Nostalgia…Meet Serendipity Let’s Hang.

It feels like it was just yesterday. Maybe because it was just last year. But pressing play on Colin Hay’s Long Way Home was all it took. I almost turned on the fireplace and made an English muffin and a cup of coffee. It would have been more than Déjà vu. It would have been a time machine. I feel it in a place somewhere between my lungs and my heart. It was nostalgia. It was serendipity. It was pity for my lost years and hope for my years that I have left. It was optimism in the moment and thankfulness for what I hold so near to my soul and it compelled me to write.

Fortunately, I call myself a writer, so this will make appropriate the mystery of this sense of morning melancholy that would perhaps bring me into a flow state. If not for only a brief moment.

The holidays are upon us and the feelings I grasp to capture and put in a bottle become far more frequent during this time of year. Maybe it is the crisp air. It could be the perpetual darkness the shut down my vision like a fog so that I cannot allow my mind to see to far. Only grounding me int h=the present like an isolation chamber or sensory deprivation tank. Whatever it is I like it.

I want to live in it, this moment forever. I want to be in touch with my present in a never-ending loop with only my actions to break up the pattern and enjoy that which is in front of me and now want for what imagine could be better if only I possessed it.

If only I could be somewhere else. Yeah, that would make it even better. Like being on vacation and seeing a beautiful landscape and darting into the nearest bar for a drink to hold. Yes that would be the cherry on top. Only to find out that the minute you complete preparations for the moment it has passed. Never to be captured.

Could I have just settled for oxygen instead of spirits?

Fortunately, I do not drink anymore. Not that I quit, I just did not continue. I always imagined that if I could stop drinking that then I would be able to enjoy more of these landscapes. Now that I don’t partake, it is no different. I was quite the party animal in my younger years. I often thought then that if I stopped these unspoken habits that I would be able to be present and feel more often this very same moment more often. This too was not was I was missing.

Is it that I needed to plant seeds of the moment so that I could live them again in the future? Like little love notes to myself to remind me that life is beautiful if only I was to stop looking here. Here being the future when I open the note and here also being the moment I wrote the note to myself long ago.

Even as it sits in front of me like a fire-breathing dragon panting hot air on my cheek and the sound vibrating in my skull, and my eyes adjusting to the breaking dawn, I am still looking upstairs to the aspirin in the medicine cabinet. Thinking to myself if only I did not have this mild soreness from yesterdays run. Yet I know that if I get up from this place I would return to a room that has been changed.

The furniture would cast a shadow in two directions. One from the fire and one from the fire of the morning sun. My heart rate would be elevated, and my skin would be flush from the quick detour.

I would re-enter this room only to find that this life was not the one that I had hoped. THe sense of presence in the moment would be like a beautiful butterfly that floats away as you reach for your camera. The snapshot would never exist.
LIke that special song before sunset. The very same couch next to the unlit fireplace. Pressing play and lighting a match. Watching the room fill with light and writing frantically as if it is about to disappear. That I was doing this very same thing one year ago to the day and by simply recreating the moment I could feel this way. Only one thing is missing.


The Mooon and New York City

I woke up early this morning to the sound of a Labrador puppy yelping to use the frosty grass as a misting grounds. When I came down it was still dark. The last few weeks I have been able to beat the sunrise and create a theme for this moment to write. I know that this pattern will soon end. They always do. I make every effort to punctuate these moments of these particular seasons of life with a soundtrack to this emotion that gets wrapped into the dawn. I cannot help myself. My life’s stages are always anchored by a soundtrack.

But before I activate the playlist, the song “Moon and New York City” by Christopher Cross popped in my head. I listened and watched then allowed YouTube to guide me down the rabbit hole of suggested videos. This led to Air Supply, All Out Of Love and Nothing At All. Soon after I was on a Philippine American Idol clip and that was when I knew I had gone too deep. The Internet is making it far too easy to get distracted. I stood in front of the coffeemaker for one more cup and opened my iTunes playlist. I keep a playlist called “That Mood.” The Moon and New York City gets added but not Air supply. Why? Why does one song play the right chords in my heart and others only play a loop of pity for my soul and those of mankind? The place between melancholy and serendipity is a fragile place that must be curated carefully.

My morning ritual sets the pace for the day and the weather sets the tone. I am ready for the next phase of enlightenment to begin. The second my headphones play the sweet song I begin to move in a rhythm and an old feeling enters my body. An old memory is triggered of a time when I would move to a song as if there was a camera watching me and I was part of a music video. Has this ever happened to you? It’s a childish thought. Not that it is immature but that it is hopeful innocent. As a child I always imagined that the people watching my actions were somehow a part of making me famous. As I would ride my bike to the stop light I would feel that every car at the light was watching my every move as if it was poetic genius and that there was something special about this boy. My body rhythms performing in a synchronized and deliberate ballet dance of time and space.

Maybe I was dropped on my head but I am all better now. This feeling does not go away though. I can’t help but to feel as if there is still something inside of me like a volcanic eruption lying dormant or a tectonic plate building up for the big one. I think that I have not arrived because the journey would have to be long and the destination would mean death is near. Waiting for my real life to begin is a song. The wishful thinking that something big will happen remains a dream. I remain in this dream and I refuse to wake up. I have to make something big happen. The volcano is not the eruption. The volcano is the gradual rising heat below the surface. The quake is not the shaking it is the sand sitting patiently building with potential energy mounting a consistent pressure on its limits.

How long will this last?

I try to keep the voices in my head from arguing. Business and pleasure, bills and pay checks. Casting all worries aside I can allow the feeling to enter my body and allow freedom from my concerns over the trivial stuff that rattles my foundation for inner peace. I look to the experts for solace and when they don’t give me the answers I seek the wisdom of the invisible legends that existed before written accounts of their presence. I fall into the fairy tales and wonder if I should feel guilty for not paying a tithing to a powerful force that may or may not give a shit about my recent sins and regrets.

I know right from wrong and I let the moment guide me until I am ready to take the wheel. I know that although I may never be bigger than my potential I can always allow this subtle ambition to flex its biceps when I need them.

There was a time in my life when I walked along side that inner voice with a pen and a paper in hand to takes notes. It was a time that I recorded lots of poetry and revelations. I allow the wisdom of the unknown to manifest itself in the form of element from mental. Allowing the free flow of thoughts and emotion capture the moment forever immortalizing the moment in time. One that I can look back on a recall that day or wonder if I was even the one who felt this way. I keep a log if the day as if it will one day matter. I create in multiple mediums will little focus expecting that if anything one day the children will fight over dads shitty painting of the lake.

As long as this flame stays warm and the moment calls me just before the dawn to wake up and say something I will do just that. The ability to express the engagements of the flow state with a cup of coffee and a fireplace is a gift. I am happy to wake up to unwrap it. This is a fresh lottery ticket and the prize is $86,400. I must spend it all today with no taxes and I cannot take it with me. There is no guarantee that this is not as good as it gets and there is certainty that there is no alternative. This must be the best possible life and optimism prevails.

Fear Is the Fastest Way to Flow

I was jolted out of my bed. I was just about to fall back to sleep. I was lying there in the pitch black of the December Morning. It was somewhere between the conversation of my mind that I felt compelled to wake. No matter how hard I tried I was unable to shake of that last bit of hope that tugs at my sheets in the pre-dawn of the day.

I had just finished writing my first book and was permanently on the path to enlightenment with practical applications. I mean that in the most genuine way. I have to constantly seek out the flow state that the enlightened ones feel or I must artificially make it myself.

But what would I care if I have to sleep? My questions keep coming about all the various methods I learned that have not triggered this feeling of motivated ecstasy.

My head was so well rested in the space age polymer organic pillow. My sheets are seldom dry around my pillow. My brain burns calories as I sleep and sometimes way too many. So much that it secretes from my skull.

So I started playing games that might at best force me into a really cool lucid dream. I knew I was awake but also asleep.

I thought most of all the active engagement of the flow state is where I was to live. A place where time stands still and the mind races. The body has no choice to fight or flight. It overwhelms me and then it fades. That feeling! I just had it. The one where you get possessed to rise for the deep sleep and get up and manifest something great. Capture it!


I heard a string of a guitar. one loud and powerful G note. Yes. I fucking heard a guitar play in my room. My eyes popped open. It hurt so bad to open them. they were swollen like I wept before bed. But I did not. It was the most beaufiful day of the evers. My family got up, went to Knott’s Berry Farm and the to Mideval Times for dinner and a show. Everyone was safe at home. It is four days to Christmas. The chill of the air was never so crisp.

Suddenly, I was flushed with a very real emotion. Fear. It gripped me in bed raised my hear trate. Imaging raising your pulse by just thinking it. I was afraid for the end of the world but most afraid of the end of mine personally. This is the tihought that I most try to live in when I want to feel time.

Capturing the essence of living in the state of flow must be triggered if I want to flip it on and off. I cannot sit and wait for this. The time stands still and my nasal paggeses began to crakle open. My body was awake andI was there.

My eyes hurt so bad. I knew I had to get up. I walked in a virtago state of mind as if I was beaten by a case of beer. Hit in the hit by 24 cold hard cans stacked into a cardboard box. It was distincly painful.

I was stumbling down the hall and I had just one thin on my mind. Visine. I turned the light on in the coset and looked at my dimmed reflection. I wasunable to focus. my eyes were serioiulsy wobbling in my skull. I actually thought I was going blind. What did I eat last night. Why are my thoughts going so crazy with reason and purpose to go get caffinated and create?

Vertigo. I have only experienced it once. I was at a meeting and when I stood up I felt list I was floating on ice skates. I made it to the car and when I sat it was fine. It was scary as hell  on that ride home. Shit, did I just stroke out? I went home and barely made it up the stairs and told my wife order pizza I need to lay down. I never lay down in the daytime so this was odd. For the next 18 hours I could not stand up without feeling this horrible sensation of falling. It was dizzy with no nausea. It went away. Maybe strokes are corridors in the mind that slam shut and my task it to open as many as I can until it happens. I have not felt it since tat day so many years ago.

Even as I write this now my vision is still blurry but my eyes are white. My wife has to wake up in the morning to but drops into dry eyes for her contacts. I have always had a tendency to have eye drops to wake my eyes up. Really, I use them every day after a shower. Can one be addicted to those? I don’t wear contacts. But in my reflection this morning I was frazzled by the concern for my vision. Was I stroking out?

Fear was what was in me but I was taming its energy and making it my source of inspiration. My stomach cramped so I had to sit on the throne. I wallowed through the pain of a bowel movement of the biblical proportions. You know the stomach wrenching cramps that have you praying for relief? It must have been what birth felt like for my slumbering wife at this dreadful hour in the am.

My mouth was dry.

What was that guitar note? Why did it play so clearly in the air? It was not a dream. I own a guitar but have recently moved it to another part of the house. It was my essence telling my to get up. Do not miss another minute. Use the fight or flight in your unjustified endorphin spike.

I had engaged into an active state of flow by just thinking of the time I had left on this earth. I was fearful and overcome by this grip of terror and I forced it into my will. I stood up and chanted one thing. Coffee.

I got upstairs and here I sit.

I am settled into a normalcy and my body no longers feels the message that was shouting at me just a half an hour later. I was lifted by a power and now the energy of that fear was consumed. I made it through a serioulsy rough panic attack before dawn. My back hurts and the vacation vibe is telling me to pop a Vicodin.

Curse you dreaded whore. You white piece of chalk! How can you call me on that habit so early. This pain is my body telling me to shift. Not to shut down.

I get up for a sip of water and walk into the upstaris bedroom. The closest water source in the house. I sleep with water on my nightstand. My wife grabs me and the warmth of the bed summons. I MUST resist. I cannot miss this dawn.

The sun was not going to come out today. The clouds fill the skies and the rooftops are dripping. I don’t see rain from my window but the sounds of the rain hitting the patio wood from the rain gutters keeps a metronome of awareness of this passing moment.

How can I sustain this feeling? Its that so similar feeling that you can see when Neo Downloads Kung Fu. Its that feeling Bradley cooper gets from the NZT. It’s what Lucy gets in her system from a kick to the stomach. Its an esoteric vibe that covers your skin with warm fuzzies. it makes you the best possible you  in the moment. I am not waiting for my life to begin I am in it.

My life is the only one I am getting and I have it in the moment. If those two remain actively engaged in my mind and I take my body into action I am effective. So from this moment I must be careful what I put into my system. Every meal moving foreword can take me away from this feeling.

I will try to describe this sensation.

My mind forces me to look up. I think of the planet and all of its inhabitants. I imagine the rice fields in a remote destination. I imagine the Eiffel Tower. What was that guitar note? It was the moment when the feeling was made into its presence. The now that I was looking for. I get this warmth best with coffee well brewed and in Shangri La.

That is what I call this perfect loft I decorated Recently I bought this home for the view of the valley and knowing well that it would inspire. Inspire me to make money. Little did I know that the room with a view was to become my creative zone free from the distractions of work. It is perfect and I own it. I own it only in the moment. I have everything I need. Now what would posses me to harness this gift like a superpower.

I think about what makes me want to become so great that i would dedicate a room and a view to a keyboard and some smooth Jazz playing in my Beats by Dre headphones. I am spoiled.

I am blessed by my skill and cursed by my will.

How can I reach the masses? I think about what would Jesus do if he had the internet?

He would be an internet channel on YouTube for us to watch perform miracles. I wonder even if he beat out PewDiePie it would make the world much different. He would have products to sell or maybe not. Not everyone would follow. Even with the whole walking on water and curing illnesses. Well I suppose that over time he would make it so that everyone was healthy and we would laud him as a great doctor. Would he achieve world peace?

I know he stopped a fight on the mountain when his buddy had his ear sliced. And he managed not to get his ass beat for blaspheme a few times. He even started a riot at a market and managed avoiding arrest. But could he convince everyone to live in a utopia of endless milk and honey with no pain or suffering?

There will always be opposition. I cannot see how this could ever end. As long as there is always pain and suffering and want and greed the world could never heal. He would make crops grow and we would praise him as a great farmer.

Maybe he would run promos on the banner promising a iphone for every subscriber or follower. He would buy 3 or four and toss them into a basket that then replicates iphones just like feeding the masses with quenchable thirst.

Si then I must begin to create compelling conversation into text and share these epiphanies and templates for getting into the zone so that you too can live in Euphoriatopia. A permanent state of bliss and awareness of time locked into gear customized by the moments interruption. IT become an energy that knocks you off balance and twists your eyes sockets like a gypsy woman channeling the spirits over her crystal ball. It become part of that reckless abandon to the concerns of the past and wide open future.

Its so easy to get sucked into the vacuum that is better known as the day to day grind and the honey do list. This is why I like writing with a pen and paper still. I fell the connection with the paper much easier than I do with a keyboard.

Then the feeling fades.

The thought of snapping back to reality becomes real and that wonderful drug wore off. What happened? I get the feeling that if we were to live in this bliss for too long it would become familiar therefore settling us back into complacency. We would once again be forced to wonder what it is to feel no bliss. As humans we must be stimulated. Some more than others. I have a high threshold for stimulation. I must feel as if I am actively engaged in a task with purpose or I am not alive.

The body weakens and its arousal is no more.