I do that thing that doesn't make sense that nobody else around here does, and I do it a lot for long periods.
I do it before I do anything else. It's weird, what I do. You might want to do it, too.
I've done things in the past, and I know when I'm like this they worry I'll do them again. All I can do, is say don't.
I won't promise anything to anyone, or say I'll be OK, if I won't. I don't know if I will be. I don't.
My Posse'
I've met very few people who feel like I do, or at least, who will admit to. People who feel led, or guided. People with a gut compass they follow, like I do.People with no grasp on cultural procedures, with no ability for refined social protocol. People who don't know how to fit in, or go out. People who go off on their own, and disappear.
People who understand that those who wander off on solitary sojourns, never wander alone.
Where are my people, the ones who heard what I heard, that God isn't without, he's within? The ones who went in, looking.
I know there are others who found what I found. I know because that's who I followed.
I need to know my posse', so when I test my crazy, and concern the others, at least my posse' will get me.
"You talk to God?"
"Mm-hmm."
"You say sometimes he talks back?"
"Mm-hmm."
"Yeah? What does he say?"
"He suggests that I be quiet,
and listen, usually."
"That's it?! God's quite the conversationalist, is he?"
"I guess so. It's kind of weird though, how saying so little is often way more than enough."
"Riiight, I'll ponder that one.
You're one crazy nut job, dude.
One crazy nut job..."
We chatted on three, distinct occasions, all in my life as an adult. Three periods of lost so lost, I lost hope I could ever be found. Three periods of dark so black I didn't know if I was cast into the void, or if I was the void I was cast in.
I'm saying that when I hit bottom I wasn't allowed to, because He crossed a line. He jacked up the energy around him to include me, to become palpable as a presence.
I could feel it.
I felt it the same way you feel someone enter a dark room that you already occupy.
I was scared, and more alone than I'd ever felt.
I pulled my car to the side of the road when I felt it building, then bent my head forward, and broke down.
'Body-racking sobs,' broke down.
Sobs that come out of nowhere, and hit me blindside.
The two other occasions were exactly the same.
There was the instant shift from despair, into what's calm, and reassurance. There was His presence. And my agreement. There was a reminder of not being alone.
Both happened during long, solitary walks through the forrest, and the woods. They happened on walks that were metaphorical for the walks I was taking within.
Both provided the same answer to the variations I made to the same question. It was a question I needed an answer for to provide motivation to keep going.
I was angry at God, and emotionally depleted. I was lonely beyond the meaning of the word. I was ranting some victim crap like 'Why me?', and "Fuck You." and "Get him."
Why did I have to be the one to do this shit?!
Why not pile on on them like you do me?!
Why is it my load that always keeps growing!?
"Because," came the download, "you're the one who can take it. And someone has to take it."
"Oh, super. I'm flattered. That's great." I said, and my ego was quickly corrected.
This isn't anything personal.
It's not punitive, or Karmic.
In fact, if it's anything, it's a small reminder.
Like carrying a child for 9 months.
Or learning what you lose when you're famous.
Or what you're deprived of when you're homeless.
Or the loneliness of enormous wealth.
It's a reminder that each individual has their own weight they're under, and that no one is 'special',
and that you all are.
I was granted the hint I was given because of the volume of pain I carried, and because I was close to admitting I was done. I had swallowed too much to be lost.
A single painful event that's been processed, and turned to insight, can help a thousand. I was carrying a lifetime. I think it became obvious that the flame in me was fading, so I was granted a peek behind the curtain. I needed to understand that the usefulness of my life, of any life, is determined by what it carries. Unless fear wins, and it goes unknown. Unless you take it with you.
So when I received the download to answer my bitching, and complaining about why me, and why so much, I saw my value to the world.
"Why were you asked to accept the wounds that you carry?"
"I asked you because I know you won't stay down."
"And 'Why you?' for the mountain range of shit that you carried?
Because you can, Patrick.
I asked you, because you can.
I'm far from being enlightened, but I am, for the most part, self-aware. So when I heard him say that, I knew that he was right. He wasn't pumping sunshine up my ass.
In most worldly affairs, and secular tasks, I'm stacked pretty close to the bottom.
When we're talking about what I've seen break most others, or the messy stuff that wounds from the inside out, the stuff others use a lifetime to avoid, I'm fucking Rainman.
I'm Mr.'Is that all you got?', and his alter ego Captain Can't break me." I'm an inept attempt to join the group. If you want the psychological weight of the world removed, or a place to put your scars while they heal, I'm Dustin Hoffman in Rainman. If you need that I'm a super charged idiot savant.
And I'm enormously proud I get to be one.
The people who are expressing concerns about me don't understand the Beauty in the insanity I explained. God's just Winnie the Pooh to them, and it's enough to believe in a talking bear.
The concerned people I know are logical, practical thinkers. They look for a cause, and an effect, and a good reason. They think in algebra equations. "If x=y then 2 must be 9, and brown is The Magical Stallion."
Huh?
They apply reason.
In me, where I am, the dominant season is spirit. For all the power that season keeps held, it won't ever be enough for logic. The things I can't see in the rational person, the rational person can't see in me.
People are concerned if I disappear, and I did again. To them disappearing doesn't make sense.
You need people right now.
And normalcy.
Maybe even an invented routine.
You need the formula that works for us when something hurts.
The one that makes it all better.
I might.
Except that formula calls for 3 things I've never had, things like normalcy, and routine. It calls for belief in people.
I don't believe in anyone.
I don't have faith in people.
My faith deepens in the alone of out there. It deepens with the act of disappearing.
The faith I find, is found when I'm alone.
Thank 3
During the writing of The Dying Year three individuals have asked me how I am. Three.
Two are males who consistently do so, and one woman I used to work with, and haven't seen for a year. She messaged me on Facebook, and asked if I needed to talk.
I said "Thank You! And no, not yet."
I don't write what I've written for sympathetic attention, or a place in the carnival sideshow. I write it for the relief it provides, and for the music that random words make. It seems common sensible that someone would say 'How ya doing?', based on how mine are arranged.
No one does.
I don't have faith in people.
I have faith in what's worked before, and
then worked for me again the next time.
I put my faith in whatever shows up.
Not in people, who don't.
I trust the gut compass that was factory installed,
the one that only knows True North.
I put my faith in that.
I trust my gut because of where it's led me.
I trust that compass for its consistency,
and for never leaving.
Where are my people, the ones who heard what I heard, that God isn't without, he's within? The ones who went in, looking.
I know there are others who found what I found. I know because that's who I followed.
I need to know my posse', so when I test my crazy, and concern the others, at least my posse' will get me.
"You talk to God?"
"Mm-hmm."
"You say sometimes he talks back?"
"Mm-hmm."
"Yeah? What does he say?"
"He suggests that I be quiet,
and listen, usually."
"That's it?! God's quite the conversationalist, is he?"
"I guess so. It's kind of weird though, how saying so little is often way more than enough."
"Riiight, I'll ponder that one.
You're one crazy nut job, dude.
One crazy nut job..."
Friend Request
I'm not claiming I have calendar lunch dates with Mr. God Almighty, or that I have a red 'God-Phone' with a direct line.
I'm not suggesting I have grammatically correct lunch conversations spoken in English vernacular. Or that we're even friends on Facebook. I'm just saying we chatted three times.
I'm not suggesting I have grammatically correct lunch conversations spoken in English vernacular. Or that we're even friends on Facebook. I'm just saying we chatted three times.
We chatted on three, distinct occasions, all in my life as an adult. Three periods of lost so lost, I lost hope I could ever be found. Three periods of dark so black I didn't know if I was cast into the void, or if I was the void I was cast in.
I'm saying that when I hit bottom I wasn't allowed to, because He crossed a line. He jacked up the energy around him to include me, to become palpable as a presence.
I could feel it.
I felt it the same way you feel someone enter a dark room that you already occupy.
You feel an energy shift in the space you're in, and the gut compass springs to life. Your body overrides any incoming direction, and snaps, in an instant, to still. It's a primal warning, and you feel it.
You know.The first time we met I was driving, in Capitola. I was tired, and it was late. It was shortly after my siblings left me to support my Ex, through my divorce.
I was scared, and more alone than I'd ever felt.
I pulled my car to the side of the road when I felt it building, then bent my head forward, and broke down.
'Body-racking sobs,' broke down.
Sobs that come out of nowhere, and hit me blindside.
Moments later, as suddenly as they arrived,
the sobs stopped. I felt calm settling like soft snowfall. I felt a large presence, to my right.
I turned my head, and looked, and of course, there was nothing there to see. Except a tidal wave of reassurance that spread over, and into me. I will never forget how that felt, or how it confused me. I can still feel it today.
I stared into the space it came from. I felt my fear vanish, and the Alone vanished along with it. And I knew I would get through this.
I knew whatever was bringing me back into calm wasn't 'whatever' at all. It was God, and I knew it.
It felt as crazy to say then as it does still, today. But there's no other way available to explain it.
It was God, and he was riding shotgun in my Honda Passport.
Then there was a voice like sensation (but not really vocal, because there was no sound... it was more like a direct brain download that delivered the statement & the response, all at once), and it asked me to trust this beginning of what would become a complete unraveling. It asked me to trust the compass in my gut, and promised it would lead me.
Then, whatever it was, assured me it would be there until everything was over. It let me know I wasn't alone. It said I never would be.
I bent my head forward in exhaustion, and because it was a little freaky. I put my head on my hands. I spoke my response out loud, to the thing that had asked me to do things. I wanted to confirm my trust in it. I wanted to be sure it heard me.
"I'll go through everything you put in front of me, everything I don't want to, I will.
I'll accept that what you take away, is what I no longer need. I'll be a student to how to let go.
I'll do it. Everything you ask of me, I'll do it."I think I exhaled, and laughed out loud with relief. Then me and God drove home.
The two other occasions were exactly the same.
There was the instant shift from despair, into what's calm, and reassurance. There was His presence. And my agreement. There was a reminder of not being alone.
Both happened during long, solitary walks through the forrest, and the woods. They happened on walks that were metaphorical for the walks I was taking within.
Both provided the same answer to the variations I made to the same question. It was a question I needed an answer for to provide motivation to keep going.
I was angry at God, and emotionally depleted. I was lonely beyond the meaning of the word. I was ranting some victim crap like 'Why me?', and "Fuck You." and "Get him."
Why did I have to be the one to do this shit?!
Why not pile on on them like you do me?!
Why is it my load that always keeps growing!?
"Because," came the download, "you're the one who can take it. And someone has to take it."
"Oh, super. I'm flattered. That's great." I said, and my ego was quickly corrected.
This isn't anything personal.
It's not punitive, or Karmic.
In fact, if it's anything, it's a small reminder.
Like carrying a child for 9 months.
Or learning what you lose when you're famous.
Or what you're deprived of when you're homeless.
Or the loneliness of enormous wealth.
It's a reminder that each individual has their own weight they're under, and that no one is 'special',
and that you all are.
I was granted the hint I was given because of the volume of pain I carried, and because I was close to admitting I was done. I had swallowed too much to be lost.
A single painful event that's been processed, and turned to insight, can help a thousand. I was carrying a lifetime. I think it became obvious that the flame in me was fading, so I was granted a peek behind the curtain. I needed to understand that the usefulness of my life, of any life, is determined by what it carries. Unless fear wins, and it goes unknown. Unless you take it with you.
So when I received the download to answer my bitching, and complaining about why me, and why so much, I saw my value to the world.
"Why were you asked to accept the wounds that you carry?"
"I asked you because I know you won't stay down."
"And 'Why you?' for the mountain range of shit that you carried?
Because you can, Patrick.
I asked you, because you can.
I'm far from being enlightened, but I am, for the most part, self-aware. So when I heard him say that, I knew that he was right. He wasn't pumping sunshine up my ass.
In most worldly affairs, and secular tasks, I'm stacked pretty close to the bottom.
When we're talking about what I've seen break most others, or the messy stuff that wounds from the inside out, the stuff others use a lifetime to avoid, I'm fucking Rainman.
I'm Mr.'Is that all you got?', and his alter ego Captain Can't break me." I'm an inept attempt to join the group. If you want the psychological weight of the world removed, or a place to put your scars while they heal, I'm Dustin Hoffman in Rainman. If you need that I'm a super charged idiot savant.
And I'm enormously proud I get to be one.
X=notU
The people who are expressing concerns about me don't understand the Beauty in the insanity I explained. God's just Winnie the Pooh to them, and it's enough to believe in a talking bear.
The concerned people I know are logical, practical thinkers. They look for a cause, and an effect, and a good reason. They think in algebra equations. "If x=y then 2 must be 9, and brown is The Magical Stallion."
Huh?
They apply reason.
In me, where I am, the dominant season is spirit. For all the power that season keeps held, it won't ever be enough for logic. The things I can't see in the rational person, the rational person can't see in me.
People are concerned if I disappear, and I did again. To them disappearing doesn't make sense.
You need people right now.
And normalcy.
Maybe even an invented routine.
You need the formula that works for us when something hurts.
The one that makes it all better.
I might.
I don't believe in anyone.
I don't have faith in people.
My faith deepens in the alone of out there. It deepens with the act of disappearing.
The faith I find, is found when I'm alone.
Thank 3
During the writing of The Dying Year three individuals have asked me how I am. Three.
Two are males who consistently do so, and one woman I used to work with, and haven't seen for a year. She messaged me on Facebook, and asked if I needed to talk.
I said "Thank You! And no, not yet."
I don't write what I've written for sympathetic attention, or a place in the carnival sideshow. I write it for the relief it provides, and for the music that random words make. It seems common sensible that someone would say 'How ya doing?', based on how mine are arranged.
No one does.
I don't have faith in people.
I have faith in what's worked before, and
then worked for me again the next time.
I put my faith in whatever shows up.
Not in people, who don't.
I trust the gut compass that was factory installed,
the one that only knows True North.
I put my faith in that.
I trust my gut because of where it's led me.
I trust that compass for its consistency,
and for never leaving.
Counting Crows- "Possibility Days"
