The following message is dedicated to my Best Friend from 1986-1987, Steve, and to:
My Search For Truth
I am going to take a “walk on the wild side” for this message.
This is an excerpt from my memoirs and represents part of a real life experience, with real life people. Most names have been changed to protect the innocent, and the guilty. I will be submitting this story to my wayward grandson, with the hope that he might someday derive some value from it, before his own journey through the “underworld” that he is presently living in takes his own life. I am not holding my breath, though I still have hope for him.
Let’s start my story with Randy Olson (1955-2013), my lifelong friend, the man who started me using grass in 1971 (I had already long ago started drinking beer, beginning when I was five years old, though alcoholic drinking did not start until my pot smoking days started).
The year was 1986, and I had been living with Randy Olson in a Beaverton apartment since my breakup with Alcindia the November past, with Alcindia being the first name for my latest relationship disaster. On January 28th, when the Challenger exploded, I had made the decision to fulfill a 15 year pledge that I had made to myself when I was just 15 years old. I knew that I was a hopeless alcoholic and drug addict, and if I could not shake the disease by age 30 (and if the disease itself had not already killed me) I would take matters into my own hands. I just held on as best that I could for the intervening years, and tried to make the best out of a self-destructive life situation. I never told another soul of my self-imposed 15 year “pull date”, should I fail at sobering up. Yes, the “conspiracy of silence” is a major aspect of oppression, loneliness, depression, isolation, and addiction, and I knew the phenomenon all too well.
While an incoming freshman at the University of Portland, I was able to secure a full ride scholarship from the US Air Force, and I also became a member of the Air Force ROTC my freshman year in college, yet all of my dreams for becoming an Air Force pilot, and, eventually, an astronaut, got kicked to the curb by my disease, and by my relationship with my first wife, Donelle, a woman soon to be devastated by extreme mental illness. Those who know my full story know what the Challenger explosion represented to me, which was the symbol of the destruction of all of my hopes and dreams for this life.
After being thwarted by a wary psychiatrist, the wonderful and compassionate Dr. Dan Beavers (now deceased), and a Fred Meyer pharmacist in my desire for death that day, I persevered, and eventually secured the necessary drugs for my own “assisted suicide”. I carried my suicide drugs under my car seat, so that when the pain got too real again, I could make my departure from my world of little or no meaning, no peace of mind, and extreme personal suffering. I had a 1977 Datsun 310 sedan that became my home for the next year, having eschewed all associations with family, and friends from my past, and this vehicle for my consciousness, and for my body, served me well. The year of 1986, through March of 1987, became the time container for my descent into the furthest reaches of hell and darkness that would finally lead me to the door to the truth that could bring life back to me..
I began to undertake my own unique “search for truth”, which took me into Portland’s underworld community of drug manufacturing and distribution, homelessness, witnessing of crimes against self and other, associating with and befriending homeless teenage victims of sexual predators and child abuse, friendships with members of motorcycle gangs and their hit men, felons, murderers, and undercover federal agents, some of whom were still investigating the criminal tentacles remaining from the Stephen Kessler, Wayne Harsh era when in 1982 a prison guard was murdered during the famous prison escape from Rocky Butte Jail, and, subsequently, DEA records that were also compromised.
I ran with my new “friends”, and my only intention was to be the best person that I could be, while living out the final moments, days, or weeks of my life. My intention was to bring harm to no one, and to practice the 12 steps of AA, even while still avoiding recovery from drug addiction and alcoholism, which I had totally given up ever successfully completing.
My first “realization” was that I needed to avoid sex. I committed to no new relationships with women, including no sexual encounters (pretty easy decision for me, as I was so beat up by my history of misadventures with women over the previous 14 years).
My second “realization” was that I could no longer smoke pot, because it made me feel paranoid, and wanting to keep isolated, and in my need to find ‘truth”, those characteristics were counterproductive. Pot also dulled my emotions, intellect, resourcefulness, and curiosity, and I needed those qualities of being to survive in my new world.
I met well over a hundred new acquaintances over the next year. I spent hundreds of hours in conversations with all manners and types of emotionally disfigured human beings, the same human beings, that while living my life of “white middle class privilege”, I never would have associated with. Yet in my “final journey through life”, these oppressed, maligned, and misrepresented human beings became my best, and only friends. I was to later realize that the same spiritual disease that afflicted my underworld friends also terrorized my privileged white middle class friends, only the privileged had better ways to mask their disease from themselves and others.
Methedrine, crank, speed, go-juice, or one of any number of other street names became my drug of choice, as it made me feel “social” and conversational with all others. I would not sleep for up to one week at a time, while running with my peer group. The Punjab tavern on Foster Road became my main hub or center for social contact with many of the social branches of the tree of death that I was now climbing. Many a night, and after hours’ parties, were spent with a revolving group of my new friends there, with a main core group of people who had mutual interests.
I don’t know how to tell the rest of the story, except for inserting a series of “vignettes”, where I am able to document and describe some of my major interactions with others. The following story will appear fragmented and incomplete, which is how my actual life was lived during that era.
I will begin my story of the underworld with Ralph.
Ralph was from Scappoose, Oregon, or so he said. He was the center point for much underworld activity, and I quickly became his friend, and driver, through many underworld adventures. Through him I met drug chemists, motorcycle gang members, hit men, armed robbers, practicing felons in possession of firearms, prostitutes, homeless victims of child abuse, heroin addicts, and Steve (not his real name), who was an undercover federal agent, and who would figure strongly in my future release from personal HELL. Steve deserves a story devoted all to himself, as he saved my life when I stood at the final brink, early in March of 1987.
I learned to really love Ralph, who was an incredibly damaged soul, and his excessive drug use would sometimes cause concern for me. I noticed that paranoia was creeping into his mind, and we would joke about it, but he became my first living example of the damage that excess meth use causes. He was one of my “protectors” in the underworld, and would redirect others who were tempted to bring harm to me, because I did not fit in too well at times with Portland’s dark underbelly, being too healthy looking, too educated, and too well spoken. My appearance would quickly change, however, as I lost 70 pounds, receding to 136 pounds by November. My big vocabulary betrayed me on several occasions, and I was counseled to use smaller words wherever possible. One time I was “busted” for using the word “magnanimous” while sitting at the bar, and I was told that people who use “quarter words” where a “nickel word” is enough were not welcome there.
One quick little story about Ralph before I leave him for now. Once, I had all four tires of my car slashed while parked overnight for a party with Ralph and his minions. Ralph put the word out on the streets that this was unacceptable behavior, and whoever did the deed would answer to him personally, and to lay off of that car. I felt strangely safe, and protected, while with Ralph, even though there were continue threats against my safety and well-being. While jacking up my car for tire replacements, I had to use my AA book to help with extra elevation, which attracted some strange looks from those who already thought that I was a stranger in this strange land. Hey, I had finally found a constructive use for the Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous, and I actually felt a little pleased with myself. Ralph told me to “ditch that evil book”, and I kept it hidden from all sight from that point on, though to this day, I still own that very same book.
My story of Sarah now follows.
In his love for me, Ralph also offered to me Sarah, his long-term girlfriend, who he had an “open relationship” with. But I had already eschewed all connections with women, other than platonic ones, because I feared that they would distract me from achieving my goal of either killing myself, or finding some new truth that would sustain my will to carry on. But I did share many adventures with Sarah.
While hanging out with Sarah, we would occasionally visit incarcerated friends at the local jails. One day, she decided that we needed to visit Jake, who was being held in Clackamas County Jail until his transfer was completed to a federal penitentiary. I knew Jake on the outside, and he was always so kind and friendly towards me. I wanted so much to express my sorrow at his long-term imprisonment. It was on the way there that I learned that our “friend” was a “hit man” for a regional motorcycle gang that distributed drugs, and one ”hit” went horribly wrong for him, apparently.
Sarah and I snorted some of the latest designer meth creations from our favorite local chemist just before arriving at the jail. It was just after that I had either a stroke, a prolonged seizure, or I was struck dumb, and speechless, for two full days, perhaps by the realization of the potential danger that I was in. When we met Jake at the reception area for the jail, all that would come out of my mouth were awkward grunts and squawks. Yes, the stress created by the meeting, coupled with the drug interactions, caused my loss of the ability to speak, thus contributing to the “conspiracy of silence” that my own drug use and addiction created.
I will now talk for a while about Robert.
Robert was a convicted armed robber, who was recently released from prison in May of 1986. One night, fate gathered us both together to sit at the bar in the Punjab tavern. The bar was a long, semi-circular arc, which seated up to 14 souls. The bar had two pool tables, and several tables and booths where people could be comfortably seated. And, there were several video games, which drew my attention at “after hours’ parties” where I was usually quite wired, and needing extra entertainment.
I was sitting at the bar yet again one evening, conversing with the owner Jack, who was to become another friend to me, when Robert slid in, and sat right next to me. He was dressed in a leather jacket, which was popular at that time, and fairly new jeans. He was about my age, 30 years old, and looked like he wanted to talk. Let us “tune in” to a conversation that we engaged in that evening:
Robert: Hey, I have a plan for this seat, is it OK for me to sit next to you for while?
Me: Why, of course! Where are you coming from, you appear to be already having a good time.
Robert: Well, tonight is the night for good times, for sure. I just needed to get out, and get some “fresh air” and hook up with some old friends. I have been out of the neighborhood for a long time, and I am hoping to find some old friends.
Me: Well, maybe a new friend might show up, say, right next to you this evening?!
Robert: That would sure be nice.
Me: My only requirements are that you are not a murderer, because if my life has to end tonight, I want it to be by my own hands (I said this half-jokingly)
Robert: Hmm, I was just released from prison, having spent ten years behind bars for a pretty famous robbery committed in 1975.
Me: Oh, really? You really made the news, eh? I think that your notoriety won’t get in the way.
Robert: Umm, I killed a man while committing the robbery.
Me: (gulping, I am feeling rather uncomfortable and stupid now, and my thoughts began racing). Robert, everybody deserves a second chance, let me buy you another beer, and let’s turn our attention to the present.
Robert: Sounds good!
We clink our glasses together, and each take a big drink. An ‘old friend’ of Robert’s comes up to the bar, and accompanies Robert into the restroom, leaving me at the bar. I ask the bartender for a shot of whiskey, which I quickly down, and then wash the bitter flavor away with a big drink of beer.
Robert returns to the bar, sans his “old friend”.
Me: Well, what is up for the rest of the evening?
Robert: (slurring his words noticeably, and his eyes had lost their luster) I think that I will just hang out here for as long as I can, then move on down the road a piece.
He then closes his eyes, and slumps down, face onto the bar. Then, he falls off of the chair, and tries to right himself on the floor.
Me: Bartender, I think that my friend here just got sick, should we call an ambulance?
Jack: Heck no, Bruce, he is right where he wants to be. If you could, please help him over to a booth in the corner where he can try to get his shit back together.
Me: Jack, did he just shoot heroin, or something? Why would he do that to himself? I just don’t understand, because I want and need to talk to people now, and that would be so counterproductive.
Jack: Bruce, SOME PEOPLE ARE JUST WAITING FOR A BETTER DAY. Today is not the better day for Robert, and it may never arrive for him.
Me: Wow, thanks for that, Jack, I did not really understand, but I think that I do now. Let me get him out of view before we all get into trouble.
The Conspiracy Of Silence claims yet another human being. The heroin completely shut him down to his humanity, and left me wondering what my own fate might be,.
This story goes on, through an almost endless array of struggling, spiritually darkened humanity. I will continue this story with many other human beings that I had the privilege, honor, and distress to meet and converse with. Each one of them helped me to find the next step on my own path to recovery, and to finally embracing the path to truth and love within my own heart.
(Omitted 15 other vignettes)
Finally, I will speak to my relationship with Steve.
Steve belongs in a special story all to himself, but I will include him here because he had ultimate importance in my “search for truth”. I met Steve at the same time that I met Ralph. Steve was a very intelligent, well-dressed man, about 8 years older than me. He drove a nice 1982 Chevrolet, which somebody had tricked out (I did not think that he did it, however). Shortly after becoming a “peripheral person” in our rotating community of characters, his car became impounded by the police, and he could not get it released back into his care (or so he said). That is where I first became “suspicious” of Steve, because I sensed that he was looking for somebody who might have an “inside track” into our Portland Police Department, and its inner workings.
Steve and I shared a lot of time together over the 12 months that I wandered over the underworld landscape. I could always count on him to give me good insight into others, though he held the truths about himself close to his chest. He became a ‘big brother” to me, at times, and would not spare me criticism, if I appeared out-of-place, or out of touch. He would criticize Ralph’s excessive drug use, all the while using extremely small amounts of the same stuff, which he poured from a very tiny vile. He initially could not understand why I thought it necessary to be where I was, either, though he was the only person that I ever told that I was on a “search for truth”, while continuing to use speed, and alcohol. I did not understand, at the time, how he could “get by” with so little use of drugs.
From time to time, Steve would seem to “test” me, by exposing me to new situations and people who required some sort of help or intervention. Through Steve I met Georgette, a 15-year-old runaway girl, who was escaping a sexually abusive father by being homeless in the southeast Portland area. She was hanging out with another sexually abused homeless young man, named Greg, who was three years her senior, and already skilled in the art and science of locating abandoned or temporarily vacated homes, for their own temporary residences. Greg was always accompanied by five to ten other “friends”, who would be his assistants in illicitly securing property or goods for resale. Greg, I would learn, was also about to “peddle” Georgette, for added income.
Georgette was a tiny young woman, no more than five foot two inches, and ninety-five pounds. When I first met her, I noted her innocence, and my heart almost broke, and I felt helpless, though I wanted so much to protect her from her fate. She had developed “pink eye”, and I saw an opportunity to break her free from this group of itinerant thieves and junkies. I had her grab her meager belongings, and I placed her in my car, and we talked for hours. She was the younger sister, or daughter that I never had, and I wanted to keep her safe. I finally whisked her away from the gang, and drove her to Outside In, where she could get necessary medical help and counselling. I had recently received a retirement payout from my 10 years working at the Postal Service, and so I had some extra money, which I stuffed into her pocket. I told her, in no uncertain terms, that I never wanted to see her again with her “friends”, or there would be serious hell to pay. I never saw her again, though a tape recorded message of my conversation with her would mysteriously show up two months later.
I continued an incredible downward spiral into addiction, and Steve commented to me, in November, how I looked like I could be the “Aids Poster Boy” because I had become so slight of figure, and so unhealthy looking. I had started “hearing voices”, and I had become paranoid, as well. Yet, I did not let on to others that I had become so disfigured internally, though the signs were starting to appear. I “heard” that there was a major undercover operation active in Portland, and that dozens of criminal indictments were immanent. In reality, that was partially the truth, yet I should not have known that, let alone give a warning to a few others of those “facts”.
Steve wanted to know how I knew of these indictments, and I would not tell him. I noted that people were tailing me almost all of the time now, and that some of my conversations were being recorded in my car. One day I tore my car apart, searching for the transmitter, or the recorder. I had two different people stop by, and try to interrupt me from the search, which only added to my own paranoia. I did not locate the transmitter, but I really began to fuck with any listeners’ mind, by talking dark shit, and renaming myself “the Wild Card”. I let my world know, in no uncertain terms, that I was no longer aligned with anyone, as I was on my way to my own death.
Doctor Dave
I will fast forward through three months more of Hell. My main core group had collapsed, with Ralph relocating himself to protect himself. I had lost touch with Steve, my last connection with sanity. I was running with a new group, and most were intravenous drug users. I met Doctor Dave, a short, friendly man, with a severely pockmarked face, a man who also recently was released from jail. He introduced me to intravenous drug use. He ever so carefully shot me up with speed, for my first time of ever using the needle, and most subsequent times, as well. I could not shoot up by myself, as I feared needles so much. But the incredible rush I received from intravenous drug use made me want to use this hastened path to Death frequently for the final two months of my drug abusing life.
The brief story of Frank, and Steve’s return
Another house had been compromised near the intersection of Holgate and McLoughlin Blvd, and that became our new hangout. Our new leader, Frank, organized a big party, and we had over 70 people show up. This was in early March of 1987, and I was ready for my swan song. My mental health was irreparably damaged, and my “search for truth” had apparently only uncovered a hastened path to Death for me. Frank had just secured a fresh batch of speed, and heroin, which I had never used before, and he was mixing up his renowned “witches brew”, and invited me to join him. Sure, why not? I had nothing to lose, but a life that was already dead. I started to accompany Frank to an upstairs room, when I spotted Steve talking with a healthy looking 30-year-old woman, one that i might have been attracted to, had i been healthy. I overheard her calling his name, and it was NOT Steve. “Steve” saw that I heard his real name, and he then knew that I knew.
Steve took me aside, and tried to explain. I instead stopped him, and told him that I had suspected him all along of being undercover. I also told him that his secret was safe with me. I told him my journey was about to end, that I was going upstairs with Frank, and if I survived that experience, I was going to return to my car, and grab the pills under my front seat, and finish business, once and for all. Yes, I was finished.
“Steve” grabbed my arm, excused himself from his ‘girlfriend’, and took me outside to his car. We then drove to my father’s house, and “Steve” then commanded to me “Bruce, I can no longer keep you protected and safe. Your search for truth has to end within this dangerous world. Now your real search for truth must begin, starting with your relationship with your father. I never want to see you again, but believe me, I am going to try to help you, any way I can. You deserve so much better of a life than you have given to yourself.”
We arrived at my father’s house, and he let me out. He and his partner drove my car to my dad’s house later that evening, then I never saw him again. The pills had disappeared from under the driver’s seat, as well.
Note: One year later, he called me, to check and see how I was doing. I was a year clean and sober, and, in tears, I gushed my love and gratitude for “Steve”. He was the best friend that I never knew I had.
Randy Olson Returns
I was still a mess, strung out from months of drug abuse, alcoholism, gambling, and I still only weighed a mere 135 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 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.
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
Artist: Nine Inch Nails
The Chemists friend, Brock
It was then that I entered into a blackout, and picked up one of my father’s loaded guns, and drove, quite drunk, to Brock’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 in my lap discharged, 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 still would not inject myself.) 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.
The mystery of Craig Salter
It is another funny thing, two days later, out of the blue, Craig Salter called me, for the first connection in 6 years (he was a 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 own horrific decline into his own alcoholism, just like Randy Olson had started me on my first drug, which was marijuana, and may have indirectly contributed to my own eventual decline .
I began a new, healthier search for truth. First, I attended over 200 AA and NA meetings the first 90 days of my newfound sobriety. I then literally spent thousands of hours in communication, investigation, reading, writing, meditation, associating with all types and manners of people, and, eventually, healing my relationship with my parents (especially my father). Yes, the prison guard with the primary key to release me from my own spiritual imprisonment was my own unhealed relationship with my father. Overcoming lifetimes of oppression and control by others is no easy task. It also must be done clean and sober, for the true depth and healing of the experience to permanently take hold.
I will stop for now. There is so much more to this story, but the skeleton is at least here, should I never return here to finish it. I have surgery Monday, and one never knows outcomes in advance.
My own “wait for a better day” has born great fruitage for me, but the fruit was not passively acquired, nor was it acquired through waiting for the outer conditions of my life to improve. I first had to confront my own suffering, and it’s sources within my mind, memory, and heart. Suffering need not be a death sentence, for those who choose to awaken.
May all sentient beings be freed from their suffering.
May all sentient beings remain conscious enough to be aware of the options available to free themselves from their suffering.
Blaming others for ones’ present station in life is self-defeating. Yet, that is the first response of an immature mind, a mind not ready and willing to make the necessary adjustments in course to create a new life experience.
Life can be an extremely humbling experience. Those blessed few who stop resisting life and develop the capacity to accept “defeat” are the ones most susceptible to healing. It is when we are defeated, that we become the most open to life affirming change and growth.
Then we can accept personal responsibility for the rest of our lives, knowing that the willingness, and capacity, for changes in our attitudes and behaviors can now become our “higher power”.
Note: Stephen Kessler was recently denied parole, and will spend the rest of his life in prison. He was regarded as the most dangerous criminal ever encountered, by several federal agents. Wayne Harsh was a friend of my neighbor while I grew up near Rex Putnam High School, and he eventually became a Clackamas County Sheriff prior to his own fall. We knew of each other, and he was well-known for his connections with automobiles, and, in fact, supplied the getaway vehicle to Stephen Kessler during his prison escape.
I coincidentally was roommates with Tom Cravens in the Physicians and Surgeons Hospital Care Unit in 1984, when we both sought sobriety (Tom was successful, but I was not). Tom was one of six co-conspirators with Stephen Kessler during the 1968 prison riot, where a lot of the Oregon State Prison in Salem was burnt down,, and shame was brought to our then Oregon Governor, Tom McCall. While growing up into the beast that he became, Stephen Kessler also shared the same school as my present wife, Sharon White, and, in fact, beat up a teacher while in the same classroom that he shared with my wife.
What a small, dangerous world it can be, sometimes. What a huge, loving world it can turn into, when we have turned away from our damaged souls, and pasts, become humble, and accept the gifts of Spirit and Healing.
Further notes, from October 2, 2017:
After the recent death of my father, on September 16th, I have had the privilege and challenge of going through and sorting a lifetime worth of writings and papers from my parents, and from myself. After reading some of my mother’s personal writings, I was struck by the pain that she experienced remaining married to my father. He was not a person with the soft touch, when it came to communicating with those that he loved, especially during challenging/difficult periods of life. He was what those in the field of recovery refer to as a “dry drunk”.
Anyway, rather than focusing on my mother’s version of “pain”, I thought that I would include some of my own writings on “pain”, which originated while I was hidden in the Care Unit for Alcoholic Rehabilitation, in 1984. There were two different iterations for Pain that I penned while I was there, here they are:
PAIN
Though the dark cloud looms on the horizon, it is also hidden within myself.
It appears to hover in the distance, just beyond my reach, and it patiently waits my most vulnerable moment.
I then feel the initial mist from its clouds, suspecting that I am its intentional target.
A piercing wind picks up, hugging me with its frozen arms, and I vainly look for protection
As the torrential downpour begins, I feel my tenuous sense of peace and safety eroding beneath my feet.
As it strips back, layer, upon layer, upon layer, upon layer, of my consciousness, exposing a bedrock bereft of sanity.
Exposing long forgotten mental relics, threatening old, unhealed memories, and dangerous old habits,
Stinging, piercing, hurting me at my core, obscuring visions of glorious, yet impossibly distant futures,
Washing away all tenuously held possessions of sanity, and hope.
Uprooting the feeble foundation of a life desperately, but futilely, attempting to, yet again, reconstruct itself,
Carrying a powerless, helpless, desperate soul back into toxic chemical valleys, amid a dark, swirling depression,
Ravaging, drowning, then decaying.
Part II
Yes, growing without roots, with a will that won’t bend,
Weathering life’s storms, which never seem to end.
No longer waiting for the sun that was once promised to arise,
How could truth’s light possibly shine in dimmed eyes?
Having reached with futility for all the high goals of life,
With no spiritual growth, while consumed by inner strife.
Devoid of healing affection, and a stranger to real love,
Unrealistic hope was what my failed dreams were all made of.
Despair meets each day, summer has now changed into fall,
Looking at life, I am totally disgusted by it all.
Dying of loneliness, and holding life by only a thread,
With me rotting inside, hopefully, I soon will be dead.
Pain,
Why?
There is no mystery to me as to why some people choose suicide over recovery.
Since 1987, I have chosen life, and sobriety. Life isn’t always pretty, but I remain personally responsible for my attitudes and behaviors, and I retain freedom of choice in most of my affairs. As a practicing alcoholic and drug addict, and mentally ill human being, I lost all freedom of choice. I have much compassion for those who still struggle with mental illness and alcoholism/drug addiction. Our society has created the perfect conditions for its population to practice insanity and addictive behaviors, but it remains up to us as individuals to create our own perfect conditions for recovery. Self-awareness, personal inventory, making amends to all that we have harmed, working a strong spiritual program, mindfulness, meditation, and hanging around like-minded people took me to my own “promised land”.
Nobody can do the work for us, it is a personal journey.
Here is a poem that arose from my healing experience, circa 1987
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
I have attempted extensive meditation upon my own source of pain and suffering, and what came to me was how most of what I know about myself, and my reactions to the world, was created by my fundamental relationship to my parents. I had never developed a complete sense of self in my early years (I will not call it Aspergers Syndrome, or Autism, though it manifested similarly to ADHD) and my self revolved around internalizing what my mother and father expected from me, what I could or could not give back to them to attempt to please them, and my defense mechanisms for managing the fallout when I failed to either please them, or protect them, or myself, from the results of the conflict that arose in our house when I either made yet another mistake, or when father overreacted to any situation that brought a sense of fear or threat into the home environment. It was as if I had two extra self-organizing personalities occupying my ego mind, my creations of who I thought my father and mother were, which was crowding out the “real me”, whoever that might be (if anyone, maybe there was never a real “me” present?).
With the death of my father, it ended the era of subservience to his needs, and the need to “protect” my mother from my perception of his aggression towards her.. It also ended the era of incomplete grieving for my own mother’s death, as I had to immediately support my mentally deteriorating father when mother died, and I never completely worked through my own grieving process. I was finally an “orphan”, and all of the entanglements that kept me wound around their lives were now physically removed. My fathers’ spirit no longer needed to overshadow my own life, and now I was allowed to live fully into whatever, or whoever I am, or was supposed to be.
For me this is an extraordinary release, because my “ego” formed much differently that most of the rest of humanity due to unusual parental bonding issues just after birth, and through my first 4-5 years. Being placed on “formula” right after birth, and being placed in a chilly car in the garage at night so that my father could sleep better (I was just another “damn crying baby”) left me as a young being feeling abandoned, and lonely, from the beginning. Though I loved my parents, I certainly did not want to grow up and be like them. Yet, I was not able to offer to my developing self a viable alternative to being like my father, being extremely limited creatively, and my resultant dull, though at times insightful, personality reflected that darkness.
Up to this most recent point in my life, I have perceived the collective impact of toxic male consciousness upon my individual existence, with some insight into my own father’s sometimes toxic involvement in my own mind’s formation. I saw that I had two Tricksters roaming through the inner recesses of my heart and soul, and their continued presence, though they kept me from being lonely as a young being, kept me from developing into my greater good as an independent, free human being. In our world, there are countless examples of “self-organizing systems”, and all creatures, and the minds of those creatures, are examples of that miracle in action. The bodies appear to be primarily organized through the pattern created by the history of that species, and it’s interactions with its earthly environment. DNA appears to carry that pattern within our very cells.
Yet the mind appears to have an extra self-organizing principle attached to it, as it organizes itself into a personal sense of being. That little mystery revolves around how well the organism feels accepted by, and connected to the environment that the body travels through. Thus, healthier senses of the self are supported by myriads of “successful” interactions with its social and physical environment. First and foremost is the beings’ acceptance and integration into the primary family cell, or group. If the young being does not get the requisite positive feedback early on, it faces tremendous odds against forming a rational, happy, well adjusted, self-organizing principle, or ego. My first 31 years of life reflected the internalized horror of a life suppressed by the “conspiracy of silence” created by my subservience to a damaged image of self, and other. My own true nature had been masked over, or silenced, through that process.
Who, or what, am I now? I am a mystery, even to myself. I need not be anxious, though the transition times from who I thought I was to who I am predestined to become did create intense anxiety. I am to be forever walking into the unknowable present moment. Living into the Truth of what that is now is the new story of my life. There is but One Mind, but it is only experienced in the Unknown.
Further Musings
There has been an epidemic of younger, white, middle class men who have been dying at earlier ages than would be statistically forecast, for the past 20+years. There is a dearth of information on this issue, though there are many references to the Opioid Epidemic, painkiller addiction, and the progression to heroin addiction by those participants. This is only a small part of the real story, and I am going to try, in my own incomplete way, to write about the disease of Spirit that has targeted American Masculinity for quite some time, and the people that I have known who have been struck down by it. I have seen, and I believe at the deepest level of my own being, that disease in the mind of mankind is directly related to disease within the body of mankind.
I offer my apologies in advance to any widow or family member who reads this story, and might be offended by what appears to be judgmental or incomplete representation of the facts. I will leave it to the real ‘experts’ within our culture to drill down to the “real facts”. What I have observed is quite subjective, and the population that I have witnessed is fairly small, compared to the whole of the population that has been impacted by our cultural disease. My only intention here is to provide a very incomplete voice, for those who can no longer speak up for the ills of the society that created the conditions for their own early demise, be it through heart attacks, brain cancer or cancer in general, alcoholism, drug addiction, suicide, murder, or “accidents”.
Poor self-esteem inculcated into boys from birth by our wayward fathers, religions, and cultures, ignoring our own feelings, not communicating honestly with others, excess competitiveness with others while engaging with greed and the “keeping up with the Jones’ “, proving self-worth in environments where self, and others’, worth is disrespected, trying to fit in where we really don’t belong, people pleasing, not speaking up for ourselves or for others that are oppressed for fear of being marginalized, over immersion in entertainment, excessive eating, not exercising, excessive drinking of alcohol, use of recreational drugs to the point of habituation (including marijuana), smoking, chewing tobacco, using sex as a way to manipulate others, workaholism, or a number of other phenomenon represent the factors that most men encounter or employ in our efforts to meet the needs for economic security, establish our place in society, and family fulfillment, including ones sexual gratification.
Jeff Tobin (55-suicide), Brad Gillespie (63-heart disease), Jim Graham (53-suicide through alcoholism), Larry Weaver (58-heart disease), Jim White (63-alcoholism/heart disease), Bill Jollo (62-heart disease), Dan Dietz (43-heart disease), Randy Olson (58-heart disease), Bob Reuter (61-brain cancer/Death with Dignity), Marty Crouch (70-Metastatic Melanoma/Death With Dignity), Mike Sutton (65-cancer), Victor Thomas (57-brain cancer), Chuck Mason (62-heart disease), Ken Runyan (45-abdominal aortic aneurysm), and an endless parade of other friends, and acquaintances, I have already witnessed meeting an early death. In many cases, their deaths were, literally, a divorce from their lives, as their lives were so unfulfilled and unhappy. This is not universally the case, especially for some of the younger men, yet, in most of the cases that I am familiar with, the men were not happy at the end, and death appeared to be a welcome release for them.
Some had lost their careers, and could not recover from that. Some had no meaning in their lives, and could not recover from that. Some were addicted to drugs and/or alcohol, and could not recover from that. Some were addicted to the idea that their only function was to provide for their wives or family, and, having achieved success or failure, they could not recover from that. Some were just waiting for a better day, and when it never appeared, they could not recover from that. Some were lonely and depressed, and they could not recover from that. Some had profound mental illness, and they could not recover from that.
What is the real backstory to these men and their lives that may not have been told to their families, to their religions, to their culture, to their employer and co-workers, and to their Gods? Were any of our male victims of society able to listen to themselves, and identify their own unique pain and suffering, and bring it to the light of Love and Reason, to search for, and eventually find a newer path to healing and meaning? Or, did they blindly follow down the well-worn path of premature deterioration and death that much of our unconscious humanity is doomed to trudge upon?
I took my father to the doctor this past January of 2017, and my number one concern, next to my dying father’s needs, was that my father was going to outlive me. Why would such a concern erupt within my own mind? The stress of having provided care for a moderately demented older “gentleman” (he was quite gentle the last several years of his life) did take quite the toll on me, even though it also provided great spiritual benefits to me, as I came to understand, AT THE DEEPEST LEVELS, how my relationship with my father had created much of the irregularities in my own vision of life, and love, especially in my earlier years.
My father represented, in the most perfect of ways, how my life experience had become overshadowed by the needs and concerns of our culture, and its own unconscious needs to dominate, control, and oppress, especially those who did not conform to its twisted values. My father had great difficulty in recognizing the intrinsic value of all life, including my “baby self”, and my essence as a young boy. My father showed to me, in a most perfect way, what that dark, negative end point looks like from a lifetime lacking in true collaboration and emotional integrity while sharing life force with others. My father achieved his goals in life, yet at what cost did they come to him, and to the people that he influenced and controlled? And, what is the cost to a society that blindly plows forward while supporting ideals that do not conform to the development of its citizens’ highest nature, and truth?
One only needs to look around, and view the effects of Toxic Masculinity, and its ugly spawn, Toxic Religion, Toxic Politics, and Toxic Capitalism, to see that repression of the feminine, and the Divine, is built right into the very fabric of our cultural existence. Our POTU$ is the perfect representation for all of the ills of our culture, and to the extent that the men within our culture practice his unholy principles of engagement with the world, and the women, and men, within it, the men also share in his disease of mind, body, and spirit. What happens to a man defeated by the dark energy of unhealed masculinity? We don’t need to look too far to see the insanity around us, the mass murders, early deaths, suicides, drug addiction, alcoholism, abuse of woman, and children, extinction of species, destruction of our ecology, and see the relationships that now continue to a very bleak future, unless the men in this world awaken, and rebel against the prevailing dark attitudes of our dying culture.
Dead men tell no tales, but the nearly dead MUST continue to tell their stories, with respect for themselves and others, until our civilization finally wakes up. To not express ourselves honestly and openly results in our own early physical and spiritual demise. My innate response would be to keep silent, as I have nothing of value to share with the world, and/or the world could give a shit about what I have to say anyway. Mix in to that mix certain philosophies and religions that deny the value of our unique stories, and existence, and then extrapolate that response to life, and we can perceive the isolating framework that imprisons much of the American male psyche.
I grieve with the rest of humanity for the early deaths of these often times brave, though many times, damaged souls, and for the loss of human potential to the rest of humanity. Please, America, listen to, and retell their stories, so that we can all heal, grow, and love together in a new, transformative environment that can celebrate wholeness, and our individual contributions to it, from both the male and female perspectives.
I now know that our spiritual and economic systems are flirting with catastrophic collapse. For me, I layered myself with all manners of philosophies that suggested that I should ignore my personal human emotions, and all of the so-called dark energies that plague us, through the labelling, judging, and condemnation of all of these energies. Maya, or illusions, or cultural hypnosis, are terms coined by the “aware” that help us to understand that what appears to be in the “real world” may not actually be there, and to be aware of the potential of our minds to project out of our own unenlightened ignorance our misunderstanding of life, and our actual relationship to it.
Evil does exist, and I will not allow the “wise ones” and their dismissive theories on evil to discourage me from confronting that force, both within myself and within my American culture. It takes a force of will FAR transcending those that the absolutist philosophies of unconditional love promote. If I lived in a spiritual “ivory tower”, then these philosophies might serve my needs. Why would any sane man create more Fake News, deny what they see, and gloss it over with Universal Love, whatever that means? I no longer need permission from “higher powers” to deal with all of our difficult emotions directly and honestly.
In March of this year, two good friends suggested that anger IS hate, and should be eschewed at all costs. That statement to me is now identified by my Spirit as showing lack of discernment. A lifetime of oppression, of not being heard, having cries of pain and suffering ignored because of some sort of prevailing philosophy, thus ignoring major energy centers of who I AM, creates energy field corruption and damage. How can a young woman, or man, not respond with anger and fear while being sexually abused by yet another Toxic Man, and his own distorted theories of how life should be? Extrapolate that to our entire country, where millions of our fellow Americans, or, more accurately, our fellow human beings, be they African American, Hispanic, Muslim, Hindu, Sikh, or whatever label we want to foist on another child of God, continue to be persecuted and oppressed by the dark philosophies spawned by other Patriarchal ideologues.
Anger is appropriate in these times. Constructively using this energy for the good of the people requires understanding, however. We are beings of energy, GREAT ENERGY, but that energy gets pushed away every time we fail to recognize that anger may be one of our most important spiritual assets available. There is a vast difference between anger and hatred, and those who confuse the two, in the name of their own disempowered belief systems, have given themselves permission to not rise up publicly, and to speak out against those who are attempting to oppress, dominate, and control us. Anger can inform our Passion, and give us access to energy. Sitting back on our hands, and developing spiritual philosophies that allow us to ignore what we are viewing is tantamount to creating more FAKE NEWS, and normalizing that which is insanity. We can’t dismiss what is going on, and deny our hearts and spirits, when there are millions of disempowered citizens who cannot defend themselves, or speak out against the oppression, ESPECIALLY WHEN THEY HAVE THEIR RELIGIOUS AND SPIRITUAL LEADERS CONTINUING TO FOIST DISEMPOWERING BELIEFS, AND PHILOSOPHIES, UPON THESE UNSUSPECTING ADHERENTS. Though their hearts may be in the “right place”, this is not the time for more disempowering agendas from those who have already given themselves permission not to stand up and be counted .Righteous indignation and anger may not be for everybody, but those who have been inspired by these powerful energies can harness them for the greater good of mankind, and, for themselves.
The key is to place these so-called dark energies in the service of understanding and love. Enlightened anger IS wisdom, and if we deny our anger about the oppression we have experienced, or that which is persecuting the innocents of the world, our access to vast sacred energy centers will continue to be blocked away from us, by those who inadvertently become part of the control mechanism that we are attempting to become liberated from.
Alcoholism, depression, mental illness, murder, suicide, participating in the continued destruction of our sacred Mother Earth, and other manifestations of disempowered male energy is the end result. And, this is NOT yet another spiritual theory, this is the ACTUALITY of my life. Sitting in meditation, and or quoting other “spiritually enlightened individuals” may have brought me a temporary measure of peace, but this whole process became yet another “opiate”, and it never brought the change required by my spirit for its own emergence into its own unique wholeness.
Thus, my story continues, sans most spiritual teachers. I am guided from within, and I am whole because of that. And, my world will never be the same, and we are a better humanity because of that. Somebody has to act as a bridge between highbrow spiritual theories and/or realizations, and the damaged, hurt, misunderstood, persecuted, abused, sick and ill, and I AM THAT, along with countless millions of awakening abused people around the world. This is how my awakening world now spins, around the reunification of all rejected energies of our Holy Spirit (the spirit of wholeness that still resides within all of us, even in the “least of these” people, who may still reside in their own personal hell).
In the exact words of my own Holy Spirit:
“No teacher will affect my salvation, I must work it out for myself”.
As I save myself, I save my world, and I improve your world, as well.
It is worth the trauma, and the drama, and the tears, and the fears.
Don’t trust me on this one, practice these principles in all of your own affairs, and watch your own spiritual garden grow into ultimate fruition. My own “blossoms” may become the headstone decorations for the grave that will house my body, but I could not be fulfilled until I allowed All of my buds to bloom, to see what their true nature is, and how best to utilize these energies for the greater good of all.
“There is an inmost center in us all, where truth abides in fullness;….and, to know, rather consists in opening out a way where the imprisoned splendor may escape, then in effecting entry for a light supposed to be without.”
― Robert Browning
Also, In the timeless words of Bob Marley, come the words of a real spiritual warrior:
Get up, stand up, stand up for your rights
Get up, stand up, stand up for your rights
Get up, stand up, stand up for your rights
Get up, stand up, don’t give up the fight
Preacher man, don’t tell me
Heaven is under the earth
I know you don’t know
What life is really worth
It’s not all that glitters is gold
‘Alf the story has never been told
So now you see the light, eh
Stand up for your rights, come on
Get up, stand up, stand up for your rights
Get up, stand up, don’t give up the fight
Get up, stand up, stand up for your rights
Get up, stand up, don’t give up the fight
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
Get up, stand up (Jah, Jah)
Stand up for your rights (oh-hoo)
Get up, stand up (get up, stand up)
Don’t give up the fight (life is your right)
Get up, stand up (so we can’t give up the fight)
Stand up for your right (Lord, Lord)
Get up, stand up (keep on struggling on)
Don’t give up the fight (yeah)
We sick an’ tired of-a your ism-skism game
Dyin’ ‘n’ goin’ to heaven in-a Jesus’ name, Lord
We know when we understand
Almighty God is a living man
You can fool some people sometimes
But you can’t fool all the people all the time
So now we see the light (what you gonna do?)
We gonna stand up for our rights (yeah, yeah, yeah)
So you better
Get up, stand up (in the morning, git it up)
Stand up for your rights (stand up for our rights)
Get up, stand up
Don’t give up the fight (don’t give it up, don’t give it up)
Get up, stand up (get up, stand up)
Stand up for your rights (get up, stand up)
Get up, stand up
Don’t give up the fight (get up, stand up)
Get up, stand up
Stand up for your rights
Get up, stand up
Don’t give up the fight
And in the words of another great spiritual warrior:
“I come not to bring peace, but a sword!”,
as he, too, tried to break down the patterns of social, economic, and religious injustice of the day.
“In as much as you have done this unto the least of these people, you have also done this unto me”
Jesus of Nazareth
To deal effectively with the Toxic Masculinity that seems to define many males today, let us dig a little deeper. Donald Trump’s “anti-spiritual playbook” is now available for all open eyes to see.
POTU$ Toxic Masculinity Principle #1:
I am the center of the Universe. The rest of humanity is here either for my pleasure, for my profit, or for my disdain. I may attend a church occasionally, so that I can create the impression that I worship a higher power than myself. But, I already know that there is no higher power but me. HUMILITY IS NOT AN OPTION FOR ME, and is only for the poor and weak amongst us.
POTU$ Toxic Masculinity Principle #2
Truly loving another human being is a sign of weakness, and thus I must continue to suppress all such impulses so that I can achieve my selfish goals. I will carry on a campaign of hatred, judgement, and condemnation of all people unlike myself, all the while claiming to represent their interests at the highest level of my being. The ignorant minions of my world will eventually associate my hateful behavior with their now corrupted understanding of what love is, thus damaging the hearts and souls of all who follow me. My schizophrenia will now become normalized, as others continue to model and support my behavior.
POTU$ Toxic Masculinity Principle #3:
People are only valuable if they can be monetized. If I can’t make money from my relationship with people, then I don’t need them.
POTU$ Toxic Masculinity Principle #4:
Never admit that I am wrong. Always blame somebody else for my problems. The admission of guilt is a sign of weakness, and only for those who do not have sufficient monetary and legal power. I don’t need your forgiveness for my mistakes, because, as far as you should be concerned, I do not ever make mistakes.
POTU$ Toxic Masculinity Principle #5:
Never spend any time in self-reflection or meditation. I am already perfect, I always have been perfect, and everybody else needs to change to accommodate my needs.
POTU$ Toxic Masculinity Principle #6:
If I can’t get my way with another human being, then I will either bully them into submission, attack their name and character, and/or impugn their dignity, until they either submit, or are discredited by my allies.
POTU$ Toxic Masculinity Principle #7:
Everybody unlike myself is to be distrusted. Relationships built through mutual trust and collaboration are threatening to my goals, and should not be cultivated, as only alliances of hate and distrust are capable of bringing me to my goals.
POTU$ Toxic Masculinity Principle #8:
Women are not to be treated as equals, and are better suited for exploitation for sexual purposes and economic gain.
POTU$ Toxic Masculinity Principle # 9:
If I can’t get my way through truth telling, then the telling of lies becomes my most potent weapon. The more outrageous the lie, the better, to hypnotize the ignorant and inattentive elements into doing my dirty work for me. If I am caught in a lie, then it is only your misunderstanding of my point, and not what I said, that is wrong
POTU$ Toxic Masculinity Principle #10:
If there is no war currently in progress, then I must start creating the conditions for the next one, and position myself so that I can maximize profits and visibility for myself.
POTU$ Toxic Masculinity Principle # 11
If hate against other countries is currently antagonistic to Autocratic and Kleptocratic goals, then direct hate against the minorities, or other marginalized groups within my own country that cannot defend their self.
This list is the abbreviated list, as aspects of his personal philosophy covers the entire range of darkness, which would require more writing on my part than this troll deserves from me. Perhaps you would like to add your own favorite observation?
Trump’s term in office is revealing the worst aspects of the unhealed American male soul. Stay tuned for his complete lesson plan that shows how truly dark and corrupt this man really is. And, by inference, all people who support him are in collusion with his anti-humanity values.
If he represents Jesus to the ignorant/sleeping portion of the Christian element of our society, then the corruption that has been built into that cult of ignorance and superstition is now exposed for everybody to witness.
‘And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.”
Anais Nin
We all must find a way to release our “imprisoned splendor”. Emotionally dishonest, hiding, shame based behavior, hateful, misogynistic, racist, irrational, anti-earth and anti-animal, and immoral agendas promoted by the existing POTUS, and tragically practiced by millions of our fellow Americans, will not lead to recovery and healing, period. We are all negatively impacted by the continued resistance of others to the unfoldment of healing, and love.
Right now, the outside world no longer sees us as the bastion of freedom. Those who have found their freedom must speak up for the freedom of all others, even those trapped in their own personal or cultural dungeon of the day, who do not know how to speak up for themselves yet..
To the extent that the sleeping arms of American Christianity continues to support this blight, is a measure of the healing needed by members claiming allegiance to their sect, clan, or tribe. Their worship to their “Santa Claus” god is a disturbing outcome of superstition and ingrained cultural ignorance.
Personally, and realistically, I should have little hope for the rest of humanity, especially for the men within the American culture. I see how absolutely difficult, err, nearing impossible it was for me to sort through the billions of lies our “American religion” and my racial, gender, and family history and culture saturated my consciousness with, as well as the legion of lies that I created to hide my own sense of disconnect and disease so that I could try to “fit in”. There is no fitting in with chaos, or with hate, and unless one has developed the capacity to transmute this negative energy through insight and love, the victim becomes yet another drone, or minion of the oppressors.
My voice, along with many millions of my fellow Americans, will not be stilled. The continued overthrow of our government, and the monetization and dehumanizing of all that are unlike the rich and powerful will not be tolerated.
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 superstitious tithes, 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 themselves, 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 it, not only to one’s self, but to all other people impacted by those errors in thinking and behavior.
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 too 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 apocalyptic 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 Armageddon..
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.
One of my points 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 story of the prodigal son IS THE STORY of Jesus, and is, potentially, our own story as well.
It is more than unfortunate that Christianity has created another Idol to worship, a ‘golden calf’ to carry around and show off to others, while claiming pseudo-righteousness for themselves.
Please, pseudo-Christianity, don’t pray for me, or for those like me. I will accept your prayers only when the real truth finds you in your darkness, and then you will know who really needs your “prayers”.
Save yourselves, as your superstition, and ignorance, continues to persecute and oppress all others unlike yourself.
Wake up, wake up!
What is oppression, and what is my relationship to it?
What is repression, and why do I participate in it?
What is good “mental health”?
Why do people continue to experience poor self-esteem?
Why are some people always so angry, or depressed?
Why can’t some people be more emotionally and spiritually present for others?
Why do people feel that they need to engage in mutual “control dramas”?
Why do some men become spiritually and emotionally disfigured by their desire for sex, and continue to exercise emotional control over their partners?
Why do people cling to certain groups of people, and reject all others?
Why don’t people get along better with each other?
Why do people endlessly pursue entertainment and/or use drugs and alcohol to excess, and ignore their own personal transformation and healing?
Why is knowledge so much more important than intuition to most men and left brained dominated women?
Why is collaboration such a dirty word for a national political process?
Why is competition and greed, as presently coupled with Capitalism, the predominant economic system in our world?
Why does our society, and our world, and much of the world’s population, continue to not experience peace of mind, with beauty, wonder, and the innate internal integrity of our (potentially) divine nature?
In March of 2017, I had yet another “conscious dream”. In the dream, I was in a prison, yet I knew not why I was there. I was drinking a diet soda, and I was “informed” that other peoples’ misunderstanding of what actually constitutes “good food” keeps me in this setting. I also was using a computer to attempt to communicate with others, and I was also “informed” that this was yet another way that I was kept imprisoned. My communication using second hand (hand me down) verbal constructs through media sharing software was yet another potential tool for oppression by our culture, and by myself. It only simulates human connection, and it furthers dependency on the latest “technology and media devices” that, by their very nature, use inadequate and incomplete verbal constructs for simulated human connection with others.
But, it was not until I was taken into a “special room” with several others that the most profound reason for “imprisonment” was revealed to me.
I was shown how our negative assessments, or judgements of others, and our self, both physical form and spiritual essence, was the reason for the imprisonment for all of us. This internal, and social, process of consciousness has become culturally inculcated into our awareness. Within each of us the internal mechanism for generating consciousness (forming the Word) has kept the Divine outside of our collective, and individual, awareness.
A most important aspect of this “collective consciousness” is the “common knowledge game”, a phenomena well studied in the last generation by Nobel Prize winners, mathematicians, and New York Times best-selling authors and philosophers (this has been called many other names by seers and seekers over the millennia). This is the mechanism by which we can collectively keep each other imprisoned. This process has become so ingrained in consciousness, so accepted, so standardized, so normalized that the individual who even casually practices it continues to contribute to the imprisonment of all of mankind through this process.
Here is a more specific explanation and definition of the Common Knowledge Game (Game Theory is an offshoot of this phenomenon). There are several good books to be read on the matter, and articles on the theory are available on the internet, should your own experience of it not be sufficient for its understanding:
An item of information in a game is common knowledge if all of the players know it (it is mutual knowledge) and all of the players know that all other players know it and all other players know that all other players know that all other players know it, and so on. This is much more than simply saying that something is known by all, but also implies that the fact that “what is known by me” is also known by all, etc.
Consider a simple example of several jealous office workers seeking to demean a common foe, be it a boss or motivated co-worker (this can be several human beings practicing typical mutually inaccurate assessments of a party not currently in their presence, also typical of what happens in big companies, politics, high school, or in church). To those with prior knowledge, this will be reminiscent of the “mob mind”, and how it acts in the real world. The participants will not attack unless they are sure that the other will attack at exactly the same time, as nobody wants to be the lone attacker, becoming vulnerable and thus expose their own intent for aggression. The first person sends out a “feeler” (verbal exchange of internalized culturally inculcated thought process) to the other parties with the message “You know, I am really unhappy with Mr. X, he is problematic.” Yes, we warm up for the attack, by gently degrading the third party, while awaiting the others reply within the group physically or emotionally present, which, hopefully affirms our intent. Our verbal or written means of attempting to communicate with the other “attackers” may be misinterpreted, so we initially have no collective security in adopting an “attack mode”. If however, the message of attack is received simultaneously by others within the group, which it does in “common knowledge modes of thought”, then the attack is on. Note that all parties already know the message. They all knew in advance that the “other attackers” had the message as well, because it is COMMON KNOWLEDGE that others share at least some of their perceptions, and they will attack the other, because they always have before, and they have already prepared their internal fortifications, as well as their “verbal and social weapons” for such an experience.
This is the classic attack/defense posture or mechanism that the entirety of the human race is now participating in. Anybody who has worked in the construction trades, or in work areas dominated by men, know this process quite well. The terms repartee, badinage, bantering, persiflage, etc. are the kind names given to this culturally accepted, and sometimes revered process, whereby we “lightly and without intentional malice” impugn the dignity and reputation of others, through pokes at each other. We call this “humor”, and some may feel almost hurt when others do not engage in this behavior with us. This is an accepted standard of behavior (though we are awakening to this by identifying hostile work environments, and instituting regulations for reducing persecution, sexual harassment and sexual discrimination in the workplace).
Thus, common knowledge implies not only that we all know some piece of information, but can also be absolutely confident that the rest know it, and that the rest know that we know it, and so on.
Be aware, once again, of what the “common knowledge game” really is. Briefly, it is the process whereby we have internalized the verbal understandings of all others, whereby ignorant, judgmental, limiting, obfuscating, damaging, soul destroying concepts of self and other are “socially acceptable” modes for assessing and understanding the self, and the other. This are internalized, and socialized, and this “knowledge” becomes a collectively shared experience. Within the Christian churches with backwoods understanding, we are all “sinners”, we are “corrupt”, we have no hope for “salvation”, etc. unless we believe a certain way, and bow down before certain philosophies and religious and political leaders.
Through a process which has existed since verbal consciousness first formed in humanity, we develop verbal constructs to represent the outside world in our own internal universe. Yet, none of these internalized assessments are 100% accurate, NOR COULD THEY EVER BE, even though the entirety of human consciousness now shares in the illusion that what they do represent what is actually “out there” as represented by their current misunderstanding of their fellow human being, and their current relationship to the other (“the finger pointing at the moon can never be the moon”). And, we use these constructs to oppress, repress, and deny the other, all the while unconsciously honoring the culturally inculcated process of mutual oppression, and repression, of the Divine. We are all potential scapegoats for “the other”, especially when collaboration in a process is not a value, and much of our energy may become directed to prevention of us from becoming blamed or accused of behavior everybody is already responsible for, with or without us, anyway. PROJECTION IS PAINFUL, and we all feel its wrath from time to time.
Our culture shows many examples of this process playing out in movies, on TV programs, and, of course, we all experience this in our day to day lives, as we interact with our social and cultural environment. The implications are vast, and insidious. Please consider the following excerpt from the movie
COOL HAND LUKE
Captain: You gonna get used to wearing those chains after a while, Luke. Don’t you never stop listening to them clinking, ‘cause they gonna remind you what I been saying for your own good.
Luke: I wish you’d stop being so good to me, Cap’n.
Captain: Don’t you ever talk that way to me. NEVER! NEVER! [Captain hits Luke, who rolls down the hill to the other prisoners] What we’ve got here is … failure to communicate. Some men you just can’t reach. So you get what we had here last week, which is the way he wants it. Well, he gets it. I don’t like it any more than you men.
There are plenty of great cinematic scenes of the Common Knowledge game in action, but this is one of my favorites. The “failed” communication of the Captain to Luke is the basis for the successful communication of the Captain to the prisoners: subvert my rules and you will be crushed. The brutal message is made in public, not so that all the prisoners can see what happens to Luke, but so that all the prisoners can see all the prisoners seeing what happens to Luke.
In environments like prisons, the education system, the military, and larger groups up to, and including, American society, behavioral decisions based on private information (“I saw Luke beaten down for breaking the rules. If I break the rules I might get beaten, too.”) are almost always weaker than behavioral decisions based on Common Knowledge (“Everyone knows that if you break the rules like Luke you will be beaten down. Why would I even think about breaking the rules?”). The latter is a more stable equilibrium because, in effect, the prisoners themselves end up enforcing the warden’s (or societies’) rules. Even if you privately believe that you and your fellow prisoners could make a break for it, so long as you believe that “everyone knows” that you will be punished for breaking the rules, then you do not believe that you will receive any support from your fellow prisoners (fellow citizens, or friends). It is irrational to even raise the subject with your fellow prisoners, as you will mark yourself as someone who is either too stupid or too dangerous not to recognize what everyone else knows that everyone else knows. And because everyone is making a similar calculation, no one ever makes an escape attempt and the Common Knowledge grows stronger over time, as does the no-escaping behavioral equilibrium. This is why the Captain goes to such lengths not just to punish Luke for his escape attempts, but to break Luke, and not just to break Luke, but to break Luke as publicly as possible.
Because of the Common Knowledge game, there is enormous power in making a Public Spectacle out of information, which is why terminations from employment, public humiliations, coronations and executions alike have traditionally been carried out in front of crowds. This lesson in behavioral influence – the crowd doesn’t just need to see the event, the crowd needs to see the crowd seeing the event – is why so many of our modern social institutions – from political campaigns to American Idol – are staged in front of live audiences. When you sit in front of your TV set and watch, say, a national political convention, you are infinitely more engaged with the event when you see a crowd than when you don’t. You can’t help yourself. It doesn’t even matter if the live audience is faked and we know that the audience is faked … have you ever listened to a sitcom without a laugh track? It’s just not as funny. The fact is that humans are social animals. We are hard-wired to look for and respond to Common Knowledge, and smart people – from political leaders to religious leaders to business leaders – have taken advantage of this for thousands of years.
What happens in the diseased family structure (alcoholism and drug addiction, physical and sexual abuse, psychological abuse of all types) in many situations of discipline and control exactly parallel the common knowledge game? Eventually, the children learn not to attempt to act out, or break free from, the oppressive qualities of an abusive parent, or parents, their church and its interpretation of “religious thought”, and their educational experience. Breaking the spirit of the abused child, and making sure that other members know that such “punishment” will also come their way keeps children under control, but also victimized, and traumatized. Children entering the school system where bullies are allowed to run free get to experience this process once again, in a bigger social setting. And, children who attend a church where the dignity of the individual is constantly degraded through their religious philosophy (you are a sinner, you always have been a sinner, and unless you believe the way we do, you are evil, and doomed to an eternity in hell) also feel the horrific abuse of the COMMON KNOWLEDGE GAME. If any of us were to speak out against our oppressors, we will be punished severely, and we will be smacked down, and “roll down the hill” just like what happened to Paul Newman in the movie Cool Hand Luke.
So, our COMMON KNOWLEDGE GAME keeps all of us in some sort of order, albeit one that affirms the false truth that we are all broken human beings, with our only hope for salvation lying with chaotic, and insane, orders of unreality that continue to be inculcated into our collective consciousness. In other words, unless we march to the drummer of our cultural past, we will be judged, persecuted, marginalized, and otherwise thrown to the wolves, with little hope for our own redemption.
The Buddha had his own ideas about what constitutes mental health, and by his definition anyone who isn’t well on the way to Enlightenment is insane. Quite how literally he meant it when he said “All humans are mad” is hard to say, but when he looked at ordinary people like us going about their daily business he saw a world out of balance — and a world that by necessity is out of balance, because it is composed of those same off-kilter individuals.
He had a term for this imbalance, which was viparyasa in Sanskrit (I know, who wants to learn Sanskrit!?). Viparyasa means “inversion,” “perversion,” or “derangement.” Specifically, in using this term the Buddha was talking about the ways in which we misunderstand the world we live in, and the ways in which we misunderstand ourselves. so too do the rest of us live in a virtual reality of delusion, confusion, and distortion.
What’s more, we largely share the same delusions, which mean that we don’t even realize that our minds are disturbed. And thus, as Krishnamurti suggests, it’s possible to think that we’re spiritually and mentally healthy because we share our mistaken values and understandings with those around us. Collectively, our ill minds create social circles, or society that is itself ill, and we consider ourselves healthy because we see our values reflected in our spiritually sick fellow travelers.
Jesus of Nazareth stated quite clearly that “My kingdom is not of this world”. Also he stated “Be in this world, yet do not be of it”. And, “Do not attempt to remove the silver from another’s eye, before first removing the log from your own eye”. Finally, he also stated “Straight is the way, and narrow is the gate, and very few there are who will enter in”. “Truly I tell you,” Jesus also said, “unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.
This is a pretty clear message, for those who have “ears to hear”.
The healthy, sane, spiritually inspired individual steps outside of the COMMON KNOWLEDGE GAME, and practices seeing him or herself through a new lens with few or NO VERBAL CONSTRUCTS from our memories, the only “place” where a “heart centered experience” of the other becomes possible. Ultimately, if there is any words to be shared about what is experienced, it serves only as a temporary bridge to understanding, to be discarded at the earliest possible moment, as truth reveals itself MOMENT TO MOMENT, and not just through the shared verbal constructs that may have arisen.
In mystical Christianity, The WORD was meant to represent the spiritually realized person, whose very being, and words, come from the Truth as it exists in this eternal moment. Historically, some religious interpreters mistakenly believe that the Word becomes flesh in only one human form (Jesus), and dwelt among us some 2000 years ago (sorry, to those who misinterpret the first Christian mystic, St. Paul and his main disciple through the New Testament book of John). The Word actually points to a non-verbal reality, far above and beyond the limiting verbal beliefs and insane actions of man in the world.
True connection with our self and with the other, takes much time, insight, and commitment. Our culture, its values, its continuing deterioration into poorer spiritual, mental and physical health with its excess dependencies upon the medical profession, drugs and alcohol, media saturation and escapist entertainment, and pseudo “political, economic, religious, and spiritual teachers” and all of its supposed “saviors”, reflects the historical progression of the destruction of the DIVINE within all of us.
Please, save yourself. This might mean leaving yourself, and all of your beliefs behind, however. Forgive and forget is a good start for this process. Understanding how we form the walls of the prison that we each may live in individually leads to the insight that removes these walls, once and for all. Next time we look at our self, or someone else, and we do not have a loving perception, we will know that we need to dig deeper, to find the gold that is buried, hidden under the debris left by the entire history of the Common Knowledge Game of human perception.
Awe, wonder, love, connection, healing, wholeness, collaboration, good mental health, all lie within the realm of possibilities for humanity. One person at a time, by accepting personal responsibility for all of our perceptions, and the transmutation of their dark energy into lighter energy through insight, mindfulness, and meditation will bring to us what we have been looking for since Mankind first arrived on this planet.
When the Word becomes flesh, it must travel lightly!
Marijuana, as another form of oppression:
This message is not for adult family and friends who have the maturity to make their own decisions on how to best spend their time and spiritual resources. I have intended this message for developing minds, and hearts, of all ages, who as yet have not achieved the fulfillment of their physical and emotional growth processes. It has been established that the use of marijuana by human beings under the age of 22 are at risk for stunting their emotional growth and development. It has also been shown that discontinuing use does enable the repressed nervous/emotional systems to unfold in more natural ways that promote continued growth, into a delayed maturation, but it is maturation nonetheless..
I was an awkward teenager of 15 years of age. I was smaller than my peers (I was actually advanced one year into first grade at the age of 5), and I felt quite out of place in high school. I was occasionally bullied by others, and my circle of supportive friends was quite limited. I had no idea who “my people” were, though I had still had 3 or 4 quite socially compromised fellow travelers who had been my friends since 5th grade. I was truly a “stranger in a strange land”, and the anxiety around this social adjustment was quite high.
I had no desire to use drugs at the time, as I still was repulsed by the behavior of my sister, who, through her own drug use had become an outsider within our own home family structure. She still hung around, when she was not running with her other friends, or hanging onto her latest boyfriend. But her resistance to my parents disrupted my own distorted sense of what a healthy family setting should look, and feel, like.
It was my sophomore year at Rex Putnam High School, and, as usual, I was not fitting in too well. I remember a high school science class where the teacher was so disturbed by my “aloof and judgmental” behavior that he called me out in class, and called me a “pseudo-intellectual”, and then laughed when he then announced that I would not know what that means. Well, I recited the definition from my memory of what that offensive word meant, smirked at him, and then sat down and became quiet. Yes, not only did I not fit in, others perceived that I did not fit in, as well.
One late fall Friday night, my friends Tony M and Randy O found me at a football game, and said that I needed to try something with them. I went with them, and when we drove off of the campus, Randy brought out a couple of “joints” and told me what they were. Well, I wanted nothing to do with it at the time, but the peer pressure was high, so I went along with it. I did not get “high”, though they did, and they seemed to be enjoying themselves, though I could not understand how.
I tried the stuff three more times, because I became curious how a substance could change somebody so profoundly that they appeared to be enjoying themselves in public, which was an unknown concept to me. Then, the damage began. I actually became “high”, and nothing was ever to be the same again. For the first time in my life, it did not matter that I did not “fit in”, and my sense of social dis-ease left, and my own poor sense of self-esteem evaporated in a cloud of intoxicating smoke. Thus, the oppression of my human heart and soul became normalized in my own life, through the continued usage of the drug.
The drug brought an artificial sense of peace of mind, and kept me from being so hyperactive mentally (yes, I was quite the precocious person, with an almost photographic memory). But, over the course of the many years of use, I lost many of my basic abilities to feel my emotional heritage, and draw from my internal intellectual resources. Through the process of normalizing the oppressive qualities of this drug, I became almost immune to the distress going on around me, let along to remain consciously aware of the distress building up within my mind, and body.
It took until I wandered alone in the dark underbelly of Portland’s criminal drug subculture in the year 1986, to finally realize that pot was not for me. Even in my most desperate time, I came to realize that the use of pot was preventing me from accessing resources necessary for my survival in amongst the other “dark warriors” of our local criminal underground. “Dancing” with undercover federal agents and hit men from biker gangs made me quite aware of the limitations imposed upon my nervous system and mind by the use of pot. I had to have a much more sensitive awareness to remain nimble, in the face of the threats faced there. I had to develop enhanced, nuanced social interactive skills, lest the dullness of response that pot induced within me would create indefensible vulnerabilities. Yes, light comes to those who have lived in life’s darkest recesses, and sometimes the light burns the brightest there, as well.
Oppression comes in many forms, my fellow travelers. Some of these forces we do have control over. My message to my grandchildren is to be aware of ALL FORCES THAT ATTEMPT TO REPRESS OUR BEAUTIFUL SPIRITS, EVEN IF WE DO NOT PRESENTLY RECOGNIZE THEIR INNATE VALUE. Once again, this message is not for adult family members and friends, who are mature enough to make intelligent decisions for their own lives.
Marijuana is now legalized, and normalized, within our West Coast culture. It is being taxed by the government, and private citizens are profiting greatly from its production and distribution. What kind of world are we creating, where oppression of the human spirit is being celebrated, and profited from? Yes, this is the American Way, which is not the way of my Spirit. Enough said.
How does your Spirit fly?
Please, save yourself.
