Is the World Too Big or Am I Too Small?

I have hit backspace on this writing 3 times because it is hard to describe what I am trying to describe.

Sometimes when I am traveling and I see a shopping center from a slightly elevated perspective I have a rush of emotions that tap into each one of the business in the complex. This feeling goes something like this.

Wow look at all of these individual efforts to stake their claim in the free world. There is an owner behind that billboard. A man or a woman who wakes up early and worries about how they will get customers into their hole in the wall restaurant. There is a vacuum repair shop who comes in on their terms and perhaps does not need the income this store produces. How could they. They are never open. There is a woman trying to “Crush it” in the woman’s business world as a clothing reseller but displaying a few select blouses in the window. Yet right next to her window is the water store with a faded poster in the window for a Chinese dance company tour that has come and gone over a year ago.

I become melancholy over the realization that this world is crowded with so many people trying to make it in their own way. Some have big goals and some have no goals at all other than to keep their small local business open long enough to enjoy their weekends for the rest of their lives. Not that they are hoping to pass along an empire built on cigarettes and hookah pipes adorned with Bob Marley t-shirts on a half empty rack accented by a worn out cardboard sign with the words sale hand written and taped to the end post. As if somehow this will be the thing that will finally get rid of this shit.

Am I insane to be tortured by the sense that I am so small in this world and that because of my size I should be intimidated by its size and therefore rendering my potential to a fate of mediocrity regardless of how hard I try.

I mean. Look at me. I am an almost 45 year old man with the mind that can only be compared to an octopus on LSD. I got hands and arms flying in multiple directions trying to grasp that which cannot be categorized in an effort to find my storefront of life. Tha at some point I will come the that “aha” mount that will be the result of my speaking out and someone listening. Then paying for me to say some more. Or that I would create something with my hands and that some one would ask if I have more. I suppose Theron lies my fear. That when someone enters the store of my creations that one would look at the random items along a series of shelves and they would ask if I have something else and not more of the same.

This would mean that the goods that I felt were worthy of putting on display were actually of no worth to anyone but myself. That Some how I was not tending to a store but that I was a docent at a Meuse university of random acts and creations of a renaissance man with now clear direction. That I was holding open a gallery for people to come in, look , be stricken with awe or perhaps mild curiosity and then leave.

Yeah, this worries me greatly. I spend a tremendous amount of time learning and hone in my ability to understand social media, sales, networking and content creation yet I have nothing to show for it.

A bank account that with one adversity or tragedy would have me on the side of the freeway twirling a sign for that very same store owner selling hookah pipes and cigarettes.

I push forward with such tenacity and force that if only someone in the corporate world would look at this in awe and find a place for me to clock in and clock out in a trade for the security free of worry and toil. The variety of my routine would in many ways defy the groundhog day theory and yet looks very similar to the yesterday.

I wake, I meditate from the porcelain throne for a few minutes as I stumble through a few social media channels then make my way to a couch with a cup of coffee and a laptop. The the direction of the day is building upon the next couple of moves I make. Do I end up falling back asleep? Do I dump my thoughts into text awaiting a glimpse into flow? Or do I allow YouTube to carry me away into an abyss of videos on motivation that by their next suggested video will land me up on Dr. Pimple Poppers Greatest pops of 2014? Next thing I know 2 hours have passed and I still don’t have shit to show for my early morning purpose.

I believe I get this way because I have, since a very young age, always felt as if I am going to do great things and will one day be rich and famous. This feeling carried on from childhood until about my mid thirties. The theme shifted to, being “Under the radar.” That for some reason I am worthy of fame and fortune but only when my time is right. That the universe is holding back from giving me access to abundance because I am not mature or responsible enough to no blow it all on hookers and blow and end up dead on a Las Vegas hotel room floor.

The Vacation of The Mind

Sitting here at six thirty a.m., long before anyone in the vacation rental rises, I gaze across the recently saturated landscape of golf course grass. The sun lifts in haste and evaporates the dew from each blade of grass and the day begins. Tiny gnats and large flies dance and dart across my peripheral vision but dare not touch me. Not today. I came prepared. I brought bug spray and covered myself and probably got some in my coffee. My lips tingle with the disgusting flavor of the chemicals. I sip from my cup. This stuff should come with an ointment you rub under your nose to neutralize the stench. Nonetheless, I am on vacation.

There is something about the foreign sky and the clearly different construction of the local buildings that make me become aware of my attempt to remain in the moment. The unfamiliar would become commonplace within 6 months if I was to live here. People would come from all over the world to enjoy what I take for granted. Even those who live in paradise lose the nostalgia for their home. I know this because I recently experienced this.

I was living in Riverside county for so long that each time I would visit Orange County it was a place that held promise and wealth. Somehow cars were cleaner and the streets were lined with potential. After 13 years of living in a more rural environment, I became enamoured with the thoughts and dreams of one day moving back. Yes, back to Orange County California. The place that I would consider to be the real California. Just outside of Los Angeles and thirty minutes from Hollywood is the home of Disneyland and the Lad of Gracious Living. Yorba Linda, California.

I knew five years ago that I was in desperate need of change. I once tried to convince my wife to move to the center of Los Angeles to let me fulfill my dream of becoming a writer. Although, at the time, I had only written massive amounts of works that reside in a large briefcase under the stairs to this day. Yet, I could not shake the feeling that I was destined to be a created, dare I say self manufactured into a modern-day cross-breed between Charles Bukowski and Hank Moody. Minus the drunken womanizing.

I began feeling the desire to become a great writer long after I had written in journals for 25 years and hundreds if not thousands of short poetic stories. I never imagined that I would profit or even share my creations. Outside of a few small poetry readings, I just never wanted that. It was as if I was earning my rights to become a legitimate artist without the draw of the opinions of the audience or the attractions for a financial gain. I went from sharing my ideas with a pen and paper to submitting them to a still obscure platform like a blog. This blog. I refer to my lack of recognition as flying below the radar and I justify my lack of success to the gods of fate and chance. I convince my self that if I was to be noticed and rewarded for my unique creative talents and it led to fans money and fame that I would have ended up dying of an overdose of some sort like a Jim Morrison or maybe more a Jim Belushi. So it is as if I am giving myself an excuse not to share or promote this brand of me so as to not fail.

I will never forget the moment that my dreams of becoming the greatest creative mind of written thought and prose was diffused like a bomb in a Michael Bay flick. My wife was the slick know it all who was single-handedly responsible for clipping the green wire just in the nick of time. It was on the 10 freeway as we were returning from viewing a small, and I mean small, old, and I do mean old, apartment behind the La County Museum of Art. This place was about three thousand dollars a month for two bedrooms built in 1930 with a kitchen smaller that the master closet we had. It was on the corner and there was a small basketball hoop in the back of the building in an alley that the kids immediately began to make friends. I felt it though. The energy and the vibe. Naive and ambitious and ready to take Hollywood by storm. Then came the 10 freeway. I was online scouring the web looking for anything that was within earshot of Beverly Hills and Studio City. Then she uttered the four words that would revoke my hall pass to the future I was to manifest.

“What about Mission Viejo?”

“Orange County? What the fuck? Did this sound me trying to get out of Lake Elsinore or was it me trying to get into L.A.?”

I closed the lid to the laptop and stared at the passing freeway off ramps that one by one was ticking farther and father from the fantasy and into reality. This was the end of the longest orgasm of flow state that I had yet to experience.

It took a few more years for this to morph into a settlement of North Orange County. Because the beauty of the town we were in had gone from a 4 beer goggle, one night stand, to a case of beer just to allow a hand job from that ghetto whore of a town.

I still have a love hate relationship with the town that is mentioned in the opening paragraphs of my first publication. The town that adorns the lake and the mountains that roll into the Pacific.

To be in a home or to call any place home for 13 years is like marrying a high school sweetheart just because she was there, falling in love by proximity and then end up with a family before you got your first grey hair. Only to realize that the one was built on convenience and not passion. This in turn leads to a desire to run far away in a sort of midlife crisis in an effort to reclaim a false dream that even in the motion pictures never ends well. The moving always ends with the quarterback gone big coming back to the hometown only to reunite with the high school sweetheart that almost got away.

Now it makes sense. The beginning and the end remain part of the same. Like a ring of unavoidable tragedy and highly sought after ecstasy we will continue to elevate the cycle to higher plane of better times. Indeed these are the best of times and the worst of times. Yet I am in control of the perception of time. the great equalizer. Time. the one thing that makes me better than Steve Jobs and inferior to Elon Musk. One being dead and one alive and both leaving a legacy that which I too am working on.

Legacy.

The tin man found what he thought he lacked. The lion and the scarecrow too. I am also walking down the yellow brick road looking for what I want. What is that? If I could have one wish what would that be? It would be to capture that bliss that led me a blind faith and ambition so strong that I was willing to pack my family into a sardine can in the ghetto of the city of angels at the cost of three thousand dollars a month. I would be the ability to bottle the essence of that feeling which can only be described a a distinct and intuitive perception that this is the best possible wold and that this moment was the only one I have. The ability to live and exist in the now without any fee are fo pain or suffering. A sensation that selfishly has me staring at my children in awe of their potential and yet frantically creating content that will also fulfill my potential too.

The ability to become aware of that which is only reserved for high functions autistics and a few entrepreneurs and artists micro-dosing the interact with the responsibilities of the “real world” and yet coherent that the reality is a matrix. That the sense of timelessness that happens only after we die I can sense here.

This is why I vacation. I go to new locations and I get up early in the morning to write frantically and meditate on the potential of tomorrow and reflect on the successes of yesterday. In an attempt to engage in a flow state that will not only allow me to release the volcanic pressure to give more that I took and leave this place with a smirk on my face.

I met a man the other day who called me out on this intention. He led me to believe in my voice more than anyone has in a long time.

I sit here on the edge of a golf course gazing now across the awakening of the dawn in Indio. The flies are gone and the grass is no longer glistening. Just as I begin to hear the sounds of the family moving about in behind the sliding glass door that I deliberately opened and closed along with the night shades so as to avoid being jolted from this moment of authentic creative writing. The smell shifted from a misty waft of fresh-cut wet grass to a light breeze of dust and dirt not seen by the naked eye but distinct to the senses.

It is this sort of awareness that bring me to the intention of this writing. That I would be so captivated b the nothingness of a location that to some is a getaway and to others nothing more that just another Sunday morning. It is perception. It is an awareness of the moment and a never-ending vigilance to fend off the questions of the future that do not even exist and the answers that the past hold but are not necessarily capable of repeating itself.

Achieving the awareness of the beauty that is the present lies not in a question or an answer but in a statement that is by definition, undefinable. It is the ability to lift your eyes to look across the grassy knoll and not wonder about the days agenda but only the moments expectation. The ability to know that this is exactly what you want to be doing and that this location is the place to be. Like a child we must look to our immediate surroundings like a fun zone. You can take a child in the poorest of environments with nothing more that a full belly and plenty of rest and they will find entertainment and fulfillment in the way the dirty puddle of water splashes as they stomp. Yet, here we are, as adults grimacing at the LCD when we disagree with the mother letting the child play in the dirty water wondering why she is not providing. Meanwhile, her child sits ten feet away looping videos on YouTube of families having fun making videos and sharing it on the internet.

Perspective. For one it is never enough and for another there is not enough to give and for another it is plenty and for some they give it all away. The difference is in expectations and in perceptions.

Soon the wife will come out and tell me to hurry up and do my yoga so we can get to brunch. I will be woken from a slumber of complacency to join them inside as we woefully pack our belongings most needed into luggage and drag them to the car. I will begin to come out of my fantasy land slightly buzzed from what happened this morning and by tomorrow I will either forget that I can still be on vacation in may own home or I will just turn on the business phone and prod cattle through the field in an effort to build a nest egg meant to finance my future and a few vacations.

Perhaps this is why I am obsessed with endurance sports. The ability to sit on a bike for hours at a time or run for long distances is my way of forcing the mundane and commonplace of my abode to be throttled into a place where only the moment of stress can feed my desire to shut down and turn on that which escapes me behind the veil of the familiar.

Maybe I just don’t want to believe that a permanent high is possible. I wonder about those who have a belief in a god that has their back. I wonder if I too should attend a church so that I will chase this imaginary motivation coach that lives inside of me and guarantees me with promises of a heaven and that it will be hard but worth it. A god that will assure me that nothing I do can fail because with god all things are possible. But I cannot. Not just yet. Although I would think it keen to have a supreme being giving me permission to be myself, I would not be capable of being myself if I was not unable to confront the motivation behind my power. I am other to smart too believe or too stupid to understand faith. I suppose this would be the curse and the cure to my desire to become the best version of me that I can be.

Perhaps if I could imagine that I am on vacation from the afterlife then this world would actually be a far more interesting place to visit.

The Life and Death and Life Again of An Artist

I have been looking at my aging reflection as of late. Only the eyes remain the same. I am searching for someone that was left behind and forgotten. He is a small boy on a bicycle riding along the edge of the sidewalk. Careful not to fall off into the street, he speeds up and follows the curbs and dips along the gutters. Each fall is a chance to speed up and the rise is a jump. Unstoppable and free. Without a care.

His friend is also there doing the same. Suddenly his handle bars pop off of the neck on the yank of a jumps attempt. He does not even get off the ground but tumbles over the empty bike frame onto the sidewalk. Rolling head over heels he bounds up in pain skipping and hopping with laughter. Clearly in shock and filled with adrenaline, he shouts and hops around in what could only be described as a Native American dance chanting “oh my God!”

This may be one of my earliest memories of the fragility of being free to fly and free to fall. But not free to land. There is a price to pay for this freedom. It is a sacrifice to the altar of responsibility. The fines are hefty and are capable of sucking your wallet of all of its creativity and hope.

Hourglass reminds me how much I miss that boy. He never left and he never died. He just disappeared. Hiding not afraid but reluctant to enjoy the breeze along the endless sidewalk for fear of mechanical failure or judgement over the quality of the technique.

Limited in the world by lack of exposure, he grows older not knowing of the vastness and variety of the residents of the planet and its wonders. He forms his own identity. Totally aware of his surroundings and yet oblivious to the reality of a limitless potential. Feeling that wherever he goes there he is. Not alone and not afraid.

Where did he go?

I look at the reflection not from a mirror but as an echo of my thoughts. The landscape of almost a half a century, I cannot help that the days are growing shorter and I am half way to my demise. The big sleeper whispers in my ear and I turn up the music to drowned out the noise of the reapers chanting.

I realize that this is the best possible scenario and that this world is the only world we, I, have. I cannot help but to imagine the possibility that I may still be oblivious to the size of the world and its limitless potential, to my fault.

Every time I travel I find that there are so many inhabitants of the earth existing for their own satisfactions. They must be growing tired of living for the next event. I supposed this exhaustion is the same sentiment that keeps me from settling. It is what keeps my heart racing towards a destination where I amass a vast library of creations so that one day my manifestations can line my tomb. Only to be unearthed by some curious explorer wandering the cemetery randomly plucking out the names off a grave marker in an attempt to create a compelling story.

A narrative of an artist who never made it into the annals of history books. One that never let the the demons and angels of potential roam free through the world while alive. That none would have the chance to experience the man that is but only the man that once was. Only to be buried once again and in less that 2 generations be gone. Forever.

The life and death of an artist or creative is a miserable joy. This society has a sanctuary or a charity for many different types of people. Yet I am struggling to encounter the sanctuary where creatives can go to get help for the bipolar attention deficit depressions that tease out the very thing that keeps them alive.

We wear our crown of thorns and manage to crucify ourselves to suss out the extract of concentrated flow states to allow the release of exploration and creation.

Introverts by nature and extroverts in nature we seek to understand why it is that we just cannot allow. Criticized for complaining about that inability to just succeed without selling out. That business and pleasure must be a miserable conflict that could certainly be handled by a Charlie Runkle figure that perhaps is only a figment of our imagination.

Life and death of the artist becomes a painting displaying the contrast between the light and dark separating the paper from the ink. Dividing the words from the thoughts.

I look in the reflection and hope. Hope that this day will bring me great things. Hope that the world and its gravity will keep my grounded but allow my ride as fast as I can along the sidewalk and just as I hit the banks of the curb allow my to yank at the handle bars and leap far above the address painted on the face of that ramp. Allow me to have a smooth landing and keep peddling as hard and as fast as I want with no fear. With no hesitation.

Maybe this is a Journal

Maybe this is a diary of an insane person. The first time I heard the term High Function Autistism it all made sense to me. I self diagnosed myself with mild to severe HFA. I have been trying to structure this platform to conform to a target market or an avatar of my desire. I have been poking at this as if I am writing for someone else rather that writing for everyone else. I cant help but feel as if this platform is disposable. I am so used to writing in a physiscal journal that to fish my thoughts on a cloud just kills me. I think, what if the North Koreans use a weapon that does exist where they “fry” our electricity and wipe out the history we have all created? This is totally possible with a solar flare too. The Internet is far more delicate than most would think of.

I believe that our next big catastropy will be in the form of an electromagnetic pulse the wipes out our ability to have electric access and send up back to the dark ages. Some dark shit I know but this is something I think about when I decide to put my journal on 1’s and 0’s rather than quill and parchment.

Oddly enough I do have a hard cover journal in my room that I used almost daily that has a pen called the Livescribe and a special paper that reads my writing and pus it in a digital format. Not that is transcribes the text but copies my exact handwriting in real time. It uses and app that I can watch my words magically appear on the screen. I suppose I could look into the next level of this tech to see if I can find one that will take my cursive into fonts. That would be a good place for me to exist.

See? I am able to declare that this is in fact a journal. A place that I can empty my mind and reveal my dreams and nightmares. Speaking of which.

Fuck, I don’t even want to call it into existence.

I have been havin nightmares about January. I am reluctant to write this because by making this word of the after in to the living it may cause a ripple effect. The after being the time that we sleep. I call that a glimpse into what we have after death. I am 100% convinced that the afterlife is right under our noses and pillows. The place we go to when we sleep is the same places we go to in the big and final sleep. this is by far the most compelling evidence into life after death.

We clearly go somewhere else. The beliefs that we have about a god or a spirit will also translate there. So we live our lives in an effort to mold the shapes of our after by living a full life in this body. i believe once we enter the after we are able to remember this life and not feel physical pain but have a sense of sadness.

Our ability to control our emotions and our resistance to physical emotions to depression and sadness and fear will also carry on to the world after. We will be the same person and yet not the same. So if you life this life felling insecure about yourself then you will also be insecure there. that is is why starting today I must not let anything diminish my attempts to not be judged by anyone’s standard by my own.

If I allow the reflections and quanta of other peoples attempts to form thier existence, as brief as it is it will resonate in the echo of the after. Why then should I let someone I may or may not know be part of my forever. It would be the equivalent of letting every stranger throw a rock at me or tattoo me.

As for dreams they are part of the phenomenon of variety. Let’s use the two I recall from last night.

One was I was with my wife and the kids at the Living Desert in Palm Springs. As we were walking I saw a snake skin in the dirt. I thought is was large. Then from the feeling of it being a skin it was alive. I told Nicole and Jani to look out for snakes. As we walked there was another large one, and another. As we rushed to go inside a building there were a few baby rattle snakes lunging at m little girl. One appeared as if it hit the back of her calf. In that instant I was able to realize that this was a nightmare and in the same instant I shook myself awake.

I lay there with a racing heart. I suppose I should have looked at my Apple Watch to check my heart rate. I have been in a nightmare many times and knowing that it is a nightmare only when things got too hard to handle. With a strange ability to shake myself out of it.

Like a video game that is too intense or frustrating I and simply jump up and hit the power button to make it stop.

Allow me to consider then how this wil play out in the after. I believe that if we life this existence with a sense of hope that someone will save us or that this too shall pass o maybe even just be strong enough to suffer until the pain is gone this too will be the after. Because the pain will not be real and the loss of the person will also not be real so will the loss of a love one.

The suffering will be cured as fast as your soul can begin to see that this is the best possible existence and that there is no other.

This make me wonder about the implications of such an existence.

What if the connection we have in this life is limited to mental and elemental? What if the geographical distance between those we love were to disappear because there is not a mile or a wall between us? Does this mean that when we go into the after was will never see them again?

What is it to see them now?

It is the ability to touch and feel with our senses in the flesh. Yet there is this “other” sense that does not exist but is the strongest of all. I feel it in my chest when my kids hug me. Or when I have an orgasm. I feel it when I get into a hot jacuzzi after along day and when I have a great bowel movement.

It is comfort.

In the after we feel their presence but they are not present. We will sense the love that we feel now and we will be able to have experience or perceived experience. If in the after we want to be at the zoo or in front of a waterfall we will just be there in front of the walrus or water. We will basque in the beauty and awe that is the knowledge of the present. that feeling will fill out chest and our hearts.

It is comfort in the knowing that engages the flow of feeling. It is eternal and present. It is being in the moment with those we love by feeling their love. However it is not something that we will receive from another but a feeling we manifest in our own microcosm of reality.

How is that different than what we have now. Others that the ability to touch a fleshy surface and carry the weight of their hands or embrace of their bones wrapped in decomposing elements.

We are but 2 things in this life. Mental and Elemental. And one day, well one time, well soon, we will only be one thing. Mental. With this there is an absence of time and space. Only an existence of non existence.

As I write that works I sense this imaginary yet real shockwave of realization into a discovery similar to that time I became enlightenment of a sort.

Perhaps that same comfort is what draws the drug addict to use and ultimately abuse. It is was attracts the murderer to kill and the mother to nurture. It is the sense of our own purpose. Some want to help and some are more comfortable hurting. In a twisted mind many things are rational. I recall once being under the influence of laughing gas in the dentist chair. there was a moment that I was so comfortable I asked myself a question.

“If the dentist decided to cut off my arm would I care?” Seriously, you get weird thoughts. My answer was,”No.” I was so happy in the place I was in that nothing else mattered. Now in the after we also get to experience this same sense of comfort. it seems as if the life we are living, whether given to us by a god or a fluke of evolution we are able to be a version of ourselves for just a short while. This time is given to us to form a body of work and emotions and feelings that we can keep in the after.

If we live in fear we die in fear and then the after is fear. If we live with hope then we die with hope and the after is hope. If we live with love then we die with love and the the after is with love.

That feeling you get in your chest will be the light of your enteral existence. In the form of quanta the will perpetuate forever.

Maybe with are only one atom that has been traveling the cosmos and through our ability to manifest we were successful in securing a slot in this life as a human. but to suggest we are an atom would suggest that we are. When in fact we are not. this I know to be true.

Just by closing my eyes i had look into that which is the after. This is why the Buddhist close thier eyes when they meditate. this is why closing your eyes is part of the prayer. Why do we close our eyes to sleep and to pray and to meditate or even just to think?

It is for isolation. it is to experience the oneness with the existence of the after. The place where we go to when our bodies cannot take anymore. When our migraine with beyond excruciating. It is a place of comfort.

it is where we go to reflect and to feel that feelings we know best. The ones in the reflection of our eyelids. It becomes a place where even during pain we have the ability to diminish its effects.

Does this mean I want to die? WHy do I have this desire to create? What compels me to type this morning? Rather than turning on Netflix until I am ready to ride or run. I really enjoy easing into the morning. I would like to say I am a morning person but that would suggest that I am perky at 6 a.m.

I am most creative in the morning. It is a time when I am able to move very slowly as to not agitate the transition from the after into the present. It is that moment in the matrix when the plug is in the back of Neo’s neck and he plugs in. But not yet powering on. It is as if i am able to without necessarily jacking into the matrix allow for the remnants of the after to discharge the stored burts of trickled knowledge of the place I try to understand.

This is so strange.

I go throughout my day as a real estate agent and work hard to make money to finance my true passion. Becoming a prophet of sorts. Like some sort of Buddha or Christ figure that has a message for those who seek a deeper sense of purpose in life. I create to forms of content for others to consume. One is a format for the individuals that in my my are the least likely to see the other side of my dilemma. To be a robe wearing rabbi who sells homes?

I often think that if money were no object i would likely be a mess. Without the variety of my wrk life I would be insane with a need to fill a void that would clearly be a search for nirvana. If the need to provide for a family were not there and I was only in charge of provide comfort I would be in a race against time to squeeze experience into this life before it passes. This would lead me to drugs and alcohol in an efforts to sedate and stimulate the feelings of comfort when I am unable to convince others of my mission and to join me.

I would sit around and daydream and write poetry and paint only to become that long haired hermit with dirty jeans that you see wander the streets. Really. Imagine being a billionaire. This generation is seeing more billionaires that’s ever. this is making millions a standard for success and anything less that that is failure. It leaves us with a sense of lack that we try to satisfy by purchasing small trinkets and tech to provide comfort during the time we watch the wealthy on reality tv.

Yes, comfort is in fact the word of the day. Maybe this is why I like doing yoga. It is not comfortable but the pace is steady and it relieves a discomfort in my muscles and joints so that the rest of my day I am not crackling and limping. Sometimes I feel great afterwards and want to take on the world. Other times it is just a task to oil the moving parts.

And just like that my wife walks in the rooms and my kids are awake and my comfort in writing begins to fade. I begin to feel the pressure of the coming daylight erupting.

Success Against the Odds

Today I will begin a new life. Just as the echo and legend will live on of the 2017 Super Bowl, I too will come back from a failing position of mediocrity and come back to win the ultimate prize. The respect of my peers and colleagues. The adoration and admiration of those who stand by on the sidelines and cheer me on will raise me up high in their shoulders and shout words of my praise. Those who boos from the bleachers hoping to see me fall will only pound the walls and stomp their feet in the realization that i was undeniably the better man. Yes, today will be a countdown measure in quarters and timeout. The dawn, the morning, the afternoon and the evening, and the moments before I fall asleep.

I will not pity or belittle myself. I will know that every second that I spend on my psychological beratement will be a degradation of my character and a blemish on my legacy. There is not enough time to consider failure as an option for if there are on 100 years in my life plan I have already approached the half way mark. Even though this may seem as if there is plenty of time to achieve my goals and dreams of satisfactions it is far from coming fast. These seconds as I write frantically to expose my weakness are not gone forever but a form of brick and mortar on the foundation of the wall that will ultimately be the time capsule for my memories. That one day one individual or thousands can stand an sit along small wooden tables and discuss the theories that I manifest into existence in the one opportunity who achieve my visions of grandeur.

There was a moment or two in the last few weeks that I found myself in a state of depression. I confess that this was not only foreign but also familiar. Something that what once only an emotion limited to my teenage angst was now rearing is uglieness into my adult mind. I found myself drouwning in the sorrow of the vicious circle that was satisfaction with the pressure of impending failure. I was and still am in a position that is considered blessed and cursed at the same time. I can make with what I have something great or I can become crushed under the weight of the pressures of the debts to be repaid. Debts to society and financial institutions and worse of all the debts of the years of neglect on physical fitness. Even though I have made tremendous efforts to strengthen my vessel I have yet to even come close to the levels of health that would afford me the confidence of living to 100.

To be wealthy in finance and to be poor in health by 60 would be the ultimate cruelty that could occur. That I would be paralyzed or slowed down on my trip around the world or be unable to play ball with my great grand children would be a curse that would only be well deserved.

Things happens for a reason and I make those excuses reasonable.

The dead cannot be excused or forgiven. They have no say in the matter. Yet the richest bank in the world is buried in the ground. The vast fields of shrines dedicated to the dreams and hopes of so many that never took action because of fear or lack of time.

I have been facing my mortality lately along with a fear of lack. Having everything I need I always want two. If I go to the store to purchase an item, depending on the potential of its non existence on day I will buy 2 just in case. I am not sure who I have to blame for this justified and foolish worry for that which may never happen but I do. I suppose it happened many years ago when a software program for managing contacts changed its format and removed features. I can only image Ing that this became the root of my fear of loss. Crazy I know but its true. The software has gone through many revision since the early 90’s but the features and benefits I came to live with on a daily basis was never brought back.

Now I leverage every possible aspect of my life from a place of a fear of loss and hope for gain. A pain or pleasure formula that has me never quite satisfied and consistently tormented with the possibility of success and the probability of failure.

Why probable? Because it is easier to fail then it is to succeed. This is why there are so many more failures in the world. Those who live below poverty not by a lack of effort but by an abundance of not caring and allowing the flow to carry them. I realize there are many who work hard to achieve the minimum standards for food and shelter but that is not the ones I speak of. I am talking about those who avoid punch Ning the clock and look for the moments to work the system to their advantage because they feel entitlement based on discomfort in performing their duties.

Recently I have been really aware of the virus that is spreading in the world of self improvement in the form of motivations leveraging social media to force a false hope to those very same people. The individuals speak of this magical ability to Hustle your way to the top of financial riches by working 10 times harder than the competition and crushing the marketplace with obsession. Although I am one of the types that is gravitated towards these form of speakers I can help to feel as if there is something wrong with me because I am not internet famous or have amassed a large tribe of followers who would click buy now on my latest product. I was being brought into a world of expectation based on someone else’s career or industry.

I have come to discover the truest of expectations are that of what can be done based on what my heart sings for and avoids to hear the screams of. I fear the discomfort of having to ever change the course that I have plotted out of myself. I cannot imagine having it any other way but I can imagine having it a better way.

So today is destined to be a demonstration of that which makes me proud of my efforts and glad to perform the repetitious boredom of my vocation in an effort to achieve the level of confidence and courage necessary to be considered the best of the best.IMG_1054

Sunrise, Sandcastles and Sunsets

Our existence comprises of three of the most beautiful occurrences.

I was watching a movie last night called Mr. Nobody with Jared Leto. It is about an old man who reflects on his youth. I have always tried to live my day as if I have the ability to project my self into the future and see my old self reflect on the past. If you are able to do this you can really leverage the potential of regret and satisfaction.

I imagine being old and decrepit and unable to carpe the diem like I once did. Old bones don’t move so fast like they did once in the past. Even now as I sit here and write about it a lump forms in my throat. No shit, I am actually crying.

In this scene I am sitting back in a comfy chair watching my grandchildren play in the yard. It sounds totally cliche but it is actually a rocking chair on a porch of a house in the country with a white picket fence. I look down at my hands and they are withered and speckled with age spots and wrinkled. I lean back and I sigh. The time shifted without my permission.

Then I die.

My quanta surrounds the environment with an intense focus on the gentile weeping of my children and a breeze pushes leaves across the grass. As I hover over the scene of peace and sadness I feel nothing but bliss. I cannot comprehend the pain or suffering that they feel. I am no longer a condensed entity that is forced to wander the earth that is limited by time and space. I am part of space with no time. There is no sense of regret or reflection of what could have been. There is not recollection of how it feels to have felt. Only a broad and deep energy of warmth and an overall sense of well being.

This afterlife is a place where I can only enjoy concentrating my energy, that which is attracted by only things that reflect beauty and happiness and I, if that is was I am, or am not, have returned to the before and after. I find comfort in believing this theory of what happens when we die.

I also believe that when this happens we are not held accountable for our actions in this life. Those who we leave behind will be held responsible for dimming the light that was once ours. They will be the ones who hold the candle for what is a memory. This is what those on earth call a legacy. In the after, our only reward is that which we achieve in this life. We will have an understanding of what it meant to live a life full of physical pleasure and a life of giving and contribution. We will only be able to basque in the glory of what we accomplished in this physical form. In the after we will feel the presence of those who did greater things and be attracted to the energy which perpetuates the never ending pursuit of higher levels of bliss.

We will not feel. We will not sense jealousy or want as we know here because there is nothing to obtain. There will only be a varied degree of wanting and having all at the same time. So as we want and have in this live we shall want and have in the next.

Just as the drug addict or alcoholic is in pursuit of capturing the perfect high but never quite remains in that place we will be the same in the after. Only we will not sober up or come down.

This is why it is so important to realize these three occurrences of our lives. Sunrises, Sandcastles and Sunsets.

Our most blessed gift is received when we awaken from the death at dawn. Just as our dreams are neither here nor thier so is this place the after. Each morning we are the recipients of the greatest gift. It is the ability of choice. Our motivations and inspirations are formed by echo of what was just here and now gone. This transition into the physical realm is fascinating to me. Why is it that we are unable to notice this twice daily occurrence? I try and I try to lay in bed just before I fall asleep to witness the transition into the after. I am able to be aware of the transition a bit better when I am waking up because I am bobbing in and out of this realm. From waking to sleep and holding conversations that make no sense yet for some reason are not at all confusing. Imagine if we could get the transcripts of the five minutes before we sit up in bed. Or be able to play it back on our smartphone. Yet we do not question the chaos because the pleasure of resting is so sweet, It is bliss.

When we wake up we have a choice. We make that choice with deliberate intention and purpose. The majority of the early morning openers go on auto pilot and perform thier tasks in a mundane manner. Then there are those who wake to realize that this is a gift. They write thier affirmations, they kiss thier family, they make the coffee and breakfast for the kids. They chart out the day like it’s a vacation itinerary. Although the there are events in the calendar that they must conform to they are in charge of thier day.

They welcome the sunrise as opportunity and something to be thankful for. Thier goal is to build the most beautiful sandcastle. Knowing that once the sandcastle is built there will be a fleeting moment at sunset where those close enough to see it can watch it as the star drops behind it. The next morning the tides would have wished it away.

The past is like that sandcastle. Only the memory of its being built exists in the form of and echo in our minds. It is gone in the physical realm yet it’s grains of sands still remain. They remain as an opportunity to rebuild it once again into an even greater creation. The greater the construction the greater its ability to be appreciated.

We have, every day, the choice to drop to our knees and begin digging and shaping the greatest day of our lives. Nobody but yourself remembers or cares about the sandcastle that you once built. They are too busy either building or bragging about what they once built. Some talk about the times when it was better to build. Or they are complaining about the one that they were unable to build because the bullies kicked it down. They will not help you build and they will not care when the tides wash it away. We are all stretch along an infinite shoreline and we are all doing our best to create something worth enjoying at sunset. We each have our own interpretation of what is great and we each have belief in who makes the greatest sandcastles.

This moment, right now, is the only opportunity that you have to create something of substance. This day is the only day that matters. This is the best possible world because it is the only possible world. We have a choice to make and those choices will be judged only by ourselves and our peers each day at sunset. We will be dead soon but we may even live long enough to remember a few dozen sunsets. This is what drives me. Knowing that I am getting closer to death than I was yesterday. There is an hourglass measuring our eventual demise and there is nothing I can do about it. The only thing I have is this moment. A moment filled with potential to do something great. Something worth remembering.

What will my hands build today?

Nothing will ever be the same again

I dreamt last night that Donald Trump came to my door to discuss the polar ice caps. Perhaps it was because I found myself yesterday playing google earth looking for the most north and south ends of the earth. In the dream a consultant approached him On my porch and was pointing out that the North Pole and south pole were almost gone. As I was watching a time lapse of the event on thier tablet I began to worry. Moments later I was sitting with my wife describing the event and how screwed we were. I was leaning over a slab of slushy ice in my pool swirling it with a stick knowing this very cluster was the last of it. Like I was God and it was my job to keep it cold knowing it was not going to happen. She was continuing a normal conversation about work and I kept insisting that it did not matter and that in our lifetime we were going to see the earth’s end. I was not afraid more than I was upset that I did not create enough great works. That I was not legendary for my existence on this earth. As I battled with this raging in my mind I was also torn realizing that none of the human race mattered after the extinction. Regardless of our contributions.

It was a strange and curious clash between use and uselessness. That I would spend a lifetime trying to be a great person of good will and minor contribution to the art world and creativity and that I was no more valued than a serial killer locked up in a prison for life..or what was life of life on earth. Which was not long at all.

I thought about the love I made and the love I shared were emotions that I shared with others and that if there was nothing left to feel after death then what would be there?

I have a theory of what the afterlife is like and how our efforts may matter here but then again maybe they won’t. I compare it to an experience I had once in the dentist chair during a root canal. Funny right? Life after death epiphany from laughing gas.

There I was deep into what could only be described as the most intense introspective journey into the selfless mind with no concern for pain or pleasure. Just thoughts filled with emotions that had no sensations that the body and the elements could affect. Like a waking dream that I was able to control. A stark contrast from the dreams we have that allow anything to happen unless we practice lucid dreaming. Which I do, most often unsuccessful.

A thought enter my mind. “The dentist could take out a saw right now and cut off my arm and I would not even care. I do not need it in the world I am in.” Immediately a rush of panic flowed through my body. I was have a full blown panic attack with a drill in my mouth and I was convinced that I was going to die and that they had given me way too much gas. That my heart was going to explode. As I lay there paralyzed with fear I knew I had to calm myself back down and enjoy the high. I was indeed a very bad trip and I did not have a guide to talk me out of it.

My body was tense and the fear was crushing. Yet somehow I was staring into they eyes of the dental crew knowing they had no clue what psychosis I was enduring. To them they were at work performing a routine procedure on a patient. They would clean up and bill me only to repeat the process with someone else in the very same chair. I believed that this experience had to be unique. I have grown up inside the mind of a high functioning autistic genius. The HFA is self diagnosed and the genius is well documented in legend.

As my body began to relax once again I was able to immediately reflect on the fear that gripped me just moments ago. The calming effect was so serene that it took on a whole new revelation on the relationship with my mind, this body, and its surroundings. I began to understand that the vessel I was living in was built to suit one purpose. To train for wisdom that I can has in the afterlife or the after. Having the ability to feel physical pain and pleasure was a way to teach and enlighten the spirit that existed a a form of quanta. Or can I say non form of quanta. It was the seperation of the elemental and the mental.

There was a dissolving effect that became a part of the universe that intertwined with everything that ever was in the form of an echo. Just like the ripples of a pond after a pebble is tossed in, I was the pond. And so was everything else. I was the center of the vibration feeling only one wavelength. It was only pleasure and absolutely no pain. As I pondered the possibility of the worst things that could happen in this physiscal realm I was observing and I could not incite any feelings of fear or hate or regret or remorse. There was no way for me to imagine loss or gain, pleasure or pain. Just bliss. A bliss in knowing that once I was in this space that the pain of any moment in the elemental realm would not be remembered and if it was it would not be felt. It would only be known.

It was an infinite wisdom of all things from how the birds fly to how the bees pollinate. I was the pollen that grew the flowers and it was the sun that warmed the petals. I was the wind and the rain. I was the hurricane and I was the eye of the storm. I had a distinct and intuitive perception that this was not only the best possible world and that this was the best possible life but that there was also another. I understood that everything I was doing here on earth would manifest itself in a reflections that only I could see once I had passed out of the body. This awareness was silent a beautiful. Like sitting on a cliff on a warm summer day overlooking the ocean. It was snatching a yellow flower from the grass and not necessarily looking at it but rather holding it between your thumb and forefinger and allowing it to rest delicately in place. Then rolling the stem along the your fingertips. The soft yet firm fuzzy follicles that coat the green shaft filling the valleys of your fingerprints. Contemplating the moments that have passed and the beauty of this one.

I was living in the afterlife and yet I was alive. I was standing in the doorway looking at only what could be described as the boundaries of imagination. It was bliss. I believe that in the life after death there is only bliss. I believe that although the in this life we can be punished and rewarded by our actions in the form pain and pleasure we will not be punished or rewarded in the afterlife. There is no afterlife just after thought. Only a transition to blissfullness. We will exist in the universe in a formless matter or non matter that has only one “feeling”. Joy. It is love. Those who have disregarded the opportunity to capture more moments in this life will not be penalized. They will just not be able to understand this energy that is far more vibrant then they are. Or are not. Because this element is not it is also. Those who perpetuate evil or hatred will not have in this realm. They will only have not. There existence will one day be forgotten but there forever bliss will be that of a cheap flashlight with old batteries that requires a smack on its side to work rather than that of the energy of a thousand suns. Forced to exist in the shadows and an echo of what they do remember was thier only chance at laying a foundation for forever. It will not be a cry but a sigh.

Once we leave the earth we will be able to see and sense the world we left behind but it will be without the sensation that we know as hurt or regret. It will be the ability to stand in the a fire and feel the warmth but not get burned. Those blessed in the after will be blessed in this life. Not because we are special but because we specialize in actively being special. Not that we dedicate our lives in the relentless pursuit to end war and cure the world of disease or end hunger. Some of us are not built like that. This is what makes us unique. We are able to experience our own form of satisfaction and share our interpretation of love with others as we see best suited to provide glimpses of bliss.

We cannot fear and we should not hate. We cannot worry about the polar ice caps but we can try to do something about it if that is what matters to you. The degrees of how this affect relates to your interest in experiencing and perpetuating bliss is different for everyone. Some have less interest in contribution. This is not bad or good. It is only that you ignorantly exist in this life not knowing that there will be great pleasure in the after. Unlike a dream there will be no nightmare or torment. There will only be varying degrees of love and bliss. We will be able to look at the creation and understand the lack thereof. It will not hurt it will just not seem better. There will be no high or low but only varying degrees of comfort. We will seek the opportunity to capture higher higher states of joy but it will be unfulfilled and yet not empty.

This is why we feel a sense of loss when we lose a loved one. We know they existed and yet they are non existent. Still the echo of thier spirit lives on in our hearts as if we are holding a candle in the window preparing thier return. When in fact it is they that hold a light guiding us to live this life in memory of theirs. Not only honoring the friendship but paying respects by injecting the energy in our cells to stand up and live more because we are dying too soon. And soon enough we will basque side by side and as one in the after. We just have to wait.

Trust me your on the waiting list. Your number will be called.
Be patient. Be ready. Be diligent in the pursuit of all things great for greatness awaits.

Similar to this life in that we seek out forms of pleasure and avoid that which causes pain. Some of us can find satisfaction in complacency and feel comfort in mediocrity. While others are never satisfied with the moment. There are those who seek thrills in the form of a drug or a or a deal. There are those who find it with lack of and others by giving. There are those who starve and there are those who fast. Each one of us has a chance to experience the 6th sense. Intuition by knowing the 5 senses. That which only exists in constant grasping at connecting the element and the elemental while feeling both pleasure and satisfaction. If we are able to experience this joy and discover how we can enhance it by sharing this experience in real time with those who matter is the purpose of life and the reason to live. Regardless of you past and the moment that continues to creating a non existent future we have a choice to make now.

Although the polar ice caps are likely to melt by no fault of our own other than speeding it up a bit we cannot avoid knowing that we are all screwed. Life’s a bitch and then you die so fuck the world and let’s get high. Not in the sense of rolling a joint and sitting on the couch but more like rolling out of bed and creating a moment worth remembering in the afterlife.