hoarde it for ourselves. We must recapture it. Recapture the celebration - the power of sharing a such a moment of intimacy with another. The power of entrusting another with who were are at a single point in space and time. The essence of male and female - their differences and similarities - their compliment - their power to one another. Their coming together in that moment. That energy. That healing. That magic.

In Dallas With the 'rents

2007-12-26T23:05:00.000-06:00

Woke up early. Had an appointment at the local Brake Check. Some major grinding. $100 later, and I was on the road to Dallas.

Made it into Big D a little after noon. It is always interesting driving back into the city. It is so big. Even though I grew up here... it has not been home since 1993. Lots has happened since then.

Going back to my parents' house - the only one I knew growing up - gives some mind games. Not necessarily bad ones - but still mind games. Lots of reflections. All the dreams, I had in this house - dreams of a life making movies - and saving the world. To look at those through these tainted glasses... hmmm. I understand when people say, "what happened?" - "where did the time go?"

It's weird, isn't it? We look forward to something - some event - some gathering - whatever. We look forward to it - and project it playing out in some form or fashion. And it never seems to go that way. Know what I mean? Again - not that is it bad... it is just that life seems to have a different path in mind. Or maybe we just want control.....!!!

I have noticed recently that it just seems like I don't get to spend enough time with the people that I really want to spend the time with it... I know that I should be grateful for whatever moments that I have... but it never is enough with those special people. I always have more things / more topics / more stories / etc. to share. I guess it is that way with all those we truly cherish...

And So This is Christmas...

2007-12-25T20:35:00.001-06:00

And So This is Christmas... and the first thing that comes to mind is why is everything at full price on the 24th... and on the 26th, it is half? Oh yeah... "that's business." I must have missed that class... still makes no sense to me. I suppose the worth of things is relative... fluctuating on the infamous infallibility of supply and demand. Whatever.

I have the entire world. Beautiful, smart, healthy children... a decent job... shelter... food, etc. - and yet here I sit... pounding away on this keyboard with strokes of madness. What is it inside of us that concentrates on the illusion - the apparent emptiness of a single cell - rather then basking in satisfaction that the rest of the body is filled? I know the text book answer: the power of positive thinking, the law of attraction, karma, etc., etc.... and yet, this funk descends upon me like sharks sensing a feeding frenzy. So not apparent - until you're in the middle of it - and then - it's too damn late. I spent the full day with the children - a good day - many laughs, etc. Yet I return to my simple house and its emptiness is deafening. It's a crowding feeling. One where the walls seem to close in all around as I become so painfully aware of but a single heartbeat.

It is the trail I have chosen - this self-imposed sentence of solitary confinement. There are no bars or locks - but at times there might as well be. It can be just as much a cell as any other. Yet this one, this one - I have the key. I know that - academically. So what fear prevents me from using it? From slipping it into the keyhole and turning it? What fear inside of me selects this as my punishment, when daylight is but a thought, a moment away?

And so this is Christmas... the birth of a revolutionary movement that changed the world for millions... you know - I was raised in the Disciples of Christ - and practiced Methodism for some seventeen years. You think I would have some of it figured out. The only thing I have to show for it are questions. Why doesn't it seem to work for me? The formula... the equation.... the a + b = c. I have read about it, studied it, I have prayed about it... and yet... it doesn't seem to work for me. At least, not in the conventional format. I can remember the turning point - clear as day. The moment I consciously allowed myself to question an entire belief. My belief. It was my oldest daughter's confirmation. She was something like thirteen. We were all at the front of the church - friends and family. We were kneeling there... I heard the words, the music. And then I noticed... many of the women were crying. Sincere in their emotions, no doubt. But it didn't make sense to me. And then I realized - I felt nothing. It was empty. The ceremony didn't mean anything (to me). And then I realized that I had been faking it... walking through the motions. The religion didn't work. God was still there... but not in the way everyone had told me it was supposed to be....

I'll wrap up. Not sure where this is going.

Seventy Minutes to Christmas

2007-12-24T22:47:00.000-06:00

It's some seventy minutes to Christmas, 2007. Surprise, surprise... a time for reflection. I spent Christmas Eve dinner with the children and Deb. It was a pleasure to sit down at a single table - and actually break bread all together. I cannot remember the last time that that happened - in a home - not at some restaurant. An interesting contrast, while "It's A Wonderful Life" played on the television, the kids and some close friends were battling it out playing Rock Band. Jimmy Stewart against a backdrop of the Clash, the Foo Fighters, and the Red Hot Chile Peppers.

I got home around 10:30P and set out the next day's necessities - warm clothing for the early morning jaunt back to Deb's ... and a pile of presents in the hallway. That took but a bare few minutes and it was time to check this electronic connection. Sure enough - emails from several of my military colleagues and friends. Some Navy Reserve business to take care of... but more holiday greetings. One from Afghanistan... and another from Germany. Both from men I had served with at CENTCOM - both in Tampa and Qatar.

My life is blessed. So blessed. I deserve none of it. I am flooded with the images of so many of their faces. Faces from across the years. The world is so touched by their talent, capability, heart, spirit and love. How did I ever manage to stumble into such a menagerie of wonder? They are all filled with such light. Every single one of them. Every single one of you. It blinds me.

They come in packs. The names, places, events, laughter, tears. It seems we all have these packs - groups - whatever ya wanna call them. Collections of people that we travel with on particular adventures, particular trails. Adventures like high school, then college. Marriage and kids. Military. Places of employment. Experiences. Shared experiences. They bind us together. Here are the circles - and at their intersection - is me: Lake Highlands High School. The University of Texas at Austin. Radio-TV-Film. The LBJ School. AOCS Class 1487. VT-10. VT-86. RIO school. K & H Productions. Financial Sense. Freescale. United Methodists. The Navy. USCENTCOM. Running. Marathons. Ultras. Trails. The Navy Reserve. Rogue Training. Qatar. OIF. OEF. Such have been but some of the names and places that have been on the schedule of my particular curriculum at God School.

At points you just wanna sit back and evaluate... try to make a sum from their total. How different would they respond to me? Those faces? Should they meet me on the street as I am today... would they find contrast between the man that stood before them... and the memory that they carry? Certainly for some... for others? I hope that I have grown - not just changed. They have all been important players - whether they realize it or not - they have been very important players. All have touched me. All have changed me. All have made me.

Welcome to God School

2007-12-24T07:33:00.000-06:00

That's what I call planet Earth - this life - it's God School. It's where we're given the chance to wakeup and recognize that we are God, of God - all of us. The whole collection of creation is God. Yes, I am a heretic. But this is our school house. Our chance to evolve.

I believe in the Christ - and I believe in the Buddha. I believe in all of them. Those that have tread this trail before us. They are one. They are the same... just like us. We are the Christ, we are the Buddha. It is just a matter of recognition. Not from others. But from ourselves. We fail to do that - for some reason we fail to do that - and spend lifetimes paying for it.

We all experience the virgin birth. We all experience the crucifixion. We can experience the resurrection. But what happens in a life? Every child - so innocent - so new - not polluted by the temptations of self-image and self importance. And somehow it sets in - the ego. It tells us that we aren't good enough - it tells us that we are too good. It separates us from one another. And it is that separation that is hell. The parts of God separate are hell. The parts of God together are heaven. We are the parts of God.

We nail ourselves to the cross. Oh sure, our egos label it as something else - "why would we nail ourselves?" Wake up. There are no Roman guards. We fashion the nails and wield the hammer. We crucify ourselves. We try to prove ourselves to one another - that we are good enough. We try to prove ourselves to our souls - that we are good enough. It requires no proof. We are good enough.

I think the Inca got it right - the children of the light. It all comes in recognition. The resurrection begins with recognition. Recognition of who we are. The Incas, they saw the light within themselves. Christ recognized it. Yahweh recognized it - I am, who I am. It is no different for each of us.

Perfect timing. The sun just broke through my window pane on the morning of Christmas Eve. Perfect. Now. Call it what you will. Blasphemy. Call it what you will. Revelation. We are God.

Introductory Voyage

2007-12-23T21:46:00.000-06:00

So I am flattering myself... thinking that something or someone besides my ego will expend enough energy to read such ramblings... and they will be that... ramblings... should I even have the will to actively write something periodically. That seems to have been a bit of a challenge recently... writing. Something about a blank page seems to be getting the best of me these days. I shy away - not wanting to commit....

Maybe a way to start this is with the proverbial introduction. I am a divorced father of five - two boys, three girls. One is in a doctorate program out west, Cal Tech to be exact... two are at the University of Texas... and two are in elementary school. Nope - same mom and dad... just a hell of an age range!

I work in the semiconductor industry in Austin, TX - where I pretend to be a factory modeler. Not sure what that means - but it pays the bills - so no complaints.

My passion is anything creative. I love photography and graphic arts. I am trying to develop my drawing. I use to be a better writer. Maybe that will return. I love music - wish I could sing or play an instrument.

I also work for the Navy - reserve capacity. Spent two years recalled for the current fun and games. Fifteen months of that time was in Qatar. It has been a love - hate relationship with the Navy for twenty years. Hmm.

I try to stay in shape by running. Have been running marathons and such since the mid-1980s. Hmm. You would think I would have been cured of that. Two years ago I started trail running. That led me into ultras. I have done several 50Ks, but have not completed a 50 miler... yet.