Master Teacher Of The Light-An Epic, Disjointed Tale Of Disease, Recovery, and Healing

The following is an epic collection of thoughts about and experiences of my life.

Master Teacher Of The Light

More than once, certain members of our human race have had “mountain top” experiences, where true insight has been gained into understanding life, love, and both the ephemeral, and eternal, natures or aspects of reality, or That One. That One becomes the source for all future understanding and engagement with the world.

That One could see the unity of all creation, and how all systems of thought tend to separate us from each other, rather than unite.

That One saw how the limits of love shared was typically tribal in nature, and rarely extended beyond the imaginary boundaries of their perceived communities.

That One saw how organized religion had become a tool for the political powers of the day, and no longer existed to serve the needs of the spirit, but instead to follow the dictates of those male power figures who inaccurately, and sometimes falsely, interpret the scriptures to control people, and arrange selfish outcomes.

That One saw how the rich and powerful within the religion used its truth to dominate and control others.

That One saw these religious power figures actually monetize their brethren, to see how their “flock” could bring them wealth through their supersititious tithing, or offerings to their “God”.

That One saw that the poorest in spirit occupied the most fertile ground for healing, yet were the most separated from any benefits of their religion.

That One saw that the religious power of the day was corrupt beyond repair.

That One saw that all sense of religion needed to be “born again”.

That One came down from the mountain top to bring the good news to the people, that they did not need their religion anymore to keep them philosophically imprisoned.

That One then advised the world:

If their “religion” does not allow for them to love another as themself, then discard those dark aspects of their religion, honor the underlying spirit of love, and affirm the dignity and value of the human being through the healed human heart (which is the source of all true religion).

That just might mean removing the log from our own eyes (even if the log is our very own religion), before attempting to remove the splinter from another (yes, this is the inventory step).

It means stop monetizing humanity for business purposes.

It also means separating the Church from the State.

It means taking personal inventory, and when wrong, promptly admit itl

It means lying, cheating, stealing, destroying, murder, greed, selfishness, destroying the animal and plant kingdom and the like are antithetical to the spirit of love which has created this universe, therefore they are unacceptable patterns of behavior only reserved for those who have chosen to stay asleep..

You know who That One is, because That One lives today, and it is not just Jesus. That One has existed since the beginnings of the illusion of self, and other, and the illusions created by competing philosophies. That One has the voice for God, for Truth, for Love, and Life, bubbling up inside of their hearts, just waiting to be listened to, and obeyed. And That One understands all to well the difficulties in bringing Truth and Love to the masses, because in the masses is where corruption of thought gets institutionalized and normalized, instead opting to bring it to humanity one person at a time.

And, to those whose hearts are hurt by the Trump phenomenon, crucifixion feels almost real, even today. White supremacy and the evil attached to it, and now its linkage back to American Christianity through its illusory link with Trump, has sown the seeds of its own destruction. But, it may take a generation or more for that to happen I am afraid. With Bannon professing apocalypic visions of our future, I hope that we collectively refute this evil notion, and all of the ignorant, dangerous people who support it, before Trump and Bannon lead us into their preconceived Armaggedon..

This truly is a most fundamental dialogue, discussion, argument, investigation into the very nature of consciousness, and how we name objects and subjects, and understand reality itself. Those whose backgrounds are quite superstitious and irrational are now trying to dominate the collective understanding of reality, by destroying it and offering alternative illusory postures that have great hypnotic appeal, with ALMOST NO RELATIONSHIP TO GOD, TRUTH, OR LOVE, WHATSOEVER.

Writing to Facebook is an interesting proposition. I usually feel like a lone voice in the wilderness calling out to unlistening people, and then I get some amazing responses, occasionally, that let me know that people still love me (though not my words sometimes-Hi Sharon!). The point is to keep speaking out against the oppressive forces of the day. The chances of changing anybody’s mind on the Trump’s American Alternative Christianity team is almost zero, so it is about reigning them in, publically repudiating them, and making sure that the rest of humanity understands the dark, evil intentions of this mindset, and administration.

The fruit is dying on the vine for me. Facebook has become the graveyard for my written words. I am giving and receiving little value from being connected through Facebook. I will leave this vehicle for those who are still moved by its unique pseudo- connective structure.

I now see how my relationship with Facebook is an outpicturiing of my damaged white American male ego structure, which seeks support from those who cannot give it, seeks love from those who cannot supply it, and seeks a listening ear from those who do not have the time to lend it.

Real live people experienced directly with all of my senses, and my open heart and balanced mind, are the only requirements for more successful human connections, NOT TECHNOLOGY. Five years of care-giving and support for my handicapped father may have contributed to my sense of isolation, and now I am moving away from that posture, now that more support has been coming available to help. I have begun to be reintroduced to the real world, of which i have missed greatly (my time-based mind tells me that I was not missed, but I am going to ignore those “dead” aspects of myself, and reinterpret myself in terms of the present moment of experience, where all real value is created and apperceived)..

In the words of the Course In Miracles, this posting activity may be just another “call for Love”. Only insane people seek love where it cannot be found, so I must be fine tuning my sanity search by writing on Facebook, and reaffirming in my own mind my unsatisfactory relationship with this superficial vehicle of human connectivity. I am far more likely to find my dirty laundry hanging here, than to find someone who wants to read or understand my personal truth, anyway.

Facebook is a perfect mirror for me to see myself, and, in the seeing, I am changed.

We have only words and thoughts to share here, I can’t give you a wink, smile or a hug through this medium.. You will never feel the warmth of my heart, or the peace of my soul, by reading my words.

MALE TERRORISM:

I have made a personal acquaintance with the Hindu God, Lord Shiva, the god of Destruction. Of all the “gods’ that the human race consciously or unconsciously worships, this aspect of most American male egos needs some dissection and examination, so that the entirety of our human race will no longer be hypnotized by its apocalyptic spell.

The unconscious male, Christian, American, Russian, Muslim, Jew, or whatever label you like, is the seedbed for true terrorism in our world.

I will, once again, submit a great series of exchanges between Alfred and Batman (Bruce Wayne), from within the Batman movie, the Dark Knight, showing how the writers caught the very essence of the “God of Terror” that lives within us:

Bruce Wayne: [while in the underground bat cave] Targeting me won’t get their money back. I knew the mob wouldn’t go down without a fight, but this is different. They crossed the line.

Alfred Pennyworth: You crossed the line first, sir. You squeezed them, you hammered them to the point of desperation. And in their desperation, they turned to a man they didn’t fully understand.

Bruce Wayne: Criminals aren’t complicated, Alfred. Just have to figure out what he’s after.

Alfred Pennyworth: With respect Master Wayne, perhaps this is a man that *you* don’t fully understand, either. A long time ago, I was in Burma. My friends and I were working for the local government. They were trying to buy the loyalty of tribal leaders by bribing them with precious stones. But their caravans were being raided in a forest north of Rangoon by a bandit. So, we went looking for the stones. But in six months, we never met anybody who traded with him. One day, I saw a child playing with a ruby the size of a tangerine. The bandit had been throwing them away.

Bruce Wayne: So why steal them?

Alfred Pennyworth: Well, because he thought it was good sport. Because some men aren’t looking for anything logical, like money. They can’t be bought, bullied, reasoned, or negotiated with.

SOME MEN JUST WANT TO WATCH THE WORLD BURN.

Cue in Trump and Bannon’s white supremist, Christian apocalyypic visions and propaganda, and one can see a phenonmenon that our culture rarely speaks about, because male patriarchy dominates the truth, the discussion, and the conclusions.

Within all men lies the seeds of the destruction of our very planet Earth. It has been given many names over time, but the end result is that when men are stressed at a high enough level, we will self-destruct (including other destruction, as well) if we perceive our creations are imperfect, and no longer deserve our love, respect, and support.

A rational, introspective, evolving human being would use our imperfection to hone our insight into unfolding a higher reality within ourselves, but for most men, such a change is threatening, and healing is regarded as a threat to our very being. I let “healing” chase me through the gates of hell, to Death’s actual doorstep, and only when I made a decisioni to change the way i look at life, could help come my way.

Yes, the collective insanity of the American male (perhaps the world male) is on display right now. Only those men in denial, or with limited awareness of self and other, would ever deny this fact.

Cue in all of the murder/suicides, alcohoism, drug addiction, alienation, child abuse, homelessness, monetization of humanity for the benefit of the few, and, ultimately, insanity, and we see the dark aspects of the world we now live in. This unspoken internal terrorist is the ultimate bullying behavior that we consciously, or unconsciously, utilize as men, when we have had our egos threatened, with no safety outlets perceived.

Only desperate, disconnected human beings would place their faith in this century’s version of the anti-Christ. Trump, Conway, and Bannon (that the three-headed lying monster) have their plan for ascendency after they deploy their Apocalyptic Insurrection.

SOME MEN, AND WOMEN, JUST WANT TO WATCH THE WORLD BURN.

save yourself, please.

For those few who have landed on my postings and tried to understand my “message”, thank you, and I will see you, and love you, in the real world. We could never love each other here, where only words and images reign supreme.

For the last time, please save yourself. If we are not understanding and conquering the forces of oppression that live within ourselves, then we are the unconscious part of the oppression of the rest of humanity

Bruce Paullin, signing off!

January 28, 1986. This was one of those most disturbing and amazing days in American history, as well as with my own personal history. Many citizens of our country had their hopes and dreams dashed, with the 7 American heroes who died 31 years ago today.

Had it not been for an overly cautious pharmacy technician, January 28, 1986 would have been my final day on earth, as well. My search for truth began right here, on this very day, with the Challenger explosion symbolic of my own terminally damaged life up to that time, and nothing has been the same for me since. My hopes for “outer space” were dashed when I chose a life of alcoholism and drug use, married a psychotic woman, and withdrew from a total Air Force scholarship when they would no longer promise me a fighter pilot’s training upon graduation (I thought that this was my path to becoming an astronaut). Being a ‘ground engineer” just did not bring any enthusiasm to me at the time, and I felt “grounded” by the experience, and I never did recover from it, at least until I found my “spirit rocket” in 1987, and afterwards.

My “spirit rocket” now lifts off daily, without the extra encumbrance of religious and cultural misunderstanding, judgement, and superstition (which impedes all spiritual progress). Love and acceptance of myself and all others (INCLUDING ALL ANIMAL LIFE) now unfolds within me as my primary, life affirming propellant.

I still remain concerned for the “unaware ignorance” that is so prevalent within too many sections of our society, including the American Christian church, of which I have rarely felt connected to. Using a church to get to the truth and beauty of Life is like using a worn out Volkswagen Beetle to drive around the world, with a map outdated by several thousands of years. It is much too philosophically restrictive, time consuming, with no guarantee that anybody will ever arrive, no matter how much we try to match “what Jesus would do”. It is about what we are not doing well, and where we can improve, right now, in this moment, to help unfold divine intention. Positive changes follows the hearts’ intentions, if they are pure

Someday the rest of the world will wake up, and realize that all of our technology is only a symbol for the true power that we all have access to, if we only were to fully explore the full range of our consciousness. My closed mind and heart was eternally grounded, and would have NEVER freed itself from darkness’ grasp, until I accepted personal responsibility for the brokenness, and self-destructive and other-destructive life that I had co-created for myself and with others, see the damage that those illusions caused, and became willing to have a different, more spiritually oriented type of life experience.

I die daily, to all that is not like my true nature. I do not need pills or philosophical ideas to separate me from life’s goodness. I now see the good that is really good, and all of the illusions of self that others, and the past versions of me, offer up to the world daily for its conditional acceptance, or its usual rejection.

WOW, WHAT A RIDE!

Here are some simple, and not so simple, human needs coupled with spiritual intention:

To belong, to feel safe while belonging, including the desire to help and protect others while helping oneself,

To speak up, and feel like we really were heard, and not have our spirit layered over with anothers’ error in reasoning and judgement,

To be able to listen to another at the deepest level possible, and be present in the spirit of understanding, cooperation, and collaboration.

To feel whole, and to be able to recognize that wholeness, not only within ourselves, but within all others, even those living in alternative realities.

To love all others, as well as to be accepted, and loved, with as few conditions attached as possible. Unconditional love was never meant to be reserved just for a mothers’ love for her child, so it is a great evolutionary objective to attempt to be a channel for it.

To evolve, for if we do not, we become subject to the forces of friction and chaos inherent within a closed mind, and system, resulting in higher physical and mental disease and disfunction.

FAILURE TO HONOR THESE NEEDS WILL RESULT IN THE CONTINUATION OF OUR PRESENT DAY CULTURAL CHAOS AND DISFUNCTION, WITHOUT THE POTENTIAL FOR HEALING.

I have written a letter to the American Christian (especially to the white Anglo-Saxon males within the “movement”, who tend to view life much more fragmentally than their feminine counterparts). This message may be perceived as quite reactionary, and it carries a different sort of “love” for my Christian religion professing friends and acquaintances, and frenemies, than they might be accustomed to receiving, and it might impact them in unanticipated and undesirable ways. In the program of Alcoholics Anonymous, we call the writing that is to follow as “taking another’s inventory”, as well as taking my own inventory. I hereby am placing the indolent, unaware white American males’ version of Christianity on notice that no religious group is too “established” or “sacred” to obviate the powers of individual and group awareness and introspection by evolving minds, and I am throwing as much fear and caution to the wind as possible while I attempt to explore my relationship with Christianity.

I just can’t help resist the temptation to comment on three of the greatest liars of our time, Donald Trump, the fear and ignorance based human mind, and the American Christian tradition, as practiced by those with a fear and ignorance based mentality. There will be plenty of truth revealed in the following writings (AS I SEE IT) as well as some rhetoric. This message has been over 2000 years in the making, and it has been contributed to by pagans, excommunicated Christians, witches, warlocks, Lutherans, Protestants, the Christian Left, atheists, pantheists, the “anti-christ” (not the “one” a majority of Christians misunderstand), myself, and, finally, whatever name is given to the religious “out-groups” of the day (In America, the “in group” has always been Christianity, of course). The message is still being refined every day by those trying to understand the real life that we share, and how to best collaborate with each other, and our planet, to achieve a more stable measure of cooperation and peace, and improving the health of a planet sickened by the collective greed and stupidity of mankind.

First off, I have to admit that I have a couple “irons in the fire”, as far as my relationship to Christianity, and a fear and ignorance based mindset, goes. I was first introduced to Christianity when I was around 6 years old, when my parents made sure that my sister and I attended Sunday school while they went to Sunday church services. Fortunately for me, I did not have to attend often, due to my father not being able to attend frequently. Memorable moment: Teacher says that Jesus died for my “sins”, and that his blood saves me from my all that is wrong with me. God accepts the sacrifice of his “only son” to cover the penalty for all of my sins. HUH? Even as a child, I was appalled by the barbarity of this statement, and it quite confused and concerned me for all subsequent times in my life.

I did not know it at the time, but part of my woundedness as a human being revolved around not being accepted or heard at the most critical junctures of my early life, which created within me the concepts of “the world is not a safe place”, “I am worthless and I have no value”,”i have to be better than everybody else just to have a chance to fit in”, “I do not deserve to be loved, though I must seek it out anyway” and “I have something important to say, but nobody will ever hear me” within my developing consciousness. These nascient concepts morph, throughout life, into the self, and other, mutually destructive interpersonal “control dramas” that get experienced in relationships. Women, and people and general, are rarely seen for who they are, but rather, how they can help the unhealed male ego not feel so lonely, or the woundedness so deeply, or often. Complete relationships between equals becomes nearly impossible, so thus the disfigured dependencies are formed that emotionally and spiritually unenlightened men eventually overpower their partner, and their families, with.

THIS NEEDS TUNING:

My human nature, as expressed through the broken or negative self perceptions listed on the previous paragraph, are the forces that accentuate the need for change, growth, and evolution within the human mind, or soul. This problematic foundational consciousness makes the mind vulnerable (especially all isolated, lonely people who have become alienated from our American culture), perhaps even gullible, to the suggestions of people claiming to have found life’s answers. Religion has offered the hope that the human soul can be healed, though one has to question their practice and understanding.. Religions have been created to directly address our human condition, though the application of their moral and ethical teachings to human experience have been anything but transformative, at least in a collective sense. Brokenness, or our human woundedness, has been acknowledged as a consciousness generating and transforming agent within the unhealed/fragmented mind, since minds were first became “self aware”. Only through turning towards introspection and self-examination. does one know what to do, and how to live a life, that will bring some sort of order out of the chaos of our “present moment”, while the “darkness” still covers the emotional landscape. Searching for “my people” or “my tribe”, where I can fit in, be accepted, and occasionally have somebody to listen to me, while I attempt to be present for others

There is nothing Christian about racism, misogyny, raping the planet for economic gain by the few, Breitbart News, Fox News, the National Enquirer, and ingrained cultural and social ignorance, whether the person supports abortion or otherwise is just another obfuscating argument by those pushing the worn out hate agendas and the continued superstitious reasoning of ignorant male religious and political power figures. Christians cannot feel to good about themselves having voted for the anti-Christ, yet this generation is not the first to have done so, and it won’t be the last. The dis-empowerment of the feminine, and the decimation of our planet earth are direct results of our failure to balance the needs of the self with the needs of the other, and with the needs of the planet. Where is Christianity in all of this? If we were truly collectively practicing our “American” religion, this discussion would not be occurring internationally right now.

While some believe that our collective emotional and spiritual IQ appears to be declining, there are those who continue to grow, evolve, transform, and become aware. which brings me a measure of hope for the future. Women, who tend to think more holistically, are the hope for the future, as men’s fragmented thinking and reasoning will only continue to lead us all down the path of chaos and brokenness. Men will never lead anybody into the “promised land”, because the “promised land” does not exist for persons living a life devoid of spiritual discernment, no matter how much they read the bible, or attend church. Unhealed men are not capable of seeing everything as extending from an unbroken whole, of which everything emanates from and is united with. Men do not automatically assign the highest value to life, instead opting for philosophical agendas that minimize other life’s value, so that they can achieve their selfish desires with less guilt.

There just are not enough men in this country right now who have undertaken the practice of self-awareness and healing, and practice applied spirituality, devoid of the trappings of religious dogma and misplaced judgement. Men will not evolve, unless backed into a corner, and threatened with the loss of everything, and even then they will try to hold a discussion with you about why they don’t need to heal, just everybody else needs to. There are far too many men who pretend to be Christian, playing that music in the background while going about their typically anti-Christ unconscious, unhealed male behaviors, negatively impacting all those who make contact with that irrational, yet all too common, wounded American male soul. Most men will not change, unless faced with the certainty of death itself. And, the road that our country is now set upon, is defined by death’s very boundaries. There will be healing for the American male in our future, but by what impetus, and at what cost to the rest of our world?

I would like to digress for just a moment. I posit that if our American Christian culture started with the understanding that every baby, and human being in general, has the same inherent value as the Jesus of their misunderstanding, then perhaps the effects of the “woundedness” that many of us experience would not manifest in such destructive manners. It takes lifetimes, apparently, to measure up to the impossibly high standard that being “one with Jesus” represents. Evolved cultures, families, and individuals who start with the assumption that all of life is good, having come from “God” itself, and thus sacred in nature and intention. This is a far cry from the dark standard set by religion and ignorance that states all humans are impossibly separate from “God”, and thus corrupt, and without value until “proven otherwise”, usually through the acceptabce and belief of some pretty preposterous ideas. Being “one with God” grants us the spirit to see through the illusions of rituals, rites, oppressive rules, dogmas, and beliefs , ESPECIALLY THE BELIEF THAT OUR SALVATION LIES IN THE FUTURE, OR WITH A DECEASED PROPHET. We can still accept that though our decisions will, at times, be informed by our woundedness, that wounded influence becomes lessened, and, ultimately eliminated, through insight, mindfulness, meditation, and prayer, and community support from fellow spiritually evolving companions, which all enhance our powers of awareness, where God’s mercy and miracles truly resides and can be made manifest for all to see.

I am a “four time drop out” from our American Christian tradition. I will only speak to the last time I fell away from Christianity (this time at a major Baptist church). I became a clean and sober dude in March of 1987, and I thought that to finish my “unfinished Christian business” I needed to finally be baptized. I attended Hinson Baptist church (yet again, having stopped attending there before in 1984), and requested that I be baptized by that body. On the weekend prior to my baptism, I received my first ever “visitation of the spirit”, which manifested in my experience of, for lack of a better description, having the feeling of being held in the loving arms of an “infinite motherly presence”, and I felt like I was being “reborn” as a person as a result. When I described my experience to the Minister, he requested that I attend a training to get my “beliefs” more in alignment with the structure that the American Baptist church accepts. Really? The minister misunderstood my experience, as it represented a direct connection with the God of my spiritual connectedness and understanding, and not his.

During this period of time, I also needed to get tested for AIDS, since I had relations with “loose women and drug activity” during my darker days. I was looking for some support during this time, as the threat of a death by AIDS was quite real to many of us in those days. There was NO SUPPORT TO BE FOUND, at the Baptist Church, where all people with AIDS were regarded as outcasts from GOD, and undeserving of support or respect from the “good Christian folks”. This helped to cement my understanding that our religious institutions exist to support something other than just our “spiritual natures”, and their ignorance of such things causes the injection of some really unhealthy outlooks on life and love into the collective mindsets of their parishioners. An individual searching for the “Truth Of Being” would be doing themselves well to steer clear of any organized religion, where truth is no longer a sacred value, but instead a marketable commodity that also is used to help keep people philosophically controlled, while united in one particular way of looking at life.

Before I leave this part of the writing, I just want to acknowledge the absolute majesty, and beauty, of the enlightened Christian movement, where the teachings of the Christian mystics are honored and meditated upon with passion and understanding. There are so many “gospels” or works of the good news of the spiritual foundation for our humanity, and how we might achieve it., It is an absolute requirement to try to follow newer paths of consciousness, as all lessons lead to insight, which in turn leads to an enhanced experience, appreciation, and understanding of our “power greater than ourselves”, which, counterintuiutively, resides at the very core of every being in existence. Meister Eckert, Teilhard de Chardin, and, more recently, Joel Goldsmith, and countless other men and women mystics over the history of our civilization I owe an eternal debt of gratitude to. The truth sought lies at the mystical foundation of our religion, but very few there be that may ever find it, or enter into it. The ignorant, unenlightened Christian cannot see the forest for the trees. It is to this audience that most illusory ideas are promoted, as there is a historic perception that most of humanity is too “coarse” to apperceive the reality behind religion, thus the need for the rituals, rites, passing show and movements of thought to capture and hypnotize, until, hopefully, their own desire for truth takes precedence in their lives, and they can open up to the real religion that connects all of life together.

I remain appalled by the structured ignorance of organized American Christianity, and the dupes it uses for politcal or philosophical purposes (cue in the clowns, including Mr Donald Trump). Our American Christianity has been given a “free ride” for too long, it needs to begin the process of self examination, humililty, real prayer (not the prayer to the Santa Claus God), and integrating into its teaching structure the fabric of spirituality and spiritual discernment that is missing from its existing religious consciousness. Also, our American Cristianity remains the victim of FAKE NEWS (and has been since almost its origins), and, unfortunately, the rest of our country is prone to judgement, persecution, and punishment from this unenlightened element.

A fixed truth about life is that if we can’t honestly look at where we are in life, we will never find the true motivation, or foundation for change in our life’s experience. The unexamined life always results in a damaged, dysfunctional life, and that characterizes both individuals, and the collective society that they participate in. The Christians tend to believe that they can be saved from their own darkness by claiming the work performed by somebody else (the blood of Jesus?). Well, for those who have really made “conscious contact with the God of our understanding”, the realization comes that OUR BLOOD IS MORE THAN ACCEPTABLE. In fact, the only sacrifice that ever needs to be made (and the only sacrifice acceptable to the Truth within us) is our erroneous understanding of who we are, and who or what our fellow man is. Our own “crucifixion” continues until our own physical deaths, unless we release ourselves from all of the false illusions of self and other. Our misunderstanding of life, no matter how “Christian” we claim to be, creates infinite opportunities for chaos and disharmony with each other, and we feel betrayed by, and suffer endlessly from, all of the wounds incurred through fragmented belief systems.

We are typically healed though the power of awareness, awareness that operates through the present moment of experience. We need not claim a healing through the long dead consciousness of some purported master or saint to have a true healing experience There is always somebody trying to layer the Truth of Being with their own misinformation and broken philosophies, and this includes the Church, in whatever forms we address it. Truth and healing DO NOT REQUIRE AN INTERMEDIARY, IMAGINARY OR OTHERWISE. No teacher will effect our salvation, we must work it out for ourselves. The God of your misunderstanding only needs our humility, patience, and sincerity to approach it successfully. The medium for healing is our own consciousness and the consciousness of our spiritually aware “helpers”, and this is always happening NOW. To believe otherwise is the absolutely damaged understanding that has been foisted upon the unaware, philosophically and spiritually uninterested, socially conforming group of people claiming to follow Christ’s teachings for countless generations.

I will allude to my own personal experience here, to add to the mental picture that I am trying to re-create. Recently I was motivated to write a story about my unfolding as a human being, and my entry onto the “path of spirituality”. This inspiration resulted in over 70 pages (small, single spaced lines) being written, and writing my story resulted in a more complete understanding of the blocks to “love’s awareness” that existed in my mind/heart during my childhood and early adult years. A cathartic event resulted, revealing a long ignored “voice” that I was called upon to finally listen to. I had to look at and listen to my history completely, as there were early periods in my life when there was nobody to listen to me when I needed it most, and thus some damaging marks were left on my soul, which were then healed through the powers of present moment awareness. Healing can be instantaneous, or it can be a lifelong process, but because refining the powers of awareness is a lifelong process, children would be well advised to begin early the study of themselves and their developing hearts and minds, and not some worn out lines of dogma that do not carry the spirit of Truth within them.

My resistance to life was substantial, creating friction each step of the way on my life’s journey, until I learned how to yield to my “higher nature”, through the examination of all of my “inner demons”, and the subsequent reorganization of my inner emotional and spiritual universe so that it could be more in resonance with love’s awareness and activity. For my “Christian friends”, the “blood of Jesus” did not help me heal myself, it is the power of my awareness, and my awareness alone, that brought me to my present moment of healing. I have bled more than enough to atone for my “sins”. My blood is worthy enough, if I respect my life experiences, and am willing to look at my shit, and be healed from it. I am compelled to remove the “log from our own eyes”, before criticizing the “splinter” stuck in the eye of another. Jesus does not do that for me, “Jesus” commands that I do that for myself. I no longer wonder why people claiming for themselves the “fruitage of the spirit” , or ‘born again” mentalities continue to live a life almost devoid of that pure connection. THE TRUTH IS, If I don’t do the inner work, I don’t get the results. PERIOD.

As a description, and a lesson plan, for the real true religious practice, AS I SEE IT, I only need to quote from the Old Testament, from our Christian bible (or it could be from the Torah). “In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. The earth was formless and void, and darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was moving over the surface of the waters.” – Genesis 1:1-2 NASB

It was the picture of disorganization and uncertainty, for the world had no order. Everything was “formless and void.” The Hebrew words here suggest that there was confusion, emptiness, and waste. And it was filled with darkness.

But ‘God’ changed everything. ‘His’ action began as “His” Spirit was “moving.” The Hebrew word here is found only two other times in the Bible. The picture is of observing or watching carefully and deliberately. The Spirit of God was brooding…studying…examining…lingering. And only after this hovering did God take action and start bringing order.

Then God declared, “Let there be light.” This light illumined everything about the world, and He was pleased with the impact. He “saw that the light was good; and God separated the light from the darkness. God called the light day, and the darkness He called night. And there was evening and there was morning, one day.”

Day after day, God continued to bring order out of chaos. And as He looked at His creation, He declared that it was “very good.” It was only AFTER he declared that it was “very good” that he could find rest.

So, here I am indicating the direct connection between the story of Genesis, and the development of spiritual discernment that must be developed within myself to enable me to ever find the “rest” that being in the presence of my God brings to me. In fact, GOD IS THE VERY ORGANIZING PRINCIPLE OF OUR CONSCIOUSNESS. WE ARE PERSONALLY RESPONSIBLE FOR INCORPORATING LOVE AND UNDERSTANDING INTO OUR WORLD VIEWS, AND THIS LITERALLY BECOMES OUR “LORD”. The ignorant of the Christian world would take this story literally, and miss out on the fact that this is the very process or procedure that we all must take with our lives. We must bring order out of the chaos that we created in our own minds. We must separate the light from the dark, and we can only rest when we have become one with the goodness at the center of our being. We must become mindful, or, in the words of Alcoholics Anonymous, continue to take personal inventory, and when we miss the mark, promptly admit it and change course, rather than waste time defending our illusions.

God’s actions in creation help us understand how we actually approach our lives, and the ways this awareness can help us today. For ‘God’ still brings clarity to confusion. ‘God’ replaces disorganization with organization. Uncertainty is replaced by certainty. Chaos is replaced by order. Those who are aimless are given new plans. Emptiness is replaced by meaning and purpose. And any sense of darkness is replaced by a new light, or understanding. This is a process that is now known as MINDFULNESS, but it has been known to “godly people” for all of time. “God” does not judge us, we judge ourselves, and, thus, we can become more “godlike” in nature and manner, once our blocks to loves awakening and awareness are acknowledged within.

I have read and studied religious literature for many, many years. I remain fascinated by the history of the religions of the world, and their starting points, as that is where some real gems of wisdom can be discerned, especially through studying the writings of those trying to emulate their “masters”. The teachings always seem to get corrupted by those who did not do the real work of spiritual unfoldment, who instead piggybacked their own assumptions onto the work of the enlightened one(s), and corrupting it to suit unique selfish or community needs. I will not repeat the history of Christianity, and how their various “documents” were eventually integrated into the first “Bible” by the power of one man (Constantine the Great) holding thousands people hostage until they all agreed upon the one version. But with their decision to include the Book of Revelation, speculation about end days and the mythology around that time continues to fascinate others, both within, and outside of, the Christian community.

Every time there is a new American leader elected that the far right does not approve, voices start erupting within the so-called “Christian community” that point to the new leaders’ corruption and they start again the “Anti-Christ” chant, and the talk continues about the coming “end of days”. Barrack Obama did not stand a chance with many writers from the so-called “believers on the right side of things”, who seemed to delight in linking his energy to the “anti christ”. Many of the same writers who condemned Obama as the new Anti-Christ are the same individuals touting the righteousness of Mr. Trump.

End-time prophecies show that religious people—including professing Christians deceived into accepting a counterfeit Christianity—will oppose many of the teachings of Christ. In that real sense, even today, many professing Christians actually have been deceived by a spirit of antichrist.

The Bible does not reveal specifically who the Antichrist is, speaking instead of his corrupt teachings. In 2 Thessalonians 2, Paul prophesied of a “man of sin,” a liar and deceiver whose natural abilities Satan enhances by supernatural power (people relying on the fake news services for information, and the continuous cultural hypnosis provided by our not-so-smart phones definitely qualifies here) in order to confuse people in the end time. In addition, Christ inspired John to write of a “false prophet” to come at the end time (Revelation 13; Revelation 16:13; Revelation 19:20).

Finally, note how the prophecy describes a great religious leader of the end time: “He had two horns like a lamb and spoke like a dragon” (Revelation 13:11). That is to say, he takes on the image of (or imitates) Jesus Christ (the Lamb of God), but is empowered by Satan. Historically, a counterfeit version of Christianity, or a person falsely misrepresenting himself as a devout Christian, fulfills the types we read of in the prophecies of Revelation.

Well, the critical thinking people of the world (and me) continue our own assessments about our new POTUS, and how he is to be seen by all people, Christians and non Christians alike. Time will tell, but the clues point to a very disturbing direction, don’t they? It appears that there is now an intersection point between Toxic masculinity, and Toxic Christianity, and that point is now represented by Donald Trump.

The real threat to our democracy, and to our lives, is not from the Islamic religion, but, rather, may be from TOXIC CHRISTIANITY, especially as “practiced” by Trump and too many of his followers. Our founding fathers, which includes most of the people who established our constitution and bill of rights, knew all too well the potential fatal connections between religious and political agendas, and thus strove to keep separate the Church and the State. A Church or religious philosophy that is not “self-aware” has the “mark of the beast” upon it, which characterizes most of religious thought by non-spiritually aware people today. Unfortunately for the American Christian culture, it is collectively characterized by a lack of self, or group, awareness. Their unenlightened “human” tendencies block out the light of the spirit, not only for themselves, but for other innocents, as well, as they attempt to control others through their wayward evangelistic efforts. Their collective indolence and laziness towards their own personal spiritual unfoldment and expression, while trying to influence or control others, puts all of us at risk.

Our American version of Christianity, as well as Mr Trump, gets my vote for ANTI-CHRISTS OF THE YEAR. Yes, oh nameless one (you know who you are!), your “Christian values” voted for deceit and ignorance, in effect. What again are your values, please, and how does this man represent what you stand for? You certainly do not stand for what is represented by the Spirit Of God, or Love, that lives within my heart. When will you seek the ONE TRUE GOD, and not the imaginary creations of your friends, or ancestors? Yes, the allure, and attraction, of fitting in with a group of people has a lot of energy behind it. When we become conscious of the reasons for fitting into places where we really don’t belong, truth can reaffirm its TENDENCY TO ASCENDENCY.

Donald Trump did not invent fake news. Our unenlightened human minds, coupled with the superstition and ignorance of our religious ancestors, have created an enduring monopoly on that one, for sure! I choose not to be controlled, influenced, or motivated by the half-truths, near truths, and lies of American Christianity, nor of Donald Trump and his lead prevaricator, Kelly Ann..

If our minds are fed anything other than facts, we are involved in a process known as maya, or illusion creating, and our world(s) tend to end up in chaos. The result is individual, and cultural, hypnosis, where we can end up losing personal power, and we can be too easily bullied by the wayward opinions and false insights of others. Too often those who claim to have real knowledge are as lost as everybody else, even though they may be claiming righteousness, religious or otherwise. When we try to fit into a situation or setting where our heart tells us we don’t belong, honor those feelings, and investigate where they are coming from. If we are already “swimming in the divine ocean”, then we can watch, and wait, and see who is swimming with us, and join with them as indicated (or reach out and help lift another up, as they request help). While in the marketplace of human thought and reason, LET THE BUYER BEWARE!

This is not about Republican vs Democratic, or Christian vs Muslim, values and ethics, this is about the choice between rationality, and insanity. What does America choose for itself, today? We already know the diseased direction Mr Trump prefers to set for himself, and he will attempt to drag everybody into the gutter with him, where he is well known to manage the scrum quite effectively. He creates a false reality, supports it with lies, half-truths, FAKE NEWS, and the support of spiritually crippled Americans, invents or accentuates situations that throws America into temporary intellectual chaos, and then harvests the rewards of confusing the public through his election as President.

Folks, it was not the “leading edge” of evolving American morals, ethics, and spirituality that elected Mr Trump president of the fragmented States of America. Mr Trump represents a “blast from the dead past” as far as cultural and religious misunderstanding goes. So, in effect, the next four years (or much less, hopefully), will be the return of the days of the “walking dead”. Our country needs a living, culturally and spiritually aware, rational President, and not this corrupt old product with a long expired pull date. A man who lives at the intersection of Toxic Masculinity, Toxic Christianity, and Toxic Capitalism can never be a leader of a real United States, but he can try to lead the fragments, that is for sure. We will become United, for the very first time, when we collectively root out all of the corruption in our collective values. It is about collaboration between the earth, mankind, animals and plants, to achieve a solution where the entire planet benefits, not just the selfish overblown white male capitalistic ego that Mr Trump so accurately represents.

Some moments of some days I feel ashamed to be an American. Then I remember that we all have a role in the shaping of our future. I choose to shape my future much differently than those who profess support for this dark prophet, and his troubling ignorance and questionable activities. IS THIS A GREAT COUNTRY, OR NOT? Do you want to be “great again”? This is what “great again” looks like? This man has no clothes on, lady and gentlemen. The “emperor’s new clothes” look like the same old worn out rags that many of our unenlightened ancestors tried to burden us with. Historically, it has been the Church (the established religious structure of the day for the specific culture being studied) that has created the most lies over the centuries, and caused the most harm to humanity. Donald hates to be number 2, so I would suspect that he would like to compress 2000 years of half-truths and lies into a 4 year term, and lord that great “accomplishment” over his minions. If heaven was real, I am sure that Donald believes that not only should he go there, he should build a Trump Tower in heaven, and he should be sitting closer to God than Jesus. Humility has never made Mr Trump’s acquaintance, so I would suspect that the only “God” that Mr Trump worships is his own overblown sense of self.

My “Christianity” is immersed in the more philosophicallly pristine “Pauline theology”, having eschewed the subsequent historical bastardization of Christ’s teachings that most of the pseudo-Christian element in the world claim to now believe in (cue in your favorite right wing fundamentalist ignoramus ranting about spiritual ideas that they have no foundational connection to or understanding of). I do not belong to the cult of Christianity now “practiced” by countless millions of people worldwide. The sincere seeker of truth will do well to steer clear of any church where no spiritual discernment is observed being taught or practiced. I too had an experience with Christ on my usual path of ignorance (or, the Road to Damascus), just like Saul of Tarsus did. When the Christ (the Spirit of God manifest in an awakened mankind) started living within me, it became obvious to me of the infinite distance between the dogma of the Christian religion, as it is taught to the masses, and the truth that the Christ utters in the “secret place of the most high”, which is the seat of our own consciousness, or soul.

In the clear words of Bob Marley (I am not a Rastafarian, by the way):

“Check it Out Most people think, Great God will come from the skies, Take away everything And make everybody feel high. But if you know what life is worth, You will look for yours on earth: And now you see the light, You stand up for your rights. jah!”

Prophets come in many forms. Bob hit the nail on its head.

The quickest way to prepare for the new world order (which was once the old world order, by the way) is to get outside of the house, the computer, the movie theater, the Facebook pages, etc. and start getting reacquainted with the great outdoors. Once we are free from the encumbrances of our daily lives, we may be more receptive to the call of our spirit. We are not connected to God through our technology. In fact, most of our media related technology has separated us from the quiet state of being that allows God’s will to be readily accepted into consciousness. Gaia is a living being, and is the true “son-daughter of God”. And yes, we are children of that sacred child. God’s face is seen clearly, once the detritus of human misunderstanding is moved aside long enough so that Reality may emerge, once again. Technology is only a tool, though it has become another new world religion, a way of life for far too many people. Our country, and our world, shows the collective effects of falling far short of meeting or even acknowledging the existence of our spiritual needs, or attempting to meet our spiritual needs through illusory processes. Most of our media devices have continued the promotion and distribution of cultural hypnosis, and most people continue to be separated from a greater good through that process. The world exists in a state of hypnosis, and it is easy to see that truth when the mind finally takes itself off of the grid of shared cultural and religious misunderstanding.

Taking dominion over the world, and then destroying its wildlife, forests, rivers, oceans, and lands was never part of God’s will. It was always part of a worn out patriarchal attitude that still pollutes human awareness to this day. The greed and self serving interests of our Christian ancestors has been glorified, and exalted, over and above the preservation of our planet, and the cultivation of harmony between the diverse interests of people on this planet. The “mark of the beast” is seen daily in the attitudes of those who promote the destruction of our environment, and who incite hatred and enmity between peoples.

Freedom may not be for everybody now, but it certainly is for me, now, and for all of eternity. I am grateful for my wife Sharon White, who shares in the new/old insight.

I realize that if I am not posting photographs of cats and dogs, or taking pictures of snowmen, most people who use Facebook are not going to see, read, or necessarily be interested in any of my written stuff. I am well trained in this department, having been ignored by some pretty important people over the years. I like to continue writing just because I have to. Even though there is the continued appearance of little public interest in my writings does not release me from my responsibility to attempt to communicate with my world. Unpopular writers are not necessarily writing untruthfully, we may be coming from collectively unexplored areas where there just may be very little interest in what is being presented, and/or the forum where it is being presented may be questionable or inappropriate.

Writer’s Note: I had a dream several days ago, where I witnessed the “death” of my loved ones, and then my own “death”. The funny thing was that I was still there, watching and interacting within the interior dimension, even though I was supposedly dead. How can one “die” and actually still be alive? That is the essence of my life story, which will eventually follow.

What is a “well lived life”? Who are my “people”, and where are they located? Will I ever fit in? Will anyone ever notice me? Why don’t I feel peace of mind? Why do I always seem to “self-destruct” right at the moment when I am about to achieve great success? Will I ever understand myself, and others? Where is the love that I feel is missing from my life? Why do I have no desire to contribute to society in a more generous, meaningful way? Why do I feel that I have to always be competitive, or “better than the others” just to fit in? Why do I not feel satisfaction when I achieve the greatest goals that I have set up for myself? Why does guilt control so much of my life’s experience? My story attempts to address these personal questions, whose answers may have a more universal application than to just my limited life experience. Please forgive me in advance if my insights and realizations appear obvious and simple, such as “facts of life” that others may have taken for granted since birth (I am worthy, I am safe, I am whole, I am loving and lovable, I have something worthwhile to say). These statements of personal well-being were anything but “facts of life” for me in my earlier years of life.

Krishnamurti: “It is no measure of health to be well adjusted to a profoundly sick society.”

In my tumultuous life experience, I found that there was no minister or church, no support group, therapist, mother, father, brother, sister, wife, husband, daughter, son, pet dog, or Jesus Christ figurine that could dig into my unique version of the human soul, and remove the thorns/swords which have been thrust into my side over the years since my first appearance on this planet Earth. This became the focus of my inward journey, to face the absolute darkest areas of life itself, and then mine my treasure from my unique relationship with the dark force (or shadow). To not face myself would mean to continue living the second had/passed down story of dysfunction that I inherited from our culture and from my ancestors, from which we cannot ever completely heal, without first becoming aware of those facts. My own living, dynamic story finally became forefront in my mind, and having examined fully the story to its deepest core(s), I finally could see what the source(s) of my own discomfort was. Then, the power of insight brought a new level of healing and awareness into this new, present moment of experience (some call this process “mindfulness:, though I just call it ‘taking personal inventory’, as I learned through practicing the 12 steps of Alcoholics Anonymous).

For me life was never an easy journey, and had it not been for some deep need to understand my dysfunctional process, and try to find the underlying truth amid my personal chaos, I would have passed long ago. Some wounds are so deep, and primal, that there has never been a name given to them that completely reveals their true nature. Oh, how the latest experts on human psychology will try to impress all of us with the multitudes of names for this darkness, and impress us they do! I choose not to give a new name to this process, as that gives a static name and understanding to a dynamic process, and thus lodges it in the past. Whatever the name that is given to it, it must be have been personally experienced, or it is just another verbal distraction on the surface of our minds that can have little permanent value.

Virtually all of the interesting characters in history have struggled with, and have overcome, at least to some degree, this dark force, and it is their journey that becomes the stuff of great stories and legends. I will try to give a context, and a name(s) to this distress that I share with the rest of humanity. This is my story about my exploration of some of the more fundamental aspects of my consciousness, and, thus, of all human consciousness. It was revealed to me that there are two fundamental cores to my personal dysfunction. It is around these illusory cores that the whole of my consciousness swirled around, as if drawn and disfigured by two distinct, though interconnected, black holes of negative influence. The length of the story (it is now a book length document) reveals the level of my resistance to life, an extreme resistance that may have begun in my mothers’ womb, or, maybe, it extends all the way back to the beginning of human consciousness, but, the start date is unimportant. What is important is the intention to bring healing to a darkened situation.

How did I attempt to bring healing to my broken interior? Yes, I first acknowledged that, of myself and my old ways, I was nothing, and I did not have any developed capacities for positive change and growth. A corollary to this was that I needed to hone my powers of insight. Then, I needed to develop the emotional and spiritual fortitude to look at the entirety of my life, and then incorporate the experience for my greater good, which also impacts the whole of life in a more positive manner. Having started a spiritual awakening process in 1987 was really only the beginning of my exit from the chaotic mindset that characterized my life up to that point, though I had thought/hoped, immaturely, that the period of time when I felt the “grace of God”, from 1987-1993, signaled the end of all of my emotional trials, diseases and dysfunctions.

A small portion of my journey towards healing is documented below. As each individual is unique, please do not use my experience to minimize, or maximize, your own. We must eventually find our own direction for life, and not only learn how to think for myself, but learn how to think and feel, AND TRULY BE ONE WITH OTHERS IN A NON-CONTROLLING, NON-JUDGMENTAL MANNER (communion). When our goal has finally been spotted-or, has spotted us-we each can make our own, unique path. The trail that each one of us blazes is as important as any path made by any prophet who has ever lived, or will live. It is only our ego that would say otherwise.

I have minimized my own experience in the past, not wanting to challenge myself, or others in my life, too severely with the lessons of my spiritual unfoldment. I remain uncomfortable with becoming identified with any sacred process, as this is an immensely personal, private experience. I have witnessed the abuses that our culture heaps upon individuals who stray too far from the standard cultural paths of religious/spiritual understandings or generally accepted church doctrines.

I remember too many times when I was rejected for speaking from my heart (and this had been internalized as part of my basic ego structure as a child, and still “haunts” me as an adult, when I let it through my inattention), so of course I am a little careful here. There is always the threat of having a negative social experience that can arise from “casting your pearls before swine”. I do not want to be held accountable to a truth that others may perceive I am not presently upholding at the highest levels. I also have observed, with much concern, the recent marketing and bastardization of healing and spirituality by not so well meaning capitalists, and I certainly have no need or intention of joining in that potentially predatory activity.

I will begin by paraphrasing a fable that was first recounted to me in a book by Krishnamurti. (note: I was led to Krishnamurti , and he became a teacher to me when I struggled to interpret, and to live, my ongoing experience of spiritual unfoldment, during the period of 1988-1990. His works spoke to me in a most uncanny way). The reason that this fable is listed may not be immediately evident, but it points to the principle that just because we all believe in something, that belief, in and of itself, does not make it true, right, or wise. I will also include a few pertinent quotes from some important teachers of the past. I will then repeat a dream that I had as a young lad. This will be followed by a brief synopsis of my life experience while being a chemically dependent individual. Finally, the “path” of spiritual awakening that resulted from my entry onto the path of recovery.

There will be four “poems” which I have included that have some relevance to my process, and which were actually written by me, and inspired by my life’s experiences. And, I have brought this document up to the present by including some writings from this year to finish off this document. In observing the election of Donald Trump, who represents the broken soul of American Manhood, I have to acknowledge my sorrow in observing the out picturing into our collective consciousness most of the troubling garbage that I so painfully observed emanating from myself when I was immersed in my own personal ignorance. I do not support Donald Trump’s values in the least, yet I have compassion for him, and for all men who are still troubled by their own brokenness, and their perceived inability to face or heal themselves. In truth, this year has become one of the most challenging and fulfilling years of my life, as the fruits from the search for healing has finally revealed the answers that I did not think to pursue earlier. There are several intersecting currents of life, or vignettes, represented here, and by their nature, this story will not necessarily unfold in a linear time fashion.

SATAN’S GREATEST TEACHING

Satan and his lead disciple drifted above planet Earth, and would, on occasion, descend down upon the human population, and Satan would make his observations on their behavior, so that his student could learn some more of the great lessons of the truth of the Dark Master. One of their investigations brought them to a single man in an open field, who looked up to the heavens, with a great look of joy upon his face. As Satan and his disciple looked closer, they found that the man was holding something in his hands, close to his heart. The man walked back to his home, protecting his sacred find from the scrutiny of the outside world.

The disciple asked Satan, “What do you think that this human has found?”

“Oh, he has found Truth”, replied Satan, with a satisfied look on his face.

“But Satan, how can you be so happy? Should we not be terrified by this horrible revelation? This could spell the end of your rule over our earthly kingdom!”

“Hush, my student, and listen closely. We are about to help this man organize his “truth” into yet another religion. This is my greatest teaching, that organized religion can become the tool that gives us the greatest leverage to capture the minds of the people.”

TEACHERS OF THE LIGHT

“I maintain that Truth is a pathless land, and you cannot approach it by any path whatsoever, by any religion, by any sect. That is my point of view, and I adhere to that absolutely and unconditionally. Truth, being limitless, unconditioned, unapproachable by any path whatsoever, cannot be organized; nor should any organization be formed to lead or to coerce people along any particular path. If you first understand that, then you will see how impossible it is to organize a belief. A belief is purely an individual matter, and you cannot and must not organize it. If you do, it becomes dead, crystallized; it becomes a creed, a sect, a religion, to be imposed on others. This is what everyone throughout the world is attempting to do. Truth is narrowed down and made a plaything for those who are weak, for those who are only momentarily discontented. Truth cannot be brought down, rather the individual must make the effort to ascend to it. You cannot bring the mountain-top to the valley. If you would attain to the mountain-top you must pass through the valley, climb the steeps, unafraid of the dangerous precipices”

–Jiddhu Krishnamurti

“We are all of us born with a letter inside us, and that only if we are true to ourselves, may we be allowed to read it before we die.”

― Douglas Coupland

“No one saves us but ourselves. No one can and no one may. We ourselves must walk the path.”

― Gautama Buddha, Sayings of Buddha

“What we call our destiny is truly our character and that character can be altered. The knowledge that we are responsible for our actions and attitudes does not need to be discouraging, because it also means that we are free to change this destiny. One is not in bondage to the past, which has shaped our feelings, to race, inheritance, background. All this can be altered if we have the courage to examine how it formed us. We can alter the chemistry provided we have the courage to dissect the elements.”

― Anaïs Nin, The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Vol. 1: 1931-1934

“Destiny is not a matter of chance; it is a matter of choice. It is not a thing to be waited for, it is a thing to be achieved.”

― William Jennings Bryan

NOTE: There are various passages below that are enclosed in parenthesis. These are stories which will be filled out in future revisions. Please ignore the material.

The Birth of Wisdom, or Childhood and Family Challenges

So, this is the part of the journey that I don’t really feel too comfortable with writing about. Putting to words the perceptions and experiences around being a youth, from the current perspective of a nearly 61 year old man, is difficult. I do not want to resort to “revisionist history” when it comes to presenting the memories and experiences of childhood, and how they may have become integrated into the internal matrix of consciousness that we continuously recreate within our minds as human beings.

What I really remember well from my childhood is my love for life, my love for my maternal grandparents(who provided for me a safe, loving home to stay with them at least one weekend a month for most of my childhood), my conflicted love for my mother and father, my love for exploring the outdoors, for playing with and studying animals, for running through the forests on trails, or creating my own trails, building ground forts out of fallen branches, for climbing trees and making tree forts, for exploring islands on the Willamette River near our home, and playing with friends, which were especially hard for me to make while I was young. I remember feeling uncomfortable around people my age, especially the boys. I preferred girls to boys, becoming overly attached to girls when I was as young as 8 years old. The girls, by and large, totally lost interest in me by 7^th grade, so I stuck with the guys for most of my childhood.

I remember liking dad as my only friend, and then feeling betrayed by him when I was over enthusiastically punished for doing something wrong. I was always guilty of doing something wrong, whether I admitted it or not. If I did not admit it, I was lying, which could lead to yet another swat (As the Course in Miracles has stated, these were unrecognized calls for love). I remember stealing from my father’s wallet sometimes, so that I could go to the store and buy candy. I remember doing all sorts of things that I knew to be wrong, yet I took some delight in going against authority, and boy did I pay the price! I remember too many beatings with the belt. Most of the behavior that I was accused of I actually committed, so in Dad’s mind I deserved what I got, though mercy sure would have been a nice charitable gesture, had he offered it to me, or my sister. Looking back at my childhood, I was confused as to the best way to attract attention, and it may have been a subconscious desire to be recognized that motivated me to ’go against the grain’.

I remember being taken to Sunday school at a local church. I remember not liking it very much, and I did not nor could not believe that Jesus Christ “died for our sins”. I knew that I was not a “sinner”, at least not the way that they were trying to explain it to me, and that the language of this church was very harsh and confusing. When they tried to tell me that my only hope was to believe all of their vague, boring stories, I balked, and in my own unique passive/aggressive fashion, I just ignored what they tried to teach me. These Sunday School experiences appeared to show me that the church was promoting a bunch of confusing stories with little relevance to my experience. I tried bible study only two more times in our new neighborhood, but stopped when a girl that I was interested in stopped attending. Yes, women are a great reason for going to church. For me, that would prove to be true at least one more time, at a time 25 years forward from then.

My father loved dogs, and would always try to have a dog available for our friendship. He instilled into me a great love and appreciation for the canine species, which I still hold onto tightly. I remember my love for my first dog Nina, who died while running with me along a road while I was 7 years old, having been hit by a car (my fault for riding too far from home). I, of course, was devastated, and my dad and mom knew better than making me wrong for her death, but I knew it was my fault anyway. Our “replacement” dog was promptly run over by our next door neighbor when he got into his truck and backed over our sleeping dog. Heidi was our third dog, and she was a beautiful Samoyed. She became, without a doubt, the most wonderful creature that I had ever met up until that era of my life. I began to recognize the miraculous power that the ‘love’ of another being for myself has on me. She became the ultimate canine companion for me, as well as for our entire family.

I remember that dad had started disliking cats (he grew up with a house full of cats), preferring to shoot them now to protect his “wildlife”. I remember capturing a cat during that era, and placing it into a burlap sack so that I could terrorize it. For a brief moment, I felt some strange excitement at the potential for abusing this innocent creature. After leaving it hanging on a tree limb in the burlap sack for an hour, I felt really bad, and released it. I wondered then why would I EVER WANT TO HURT ANY CREATURE? My experience with a BB gun reaffirmed that understanding, when somehow a shot of mine hit and mortally wounded a bird. I was horrified by the creature’s suffering, and I suffered with it as I tried to put it out of its misery. My dad liked to tell the story of refusing to hunt with his father because he deplored killing, yet here he was, killing ‘innocent’ creatures, so it was certainly a mixed message for me. I was starting to question my behavior and its source, yet was too ignorant to proceed on that line of reasoning too thoroughly.

I remember dad feeling uncomfortable with how the black race had integrated into the local culture. He would comment on co-workers who exhibited less conscientiousness than he did while at work, and he referred to at least one black person disparagingly. He would also offer pretty judgmental comments against the black race in general, especially when the LA Watts riots of 1964 happened. I could not share in his racism at the time, not knowing any black people, or really understanding what the basis for dad’s prejudice was. I remember dad’s fixation on people’s appearance. He was SO JUDGEMENTAL of women who were overweight, and he was hard on my mother for any weight gains, almost from the beginning of my awareness of them as my parents. I was confused by this as well. I did not understand why Mom needed to be picked on for this. To this day, I still retain some measure of extra self-consciousness around my own appearance. Whenever I stray too far from my “ideal” weight, I begin the process to reestablish an approximation of what is acceptable for me. I remember that Mom and Dad engaged in “Punch and Judy” behavior, where they would trade insults/barbs with each other. I never saw them hug once, and I was to learn later that neither had ever learned to hug, until I showed them what a hug was, and felt like, first in 1988.

I loved listening to music with my father and sister, and he played songs by Roger Miller and Johnny Cash quite frequently, so I grew up to love both performers. My parents were members of the Oakey Doaks, a square dancing group of at least 18 married couples, many with young children. This was the group that was to be the source of many of my mothers’ and fathers’ best friends during the period of time from 1958-1973. It was an activity that also took my parents away from our home, and we were left alone several times when they could not arrange baby sitting at the last minute. I loved the people that they knew, and I formed many short term friendships with the children while attending out-of-town weekend events with that group.

I loved playing board games with my family, and roughhouse playing with my dad. My sister and I would crawl all over dad while he was on the floor and wrestle with him. Dad really did love his children, and he really spent a lot of his “free” time with us as children. His problem was integrating the children into his busy agenda. He would take us to several of the local creeks so that we could collect rocks for his landscaping projects. Pam and I would earn 25 cents for each filled bucket that we would bring back filled with the smooth rocks of the creek bottom.

I remember him taking my sister and I fishing up on the Clackamas River when I was 5 years old. My sister and I just explored around while he fished. I saw some fishing line with a hook on it, so I retrieved it, stuck it on the end of a stick, hung a piece of a worm on it, and placed it into the water. Within seconds a huge trout grabbed the bait, and I caught my first fish, THE BIGGEST FISH I EVER CAUGHT, EVEN TO THIS DAY! Of course dad bought me a fishing pole right after that.

I was addicted to science fiction books and movies, and I loved the idea of becoming an astronaut, so that I could get off of this fucking rock, and explore the” real” universe. It was when I was reading Stranger in a Strange Land, by Robert Heinlein, in 1968 that I had my first verbal connection with a more immediate, and sophisticated, spirituality that Mr. Heinlein proposed through the characterization of Michael Valentine Smith, an earthling that crash landed on Mars while still an infant, who was raised by disembodied spirits on the surface of planet Mars. Michael came back to Earth, only to meet an unfortunate welcome after he pronounced the divinity of all mankind, thus upsetting the apple carts of the religious minds of the age. I had the most amazing feeling whenever I read his message “Thou Art God”. I tingled all over, and I read it over and over again, not understanding that Spirit was really trying to get through to me, and it almost worked.

I would like to steer a little different direction for a while, and talk about alcohol. I remember loving beer way too much. When I was 5 years old, my father was watching TV with me, and was drinking a beer. He left the room, and I grabbed the beer, and drank the whole thing. When dad returned, he wondered where the beer went. Twenty minutes later I fell off of the couch because I had passed out, and then he knew. For the rest of my childhood, dad had to be careful with me to keep me from drinking his beer, of which he usually had 6 or 7 cases stored in the basement. By the time I was 13 years old, I probably had already stolen over a case of beer out of dad’s supply, but I never drank more than one at a time until later in my teens. I never once saw Dad drunk, at least at home, so he really had it under control by the time I started paying attention. My paternal grandfather’s alcoholism seemed to have had an Impact on the way dad drank as a young man. My father enjoyed drinking, and was quite the social person, as well. But, his memory of his father’s behavior probably served as a good deterrent to abusive drinking, though my father certainly drank heavily after work during his earliest work years.

I would like to diverge for a moment, and discuss my fathers’ life with his alcoholic father.

LEAD IN HERE—- The biggest victim in all of this was their sense of self-esteem, and their very limited ability to be emotionally and spiritually supportive of themselves and of their families. They had highly dysfunctional parents, with an abusive and alcoholic father (my namesake) who also almost beat their older brother (Uncle Ed) to death when he was 6 years old. My uncle, fortunately, was placed under the care of his grandparents on a farm in Oregon City. A telling story is that my father was blamed by both his mother and his sister for Edward’s near death through beating, because, when my father was the ripe old, responsible age of 4, he broke a light, and Edward was blamed for it, and suffered the near fatal consequences. Anyway, both of these individuals bore the emotional scars of abused children, only theirs was never diagnosed or treated by professionals. Both people struggled ferociously with their emotional wounds in adulthood, yet managed to live fairly full, though conflicted lives. The legacy that my grandfather tried to leave with his kids (and thus his grandchildren, as well) tragically revolved around diminishing the value of his children’s lives in his, and in their own, developing minds. My dad was, at times, troubled by his upbringing, though he rarely spoke of it until very late in life. Unconsciously, dad had impressed his own limitations upon his children.

Having almost finished my life story, and also the story of my parents and grandparents, I finally have developed the insight into aspects of my deepest nature that I had unintentionally denied myself for almost 61 years. Many lessons about my life, and life in general, appear within the story, which, quite frankly, has many amazing, and uncomfortable, aspects to it. I want to just comment on a small aspect of the story, which has enormous consequences for human understanding. There were many differences between my two sets of grandparents, but the greatest difference between my grandparents on my mothers’ side, and on my fathers’ side, had to do with one simple, yet all-powerful, understanding of the value of life. My paternal grandparents, especially focused within “Grandpa Bruce”, did not innately value the lives of their children (and his grandchildren, as well, as I only met him for the first time when I was 12 years old). On the other hand, my maternal grandparents were on the opposite end of the scale, where they valued their children (and grandchildren!) at the highest level from the beginning, and throughout their lives until their deaths. My dad’s lesson was that children had no inherent value, other than what he could ascribe to them through his living experience of them (prove your worth!). So, in effect, I started life with little or no value to dad, in contradistinction to my mother, who loved and accepted me from the beginning, though she had to make many compromises and sacrifices within her value system to partner with my father. My father’s own self worth had been negated by poor upbringing by his abusive, alcoholic father, so he had little to bring to the relationship with me. Mom knew that I had value, though she knew that I would have to someday prove my value to dad through action in my world, for dad to even begin to entertain the thoughts that I am worthy of love. It is no wonder that I preferred our family dog to my father many times, as the dog at least instinctively knew how to be a friend to a human.

Hell Is For Children, Pat Benatar

They cry in the dark

So you can’t see their tears

They hide in the light

So you can’t see their fears

Forgive and forget

All the while

Love and pain become one and the same

In the eyes of a wounded child

Because hell, hell is for children

And you know that their little lives can become such a mess

Hell, hell is for children

And you shouldn’t have to pay for your love

With your bones and your flesh

It’s all so confusing this brutal abusing

They blacken your eyes and then apologize

“Be daddy’s good girl, and don’t tell mommy a thing”

“Be a good little boy, and you’ll get a new toy

Tell grandma you fell from the swing”

Because hell, hell is for children

And you know that their little lives can become such a mess

Hell, hell is for children

And you shouldn’t have to pay for your love

With your bones and your flesh

Hell is for children

My father now suffers from depression and dementia, and after watching his process for nearly 61 years, I now believe that this is a natural outcome of his inability to connect with himself and his creative potential. Now his mind just spins in a perpetual loop, repeating the trauma of the death of his dog, over and over again many times each day. As I look at the world, I see the tendencies to become rigid in our outlooks on life, and I believe that rigidity naturally morphs into various forms of disease, or perhaps even dementia as we age. What starts as a social disconnection must eventuate in illness, and my dad was almost totally off of the social grid by the time my mother died 7 years ago.

Getting back to me, as a child, it appears that I learned that my personal world could be an unsafe place, especially while I slept. I remember most nights lying awake at least until midnight until I could fall asleep, even if I was put to bed at 8:00pm. I remember using that extra time to rehash my entire day, and everything that I said and did. I would try to see where I could have behaved better, or differently, for a greater advantage. I have memories of waking up from sleep, and, with my older sister, walking over to the garage window, and crawling up onto my rocking horse to look out of the window, to see if our car was in the garage. Of course, if the car was gone, we were both distressed by their absence, and, to this day, we both agree that this event did happen, and it happened several times.

An interesting sidelight to this is a story that I heard from a US postal clerk, who sought me out when I started working at the USPS in 1976. He was an acquaintance of my father, (who was one of the floor managers at the main office until his retirement in 1982). Apparently, my father had told this individual that when my father was much younger, and working two jobs (both for the Oregonian, and for the USPS), he only had limited time for sleep, and because I was a “crying baby” that kept him awake at nights, mom and dad would bundle me up into blankets and leave me in the garage, in the car, at night, until he left at 3:00am for his first job of the day (he first delivered newspapers for the Oregonian, then he would go to his regular day job at the US Postal Service. When asked, my mother and father both confirmed that this actually happened. Other memories include the sense that I had to “compete” for my position in the family, and compete for my right for a little love.

Other memories include terrifying nightmares almost every night until I was 8 years old. I would be so afraid that I would stay in my bed and pee it quite frequently, which presented some problems over those early years (I was removed from the top bunk of a bunk bed that my sister and I shared for a while, of course, because of a couple of yellow “waterfalls”, leading to us having separate bedrooms at age 5 for me, and almost 7 for my sister). I remember having fantasies about friends, of which I had so few (or none) in the early years. One fantasy with remarkable staying power is that the only people that will be attracted to me are those that somehow I miraculously saved their life, otherwise people would be uninterested in befriending or loving me (that led into a few disastrous situations in early adulthood, and later on). We lived in an area devoid of children my age and sex prior to 1965, and so I grew up fairly isolated from friendship until we moved to a new neighborhood, where it was a much more mature neighborhood, with more options for childhood friendships located closer to our new home.

Here is a telling memory about how some members of my family saw me in public, as represented by my older sister in the public school system. I remember being in the 3rd grade, and my sister already having a boyfriend of sorts from her 4th grade class. That “boyfriend” had a younger brother, who was in 1st grade, who accompanied him. The older boy was a bully, but instead of pushing me around, he ordered his younger brother to attack me. I had never been in a fight before, and I was overwhelmed by the bellicose energy shown to me. The boy threw my unsuspecting body onto the ground, and he proceeded to punch me, bite me, pull my ears and hair, and yell little kid obscenities at me. Not knowing what to do (of course, my dad never taught me how to defend myself), but finally angry enough to do something, I began to imitate the lad, and overturned him and pulled his ears, and punched at him, and everything else he did to me, all the while being ridiculed and humiliated by my sister and the older boyfriend. Hmmph, this kind of bullying was to happen in several different forms again over the next several years, as my sister seemed to draw young men into her experience that thought picking on me was the way to her attention and affection.

Another aspect of “family shaming” was evident whenever my father came to sports events that I was involved with. He never took the time or effort to teach me or coach me on sports, but he was overly critical of me and my level of play on athletic teams. One of his famous public humiliations of me was when I was pitching on the mound one day, and dad yelled out “you couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn!” That is just an extension of the same “blanket party” behavior that he adhered to whenever he felt the need to garage my baby body. I won’t go into the details of the discipline that was administered to me over the years of my childhood, but one little story is quite telling. A machine gun toy was donated to the Oak Lodge Fire Department during their toy and joy drive one Christmas in 1969 (that was where my mother worked then, with me being 13 years old at the time). The gun had some damage to it, which is probably the reason why it was donated. My mother brought it home for me to mess with. I tried to get it to work, but could not. I began dismantling it, trying to understand how it worked so that I could attempt to repair it. Ann Cook, a daughter of some friends of my parents, was over visiting me at the time. Dad came downstairs and saw the gun parts spread all over the basement floor, accused me of destroying the gift, and then proceeded to remove his belt, and whip the hell out of me, right in front of Ann. That one hurt a lot of different ways, for sure. I was horribly shamed, but it did not feel too unusual, at the time.

Little did I know at that time that for me to disassemble and examine, and then to attempt to reassemble, my own life experience was to become my life’s greatest challenge at a much later point in time.

My sister reports that she spoke for me for an extended period of time while I “refused to talk”. Once I started talking (closer to age 4) I proved that I had the capacity for speech, and A LOT OF IT. My parents wondered, at times, if I would ever shut up. I was proven to be quite precocious, once I engaged my verbal skills. I remember that I would start talking about things that were around me, giving new information that my parents had no knowledge about. My parents thought that there was no way for me to know anything about what I was spouting off about, so I was mostly ignored. But I can remember how good it felt to be talking, and sharing the excitement of the magic of words exploding in my mind!

I was smaller than my peers, as I started 1st grade while I was still 5 years old, having taken an advanced entry exam to qualify me to start earlier. I did this because I was so unhappy with the baby sitters that my parents had arranged to care for me (one, Jo Stanley, was an unloving presence who also had an abusive teenage son who terrorized me). My mother especially wanted to help me out of my baby sitting hell. My mother, in case in it is not obvious elsewhere in this story, was my “great protector” from the overextension of male punitive technology and methodology. I had to draw her into a couple of the discipline efforts that my dad extended to me, especially when his belt hit my ass especially hard and often. But the image of my mother crying hysterically as my father raised his belt into the air remains one of those “marker memories” of life. My basic discomfort with aggressive male energy probably started here, and this “fear” informed and guided me through all of my relationships to follow.

Even after I started sleeping by myself, my mother allowed me into her bedroom at night after my typical nightly nightmare terror sessions, as long as dad had already left for work. I remember how protected from my demons I felt, as I lay in bed with her. I also know, now, that I unconsciously sought out women, MUCH MORE THAN MEN, to bond with, with the hopes that the relationship would bring a measure of safety and acknowledgement into my life, which seemed to be quite lacking in too many of my male to male connections. Yes, this was to become an unconscious “center” , yet another locus of energy, in addition to the unnamed ‘energy’ center (around being fundamentally ignored), around which all of my future perceptions were to be influenced by. Wow, what a life to have to experience!

WHAT ABOUT MOM? Why have I not written much about her? What did I learn from reading my story?

Other early memories revolve around grade school, grades 1-4, and how I did not enjoy playing with the boys, who were much too aggressive. I usually hung out with the girls, and I played kick ball and other non-contact or reduced violence games with them. I would become quite attached to one or two girls, and I was already trying to figure out how to incorporate a girl into my life quite prematurely.

One revealing memory is from a 4th grade science class, where the teacher placed a metal object on a burner, heated It up, and then placed it into water, where it was distorted by the uneven cooling. We were to describe in written form what we witnessed, and I had no clue how to describe it. I had to look at another person’s paper to see what they were seeing, because I did not have the language to communicate what I witnessed. Well, this aspect of me also can be translated into how I experienced my upbringing while still being raised. I did not have the language to communicate what was wrong, though I knew that I was witnessing something that was not right. My ability to bring personal experience and insight into language would continue to prove the greatest challenge to me in high school, and in the years to follow, all the way up to the present.

Boy Named Sue”, by Johnny Cash

My daddy left home when I was three

And he didn’t leave much to ma and me

Just this old guitar and an empty bottle of booze.

Now, I don’t blame him cause he run and hid

But the meanest thing that he ever did

Was before he left, he went and named me “Sue.”

Well, he must o’ thought that is quite a joke

And it got a lot of laughs from a’ lots of folk,

It seems I had to fight my whole life through.

Some gal would giggle and I’d get red

And some guy’d laugh and I’d bust his head,

I tell ya, life ain’t easy for a boy named “Sue.”

Well, I grew up quick and I grew up mean,

My fist got hard and my wits got keen,

I’d roam from town to town to hide my shame.

But I made a vow to the moon and stars

That I’d search the honky-tonks and bars

And kill that man who gave me that awful name.

Well, it was Gatlinburg in mid-July

And I just hit town and my throat was dry,

I thought I’d stop and have myself a brew.

At an old saloon on a street of mud,

There at a table, dealing stud,

Sat the dirty, mangy dog that named me “Sue.”

Well, I knew that snake was my own sweet dad

From a worn-out picture that my mother’d had,

And I knew that scar on his cheek and his evil eye.

He was big and bent and gray and old,

And I looked at him and my blood ran cold

And I said: “My name is ‘Sue!’ How do you do!

Now your gonna die!!”

Well, I hit him hard right between the eyes

And he went down, but to my surprise,

He come up with a knife and cut off a piece of my ear.

But I busted a chair right across his teeth

And we crashed through the wall and into the street

Kicking and a’ gouging in the mud and the blood and the beer.

I tell ya, I’ve fought tougher men

But I really can’t remember when,

He kicked like a mule and he bit like a crocodile.

I heard him laugh and then I heard him cuss,

He went for his gun and I pulled mine first,

He stood there lookin’ at me and I saw him smile.

And he said: “Son, this world is rough

And if a man’s gonna make it, he’s gotta be tough

And I knew I wouldn’t be there to help ya along.

So I give ya that name and I said goodbye

I knew you’d have to get tough or die

And it’s the name that helped to make you strong.”

He said: “Now you just fought one hell of a fight

And I know you hate me, and you got the right

To kill me now, and I wouldn’t blame you if you do.

But ya ought to thank me, before I die,

For the gravel in ya guts and the spit in ya eye

Cause I’m the son-of-a-bitch that named you “Sue.'”

I got all choked up and I threw down my gun

And I called him my pa, and he called me his son,

And I came away with a different point of view.

And I think about him, now and then,

Every time I try and every time I win,

And if I ever have a son, I think I’m gonna name him

Bill or George! Anything but Sue! I still hate that name!

This song really does capture the basic story of my life, and that life which is impressed upon all of humanity. Sue has to begin his search for the source of his ‘bad name’ or nature, which was his father. He needs to conquer and punish that evil force, yet after confronting the great evil, he gains understanding of his father, forgives him, and then states a new intention for his life. In this world, we are given an incomplete identity not our own, and forced to defend it the rest of our life, until we make peace within ourselves, and find our truest nature. Of course, we unconsciously transmit our process through our children anyway, so even if the child of the “original dysfunction” wanted his children to have a radically different life, they, or their heirs, are predestined to make many of the same mistakes in life, unless they too can become conscious of those hidden predispositions.

Anyway, the immense stress of growing up under these conditions (I was usually not aware enough to be too troubled by it, at least consciously), coupled with whatever fundamental damage that may have been done to my soul through unintentional negligence on the part of my parents during my earliest years, may well have led to the creation (or revelation) of the following story on the dream screen of my mind, which created a teaching for me as both a child and as an adult.

THE DREAM:

Around 52 years ago, at 9 years age I had a most amazing, realistic dream. This was during a period of time when I slept very little, as I usually got to sleep no earlier than midnight, no matter how early I went to bed. I laid in bed and reviewed the day every night before sleep, and see where I could have done things better, or said something a little differently. My dreams had finally evolved beyond the continuous nightmare phase that I was accustomed to, prior to age 8. But, being so immature, and not too worldly in my knowledge, I did not have the necessary background to know what to think about the dream. I had discussed the dream with my older sister, who seemed to have some partial answers to its mysteries (based on her understanding of reincarnation), but so many mysteries remained to be explained. I waited and watched for further answers, and went on with the all of the important business of being a carefree boy, though at times, I fleetingly experienced “self-awareness”.

Three years later, while taking World Geography as a class in the 7th grade, I was introduced to the Incan civilization, and Lake Titicaca, which is on the border between Peru and Bolivia. This was, and still is, a very sacred lake, and, according to the lore of the Incan people, it was where the origins of the human race began. I had an eerie sense of familiarity with the lake, and with the people of the area. I proceeded to consume every book on the Incan civilization that I could find. I became hooked on the idea of traveling to Peru someday, to seek out some answers, and to experience its culture, perhaps for a second time? (I eventually travelled to Peru in 2014, having a remarkable experience that has been documented elsewhere).

Here is the dream:

The priest, having received his directive from “on high”, then returned to his village along the lake in the high mountain region. He gathered all of the villagers together, and informed them that they were to take every golden figurine, every sacred symbol that they owned, and they were to throw them all into the lake, and never to think about them again. Then, he told each villager that they must each go into their own home, and face the “evil one” without any protection or care from any of their gods or their symbols of the sacred.

The priest then returned to his own home, having tossed all of his own idols and treasures into the deep blue lake. He stripped himself bare of all clothing, and then began to summon the forces of the dark. He became surrounded by a fog, and as he lifted his hands, sparks started flying out of his fingertips at the unknown force of darkness that lay just beyond his visual field, still hidden beyond the boundaries of the fog. The priest refocused his energy into his arms, and hands, and the sparks grew into a steady energy field, extending from his body, his heart, and his spirit, towards his unknown adversary. He was determined to overcome this force, this dark energy, and he redoubled his efforts. The priest’s heart began to race out of control, he began to sweat profusely, and a growing sense of fear and dread began to take hold of his entire being, as he finally understood that his energy could not last forever. Yes, for him to continue this battle, he must sacrifice all of his life force. Yet, he felt that he had no choice but to keep engaging the enemy, to finally see the face of the force that had terrorized his village since time began. He desperately strained and stretched to see the object of his fear and disdain, even as the ebbing energy field flowing from his fingertips continued to cut through the fog. Suddenly, a face began materializing before his faltering gaze. As he collapsed to the floor, almost drained of all life, he could no longer fight an undeniable truth– the face of the evil one might be his own!

Who was that boy who had that dream? Is this dream message as valid today as it was, perhaps many years ago? What kind of life is there to experience once the forces of darkness within one’s own soul have been overcome?

More will be revealed. I have had many more experiences in adulthood, some of a very profound nature. The pieces of the puzzle of my life are being integrated into a bigger picture. As I make sense of my own experience, so I make sense of the whole of life.

“The only person you are destined to become is the person you decide to be.”

― Ralph Waldo Emerson

(There is a continuity problem with what follows, so reread and correct someday).

My first memory in this incarnation is of being at my grandparents’ home, and probably dates around the summer of 1957. I was still in a diaper at the time (my mother said that I wore diapers until I was at least 2 years old). Of course, I was not speaking then (yes, I was an extremely late developer), but I still remember having some vague thoughts, and I understood the verbal question given to me in this memory, though no words seemed to form in my mind, just “picture impressions” (I actually remember my uncle asking me if I had messed up in my diaper, while I walked/staggered up a path to the porch of my grandparents’ home).

See Tempel Grandlin here, about animal consciousness and how it relates to autism, and our fundamental shared consciousness, if this becomes interesting to others.

I spent many a weekend at my grandparents’ home over the years (and when I turned 15 I lived there for 3 straight months). My parents were very liberal in allowing me to spend as much time with my grandparents as they could tolerate. The biggest issue in the early years was that my sister and I fought quite a bit, so Grandma would try to keep the peace where possible, and sometimes limit our time at their house accordingly, or just allow one of us at a time to stay.

It is difficult for me to describe the love that my grandparents showed to me. I could label it unconditional love, and be done with the description, but that just would not do my memories of my grandparents any justice. Grandma always provided a warm, safe house for me. She always had bowls of nuts and fruits scattered about her house, and I enjoyed snacking on all of her goodies. She always seemed to have mashed potatoes and gravy at every dinner, which I loved. She tried to cater to my limited dietary choices, without making me wrong for being so particular, and peculiar, with my immature tastes and appetite (My dad would force me to stay at the dinner table until I ate all of my meal, which I never did. I would hide the uneaten food in my pants, or in the heat register, so that I could get up from the table before too many hours passed). I would usually sleep in their second bedroom, which shared a wall with my grandparents’ bedroom. There was a big queen sized bed that I loved to sleep in when I spent the night with them (note: this room was the foundation for a dream in 1992 when I recognized my grandfather as the “Christ Light”- I knew that if I stayed observing directly the “Grandpa Great Spirit” energy (or Christ energy, if you will) I would be absorbed into it and my body would die-the energy is much too powerful for the ego body to contain it-and I almost “died” in my sleep, but Sharon woke me up because of the struggle she was witnessing while I slept). Sometimes, though, when my sister stayed there, I would get relegated to the 3rd bedroom, which was a small room located on the other side of the bathroom from the second bedroom. It was all good, however, as I loved my grandparents dearly, and I just enjoyed being with them, no matter what was going on.

Grandma was a fine seamstress, and she would make us pajamas every Christmas. When my cousin Brian finally came of age 3(he was 5 years younger than I), Grandma would make Brian and I pajamas of the same material. I loved my cousin Brian, and found myself being rather protective of him, especially when playing outside with my grandmothers’ neighbors’ kids. Brian seemed a little slow, and too gentle of spirit, and I somehow perceived that he might need my extra protection while engaging with the neighbor kids.

Grandma had a record player in her living room. It was the old style console type player, and she would occasionally play some of her music while we were there. I think that her favorite musician was Johnny Ray, who was Grandma’s beloved nephew (her sister Hazel’s number one son). Grandma had a picture of Johnny in her living room, and I don’t think that there was anybody in the world that Grandma admired more. And, Johnny is directly responsible for my life, as he saved my mother from drowning when mom was a pre-teen. Around 1980, just prior to Johnny’s death, we all went to a club in northwest Portland, called Darseilles, where Johnny performed (yes, Johnny was gay, but who cares?). I do not remember too much about Johnny, or his performance, but his show was well attended, and I had to try to look through a ceiling support column to see him. Grandma did not see Johnny much, because he had chosen to live in England after he became famous in the 1950’s. But, Johnny made a point of visiting with Grandma whenever he came to town, and we have some nice photographs of his family visits.

My grandmother belonged to the Order Of the Eastern Star, Daughters Of the American Revolution, and was an active church goer, as well. I remember when she was elected the Grand Matron, and of course Grandpa became the Grand Patron, and attending “installment” ceremonies and other events that she was required to attend. She was so respected and loved (and my Grandpa, as well) that I was quite impressed, having never seen such love exchanged between non family members before. She never proselytized, nor did my grandpa.

My grandparents, and my mother and uncle, lived in Salem until around 1940, when they moved up to Portland. They were both descendants of the great pioneer movements of the 1800’s, with Grandma being a direct descendant of George Gay. Gay participated in the Champoeg Meetings that created a provisional government in what would become the U.S. state of Oregon. (He was one of the first settlers in the Willamette Valley near Salem, arriving in 1830, after a shipwreck on the northern California coast in 1829, and surviving a challenging journey north from the wreck, and his name is on the monument at Champoeg Park). Much of our family’s ancestral possessions are on display in museums on the premises of Champoeg Park, as well. Grandma showed to me that she had some serious identity issues. She was ashamed of her Native American heritage, and recoiled whenever somebody hinted that she might have some ancestry there (she did, of course, as she was the granddaughter of George Gay and an Indian bride). A side story to this is that in 1995, Sharon and I brought Grandma to our house to die, after she was discharged from the hospital for lymphoma. While in an altered state, she found herself surrounded by Indians doing a ceremony around her. She was quite upset about it, even though it showed to us a probable internal healing action by her true self.

Grandpa had quite a challenging life, as far as his physical health went. While in the military he contracted malaria, while accompanying the troops on an exercise in Cuba. He is said to have developed sleeping sickness as a result, as well, and carried symptoms of this throughout his life. He had vision problems as well, and he went through a period of his life when he was almost blind. He contracted diabetes fairly late in life, and I remember him injecting insulin near mealtimes. I also remember him describing in great detail the tests that were run to determine that he indeed had diabetes. He would have to drink a quart of syrupy liquid, and then another a short time later, and have his blood sugar checked. This would occur a couple more times. The diagnosis as a result of these “distasteful” tests was that he had diabetes, and he would have to change his food choices in order to protect his health, in addition to injecting insulin into his body a couple times a day. But, the damage had already begun, and Grandpa was starting to have some of the blood circulation problems typical of a diabetic.

I do not remember much of Grandpa’s work career, other than he was a security guard at Safeway for a period of time.

Grandpa was not the big communicator, but when he did speak, he usually spoke very lovingly, gently, and encouragingly, towards all of the grand kids. I really grew to love my grandpa’s style over the years, and I deeply respected him. He had his quirks, like all of us do. He had quite a habit of being a smoker, especially later in life. His shirts and his favorite chair were decorated with burn holes from the cinders that dropped from his burning cigarettes, which seemed to happen quite regularly. He was usually napping at the time when it happened, so the cinders would burn nice sized holes in his chair before he would become aware of the situation.

Grandpa just loved to help his son Wayne, wherever possible. When Uncle Wayne bought the Park and Shop Market on Lombard in the 1980’s, Grandpa, and Grandma, both long retired by then, would help in the store every day (in addition to providing extra financial assistance wherever needed). As my grandparents were almost at the poverty level, their gifts of time and money were greatly appreciated by Uncle Wayne and, hopefully, by his wife Roxanne.

During the period beginning in the mid 1980’s, Grandpa had some serious health issues, resulting in a need for surgery. During one operation, he died on the operating table. But, almost miraculously, he “self-resuscitated”, and came back to life on the table. Grandpa thanked the doctor, who then reported back to him that Grandpa was responsible (or God), as the doctor had nothing to do with it. While he was “dead” Grandpa reported to me that he saw the Lord, and that the Lord was extending his hand to greet Grandpa, when Grandpa was unceremoniously “deposited” back into his body on the operating table. Grandpa was very disappointed to have to come back to this world, as in the other world he felt in perfect health, and the peace and happiness he experienced there had nothing that his living on planet Earth could compare with. I always felt an incredible kinship with my Grandpa, and I was excited to spend an October weekend in 1989 with him to discuss my spiritual unfoldment with him. Grandpa had already noted my spiritual intent, and had referred me to a Mason associate of his in 1987, so that I could begin training in the Masons. I achieved the 1^st Degree, but then my teacher got very ill, and died, and I did not pursue the 2^nd or 3^rd stage to complete the process.

I really wanted to spend quality time with Grandpa, as It seemed like Grandpa had experienced some variations of the same energy during his death experience that I had experienced while praying and meditating. But Grandpa fell and broke his hip the Thursday prior to the weekend visit, and was relegated to a nursing home for most of the rest of his shortened life. He was forced to remain in that hell hole until his death, 3 months later (he would keep asking me, the doctor, or anyone who would listen to be given a pill, so that he could “go home”. It was devastating to witness my Grandpa in this state, and I still cry when I think about it). I still struggle a bit to this day with the treatment that my parents and aunt and uncle gave my grandpa during his last 3 months of life. My uncle lived less than a mile from my grandparents, yet his wife (my aunt) refused to help my grandpa out for the 2 hours a day necessary to keep him in his home with Grandma (she told me she was burnt out from caring for her own mother, who died several years earlier, and she was unwilling to help my grandparents in any way). And, of course, my parents lived over 16 miles away, and were too busy being retired people out vacationing half of the year, and my mother had a surprising lack of empathy and compassion for her own father during this process, instead opting for preservation of her “freedom” over sacrificing a couple of hours several times a week to help out her own father.

This is one lesson that I refused to learn from any of them, that there may not be enough time or love to care for a family member in need (I continue to practice the opposite of these attitudes daily, with my continuing care of my demented father). They certainly showed concern, but they did not have the skills to address the family issues, and to offer constructive solutions. I noted a continuation of the same type of energy over the course of my life, coming from my parents (mainly dad) towards me.

THE FOOLS

You know who we are, there is no need for our names

We may be outwardly different, but inside we are the same

We vacation on ego trips, and with the world play strange mind games

While striving for material success, and its dubious fame

We remain graceless souls trying to blend into life’s masses

Some affirming our uniqueness, though we remain stuck in the same class

With our delusions of grandeur, while appearing just like an ass

And steering clear of self-awareness, Oh our transparency of glass!

At times spewing words of wisdom, but with only another dogs’ bark

Seeking to make a good life, but on life’s script still leaving just a dirty mark

Believing we may have seen light, but, if so, why is our life always so dark?

Needing more purifying inner flames, while snuffing every divine spark

Though we think that we have blossomed, we do not possess Love’s flower,

We hope for a life carried by the river of sweetness, while we still wade through the sour

Never realizing that, over life, we hold very little power

We can only avoid the reality of our lives, while living in our ivory tower

We tend to bring up life’s rear, though we think that we should be first

And from life we want all of the best, somebody else deserves the worst!

We think that our life should be more blessed, why on earth do we feel cursed?

Our lives just become overblown bubbles, just waiting to be burst!

The Darkened, Empty Life

It is time to talk about some childhood friends. Craig Salter was my next door neighbor in our new neighborhood. He was of slight build, and he was a slow talker. He may well have been a creative genius, but his “dreamy” state of existence was indicative of some fundamental issues going on inside of him. I suspected from the beginning that his mother was mentally ill, as she was quite peculiar, and apparently quite a hypochondriac. What concerned me was Craig’s similarity to his mother, as far as his mannerisms. And I also suspected that Craig was bonkers too, but, hey, he was my neighbor, and as far as friends go, I could not be too choosy, eh? I still wondered why I deserved to have such strange friends. He was smarter than most people, yet he could not consistently apply his smarts to school, which was too restrictive for him. On his own, before he was age 15, he had already designed a sophisticated internal combustion engine totally unlike what we use in today’s world. He also designed and built his own models, FROM SCRATCH, of supersonic jet airplanes, complete with spiral staircases made of pins and tiny pieces of paper glued in a spiral fashion. He was also already designing transistor circuits by age 14, which just blew me away at the time. HE WAS AMAZING! I wanted his creativity so bad, as I felt that I had none.

My abilities appeared to be quite mechanical, which left me having the sense that I was just another boring automaton, that I was just parroting/repeating others’ thoughts and behaviors. I enjoyed building model airplanes and ships from the WWI and WWII eras, and building sailing ships from kits that were based on sailing ships of the 16^th, 17^th, and 18^th centuries. I enjoyed building them, but then I would be so critical of my efforts, usually by comparing them to the “perfect” models that Craig could produce. I would become so unhappy with my projects, and an unusual perfectionist phenomenon would occur where I would feel pleasure at destroying my great works because they did not measure up to some (presently) unattainable standard that I had set for myself. This is huge, as it reflects something “fundamental” about an aspect of darkness of my human soul.

I would like to focus on this issue a little while longer. Some of us understand the “wounded white male ego” much, much better than the people who view life through the “rose colored glasses” of excessive optimism and positive thinking. Positive thinking and optimism are good, but if they are influenced by unconscious dark forces, peace of mind will always be just out of reach.

Some Men Just Want to Watch the World Burn (from, the Batman Trilogy).

Bruce Wayne: Targeting me won’t get their money back. I knew the Mob wouldn’t go down without a fight, but this is different. They’ve crossed a line.

Alfred Pennyworth: You crossed the line first, sir. You squeezed them, you hammered them to the point of desperation. And in their desperation they turned to a man they didn’t fully understand.

Bruce: Criminals aren’t complicated, Alfred. We just have to figure out what he’s after.

Alfred: With respect, Master Wayne, perhaps this is a man that you don’t fully understand, either. A long time ago, I was in Burma. My friends and I were working for the local government. They were trying to buy the loyalty of tribal leaders by bribing them with precious stones. But their caravans were being raided in a forest north of Rangoon by a bandit. So we went looking for the stones. But in six months, we never met anyone who traded with him. One day, I saw a child playing with a ruby the size of a tangerine. The bandit had been throwing them away.

Bruce: So why steal them?

Alfred: Well, because he thought it was good sport. Because some men aren’t looking for anything logical, like money. They can’t be bought, bullied, reasoned, or negotiated with. SOME MEN JUST WANT TO WATCH THE WORLD BURN.

Alfred makes a lot of great speeches in these Batman films, but none are better than this one. We get our first insights into what makes the Joker tick (the trickster in human consciousness, especially in the unhealed white male ego). How could something like this exist? What does it want? Why is it so cruel? None of these have terribly logical answers. It is sourced from the darkness in his unconsciousness, and it wants nothing more than to destroy anything good that it sees.

School was not a problem for me in the new neighborhood, as the quality of the North Clackamas School District, at least in the grades schools, was substantially lower than that of the West Linn area from which we had moved from, so I was already a bit ahead of my peers, at least in math and English. And, if the truth be known, I was starting to really get a handle as to how to succeed in school, by watching others who were doing well. A little secret that I carried is that many times, I could “access” certain information that I had never learned before (officially), and use it to succeed scholastically. What does this mean? Well, in addition to a nearly photographic memory that I had when I was young (which I lost when I started smoking pot), from time to time (especially during the stress of testing) information would just start appearing in my mind, and I would just fly through whatever academic challenge was presented to me. It felt like I was cheating at times, and I did not understand it, or question it too much. I was probably recalling information that I had already stored, albeit unconsciously, but when I re-read more of my story, I have to wonder if consciousness can be much more shared than we normally experience, at levels both “above and below” verbal levels. After examining my awakening to the “reality” created by words, I could see that embedded into each word that we are able to understand is the whole of human verbal experience. Each word is a hologram of the wholeness of our verbal reality. If we truly understand ONE word, in its wholeness, we can apperceive the whole, as well. I am sure that this will open up some discussion somewhere, if somebody ever reads this obscure document.

There were many nights when I slept outside and gazed into the night sky with either binoculars or one of many telescopes that I, or my friend Craig, owned over the years, searching for flying saucers, or other interesting otherworldly objects. I needed to know that there were other options for life, life away from the trauma of this planet. Craig and I became obsessed with building rocket ships and developing our own rocket fuel. We were both quite impacted when between 7th and 8th grades, a friend of ours (Charley Davalos) died when his fuel cell exploded, sending shrapnel to cut his jugular vein. Undeterred, I still became an avid rocketeer, building rocket ships and installing premanufactured solid fuel booster cells into them, and then launching them thousands of feet into the sky. Craig was stay in my life until 1987, though I only infrequently saw him after my first college years of 1973-1976 (I returned again in 1980, quitting again in 1983 after yet another Donelle breakdown).

Jeff Tobin was a boy that I had met in the 5^th grade. We were not neighbors, but we were friends at school, and we were both quite energetic lads. Both of us had excessive energy, and this did lead to both of us getting into trouble both alone, and together once or twice. Jeff was not so significant to me at this level of relationship, where his significance increased was 11 years later when I worked with him in the PAMS (Portland Area Mailing System-an experimental locally developed electronic mailing system implemented in the Portland Main Post Office). I worked with Jeff in the PAMS unit for about one year. He resigned after his first suicide attempt.. ( maybe talk about His attempt to be friendly to Donelle)

I first met Randy Olson when I was in fifth grade, after he moved up to Oregon from California. He lived about 3/4 of a mile down Oatfield Road from us, and we rode the same bus to school together, for grades 5-8. He had many friends, with me becoming an important friend to him, but I was not his only friend. He was an extremely gregarious fellow, with a great sense of humor. He grew up awkwardly, at least physically, with his legs much too long, and out of proportion with the rest of his body. He shot up so fast in 7th grade, and became so much taller than his peers, that he was given the nickname “Lurch”, with which he was named after an extremely tall character in the 60’s TV series called “The Addams Family”.

We played pickup basketball, football, and baseball games every spring, summer, and fall together, as well as shared all of the normal sleep-overs, camping trips, bicycle rides, pool and ping pong games and activities that others our age would engage in, through our freshman year in high school. Then, in his sophomore year, Randy got his first car, and the rest is history. He immediately found his first long-term girlfriend, a young woman by the name of Terri-Lynn Barr, a person that he met at the Portland Rose Festival. Terri had a friend named Sharon Denman, who befriended Tony Mecklem, another of our mutual pals, and they both had their first “almost adult” relationships starting at about the same time. I felt a bit left out during this period of time, though I did finally get a couple of friendships going with some girls in the same approximate North Portland area that Terri and Sharon lived in. This was the era where Randy and Tony were introduced to marijuana, but I will discuss this elsewhere on the paper.

Terri-Lynn had a step sister named Donelle, and one day Randy drove Donelle down to Portland, where I had my first chance to meet her. This was not a date (it was far from a date) but when I first laid eyes on Donelle, I was hooked. She was the most beautiful young woman I had ever met, gorgeous beyond all description, and she was incredibly intelligent, and sensitive, too. I had a sense that I had witnessed my future, when I first saw her. I did not see her again for several months, but she had left an indelible mark upon my soul, and I just could not forget her.

Since I was still not driving at the time, there was no way to go up to meet with her on my own, so I just let all thoughts of re-connecting with her just slip away. She already had a boyfriend in Vancouver, Washington at Evergreen High School anyway, according to Randy, and I had such a low self-esteem that I knew I could not compete for her affections. I was barely coming into my own, physically, as a man, so there a lot of insecurity around my maturity anyway. Just to give an idea of where I stood in “self awareness and insight” at that time, I had an English class where we were required to keep a journal, and record our thoughts every day into the journal. Well, after looking at my journal for one week in a row, and not having any insight whatsoever, I bought a book by Hugh Prather, called Notes to Myself, and copied some of his personal insights into my journal, because I had no idea what to write about.

Randy eventually brought Donelle back again to our neighborhood in our junior year (Rex Putnam High), and I made my move. Eventually, Donelle and I, and Randy and Terry, became couples that shared much time and love together. I did not always get along with Terry, which was a trend that was to continue through most of Randy’s later relationships with women that were to follow. For some reason, Randy’s girlfriends always eventually saw me as some sort of impediment to their relationship with Randy. One time we were all camping at Short Sands Beach campground at the Oregon Coast, and Terry became so irritated with me that she pulled the tent stakes out of the tent that I was sleeping in. That is only one of many stories that show that I did not always have the best connections with Randy’s girlfriends, though there were a couple of times to follow, in later years, where my connections became a little bit too close with some of his ex-girlfriends, which brought me some additional learning experiences.

I first met Dan Dietz in 1969, when I saw him as a freshman in high school. He came from Oak Grove grade school, and I came from Concord grade school, to join the freshman class. We did not associate with each other, at least initially, and rarely acknowledged each other until the sophomore year. An associate of his, Mark Anderson, was in my PE class, so that is where I first made contact with the “greaser” group that they all belonged to. There was Bruce Chapman, Dan Dietz, Mark Anderson, Barry South, and the many drop-ins that associated with them throughout high school. Bruce Chapman had a garage outside of his home, where he perpetually worked on his 1955 Chevy race car. Bruce’s Garage took on an almost sacred connotation in all who knew him over the next few years, as it became THE GATHERING PLACE many weekend evenings. Lots and lots of suds were consumed there, and soon I was to join them in their weekly celebrations of hops, marijuana, and fairly close friendship, it seemed.

In 1971, during my sophomore year, I started smoking pot, as related in another section of this manuscript. I was already trying to find my group, who to hang out with, because I just did not fit in anywhere, anyway. My friends from grade school were finding their own way, though we still stayed quite connected even during the turbulent high school years. Having been rejected by every girl I showed an interest in, and bullied a few times by the more mature freshman and sophomores, I finally figured out that my physical immaturity had finally caught up with me. Being 13 years old, weighing 92 pounds, being a freshman in high school, and not even having had puberty yet, made things really uncomfortable for me in the locker room, though at long last I got my first whisker somewhere between my freshman and sophomore year. I gave up on the girls for a while, and continued trying to establish who might be my “core group”. I tried out for the cross country team, because I was in great running shape from training with Craig’s older Mark (who ended up designing the sophisticated software for the US Defense Department to use in the computers of their top secret spy planes). Mark was 3 years older than Craig, but he was much more athletic and was incredibly involved in the community. He was an inspiration to me, and I trained with him because I wanted to hang with him. I ended up running 3 miles a day for a whole year while in 8^th grade, so I thought that this would be a good fit for me. Craig and I attempted to run cross country, but I quickly became discouraged by the “faster” runners who were already on the team, so I dropped out. I joined the chess club and the golf team my freshman and sophomore years, then dropped both of those options when I started using pot.

In my search for another source of pot, Dan Dietz came into my awareness, and, thus, the beginning of a deep, though at times troubled, friendship. Dan was a big young man, with little athletic inclination. He found me some pot, and invited me to smoke it with him. I then was introduced to the “gang”, and the rest is history. We hit it off fabulously, and I found my mission in life, which apparently was to drink and use until I died. I got drunk for the first time in my conscious life with Dan, at age 15. And I knew that I was an alcoholic from the very beginning. After a couple weekends of drinking, I admitted to myself that I was an alcoholic already. I got so “high” off of alcohol, it was like a narcotic. And I always drank until I was drunk, as there was no middle ground here.

It was here that I had the realization that I would die from alcoholism, that there was nothing that I could do about it but hold on tight, and ride it out to its self-destructive conclusion. My statement to myself was that I would either quit alcohol and drugs by age 30, or I would die, perhaps by my own hand. Yes, hopelessness came early, but there was still a lot of fun and experiences to be gained through its use while my ship of life sank over the next 16 years, and I did not go easy on it. There were several nights my senior year in high school when my mother would have to hold a bucket under my head while I released extra beer from the stomach reservoir, which I would always overfill. She investigated Alcoholics Anonymous for me, but I had no desire to connect with a bunch of boring old people, and I steered WAY CLEAR of anything approaching sobriety in high school, or in the two attempts for Bachelor’s Degrees at the University of Portland that were to follow over the next 10 years.

AIN’T IT FUN

Songwriters: PETER LAUGHNER, CHROME CHEETAH

Ain’t it fun when you’re always on the run

Ain’t it fun when you’re friends despise what you become

Ain’t it fun when you get so high, well that you, you just can’t come

Ain’t it fun when you know that you gonna die young

It’s such fun, good fun, such fun, such fun, aah such fun

Such fun, such fun aah, yeah, fun, such fun, such

Ain’t it fun when you’re taking care of number one

Oh ain’t it fun when you feel like you just gotta get a gun

Ain’t it fun when you just can’t seem to find your tongue

‘Cause you stuck it too deep into something that really stung

It’s such fun, ah

Well, so good to me, they spit right in my face

And I didn’t even feel it, it was such a disgrace

I punched my fist right through the glass

And I didn’t even feel it, it happened so fast

Such fun, such fun, such fun

Ah such fun, such fun, such fun

Ah such fun, such fun, such

Ain’t it fun when you tell her she’s just a cunt

Ain’t it fun when you she splits and leaves you on the bum

Well, ain’t it fun when you’ve broken up every band that you’ve ever begun

Ain’t it fun when you know that you’re gonna die young

It’s such fun

Such fun, such fun, such fun

Ah such fun, such fun, such fun

Such fun, such fun, such fun

Such fun

Sean Tucker was a young man that I met in 1972. He had just moved to the area from Denver, Colorado, and he lived within a mile of me with his father, who was an agent with the Bureau of Indian Affairs. He happened to attend the Sabin Occupational Skills Center from 1972-1973, and that is where I first met him. He was a handsome young man, he had long hair, and he was way cool, and we hit it off immediately, as well. There was something really, really special about this person, probably because he was the new kid in town. But, driving a brand new 1957 baby blue Chevy sedan sure made him stand out in an automobile crowd! This was a gift from his grandmother, and it was way cool. He sure was a magnet for the young women, too, and I kind of hope some of that magnetism would rub off on me (it really never did). He was also a user, and we would find that we could really explore the far reaches of intoxication together, and usually have quite the good time while doing it! There was something that connected us that went beyond just being schoolmates, but I did not understand it too well at the time. I guess that I would call it “love” now, not having a better word for it. He became my very best friend in the universe, and we explored the far reaches of human consciousness together, both intentionally and unintentionally, for the next several years, until he left for the Air Force in 1978. Wait a minute, I was supposed to be in the Air Force, what happened? When he left, I felt so abandoned. Dan Dietz and company served me well in his absence, but I certainly went different directions with that group than I would have with Sean.

I need to share an unusual story here, before I leave Sean. In 1984, I had not heard from Sean for over 3 years. One morning, I just KNEW that he was going to call me. I had not even thought of Sean for a long, long time, yet the thought of his call came into my mind. Well, he did call that morning!! Sean, while on leave from the Air Force, came back to Portland for a very eventful week both with, and without, me. Yes, true spiritual connection goes way beyond Facebook and text messaging (that technology was unavailable during the ‘70’s, of course)! I did not consider myself spiritual, or connected, at this point, though I also had received direct communications in my dreams from at least 2 dead people that me and my family had been friends with, which was a little unsettling, but a great source of conversation for those who were into that sort of thing.

{My first rock concert, with the Grease Band, Rod Stewart and the Faces, and Savoy Brown-First unitive experience when entering the arena}

My life experience with Donelle became the most compelling, heartbreaking, depressing experience that I could ever have envisioned for myself, or for her. She had a nervous breakdown late in her senior year, and was diagnosed as a paranoid schizophrenic. She was briefly hospitalized, and was placed on some powerful, experimental medications to try to keep her independent. She was able to graduate from high school, but her spirit was crushed by her disease, and so was mine. I went from being a potential lifelong friend and partner, to a guilt ridden care giver, and care taker, boyfriend, and, eventually, husband to her. I left most of my boyhood dreams behind in the process, so that I could be close to Donelle, and give her the support that she would require for the rest of her life. Continuing to stay in her life probably gave me an excuse to affirm my own unconscious desires to self-destruct my own dreams and greater good. I was permanently grounded, and resigned myself to a life of mediocrity.

Before I met Donelle, and before I was introduced to drugs and alcohol, my life plan was to first become a US Air Force pilot, and parlay that into a shot at the space program. I was already gearing myself up in high school to join the ROTC in college. Once in college, and in the ROTC, the Air Force tried to revise my dream, by claiming that they had too many pilots left over from the Vietnam war. They wanted me to be an engineer instead, with the offer of 2^nd Lieutenant right out of the shute, and a 6 year commitment to service. It did not matter either way as I withdraw from the ROTC , lost the scholarship, hoping that the other scholarships that I already had, plus working, would get me to my Electrical Engineering degree. This plan eventually went down in flames, but I did fly quite a while at high altitude.

After I walked away from the ROTC and my future with the Air Force in 1974, I continued to absorb more than my share of alcohol and other chemicals to help me cope with my own dysfunction, while I watched Donelle disintegrate, and then, occasionally, resurrect herself, from the effects of her disease through the latest medications introduced by the drug companies. I applied to work at the US Postal Service during my summer break from college in 1975, and I ended up staying with the job until walking away from it years later. I also worked overtime on swing shift during that period of time, sometimes working 60 hours a week, while going to school full time at the University of Portland, trying to get an engineering degree. I hoped that this would enable me to afford to support my disabled wife and myself, and maybe start a family someday. My wife at this point (in the late 1970’s) became a local “rock and roll” group follower, requiring that we go out at least 2 nights a week to experience the rock and roll bar scene, so my weekends with her rarely had any rest time involved (it was futile to argue with her about my needs. Hers were too great, apparently). We stayed connected with Randy and whoever was his latest girlfriend, and Donelle and I tended to seek Randy out whenever we wanted to something really really fun around the city. We partied with some of the more prominent local groups of the era, and some of the more famous disc jockeys. Randy was quite the social connector, knowing virtually everybody in the local, and regional, scene.

My guilt attachment to Donelle is worthy of some exploration, as it is so revealing about my sense of self-worth. One thing that I know for sure, we both had lifelong diseases to fight, and we both were fighting losing battles. The progression of our relationship was very difficult for me to recount, as they were troubling times. But for Donelle, the troubling times began very early in her life. Her mother originally was married to Don Flick, who was both a major farm owner in North Dakota, plus a machine tender at Crown Zellerback in Camas, Washington. Because Don worked a lot, Marlene got pretty lonely at times, and she would sponsor alcohol parties with strange men. Unmonitored sexual activity by her “friends” resulted in sexual abuse of Donelle. And, Marlene also then churned out a 4th child, Greg, who was so totally unlike the other three that included Donelle, her older brother Keith, and her younger brother Terry, so that everybody knew something was up. The marriage ended, but Donelle ended up being taken into the home of Marlene and one of her drunkard sex buddies that had sexually abused Donelle, Bud Barr. Bud was a known family molester by this point, having abused another step sister of Donelle’s, as well. And Bud and Marlene got married, and nobody lived happily ever after. They stayed married until I came onto the scene. Coincidentally, a new man in town showed up by the name of Tom C who worked with Marlene at Parker Furniture.

Donelle and I became sweethearts when I was still 16 years old, and she was 17. I did not have a drivers’ license, or a car, but I knew if I wanted to keep this relationship going I had to do something. My father had a Honda 50CC motorcycle that he was going to use for fishing (he never did), so I commandeered the bike, grabbed a helmet, and drove that silly little thing up I205 into Vancouver where she lived (or to Camas, if she was staying there with her father). The transportation eventually improved a bit, but I always drove older cars, cars that were easy to repair or discard as required. Whatever the cost, I was going to keep pursuing Donelle, that was for sure!

We both were virgins, and our first sexual encounter was anything but satisfying. I began to wonder if this was all there was to sex, what was the point? Donelle was very cold, and unresponsive, and I was later to learn that she was non-orgasmic because of the trauma of childhood sexual abuse. Yes, the gift that keeps on giving, the trauma created by predators that sexually abuse of our babies. Don’t ask me what should be done with those people. Life has a way of punishing them, but it is always too late to save the victim. Many of these victims are so traumatized that they never recover, so prevention is really our only hope here, at least for now. Donelle was never to recover from this, and she could not even “touch herself” without having an incredible guilt and discomfort.

I was hesitant to marry Donelle, fearing that she would yet again destabilize, and collapse into psychosis yet again. She had several “mini breakdowns” during the period from 1973-1979 that were controlled through new medications, or additions to her old regimens of drugs (she took up to 4 different pills at a time, several just for side-effect mitigation of other medications!). After dropping out of college the first time, in 1976, I began to spend some real time with her again, just working the swing swift at the Post Office during that time period. It was a relatively stress free period of time, though I was quite the party animal with Donelle’s younger brother Terry, whom I had become great friends with. Eventually, Donelle improved enough that she applied for the Sus Chef training at PCC Sylvania campus, and was accepted into the training. She did great for two years, nearing graduation, and we were married in September of 1979, after having lived together for 4 years. Donelle was making great progress, and she only needed to finish her last term to graduate in great academic and practical standing. Well, it was too good to be true, because she had her worst breakdown of her life, resulting in my need to have her committed to the Oregon State Hospital in Salem (Dammasch).

HUGE DISCONTINUITY-FIND WHERE THIS IS REFERENCED ELSEWHERE< AND TIE IT IN.

(HUGE BACKSTORY) She eventually became a homeless street person, and the State of Washington finally accepted responsibility for her care several years later, after I walked out on most of her process. I proceeded to begin my own search for the truth of my being, though I was working with very few clues about which direction to head in.

{Care Unit in 1984-Personal writings that were recognized coming from a “people pleasing” part of me, and not from the genuine center of me. Tom C was my roommate, who was helper to Steven Kessler in 1968 Oregon State Prison Riot and fire-Kessler part of reason for underworld investigation by feds locally, by the way-First AA meeting in 1981 after insistence by Employer EAP}

Randy stayed in contact with me, and, in fact, I lived with him after walking away from Donelle, and, then, two years later, after walking away from yet another losing relationship with a woman named Alcindia. Alcindia represents an era with great overall darkness in my life. I met Alcindia at “Bannisters”, a bar in Beaverton, after Randy and I moved there in 1984. I danced with her one evening at the bar, then I brought her back home to my apartment that I shared with Randy. She was a cute younger woman, but as fate would have it, she also had sexual abuse issues in her background, which definitely impacted our 16 month relationship in various ways. But, these issues did not lead her into the psychosis like it probably did with my ex-wife. Unlike my sexually unresponsive first wife Donelle, Alcindia at least found a way to experience an orgasm, and she brought the fruits of that exploration into our shared sexuality. On a physical level, she was a small step up. On a spiritual and emotional level, our relationship did nothing to enhance a shared vision of wholeness, instead, gradually becoming a source of pain and suffering for the two of us. How a one night stand turned into a dark 16 month relationship is anybody’s guess, but my poor self-esteem, loneliness and need for female friendship sure played into it. Alcindia and her friend Baby both worked at the Aloha Intel complex when I met them. Baby, and her boyfriend, both were to become quite prominent in our shared story, but I will keep their story at a minimum. Suffice it to say that Baby’s boyfriend, who belonged to a motorcycle gang in Hillsboro, had access to pure rock crank, which, at that time, I had never experienced before. This is a very significant event, and more will be discussed about it later.

The relationship with Alcindia coincided with my exit from my “lifetime guaranteed job” at the US Postal Service, and the final collapse of all of my sensibilities. After working as a floor clerk, and then on a letter sorting machine for 2 years, I was promoted onto the maintenance team, where I started as a maintenance mechanic in 1980. What I was really was an electronic technician trainee, though I did work on some older mechanical or electrical-mechanical mail sorting gear. Because I was the new low guy on the totem pole, I was last in line for all promotions, no matter how qualified, or unqualified, I was for any new or more favorable positions that opened up. I made a decision to drop out of school 3 years earlier, to continue work at the Post Office, which seemed like an easier route for a practicing addict/alcoholic to take. School had the potential to become all-consuming, and I probably needed sobriety to have any hope in the first place. So the best decision for a practicing alcoholic/addict is to keep the job I already had, and give up on the degree for a while. Hmmm, that was the second goal that I literally smoked and pissed away.

About one year before the start of the maintenance position, I again I applied at the University of Portland Engineering Department for readmission, but they were still unimpressed with me because of my meteoric fall from academic grace 3 years earlier. I went from a being a strong B+ student in college, with advanced math placement, to a student who no longer showed up in class. I apparently did not show the right initial interest, because I was told to attend a community college for a year, to prove that I was really interested in going to school. So I attended Portland Community College, Sylvania Campus, for the 1979-1980 school year, to see if I still “had it in me”, getting straight A’s in the most difficult science and math courses offered. I also took some philosophy and religion based courses, knowing that they would help me with the University of Portland readmission project that I was undertaking. So now I get word that I am readmitted to U of P, at about the same time that my new maintenance position begins. Will this new marriage work?

Since I was a new hire into the Maintenance Department, headed by John Zimpleman, I was relegated to performing the least favorable duties that the Main Post Office had to offer. I was usually blowing dust off of equipment, tightening conveyor belts, replacing motors, resetting photocells, adjusting timing on the parcel sorting machine, or other sundry and mundane tasks that my precedents had dutifully performed prior to my “advancement” into their ranks. Right after I started, I was referred to the Employee Assistance Program, which was run internally to the US Postal Service. My attendance had been fairly poor up to this point while I was a clerk, so this was a carryover from those days, too. Larry and Mike tried to befriend me, and tried to get me to admit that drinking and/or drugging had something to do with the poor attendance, but I stood unaffected by their suggestions. I had to go to 5 AA meeting to meet the requirements of the EAP, which I did, but I had a quart of beer stashed under my car seat for immediate consumption after each meeting, so the “message” fell on carbonated ears.

Well, after I worked for less than a month on graveyard shift I KNEW THAT I NEEDED TO DO SOMETHING DIFFERENT. So, once again I combined work and school, and this time I knew that I was going to succeed, since Donelle was no longer in the picture, and I thus would be able to retain my focus, and not collapse into the confusing quagmire that I fell into after from trying to maintain a marriage with a troubled person, work and go to school at the same time, like I attempted 3-6 years previously.

From 1980-1983 I attended the University of Portland while working graveyard shift at the US Postal Service. For two years, I had great grades, perfect attendance, and a lot of hope for myself until I hit my senior year 1983. During the same period, my attendance at work continued to tank, and my attitude at even being there was in the dumps, as well.

But, I had learned a lot about computer and electronic engineering up to this point, and my new education placed me well ahead of most of my peers, and caused some concern among some co-workers who thought that I might try to parlay this education into a pogo stick to jump over their place on the seniority roster. Shortly after joining ranks with the maintenance department, I was sent to Normal Oklahoma for training on troubleshooting and repairing some of their letter sorting equipment. This was the first time that I had ever flown on an airplane, and it was my first great adventure by myself away from home. I stayed in the University of Oklahoma’s student dormitory, which was shared with the USPS during the summer months for all students. My roommate was Bill Y of New York City, who also was a maintenance mechanic/electrician from that area. He happened to be a black man, and he is the first black person I ever had any relationship with, other than through basketball adventures throughout Portland that I used to engage in. OKLAHOMA CITY STANDOFF Talk about Bill X of NY, Tracy from NJ, etc, and Okahoma City.

After repeatedly being denied an opportunity to take the same training that my peers in the electronic tech core were receiving, I applied directly to the training facility in Norman Oklahoma to challenge one of the preliminary courses in computer logic that the technicians were required to pass in order to move forward. My local employer decided I needed some training in maintaining the manual letter sorting machine, so they sent me back to Norman in May of 1984, which is a significant date because I also had just one month of sobriety at this point, having just “graduated” from the Care Unit on Lovejoy in April.

The national US Postal Service training center was located, adjacent to the University of Oklahoma campus, and we had full access to their campus and sports facilities, which was awesome. I passed the regular training with flying colors, and on the last day was my test scheduled for the class challenge. I breezed through the written portion of the test, scoring 70 out of 70 correct. The practical portion of the exam I was quite concerned about, as it referred to equipment that I had no training or background on. I only needed to answer one question out of the last 6 correctly to successfully challenge this course, and I could not do it. It was right there that I decided that when I got home to Portland, I was going to get drunk. I called my friend Craig, and requested that he meet me at the airport to pick me up. I WAS BUYING!! As Spirit would have it, my Care Unit counselor Claire Z got onto our airplane on our layover in Denver, and she rode the trip back to Portland on my plane. I avoided her like she had the plague, and I never let her know that I was on the airplane. The problem here is that I had already said YES to relapse, NO to sobriety, and to talk with Claire would have helped me stay sober, I am sure.

{Introduction to Crank through Alcindia, ultimate 3 day “visit” to Cedar Hills Hospital in 1985 after Dr Beavers visit}

(Gary Graham, Randy, Di Di, Rock and Roll taverns, partying, working, going to school, etc.)

The Volcano of My Pain

Lying on the far perimeter of my interior field of vision,

The volcano sits quietly, though memories of past eruptions

Still fill the mental ethers with fear of the next explosive event.

I start to feel my ground shake, and rumble.

Something pre-conscious builds pressure internally,

I have no words to adequately describe my distress, but

It forces my emotional boundaries to stretch beyond their limited capacity,

Losing control, my nameless pain and suffering explodes within

My mind and life,

Showering my world with my raw emotions,

Stripping back

Layers, upon layers, upon layers

Of my consciousness,

Exposing long forgotten mental relics

Dangerous old tendencies, and habits,

The hot, molten lava of my distress and anger covering my world,

Burning, Destroying, Dying, Decaying,

Then retreating for yet another

appearance in the future

My volcano of pain and suffering,

Why?

DISCONTINUITY AGAIN!~

Randy was always there to offer a helping hand, and though he felt bad about what had happened to me, always counseled me to look ahead and find another direction for my life, and to try to enjoy the present moment as much as he did. Randy could never offer the sobriety direction, however, as he enjoyed his beer as much, or more than, the next guy, and, I am sure, could not envision a life without the support of the spirits of the beer keg. Randy and I had roamed the cities of Beaverton and Portland for many hundreds of nights in the past, enjoying the music, the people, the temporary friendships of others, and the support of a multitude of friends that Randy had developed over the years, including his many girlfriends. Of course, there was this almost fatal hole in my life that was draining my enthusiasm for life out of me. The funny thing about this “hole” is how it enabled me to love parts of my life, while still excluding loving anybody, including myself, without judgement or reservation.

On January 26th, 1986, after yet another night of fighting depression with the hops and yeast anti-depressants, I woke up upon Randy’s living room couch at 8:45am, with him emerging from his bedroom, exclaiming to my clouded mind: “BRUCE, WAKE UP AND TURN ON THE TV!! THE CHALLENGER JUST EXPLODED!!!” After watching that horrific event over and over, I realized that my life was also over. I saw mirrored in the Challenger disaster the total destruction of all of my hopes and dreams, and I made the decision right then and there to end it all.

I only needed to refill a prescription for some anti-depressants and anti-anxiety medication that I already had from a psychiatrist that I had been seeing, and I was going to take them all, and call it a life. I went to the pharmacist, with the intention of seeing the deed completed immediately. Anyway, I took my empty pill bottles up to the pharmacist, and asked for refills.

The Search For Truth

This was going to be it, because I knew that my problems could not be solved, at least not on my level. The pharmacist REFUSED to fill the prescription, even though I had one refill left on each one, and told me that I needed to see the shrink again. Hmmph! I saw the psychiatrist, Dr. Dan Beavers, and he perceived what might be happening within me, and elicited a promise from me that I would not kill myself. Dr. Dan had just had another patient kill himself using the same medication that I had, and he could not live through another such event (nor could I, I guessed so astutely). So, he got the promise from me, but I kept those pills under the front seat of my car. I told myself that unless I found the truth about my life, about all of life in general too, that I was going to leave the planet, as I thought that only the absolute truth would give my life any meaning at all, a meaning that I could live for.

As I neared the time period that I anticipated attempting to kill myself again, I wanted to clear all of my accounts, so as not to leave a financial mess for my parents. I made sure that I filed for bankruptcy right after my first suicide “attempt”. My father was listed as the creditor that I owed the biggest debt to. Not only did I pay everything that I owed my father from my retirement account at the US Postal Service, I also made sure that the amount declared on the bankruptcy petition far exceeded what I owed to him, so that he could get a tax advantage from it. My bankruptcy became official, coincidentally, on my 31^st birthday, November 20, 1986, which also was looming large as my expiration date, as well, as I moved through the “summer and fall of madness” of 1986. It is such a funny thing, in my current relationship with my 89 year old father (I am the primary caregiver, and have been for the last 7 years), my father repeatedly reports back to me (he has had dementia for the last 8 years, at least) that he was dominated by the desire to make money and pay off debts when he was younger. Owing money to anybody was threatening to him and his poor senses of self-esteem and economic security.

Well, during my search for my own healing, in which I traveled the darkest, most desperate roads that our city had to offer. I used up all of my retirement money (from working at the US Postal Service, where I had worked close to ten years) to support me as I wandered through the city’s dark side, basically living out of my 1976 Datsun 310. I hooked up with addicts, murderers, robbers, prostitutes, drug dealers, DEA agents, teenage runaways, and you name it, I became acquainted with all of the darkness of the city (though I did so in a celibate manner-I did not want sex to cloud my vision). It is a funny thing, I was already dead, or so I thought, so I had no fear as I related to all of these human beings. These were people that I never would have associated with in my more ordered past, but in this phase of my life, I had no fear of them at all. My only intention was to find the truth of living, and of being. I engaged every one of these types of individuals, and I had conversations with them about what life meant to them, and what they felt about God, Good, Evil, Darkness, LIght, and human relationships. The most amazing thing happened at the end of the journey, however, when a Federal agent literally picked me up, and drove me to my parents’ home (there is a huge backstory to this). He told me “Bruce, your search here has ended, You must begin again with your father, and restart your search with him. I can’t protect or support you any longer”. So, I landed in my parents’ home in late 1986.

I was still a mess, strung out from months of drug abuse, alcoholism, gambling, and I had also lost 70 pounds, weighing a mere 136 pounds. My face was all broke out, and I had the most horrific shakes, and I “heard voices”. I had experienced convulsions several times. I had lost my capacity for speech for two days as a result of what must have been a stroke. I was still drinking, but I was no longer using drugs very much. I invited Randy Olson over on March 13 of 1987. He came over, and he, and his girlfriend and I proceeded to down an inordinate amount of my fathers’ booze and wine. My parents were still “snow birding” in Arizona, and would not be home until the end of the month, so I was still able to keep my dysfunctional momentum going. Well, after partying with Randy until about 10:00 PM, Randy had to go home, so I was left alone with my horrible problems.

Artist: Nine Inch Nails

HURT

I hurt myself today

To see if I still feel

I focus on the pain

The only thing that’s real

The needle tears a hole

The old familiar sting

Try to kill it all away

But I remember everything

What have I become?

My sweetest friend

Everyone I know

Goes away in the end

If you could have it all

My empire of dirt

I will let you down

I will make you hurt

I wear this crown of shit

Upon my liar’s chair

Full of broken thoughts

I cannot repair

Beneath the stains of time

The feeling disappears

You are someone else

I am still right here

What have I become?

My sweetest friend

Everyone I know

Goes away in the end

If you could have it all

My empire of dirt

I will let you down

I will make you hurt

If I could start again

A million miles away

I would keep myself

I would find a way

It was then that I entered into a blackout, and picked up one of my father’s loaded guns, and drove, quite drunk, to an acquaintance’s home in the Milwaukie area. This person was an associate of one of the drug chemists in the underworld culture that I had just emerged from. I have no idea why I went down there, but I awoke from my blackout when the gun discharged in my hands, shooting a hole in the front door of his apartment. He had two sleeping children on one room, and a sleeping wife in another room, and I was fortunate to have not brought harm to anyone. He then brought a hypodermic needle out, and injected me with crank/speed (I cannot, nor will not, inject myself, as I hate needles.) I immediately snapped out of my drunkenness, and proceeded to talk with this guy for 24 hours. I got one more injection, and then clarity finally hit me. Literally, a light went on in my mind, and I saw the utter insanity of the person I was with, and the insanity of my life. I stood up, laughed at the guy, called him, and myself, nuts, and walked out of the front door, got into my car, and drove back to my parents’ home. I was changed, though I just didn’t know how much at the time.

It is another funny thing, two days later Craig Salter called me (the childhood friend that both Randy and I had known since the 5th grade), and asked me if I wanted to go to an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting with him. He was required to attend meetings due to the conditions of the court that had prosecuted him for a DUI. Of course, Craig was not an alcoholic, at least he thought that he wasn’t. I knew that he was, though. I, in fact, was the person that got him drunk the first time in High School, when Craig was 17 years old. I actually may have started him on his decline into his own alcoholism, just like Randy Olson had started me on my first drug, which was marijuana . At this point in my young life, I was a scholar, a nerd, etc., with no intention of ever using drugs in high school, but Randy and Tony talked me into it when I was 15 years old. That was the single worst decision of my life. At that point, I was extremely uncomfortable in my own skin, feeling immensely insecure, out of place, and out of connection while both a freshman and sophomore in high school. After trying pot for the 3rd time, I got “high” for the first time, and it removed ALL OF MY EMOTIONAL DISCOMFORT AROUND BEING MYSELF, though it appeared to enhance the ongoing process of my isolation from others, in a subtler manner, over the period of the next 12 years.

Anyway, I went to that AA meeting, because the way I figured it, since God was such a big part of AA, and since I was searching for TRUTH, there must be a relationship between those two forces, and AA must have an angle on that. I proceeded to attend over 270 meetings in my first 90 days, since I had nothing else to do, having lost my job, and, basically, my life, to my disease. Craig eventually stopped going to meetings, after his court ordered attendance ended. I continued to attend them, feeling like I had finally found my spiritual home. I did fall into a temporary trap at the Hinson Baptist Church, thinking that TRUTH must somehow be hidden in the church system, and that I could unearth some more by attending church, and being baptized. While I was being baptized, I made some sort of statement that sounded like I was some sort of preacher, according to dad. After the baptism the assistant pastor insisted that I attend their bible study classes so that my understanding could be more in tune with the church’s body of beliefs. At that moment I felt like, once again, my voice was trying to be quieted, so that contributed to my long buried suspicion of most Christian styled religions. I was quickly enlightened by a new teacher, a recovering alcoholic by the name of Jack Boland, who had released to the world many series of tapes on recovery and spirituality. I was given one of his tape series of recovery by a co-worker at the Fred Meyer warehouse, John Johnson, of whom I will be eternally grateful to, on May18, 1987. I then listened to these tapes over and over, during the Memorial Day weekend, and something miraculous happened afterwards, probably as a result of my openness to the experience brought about by listening to these tapes, and practicing some simple steps, the 12 steps of Alcoholics Anonymous.

On May 24, 1987, as I was driving toward Beaverton to visit Randy, a wonderful vision came to me. It was the vision of a loving mother, holding a baby, and I felt the love of this wonderful UNIVERSE for the first time in my lifetime. There is the love we have for each other, for our friends, our pets, our children, our families, but this love that I felt flow into me, and though me, transported me into a heightened awareness, and awe. The beauty was too great to talk about, the feeling so overwhelming, so healing, so resurrecting. I had to stop my car on Canyon Blvd, and I got down on my knees and prayed my thankfulness to a CREATIVE FORCE that finally had found me receptive, and open, to its presence.

I made it to Randy’s house, and I met with him for the first time since my blackout experience. Randy could not believe his eyes, he said “Bruce, what has happened to you? You look different, you look happy. You look at peace. You have changed!!!” Yes, I had changed. I started talking to Randy about my experience, and Randy started to get tingling sensations up and down his spine. The hairs on his arms starting sticking up straight off of his arms! Randy exclaimed

“Bruce, what is going on. When you talk, I start to tingle all over. What has happened?”

“Well, I think that I am having an experience with God, Randy.” I said.

Randy then said that such an experience was not for him right now, but he sure was happy that I was having it, because I needed something different in my life really bad, and really quick. How right he was!

“HE IS HAVING AN EXPERIENCE WITH GOD”

It was June 22, 1987, and I was hiking up to Larch Mountain, a beautiful peak that overlooks the Columbia River valley, and from its vantage point all of the major mountain peaks of the area can be readily observed. In the ancient times (I was to learn several years later) this area was considered sacred ground by the indigenous peoples, who came to this area from miles around to honor their Great Spirit, and to hold their sacred ceremonies and prayer rituals. I arrived at the top, and allowed myself to become as quiet as my mind would allow for. I slowly did a 360 degree rotation, observing for the many miles around me, in all directions, the incredible beauty of the area, the mountain peaks of Rainier, Adams, St. Helens, Hood, Jefferson, and the great winding river called the Columbia River. It felt as if I were on the top of a great observatory, and, today, I was the only person with this special view, and I was quite grateful just to be alive, and have this privilege. I bypassed a guard rail, and I then climbed around the rocky peak so as to be hidden from the view from anyone. With the additional privacy that I had created for myself, I then felt comfortable enough to begin to pray and meditate for just a little while. I was pretty poor at this activity, as my mind refused to quiet itself. But, at least I made myself available to Spirit, in the way that felt appropriate to me.

My nervous system was still quite compromised from all of the poisoning caused by the chemistry experiments masquerading as methamphetamine/crank that I had ingested over the past 18 months. I had been clean and sober for 3 months, but total recovery seemed out of the question at this point. I had been a drug addict and alcoholic, more or less, since I was 15 years old, but the last 18 months had really taken a toll. My health was improving a little, but I still was having physical tremors, almost identical to Parkinson’s disease, and I was also experiencing the psychological discomfort of “hearing voices”, a delusional activity within my mind which consisted, at this point, of mentally generated feedback about whatever I was observing, or doing at the time. The voices were nothing more than my own thoughts, yet, in my mind, they appeared to be coming from a center not of my self-aware self, but of something, or someone, not quite me. It literally was like having a play by play announcer operating in my mind, who verbalized everything that was happening, as it happened, with no color commentary added to it (it was a “third person” perspective, with a running monologue documenting anything that my consciousness was focusing on at any particular moment). I had an uncomfortable relationship to these mental processes, and I did not report this to medical professionals, fearing that I would be hospitalized, or placed on the same destructive medications that I had seen administered to my mentally ill ex-wife. I had resigned myself to a life of marginal mental health, at best.

A light, warm breeze carried the fragrance of the nearby pine trees to me, drawing me away from the problems of my body, and of my mind. I continued to be absorbed by the beauty of the area, and the majesty of the unobstructed views. The mountain peaks began to feel closer to me, for some as yet unknown reason. I felt as though I could reach out and touch each of them. The river far below me felt close, very close, and the whole panorama seemed to be drawing nearer to me, and I began experiencing everything in a different way than I ever had before. And, for the 2nd time in a month, I started feeling a little “different”. A month ago I had experienced a “vision”, and, with its presence, all of my loneliness and depression had lifted. I attributed that temporary healing to the presence of the vision, and there had been a love that had flowed into me during its presence. The “vision” had disappeared, but it had left its memory of a beautiful, unconditional love, and with it, traces of hope, and the expectations that something was to follow, of some as yet unknown nature. Well, something was following now, and it was “closer than breathing, nearer than hands and feet”.

A voice inside of my head then stated, with its typical matter of fact nature, “HE IS HAVING AN EXPERIENCE WITH GOD”. I was no longer separate from that which I was viewing. Everything revealed itself as an extension of myself, of my own true nature. For the first time in my existence, I could see that, as far as I can see, all that I will ever see, unto eternity, is myself. Then, with a sense of all of my thoughts now being my own, I asked myself “how will I see myself today?” I saw that all of humanity was my true family. I saw that everybody was either my brother, or my sister, in this new, true nature that was revealed within me. I looked within myself, and for the first time in my life, I only saw myself, as well. The third person monologue had stopped!! I held my hands out before me, and my hands, which usually shook so bad that I could not even write my signature clearly, or use a spoon to eat from a bowl without making a mess, were steady! Peace had finally found me on a mountain peak, and I had finally found my true self. And, I had finally found that life, that TRUTH, I had been seeking since I know not when.

And, I had finally found what real recovery is. It is not just stopping drinking alcohol and using drugs. It is the decrease, and, ultimately, the elimination of all patterns of thought that keep me from caring for this world, and for all of the life upon it. I can’t be alive, and live life fully and holistically, without loving my fellow man, and all of the rest of the life upon our planet. Think of the love that we have for our newborn baby, or our favorite pet, feel that love completely, with no reservations at all. We spare none of our hearts or souls, do we? Now think of that family member or acquaintance who is causing us so much distress, so much anger, even hatred. Can we give the same love that we would for our baby to that person who we are distressed with? If we can’t let go of those negative emotions, then that is an example of our separation from God, or Truth. I don’t have to travel to the underworld again to find that truth, or to look for somebody who might listen to me. “WHERE ARE MY PEOPLE?” became the question of the day, after I hiked the short distance back down to my car.

I then drove towards Portland, from Larch Mountain, and was guided to go to NE 73^rd and Glisan, where the US Postal Service’s EAP program was based. I walked into the door, and I was greeted by both Larry and Mike (remember, Mike visited me in the Care Unit 3 years before, and Larry was the director of the EAP since I could remember). I called out to them by name, yet neither man immediately recognized me. When I mentioned my name, they were both blown away. I was happy, or, more precisely, ebullient, and Mike said that I was simply “radiant”. They wanted to know what was going on with me, and I stated, with a matter of fact attitude, that I was having a “spiritual experience”, and they both gave me a huge hug and acknowledgement. Inspired by this reception, I returned to the Main Post Office, and checked in with the Personnel Department, where Eleanor Workman was the head of the department. She immediately recognized me, and then offered me an application to reapply for my “lost” position. No thank you, Eleanor, I just wanted to express my apologies for working for this company in such an unhappy manner for so many years. She stated that I could get the job back with little problem, since the Post Office knew that they fired me even though I was still a practicing alcoholic. I then stated that what would make me the happiest is if she could schedule a meeting between me and the head of Plant Maintenance, John Zimpleman. Well, he was “in”, so I went right up, and I had a direct opportunity to make amends to him for my poor performance from 1980-1985. He greeted me warmly, listened to my story, was quite impressed, and then stated that he wished his son could discover what I just found, because John Jr. was rapidly descending to my former level. Wow, this day of amends went so well, I remained ecstatic about all future interpersonal possibilities.

Another month passes, and then I finally receive “THE TEACHER”. This begins another phase of the story of the search for truth. The energy of this part of the story will be decidedly different from that which I have already written, as it is so unique, and it is hard to integrate a story line around it. Much of what is about to be described is ineffable, yet I would be remiss if that I did not attempt to communicate the portion that did make it into my conscious mind, with some sort of verbal clarity. Here it goes:

Master Teacher of The Light

(Prologue-most people will want to avoid this part)

The Master, if, or when, it comes, will reveal itself in its own unique, inimitable fashion and form. For some, it takes a lifetime of searching and seeking (some say many lifetimes, though who could know about such things?). Those who have resigned themselves to lives of superficial living, drinking alcohol excessively, using intoxicating drugs regularly, flitting from short term relationship to short term relationship for sexual purposes, or other forms of reckless behavior will not have the depth of desire to begin the search, though, ultimately, the pain that arises from these lifestyles may motivate the individual to finally begin the search, after the collapse of their life. For some, it takes such a life, immersed in desperation and suffering, to develop the earnest desire to find the real way out of the multitudes of forms of human insanity. In this case, the suffering person may truly be blessed beyond their own comprehension, not knowing how such pain actually guides the soul in a truer, more straightforward direction towards the goal. There are also those who are happy with the church of their family, its social functions, and the doctrines and rituals of the organization, and they will not usually have the motivation to seek further, and dig deeper, into the essence of that what is real, true, and eternal. But, from time to time there are those even within an organized religion who realize that they have deeper spiritual needs than even the church can satisfy, and thus begins another pilgrims’ search for the all- abiding truth. They develop true spiritual discernment, and even the worn out holy books of thousands of years ago take on a new life, and vitality, as they become able to see through the “trees” of words, to the true “forests” of spiritual wisdom and knowledge that the vast majority of their peers fail to perceive.

The search for the truth of life, the truth of being, will take the sincere seeker along narrower and narrower paths of discovery, and inquiry, as time goes on. By necessity, there must be a certain amount of purification that must first occur within the mind of any seeker, because if the mind carries too much hubris, and is prone to excessive delusion, the contact with the Truth, if it occurs, will be the generating force for yet another layer of fantasy within the seekers’ mind (case in point-Joseph Smith, though there are many other famous masters of illusion who have wrought their religious and spiritual havoc upon human consciousness over the ages.). If the seeker has truly become fed up with the fantasies of the human mind, and is willing to have them healed by a touch of the Spirit, then all such psychosis is much less likely to visit the mind. The closer that one gets to the truth, the easier it should become to discern the distortions of truth from those who have touched, and personally experienced, the essence of that which is sought. But, the best truth that exists is the actual truth that has unfolded within the secret, interior dimensions of ones being. The educational experience, though it is seen as a necessary adjunct to the search (especially at the seeker’s initial stages of spiritual unfolding) must have its influence reduced, and ultimately eliminated, if one is to finally achieve unity with the goal. There is a time and a place for teachers and teachings, but they must be transcended if one is to achieve the fullness of spiritual potential.

When contact is finally made, the seeker may not be able to contain, or embrace the totality of the essence of the teaching, or insight, given. The message(s)/insight(s) will be shocking, and should rock the seeker to the core, as Truth is completely foreign to the human mind. No amount of education or training can prepare the individual for what is to be experienced. As is said, the “finger pointing at the moon can never be the moon”. Most people confuse the description of the event with the actual inner experience of it, and thus delude themselves into believing that they have already experienced the truth, when, in fact, all that they have experienced is strong emotions wrapped around some personal or social experience. When the truth hits the center of one’s being, it sets in motion a series of inner events that eventuates in the seeker having a totally different outlook on life, on the universe, and on their self. But, because we are human, and still retain the power of free will and choice, the message may be rejected (at least temporarily), and we may try to cling to our old, worn out way of reasoning, feeling, and relating to our lives, to each other, and to Truth. On the one hand, we may have said to our self, and, perhaps to others, that we are fed up with our lives, and with the way the world is experienced by us, and we will do anything to bring about a change in our life’s situation. But, when the inner pathway to our transcendence is finally revealed, we balk at its implementation, finally comprehending how dramatically that we must change to be aligned with the path of Truth, and Righteousness. We may not be really ready to “die to ourselves” and truly be “reborn” of the Spirit. If we can humble ourselves enough, we can continue the journey. But, those who recoil, as if burned by a hot flame, spend many more years, if not the rest of their lives, avoiding making the final adjustments to become aligned with their Life’s True Message.

(My Experience)

The year was 1987, and I was still quite new to the path of healing and transformation. I had left my old life behind, and I was open to the experience of spiritual connection, and mastery. I had developed quite a meditation practice, eschewing committed relationships with others in order to develop a deeper spiritual practice. I remained excited about the possibilities for my life, as I had finally made “conscious contact with the God of my understanding”. I had recently experienced dramatic, if not miraculous, healing of my body and my mind, and a new energy permeated my being. I felt like I was finally “swimming in the sea of meaning”, though I still had not “connected the dots”, or started consciously rebuilding the new self. But, I could have never anticipated the experience I was about to have, on this particular day, July 21, 1987.

“Master Teacher of the Light, Master Teacher of the Light” I repeated within myself several times during an evening meditation, which is a mantra that I had developed to aid my focus for my meditation practice. I was meditating several hours a day, and though my life was bearing fruits from previous connections with the Spirit, I remained driven to find deeper and deeper layers of meaning, and experience of my true nature and being. Well, this meditation was to become Truth’s “bell ringer” for me. Without warning, I was lifted from my body awareness, and I then had a sense that I now had a decision to make. It was like I was driving an automobile, and I realized that I could continue steering, and heading in my usual direction for life, or I could “let go of the controls” and experience something totally different and unique. Well, I released the “steering wheel” of my mind, and my conditioning, and there was an exhilarating inner “rush” whereby I was totally released from myself and my burdens, and my body! My essence traveled into a great unknown, neither “light or dark”, and it was like I passed through some sort of great matrix of information/being until I came to a place of complete “darkness”, or emptiness. I felt totally at home here. Almost immediately, a “laughing, happy voice” seemed to be speaking to me, or, more precisely, through me. As I/we spoke, it said “No teacher shall effect your salvation, you each must work it out for yourselves“. Then, “we” said, “think no thoughts“. “Follow new paths of consciousness”, And then, a mathematical formula for re-entry back into the great unknown was given to me. It was a differential equation that I could understand, and which stated (in layman’s terms) that with the total elimination of the movement of time based thought, the direct apperception of reality was possible. The limit, as delta T goes to zero (T is thought as a function of time), divided by delta t (t is time itself), or lim dT/dt, as dt approaches zero, and T=f(t). The solution of this equation is the great unknown, or that which I sought.

The final messages, however, were the one most difficult to reconcile within my life, and the ones which sometimes troubles me to this day. First, there is this component: “YOU CAN’T BE REAL“. When it was stated, it was stated through me, with a joyful, laughing voice, yet when I re-entered my normal way of being, it became an almost threatening statement, and one that continues to challenge myself, and my ego daily. And yet, to see again, as God, or Truth, sees, I must be mastered by this truth. The ego is the sum total of all of my judgments, the sum total of my human experience, my acculturation, my conditioning, my “separation from God, Love, my fellow man, and Truth”. The ego looks out from itself, and sees everything, and everyone, as if they are separate from its self, while totally failing to see that “all that it ever sees, unto eternity, is itself”. There really does not exist the “you” that I have formed, my perception of “you” is an incomplete mental creation that only exists in my mind (and which may or may not be shared by others, and most certainly is NOT shared by you). Once again, the human race tends to confuse the verbal description (or mental image) of the person with the actual experience of the person, who, regardless of appearances, is infinitely more complex, and worthy of love and acceptance, than the human mind can readily accept. Yes, my ego is the sum total of all of my time based thoughts about time based behaviors of myself, and others. If I want to see clearly, I must accept that my main mode of viewing the world was through the ego’s eyes of unreality. To die to this mode of living is to truly be reborn of the spirit. WOW!! That was too much to digest in that moment, in that year of 1987, and most times, even now.

Lastly, a most confusing revelation came, as well. I could see the field of energy that constituted my “body/mind awareness”. I saw embedded in it two almost complete thought forms, or identity forms, which I recognized as two distinct “entities”. Yes, I had two ‘extras’ attached to my field, and they were not there for my greater good, for sure. I came to regard these two unwelcome components to my life force as “tricksters”, though I noted that their presence seemed to allay the feelings of loneliness of my ego, perhaps only because they seemed vaguely familiar to me. I sensed that I was supposed to let go of these “illusions of self”, but I did not know what to do. The two extra identity vortexes in the ‘human energy field matrix’ that constituted my conscious sense of self did not really ever disappear, they just became unconscious again, for me. Little did I know that they were to become the most critical components to understand in my desire to form a better ongoing human/spiritual experience.

It is so funny, just one short year before this transformative meditation, in 1986, I was ready to commit suicide, to release my body from my painful experience of this world. My experience of the early and mid-1980’s was anything but idyllic, and has been documented elsewhere. And yet, the search for Truth also necessitates that I be released from my ego self, that I die to myself. And somehow, now I (or my ego) tries to resist this “death”, when it would have wholeheartedly welcomed death the year before. There is nothing more threatening to the ego than its own demise, from “another person’s hand”, even if the “other person’s hand” is the very spirit of Truth. Oh, that need for control!!

How conflicted this all appears, and yet how clear all of this is to me now !

In the continued interest of “finding my people”, I attend the INTA Conference in Portland In August of 1987 (International New Thought Alliance). The person that I was most interested in seeing was Jack Boland, the recovering alcoholic who had started a SUPER CHURCH in Minnesota, with well over 5000 members. He also had a following of many hundreds of thousands of recovering people worldwide, as his approach to spirituality, sobriety, and healing was pretty universal. The integration into this new community was a fascinating immersion into a group energy that I had never experienced before. I WAS SO HIGH THERE!!! I got to see firsthand a group of well over 1000 people warmly embrace the musical group Alliance, which starred Jerry Florence. They had some hits in the 1980’s, and they were a group of gay men who all had HIV’/AIDS. Having recently left that “evil” Hinson Baptist Church where gays were bashed regularly, this was like a breath of life to a drowning man, even though I had no homosexual tendencies. The tenderness that I felt towards Jerry Florence and the group of men that constituted Alliance still lives in me today, and I still have tears today for the suffering of all people who have been judged as unworthy, or just plain ignored.

Marsha (Masha) Feldman was a beautiful Jewish woman, of Russian descent, who sat directly across the aisle from me at the Jack Boland talk. For some reason she came over to ME after Jack’s talk, and began a friendship with me that was to last for over one year. She had lived quite the life, hanging out with many of the most beautiful people that Portland, Oregon had to offer. She was a princess of sorts, and expected to be treated that way. Why she latched onto me is anybody’s guess, but I am sure that there was an underlying spiritual reason for this connection. We proceeded to discuss all manners of healing and methodologies for achieving higher spiritual experience. Masha was troubled and had recently visited her rabbit for some support. Her rabbi had informed her, in the interests of her own personal happiness and sense of well-being, that she should give up on understanding “GOD”, and to instead pursue more ‘grounded’ approaches to her physical and emotional health and welfare. She certainly had the physical aspect mastered, as she worked out daily, and kept her physical energy and appearance at as high of a level as possible.

The International New Thought Alliance conference of 1987 was part of her higher involvement in the social activities of her community, both inside and outside the Jewish culture. We travelled all over Portland together, visiting various recovery and spiritual groups for the first time together. Hey, it felt wonderful to have a new friend on my spiritual journey. As a direct result of this connection, we visited the YWCA of Portland, on 10^th avenue. Every Sunday there was a tape group meeting hosted by Marie Schmidt, a student of Joel Goldsmith, the creator of the healing movement “The Infinite Way”. Since Masha was Jewish too, like Joel, she had an immediate connection, though it did not last long for her. I continued with the Infinite Way for several years afterward (and I still practice some of their principles today).

A side story is that Masha called me a year after I had last seen her (I had just broken up with Laurie). She reported to me that she was now engaged to some Christian leaning dude who was quite a bit homelier than I was. Oh, was that supposed to feel good to me? She regretted not having released her prejudices earlier, so that we could have had a deeper relationship. Looking back, everything worked out just fine, I think. Pursuing beautiful women never brought happiness to me before, and there was no reason to suspect this would have had a more favorable outcome anyway. She was 10 years older than I was, which helped open me up to the possibility of dating older women (hello Sharon!). Prior to this, it seemed only younger woman had even the remotest of interest in me. I always considered myself too immature for older women, anyway.

We talked endlessly about ‘spiritual experiences’, discussed the enlightened ‘masters’ of the day, travelled and explored through the Columbia Gorge together, attended recovery meetings, slept under the stars together, slept in her apartment together, yet we never made love, as I was not her “prince charming”, as she related to me fairly early on. Well, I just saw her as an extension of my ‘search for truth’ process where I remained celibate, so I was not too disturbed for that to continue ( for the most part, sex had not been all that satisfying for me up to this point, anyway). Yes, this was yet another rejection of me on a pretty basic level, but I was unaffected by it. This rejection did not darken my life because of all of the other light that was being let in.

I will flash forward around two years, when I met my wife Sharon in 1989. We shared a common passion of finding and expressing the joy and truth in life, and we meditated and prayed together for many, many hours together, especially early on in our relationship. The fruitage of one of our shared meditations is the following “poem”. I had a particularly deep, profound connection during a meditation around 1990, where I had once again entered into Truth’s domain. There was no apparent message, that is, until I returned to my conscious mind. The silence then used the words in my memory to create the following message (the first stanza I wrote in 1985, prior to any real spiritual unfolding, and I could never finish it until this meditation in 1990 filled in the body of it):

THE VOICE OF AWAKENING

Though the slowly shifting sands of time, Create ever taller hills for this lost soul to climb, It must be in my selfish, hateful world of no reason or rhyme, I must begin the search for Truth, to find the Love that is sublime.

“Oh seeker of Truth, God’s high mount you would climb, “Though you now stumble through the valley’s shifting sands of time. “Stop confusing your mind with worn out rhyme and reason, “For they are forever charged by Truth with treason!”

“Oh mental marathoner , only on Life’s treadmill you now stand, “And using another’s words and thoughts keeps you life’s ‘also ran’ “You’ll forever chase in vain Love’s all-knowing voice, “So be still, for with your run’s end, is the Cause to rejoice!”

“Oh marionette’s dancing image of the screen of the world’s mind, “With all of those conditioned beliefs in control, what freedom could you find? “Release yourself from all of those memories’ materialistic strings “To prepare for the inner Wisdom that only my Intelligence brings!

“Oh shadow boxer of evil, when will you ever tire? “Tis only champion of a dream world to which you aspire! “Cease giving energy to your illusions with those mental pugilist blows, “To reveal the peaceful mind of the One who now knows!”

“So please wake up to Love’s voice sweet somnambulator, “And realize the eternal truth that “I” within “you” is greater,

“Than any mental image you could ever form or learn, “And then your World will reflect the One for whom you now yearn!

And then the real “punch line” to the search for Truth:

“To be in realization of Truth, is to find God’s high mount another illusion to climb, “Continuously being recreated by fearful, desirous minds caught on the merry-go-round of time” “The non-illuminated, restless mind remains forever bereft of Love’s Rhyme and Truth’s Reason, “And only chases after mirages, until it sees all of its movements are guilty of treason!

“God is closer than breathing, nearer than hands and feet”

I remained committed to a strong program of spiritual growth and understanding through the next several years. I have an experience that I want to share, to illuminate some of the hazards and challenges of exploring the deep reaches of spiritual awareness and connection. It was the summer of 1993, and I had scheduled a 5-day retreat with Eileen Bowden and 20 other followers of the Infinite Way, a mystical healing path originated by Joel Goldsmith (died in 1964). The retreat took place in Federal Way, Washington, at the Pacific Palisades retreat center overlooking the Puget Sound. I spent the four days in silent contemplation and meditation, with several group talks given by Eileen over the course of the time period. Eileen Bowden, who lived in British Columbia, Canada, was a student of Joel Goldsmith, the originator of the Infinite Way. Joel was a non-practicing Jew, and was led into Christian Science in the 20’s, while his father was on his death bed. Joel watched a Christian Science practitioner heal his father, and Joel caught fire with the possibilities for bringing spiritual healing to all of life (life that is receptive to healing, that is) because of this. She was hand-picked by Joel to continue teaching the Infinite Way, as she “had the message”, meaning that she had achieved, or attained, the “Presence”. She would enter into the sacred energy, and then give her unprepared talks (she spoke extemporaneously for at least 1 hour for each talk given). Our role as “listeners” was to be in a sacred, meditative space, as well, so as to contribute to the total energy of the experience. The result for me from this experience was that I was totally “involved” in the sacred energy of the Spirit, with the total quietness/stillness of my mind complemented by perfect peace, and joy. I carried this energy for a full week after the experience. The experience was somewhat perplexing to Sharon, as she wondered why I was having this profound experience, and why it continued on for so long. She had many questions, but the perfect peace that I was experiencing was not ebbing, at least initially. I had to return to work, as I worked for a living as an electrician. At work, the energy continued to flow in its own unique way, but well into the work week I started to question the value of “enlightenment” when I still had to continue to work. My co-workers were so out of touch with these things that I considered important, special, or sacred, and I could not quite get a handle on how this spiritual experience would have any value in the workplace. I dared not speak about it, or show any type of behavior that would distinguish me from anybody else, and the dominating attitude for me was to “just blend in” as best I could. One story really stands out from my electrician apprenticeship program that I attended from 1988-1992. Gary Johnson was another apprentice in my class, and he, at times, appeared a little distracted and dull. I knew that there was more to him than that, though I never really positively acknowledged him in any way. One day we were scheduled to take a very important test, one which would determine if we would successfully continue in the program, and eventually finish with our electrical license. For some reason I felt an intense desire to pray for Gary. This was not a typical activity for me, praying for somebody that I did not know well. After the test, Gary came over to me, and asked me why I prayed for him. Nobody, I mean NOBODY, could have known that I was praying for Gary, including him. Are we all connected? Like I stated earlier, my spirituality was not an obvious garment that I wore, because of my need not to be too revelatory of myself in the workplace. I really stopped the praying thing for co-workers after that, not being comfortable with the mystery of what just transpired.

Anyway, when the “energy” finally ebbed, I despaired a bit, and I felt a little awkward pursuing any deeper connection with the Spirit. I had started questioning the value of a process that I was failing to integrate into the rest of my life. There was nobody to blame but myself, but ever so gradually, my “over commitment” to my spiritual unfoldment began to ebb, as well.

I had reduced, and almost eliminated AA meeting attendance, because I was being fulfilled through involvement with the Living Enrichment Center, the Empowerment Community (I was actually a trainer/helper for a few trainings), in addition to being a member of several core groups associated with it. I also belonged to a men’s group that originated out of LEC, which, by far, supplied me with the greatest sense of (potential) connection in a group setting that I had experienced up to this point. Many of the initial 12 members were important members of the local men’s movement, and some did become quite prominent in the at large spiritual community. But, all of these groups had completed their energy cycles by 1995, leaving a potential gap in my community spiritual support network.

In 1992, Sharon and I planned a hike and camping experience in the Mt Adams wilderness area, culminating in an overnight hike to Lookinglass Lake. The day of this trip had started rather unusually for me, with a heightened sense of awareness mysteriously permeating my day. I noticed an unusual sensitivity to sounds, colors, vibrations, the trees, it was crazy! On the drive up there, we stopped at a snow park parking area in the Mt Adams recreation area, as we did not get to the campground in time (we had a late start). When we finished setting up the tent for the evening, I sat down to really feel the energy that was coursing through my being. It was as if I had grown roots, so to speak, as I could swear that I could feel the ground in all directions around me, extending through the trees and the opening all around us. It was as if I had sensory receptors in the dirt, the sky, and the trees, and it was definitely a transcendent type of experience. Sharon and I settled into our tent, and fell asleep. I was then awakened by a bright light outside of our tent. I walked outside of the tent, at about midnight, and the entire area was lighted up by a light brighter than the daytime sun. There were no shadows anywhere, and there was a light above us, of unknown origin. I awoke Sharon to come out and take a look, and she shared in this amazing sight. I was still in a “transcendent sensory state” at the time, and, to this day, I have no idea what the light was from. After we returned home, I told my mother about the light, and she reported that the week before, a mysterious light in the Mt Adams wilderness area was also reported, so who knows what was happening there?

Also In 1992, I was still in communication with my ex-wife, Donelle. At this point, she was in the mental hospital at Fort Steilacoom, Washington. She was committed yet again in 1990, and was languishing in there when I visited her. This was the 3^rd time I had visited her there. She always had a shopping list for me to fill, invariably with some types of makeup. She still liked to make herself look as pretty as possible, but the effects of the medication over the years on her had taken a horrible toll. She was twice her normal weight, and she could not keep her food down consistently. The most beautiful woman I had ever met was no longer that, and I was quite saddened, once again, to have to connect with her while she was so messed up. The medication was quite the “double edged sword”, and had been for all of her adult life. Anyway, I don’t know what drug cocktails they were giving her this time, but they had the same conflicted end results. To this day I have little respect for the drug industry, or for a system that prescribes these drugs to people, rather than treating people in a more holistic manner.

This particular weekend, my wife Sharon was running in the annual Hood to Coast relay race. My only responsibility was to drive to Seaside, and pick her up at the end of her adventure, after my visit with Donelle. I was quite down after my visit, and the drive to Seaside from Ft. Steilacoom was very dark, and subdued. When I started to enter the outskirts of Seaside, without even seeing one H2C participant, I picked up on a new energy that just started “vibrating in the ethers”. I came to name this energy “TEAMWORK” after the fact, not knowing what else to call it. It was the energy of collective support, love, companionship, and goal achieving, and I had never known that as a youth, as I had never experienced that on grade school sports teams, of which I rarely qualified for. Over the many years from 1971, through the present moment, I have found that I am sensitive to crowd energy, and I can “feel” the collective energy of several types of groups of people, and actually draw from it, and add to it if I am receptive to what is going on. And, unfocused groups put off such diffuse energy that there is nothing special to tune in to. Since there were over 12,000 runners and support people at the event, it is no wonder that a field was created in and around Seaside, the destination of the great world famous event. I became so impressed with the energy of the experience that I committed to running with Sharon, and I began to run with her several months later, so that I could join her Hood To Coast team, the Sole Mates.

Over the next several years, I emphasized improving my physical health. I continued running with Sharon, and I joined up with her Hood to Coast Relay running team for the first time in 1993, and participated on it for the next 3 years. This team was the ultimate friend/family experience, and we bonded together so completely that we shared dinners together and did other things together unrelated to running. God, I loved the team! Susan Leonti, Marta Lansing, Margie Eddings, Craig Boynton, Linda and Terry Jones, Sharon, some brothers and sisters of Marta and Margie, and some support from other family members. This was a truly collaborative effort, and we were all quite excited to share in the great adventure that this event created for us. And, I am still friends to this day with Marta and Margie, and I still love them both very deeply. What I did not anticipate is that I was to improve quite dramatically in my running performance, and I found that as I continued to run, and train consciously, my times continued to drop, and would continue to drop rather dramatically, as long as I could remain uninjured. I actually entered quite a few local races, and eventually started winning age group, and then masters’ group awards (the masters division is the over 40 crowd).

For a while I had Warren Fink coach me. Warren was a former world record holder in the 100KM distance, and he had won numerous ultramarathons over the years. I asked him to train me like I was a future road running champion, but he did not quite believe in me, and did not direct or encourage me as I needed him to, so I went on my own, becoming a self-motivated runner who devised my own training regimen. I had finally come to realize that I really do not appreciate being undervalued, and if I do not feel the support and appreciation from people that I am relating to, I have much difficulty continuing in relationship with them. I never spoke to Warren again.

By 1996, I had improved so much that I won the Oregon Road Runners Club Masters Runner of the Year award, having defeated some real stars from the past. I won because of the volume of races that I had run that year at a very high level. But, upon receiving the award, I was surprised to see how little value it had to me. It was anticlimactic, and whatever appreciation was directed my way felt artificial. At this point I decided that it was time to take a vacation from the Hood to Coast team, and concentrate on developing my individual talent further. This was a decision based on a new, emerging ego, which I did not understand well enough at the time. For the years 1987-1993, I had lived, for lack of better wording, in a state of grace, more. I won’t say that I was egoless, but I did carry the perpetual smile of one who had found joy, and I had this incredible faith that I was somehow still a “guided missile of the spirit”, that each experience that I accumulating was for the good of everybody involved. But this emphasis on my body, and improving its condition and position in the world of running and athletics had cast me against the winds of spiritual wisdom, unveiling the hidden essence of competitiveness that had lain dormant in my mind for years. Running’s original intention was to place me into a community with others, and, in that, I succeeded greatly. Where I failed was when I decided it was important to see how “good” I could become, at the expense of moderation and connection with those I loved, with frequent damage to my body. But, this culminated in two invitations to run on a top Masters’ team in the Hood to Coast Relay, both in 2000 and 2002, on a team called the Time Bandits. Unbelievably to many, our team finished 10th OVERALL out of the 1050 teams that competed. As per usual with the men’s running team, there was little/no bonding. Competitive male runners have been known not to be the most social of creatures, and I lost contact with every team member for good, after only 2 weeks.

One of the best examples of my strong will, and my capacity to ignore pain, was the 2002 Newport Marathon, in Newport, Oregon. I was never going to win the race, but winning the masters’ division was a real possibility, and I was adequately trained to make a run at the title. I ran well the first 21 miles, eventually catching the top Masters runner, Phil C, at the 21 mile mark. I felt so good that I knew that I was going to cruise in and win the division, and probably place 3^rd OVERALL. I felt a snap in my left leg (another stress fracture), and so I had to pull off of the course. Phil passed me, and I felt quite discouraged. There would be nobody to drive me back to the finish line, so I decided to try to limp/walk there. I limped/walked faster and faster, until I started jogging, then finally running, to finish the race, almost catching Phil at the finish line, and I finished 4^th overall. But, my leg was broken really good, with a spiral fracture of the left tibia. But, somehow, I was able to ignore the pain for 5 miles, and finish the race. That is indicative of the type of personality that I still possessed. By this time in my running career, it had been the 5th time that I had incurred a tibial stress fracture. Stress fractures meant totally stopping running for 4-6 weeks, and then, basically, starting over with training again, which was like playing the childhood game Chutes and Ladders, where one wrong move places the player back at the starting line. That really summed up my training experience, I think. Anyway, I believed that I could accomplish anything that I set my mind to, and little had happened to me to prove otherwise at this point. It was not until I broke the tibia yet again in 2006 that I permanently retired from competitive racing. I finished my running career having won 5 races overall (3 ultramarathons of 31 miles or longer, one 5k race, and one local 10K race), coming in 2^ndplace once, 3^rdplace once, 4^th place once, 5^th place twice, and several lower placements in local and regional marathons. I won so many times in the Masters’ division in local races 15KM or shorter that I lost count, so I definitely belonged there physically.

My training and running ultimately created a situation where I broke my leg in the most unfortunate of times. I felt compelled to seek out medical attention, and then, when the doctor(s) were uncooperative, and would not surgically repair the break OR GIVE ME PAINKILLERS, I drew from a deep well of shadowy behavior and attitudes. This helped me to justify purchasing narcotic pain killers on the internet. This began in 2007, after I had just started working at the City Of Portland Water Bureau, as an electrician. I was on a 6 month probation, and the doctors’ orders to stay off of my feet for 6 weeks would have resulted in my termination, so I propped myself up with painkillers to get me over the hump.

I established myself within my career at a higher level, I improved my connection with other spiritually inclined men through men’s groups connections, and I improved my community connections through core groups that were developed through involvement with the Empowerment Community, an offshoot of a program begun by Michael and Diane Sutton, whom we had met at the Living Enrichment Center. An unplanned outcome of all of this integration into life was that the meditation practice became a secondary concern. And, the “Teacher” became more of a memory than a living experience, though the “real world” offered me many opportunities to apply the many principles previously learned.

My mind remains out of “God’s loop” most of the time, as a result of the momentum created many years before, but I still get to experience a brief glimmer of truth and love on occasion. It cannot be summoned back to me on command, now being only a guest who happens to pass through on its own (apparently) random time schedule. It is a privilege to be able to write about a small fraction of this important experience, and time of my life. I have not recorded much of the details of these parts of my life previously, and I am doing so now, with encouragement from Sharon.

Here is the final poem of this discourse. I began this poem in 1984, when I became lovers with a woman by the name of Diane(Di Di)McCloud. She was the first person that I had ever truly loved, but I had to let her go after a short period of time. She died shortly after our relationship had ended, when she was killed in a drunken driving related automobile wreck. The poem morphed pretty dramatically after my own “death” to addiction and alcoholism in 1987, when I finally awoke to a new way of being and living in this world. I then re-wrote this poem, around 1990, while being inspired by my experience of love and healing while in relationship with Sharon, and the Universe.

LOVE’S REUNION

I stumbled over the frozen wilderness for oh, so long!

With a hole in my heart that life could just not fill

Until I stopped to rest, and heard a gentle voice singing a long forgotten song

That promised of my release from this winter world of painful chill

Her lyrics spoke of the return of Life to freedom

And the release of shivering minds from darkness’ frozen, fearful hands

She drew me closer without any further verbal tethers And prepared me for the walk back to Love’s now awakening lands

Her warming presence melted the icy hardness that I used to know Inspiring within me the courage, to myself and my world, to say

That, to all of my past memories’ barren trees of lifeless knowledge, I now refuse to go I will now accept only the lessons learned along Love’s Infinite Way

Yes, she met me while I was with the dark companion

But it was to her pleasure to take me home to share her loving lights

And give me the shelter of Love’s never setting summer sun

She changed my cold mourning into happier, heavenly nights!

By freely offering of herself and all of her sacred charms

She moves me through life’s clamorous valleys unto its silent peaks

I can now retire from a life of fruitless wanderings

To live in the Source of Peace of which mankind forever seeks

Her life is resplendent with Wisdom, Strength, and Beauty

For these are the robes with which she clothes her being

The gift of Love now unwraps before my inviting eyes

To reveal her ecstatic vision, which is now all seeing

My search for Truth and Love Sublime has finally ended

For, I now fill my empty cup from her joyous running streams

I have reunited with my eternally fulfilling lover

And, her healing waters dissolve all of my painful dreams

I only seek to remain within her all-embracing arms

While through all life she extends her ever unfolding surprise

My first waking breath each morning brings the certainty

That, from my bed, joined as one, we again shall arise

My broken heart and shattered life is finally mending

And, wedded to her life, I now call her my faithful bride

Life no longer has a fearful road ahead to travel

For, One with God, on Love’s lighted path, I now gratefully stride

Well, that poem fool should not fool anybody, at least in this “relative reality” that we tend to live in. As I wrote this story, and neared its conclusion, I came into direct contact with the fundamental core of suffering of my own being. Having a cathartic experience was NOT what I ever anticipated.

IT IS SOMETHING FUNDAMENTAL HERE! Talk about the “SPELL”. The wounded essence SPEAKS! Sharon pays the price! Meditation with horipilations, followed by seeing my fathers’ process of wounding, and crying for/with his spirit. I felt an incredible compassion, love, and acceptance for the person. Though I experienced the nameless suffering, it now has a name. it is called:

I AM WORTHY OF BEING LISTENED TO. WHERE ARE MY PEOPLE?

I saw how we, as humans, keep layering ourselves and our ideas upon what somebody else is saying. In the absolute of love, we call this “extension”, and this is how we share the best that life and love has to offer. But when our personalities have been formed by the layering of our egos upon the nameless dark energy, we end up with an energy exchange dynamic where we “project” our dysfunction onto others, and make them wrong for it, not recognizing that we were the source of our judgement. We just can’t quiet our minds long enough to listen with our hearts to what is being said, and respond accordingly with our heart. We are much too eager to respond with ego programmed responses, which, typically, are based on incomplete perceptions or someone else’s ‘knowledge’, and it remains our attempt to control another’s experience through linking our own unhealed energy with their own. In our attempt to be “heard”, we instead try to program people, unconsciously, to behave and react more in accordance with our expectations. When they don’t (they rarely do, unless they are our young children), we are very disappointed, and feel rejected, and, in the absolute, betrayed by the sum total of exchanges between the parties.

Thank you for reading this much abbreviated story of my life, and spiritual unfoldment. Having touched the absolute of life and love, and having lived the life of one who had abandoned life, it would seem like an easy choice to make as to how to proceed with one’s life after such an education. Life is so much more complex than that, with special mysteries and distractions that maintain our human experience. In my experience I had the unique opportunity to “build my own ego” after the transformational experiences of 1987, where a process of Grace wiped my slate virtually clean. My friend Michael Harris commented that I was probably a “walk-in”, a reference to an experience where the old person disappears and a new one just “walks in” to a new life’s experience. If I did not find the willingness to face the nameless darkness within my soul, there would be no further spiritual realization, or healing, available for me. It took me 29 years to really dig into those two “black holes” that so influenced the totality of my human consciousness. Yes, an ego based on not trusting men, having little or no self-worth, being competitive for any available love and friendship, and fearing that I will never be heard, is no recipe for happiness in this world.

It is not so much leaving one type of existence and substituting another for it. There is an impossible chasm that exists between the human and the divine. And yet, the Spirit provides a bridge between the two worlds. Few there be that are motivated enough to search for it, fewer still that are capable of staying on the “other side” once the divine has been experienced. For the majority of seekers, there is a travelling back and forth across the “bridge”, with no permanent settlement now possible on either side. There have been teachers in the past who are reported to have never left, once they “achieved” that pure state of awareness, such as Jesus, Krishnamurti, Buddha, Krishna, or even more recently, some of the Indian mystics such as Meher Baba, Sai Baba, or, perhaps, even the German mystic, Eckert Tolle. If they have been completely stripped of their ego, it is an act of grace, and they, as individuals, could not have made it happen on their own. No person born into an ego, can, of and by their own volition, walk out of their ego completely, and literally become the ultimate Truth. Without the “grace of God”, such a journey is impossible to complete successfully. I am humbled by my experience, and I sometimes wonder if I am “scheduled” to return to it, once my responsibilities with this world have been completed. I shall see (I wrote this in 2013).

CYCLE OREGON EXPERIENCE, culminating in question why I felt this “tenderness” towards Hayley, Eddy, and Ginger, and why not to Sharon, or everybody else?

I knew that I needed to read a book by Sheila Hamilton, since I had, more or less, unconsciously selected it for our book club selection, even without reading it or understanding its implications. Who could have anticipated what was to follow? The sharing about “David” being wrapped in a blanket and warehoused in a car in the garage.

Blessings to you on your journey

“We will find what we are looking for”

Bruce Paullin

A couple of the “messages” that I hear today, in today’s version of my insanity:

A new world religion has emerged upon our consciousness, one that does not exist solely to support the needs of the Jewish, Muslim, Buddhist, or Christian communities. Its sacred texts are written in the stars, upon the lands that we inhabit, and upon the fabric of universal awareness. The real “word of God” can be examined on a daily basis, for those who have retired (temporarily?) their hand held zombie making devices long enough to start getting reacquainted with the real ground of all being. Can God, or Truth, be found through an internet search? Can old worn out “sacred texts” written by people wrestling with their own ignorance give us enough light to clear out the destructive aspects of human nature? Can even a newer collection of words, thoughts, and written literature fill our spiritual needs?
The quickest way to prepare for the new world order (which was once the old world order, by the way) is to get outside of the house, the computer, the movie theater, the facebook pages, etc. and start getting reacquainted with the great outdoors. We are not connected to God through our technology. In fact, most of our media related technology has separated us from the quiet state of being that allows God’s will to be readily accepted into consciousness. Gaia is a living being, and is the true “son-daughter of God”. And yes, we are children of that sacred child. God’s face is seen clearly, once the detritus of human misunderstanding is moved aside long enough so that Reality may emerge, once again. Technology is only a tool, though it has become another new world religion, a way of life for far too many people. Our country, and our world, shows the collective effects of falling far short of meeting or even acknowledging the existence of our spiritual needs, or attempting to meet our spiritual needs through illusory processes. Most of our media devices have continued the promotion and distribution of cultural hypnosis, and most people continue to be separated from a greater good through that process. The world exists in a state of hypnosis, and it is easy to see that truth when the mind finally takes itself off of the grid of shared cultural and religious misunderstanding.
Taking dominion over the world, and then destroying its wildlife, forests, rivers, oceans, and lands was never part of God’s will. It was always part of a worn out patriarchal attitude that still pollutes human awareness to this day. The greed and self serving interests of our ancestors has been glorified, and exalted, over and above the preservation of our planet, and the cultivation of harmony between the diverse interests of people on this planet. The “mark of the beast” is seen daily in the attitudes of those who promote the destruction of our environment, and who incite hatred and enmity between peoples.
Freedom may not be for everybody now, but it certainly is for me, now, and for all of eternity. I am grateful for my wife Sharon White, who shares in the new/old insight.

SOME SPECIAL SIGHTS ALONG THE WAY OF LOVE

Recently I had a dream, where I was trapped between the toilet and the bathroom wall. I screamed out in pain, and Sharon White woke me up, and I told her what I was experiencing. The next day, Sharon talked with June Thomas on the phone, and June, who was visiting her ailing brother, told Sharon that Dale (her brother) just the night before had fallen, and become trapped between the toilet and the wall. COINCIDENCE? Are dreams really just fantasies? Do we have the capacity to extend our awareness beyond the limits of our five senses? Well, I know the answers to those questions. “Prayer” is a word that points to something so much greater than most people understand, or realize. There is a band of frequencies in the spectrum of universal life force where humanity resides. Our minds tune into all of these frequencies, and must discern which ones to attach its life force energy to, and which ones to avoid. We all are accessing these frequencies together, as a human race, thus the incredible potential for overlap of experiences, and the sharing of insight at the most fundamental of levels.

Just yesterday, I was reading my journal from March of 1989. There was an entry about a mysterious dream that I had on March 17, where I am looking for a discarded ring with 8 jewels. After feverishly looking about, I locate 7 of the jewels, and not the mounting, or the eighth jewel. The last jewel will be found mounted to the lost ring itself, the thought comes to me. I am with an unknown girlfriend at the time, though there is sadness associated with this friendship. I know that this “unknown woman” is not the final jewel, and my search must continue. The dream tells me that this is a view of the future, so I am a little skeptical, to say the least. Well, I was with Laurie Hartmann at the time, the women that I first met in the ACOA meeting in October of 1987. Laurie and I were engaged at that time, though several weeks later we cancelled the engagement. I broke up with her in 3 months later, in June of that year, opening the door to an eerie conclusion to this story, and yet another story of healing. Last night, Sharon showed me the ring that she bought for our 2^nd wedding, in Las Vegas, in 2004. On it was mounted 7 small stones, with one large stone distinguishing the setting. I had seen it before, and yet never understood its significance, until I re-read my journal. WOW, the ring, and the story, straight from the dream! Sharon had never seen my journal before (it has been in storage since 1989), and I have never discussed its contents with her, either.

Yes, telepathy and prayer can refer to the same experience, as well as prescience, remote viewing, and other psychic phenomenon. It is too easy to discount, or “poo-poo” this aspect of human potential. Our world culture will continue to further hypnotize itself with its higher technology entertainment, and many will lose their way because of over-reliance on the diversion that these toys of communication bring to us. What will open us up to the possibilities of the “unknown”? Otherwise, we just define our life by what we already think we know, and by what others, such as parents, friends, teachers, ministers, etc. might think about us. Time based thought and activity remain the domain of our ego, whether we consider our minds healthy and happy, or insane. But for many of us, in order to find the real connection, joy, and sanity that exists, we must let go of our personality controls of our world, and let the natural peace at the center of our being decide what is best for us, rather than the turbulent surface of our minds, where individual or collective misunderstandings still control us like marionettes.

THE HOLY LONGING

poem by Johann W. Von Goethe

Tell a wise person, or else keep silent,

because the mass man will mock it right away.

I praise what is truly alive,

what longs to be burned to death.

In the calm water of love-nights,

where you were begotten, where you have begotten,

a strange feeling comes over you,

when you see the silent candle burning.

Now you are no longer caught in the obsession with darkness,

and a desire for higher love-making sweeps you upward.

Distance does not make you falter.

Now, arriving in magic, flying,

and finally, insane for the light,

you are a butterfly and you are gone.

And so long as you haven’t experienced this: to die and so to grow,

you are only a troubled guest on the dark earth.

“You will find what you are looking for”, remains one of the most powerful statements of vision, spiritual or otherwise. If we have been conditioned to see two where there is only one (this is where the vast majority of humanity resides), so it is for us. If we have been opened up to a “higher vibration” of seeing, we will see only one, where only one has always been. There exists a place of such loving tenderness, such acceptance, such innocence and purity, that it will overpower whatever is left of the ego, and replace its shattered images of misunderstanding with a new awareness of what life really can be. This experience found me on Wednesday, September 13^th, after I had totally given up on being able to help myself in any way, and I prayed without ceasing trying to “dig deep” to “finish strong”. Well, finishing “strong” took on a new dimension of understanding I could have never anticipated.

My question to all of myself and humanity is this:

How do we want to live our lives? Do we want our life just defined by our non-examined fears, and selfish desires, or do we want our life also defined by the fears that we have identified and overcome, and the self-destructive desires that we have already been healed of? Love and fear do NOT reside in the same place, so if we want the one, abandon the other!

I had a very dramatic spiritual experience along the way of Cycle Oregon, and a message of love and healing overpowered all that was preventing me from completing this beautiful and challenging journey. This journey of Sharon White and myself on Cycle Oregon has had a transformative effect upon me (you will have to see Sharon about its impact upon her). There is an AMAZING reservoir of energy available to all of mankind, once the door to fear is exchanged for the door to love. Each one of us must make this choice daily, and moment to moment if necessary, if we want to see life from a different point of view.

Letter written to Steve Schulz, ride director for Cycle Oregon:

This year, my wife and I completed the “Go For Gold” edition of Cycle Oregon 2016 (our 6th in the last 19 years-perhaps our last?). In the past, I was considered a competitive athlete, and runner, though I am many years away from that kind of experience or training. I was impressed with your opening day speech about the Cycle Oregon community, and the “we” experience,( vs just the normal “me” that we experience daily), that characterizes a great community experience. We had just that! And, in going for Gold, I found a spiritual treasure along the way, more valuable than gold itself. Ever hear of the “Heroes Journey”? Days 1-3 brought me to physical exhaustion, and I knew that I could not go on without some sort of miracle. I had been defeated, and I knew it! But I could not quit, because I rode a tandem, and I was responsible for getting my wife safely through this event. I had to dig deeper into my heart and soul than I ever had before, and underneath all of the worn out ideas about competition and fitting in that particular way, I found the “pot of gold” where I found acceptance of my ‘true” non-competitive self, with a wealth of tenderness towards self and others, and then a transformative energy released itself into my mind and heart, and enabled me to finish the ride strongly with my wife, who also is our stoker. Well, with this edition behind us, I now have a better understanding of who I am, and how I can better fit into the world community, NON-COMPETITIVELY. WHAT A RIDE!

Steve’s reply: Wow Bruce, that’s about the best Facebook comment I’ve ever read. Thanks for sharing your story and bringing good news to our team. We’re so glad you could join us and find a little inspiration. Thanks again for passing it on!

On October 19, 2016, Sheila Hamilton, the 5 time Emmy winning reporter, radio DJ, and now author of the influential book ALL THE THINGS WE NEVER KNEW: Chasing the chaos of mental illness. Was invited to our book club meeting, where we were to honor her, and discuss her new book about the tragedy of mental illness, and how the disease impacted her and her family. During one of her personal sharing experiences with the group, she mentioned how her deceased husband’s parents had taken her husband, when he was a baby, and several times bundled him into a blanket and “stored him in a car’. This was never mentioned in her book (which I already felt a deep connection with), and all of a sudden a similar event in my baby life took on a significance far beyond what I could have imagined. Sharon and I looked at each other with amazement, and mutual knowing, for the first time the significance of the damage done to me by the same process when I was under 3 years of age.

Then, the experience of the “anguish” energy, and it overtaking me, and me speaking from it, ultimately identifying it as one of the two locuses of energies in my fragmented energy field.

I worked on my story for the next five days after our book club meeting. Wednesday evening I became obsessed with the story, and worked on it with great intensity all the way up to bedtime. I awoke the next day, continuing the story with the same intensity. I think that I became the story, at least I came under its spell. It was becoming time to go to the athletic club (I go every day at 9:15 or so), and Sharon was on the phone with a friend. It was like a spell came over me. Sharon was on the phone with our friend Akiko, and I asked her if we could go the athletic club. Sharon responded with her version of a witty “putdown”, but I was in no mood for the humor. Sharon made yet another comment about my behavior being identical to my father, and then the volcano erupted. THIS IS ME, NOT MY FATHER!!! A spell came over me, and I was immersed in a nameless energy of anguish, loss, rejection, betrayal, whatever name you want to give to it. In that moment, that “preconscious part of me” the part of myself that was never heard by my parents, the part of my that is so worthy of being heard, love, and respected, though never having received in a timely fashion the feedback to affirm its truth.

Folks, we are beings of relationship, and the quality of our beingness is experienced through the purity, or lack thereof, of our energy exchanges with the totality of life.

THERE IS SOMETHING FUNDAMENTAL HERE! THIS IS ME SPEAKING!

“You Can’t Roller Skate In A Buffalo Herd”

By Roger Miller

Ya can’t roller skate in a buffalo herd