bleak

"I arrive home from work, drained and empty. Too tired for human interaction, I press the buttons on the remote and stare blankly into the big TV box. It's not long before the commercials and endless parade of product placements overwhelm my defenses and penetrate my mind. Every detail of every message is meticulously calculated, designed to be repetitive and hypnotic, played over and over until the mindfuck finally kicks. In. My head is now filled with fatuous desire. Fast forward. Like a junkie on a comedown, I stumble into the sterile mall corridors as if in some kind of trance. The motley group of shoppers surrounding me, all the same - glazed eyes, blank stares, faces twisted into ugly masks of want. We are an army of zombies. Instead of brains and human flesh, we devour strategically placed merchandise and affordably priced products manufactured in China. I quickly drain my plastic cards and my soul, returning home with my bounty of shopping bags. All filled with mass produced garbage, quickly tossed onto a pile of all the other trash I've accumulated. Tomorrow I will wake up, have my coffee and leave the comfort and security of my home for work. I will spend another long and tedious day in the indentured monotony that masquerades as a job. When it's over, I will again return home and rest in front of the big TV box and wait for the radiating commercials, like little particles penetrating what is left of my mind. And every night I tell myself, 'maybe one of these days, I'll pull the plug." - Malcolm Klimowicz

Life Without Bars

I spent 3 1/2 months in jail, one time. I used to stare out the tiny 3 x 3 window, and daydream about just walking away, especially when the bleak Indiana winter started to give way to Spring, and buds started to spring up on the scant trees i could see.

Of course, i ended up in that cage because of alcohol, and i carried that cage around with me wherever i went. My world was collapsing inward, growing smaller and smaller, first a square mile between home and liquor store, then down to a dingy bedroom, with bare walls and seedy light, where i would sit and shake, when i ran out of booze. When i was younger, i travelled thousands of miles, met tons of people. Ecstatic. Expansive. And it all dropped away. I was lying in the gutter, and i was no longer even able to see the stars.

A moment of clarity, a drop of grace; the bottle was dropped, and i was allowed to live. Then the battle began, the battle to find myself, my lost heart, my shattered mind. The battle to find out, once and for all, what was real. I had to get sober, then i had to get sane, then healthy, then finally, i had to get to fed up with my own BS storyline, to get fed up with the same ol' hamster wheel obsessive mind, which was the cage all along.

Things fell into place, and i resumed my life on the road, in a more extreme sense than even before. Without comforts or safety nets or security, just a sense that it was the right thing to do, what G_d wanted from me. So i leapt. Leap of faith. Not knowing what i'd find. Just remembering that yearning for wide open skies, for open roads. To just walk away, and to know myself.

What i've found is an invitation to be really free, which is of course the freedom from Self. My Self, the only enemy there ever was, my damaged brittle brain. I've had to look clearly at the addictive merry go round, that goes 'round and 'round, and the panic that ensues when it starts to run down. I'll tell you, quitting drinking is one thing, but the panic that comes on when running out sugar, caffeine, or nicotine is startlingly intense! And lets not forget the old worry about what people think about me. That also begins to fade, as i essentially talk to strangers for a living. All these things, all these tendencies, that went untended during the first four years of my sobriety, now staring me down, nose to nose. And i am being offered, or have been offered, a real freedom...

When the going gets tough, i remember that little 3 x 3 window. I remember what i would have done for freedom at that time. Hell, just to go outside and get a breath of fresh air! Sometimes i'm wet, sometimes i'm cold, sometimes i'm hungry, oftentimes i'm scared, but it is worth it! This life i am living, it is a gift, it is a gift. The great spirit felt fit to preserve me, for some reason. In a way, this life is no longer my own, and it is my obligation to listen clearly, and to be as steadfast in following my heart, and to do what i feel the right thing is to do.

For every scary, hard moment, there is at least one moment of staggering, breathtaking beauty. The desert at night; fog rolling in off the bay; a meal, with strangers. Walking a dog, playing with a cat. An afternoon with a book and a cup of coffee. I feel perfectly blessed, and what's more, i feel i am living in accordance with my true self. I am maintaining gratitude, and focus, and the sense of responsibility: to myself, to the others that helped get me this far, and for all the rest, stuck out there in the darkness, stuck in confusion, with no clear way out.

So the reason for this message, is a salute to everybody who helped me get this far, who believed in me and never stopped believing in me. I've made mistakes, and i will make a million more, i'm sure, but my heart and soul are still kicking like a mule! I am still drawing breath, and i am out here, under a beautifully clear sky today, a free man. So thank you. Thank you very much. And say a prayer, for all those lost souls, stuck in their invisible cages, that they remember their own divinity, and the healing available to us all. To the peace that surpasseth all understanding. I believe that we will all find our way to the light, one way or the other.

Time Enough At Last

{written on 7.14.11, outside of the Island Cafe, in Anacortes, WA}

Day number whatever in the life of an itinerant philosopher.

I've only been on the road for a month, and out of the woods for 4 or 5 days, but i feel like its been lifetimes. In some ways, its been extremely challenging, but a lot of the things i was prematurely concerned with, like being bored, have been no big deal. Turns out i have little problem letting the days unfold naturally, taking my time. In the woods, sometimes it would take 4 or 5 hours, just to get a cup of coffee, with a whole series of adventures and misadventures unfurling along the way. I've carried this sense of patience, faith and trust with me, into the world.

A good friend of mine in Colorado told me about a dream, in which she was in heaven. Everyone she knew told her about all the projects they were undertaking: someone was learning Latin, someone was learning to rollerskate, someone was learning to knit. This was her paradise; all the time in the world to follow their dreams, to be their own, true selves. This friend of mine is a real paradox, half artsy bohemian, and half socialite, concerned with making money, tethered by responsibilities, and she often finds herself unhappy due to this dichotomy.

Since i hit the rioad, there's been ample opportunity to pursue my art, my spirituality; to investigate who i am, outside of the line noise of society and from the crushing weight of routine. I needed a break, and i'm not talking a coffee break. I needed a severe fracturing of gangrenous limbs. My time in the wilderness was an elongated ritual and prayer. An invocation, paid for with love and tears and blood, to mould me into the vessel the spirit would have me become.

What is becoming an obsession of mine is the notion of Quality, first discovered in the trendy but useful Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. He talks a lot about seeking Quality, slowing down, getting to know his machine in all its intricacies. He realizes many profound philosophical concepts, and so have i.

In society, i was constantly seeking distraction, seeking imaginary validation from unseen peers. A constant hunger, an endless void, a bottomless pit. clickclickclick, down the rabbit hole.

And then one day you find, ten years had got behind you...

Its our personal responsibility, those of us who are awake and aware, to seperate ourselves from society, and to create a bit of space within ourselves, to know ourselves and what is important to us. There's a certain retroactive motion, a kind of primitivism, as we start to realize that newer is not necessarily better, and that care, craft, sincerity, and feeling are obvious, and an antidote to a lot of societal ills, at present.

The paradise my friend dreamed of is contained within us all, and surrounds us every second. You can do anything you like, at any time. There's nothing holding you back, except the imaginary cage of a restless mind.