Journal entry for February 15, 2018 (A mindfulness exercise)

Oh, wow. There have been gaps in my journaling. Whatever shall I do?

Most of the time spent has gone by in the most routine way, with daily/weekly regimens, punctuated by occasional drama and crisis that kind of weave their way through the routine. Suffice it to say that there's a bit of chronicling on Facebook, but it is only a a veneer, the side I want to show. Mostly, for attention.

What can I say? I'm just another narcissistic drama queen. This tone I'm taking right now--who or what am I channeling? And who or what is doing the channeling? I'm still trying to figure that out.

Right now I'm sitting outside because it is too nice of a day to spend indoors. Of course, it is also after 2 pm and, other than the 1/2 hour walk with the dogs and a ten minute exercise routine, this is my only activity.  And it is sitting in a chair on the front porch, writing in a notebook, so who are we kidding with the "active" part of activity.

I am writing to clear my mind. I figure if I can get these thoughts out of the way now, perhaps I will have a successful time meditating, when I commit to the whole 5 minutes. I had a whole series of questions to ask "myself" as I went into the task, so as to clear the way for the blinding moment of insight.

Let's see if I can remember the train of thought--

Something about who am I "really?" There's this finite physical being that I pretty much exclusively identify with. Then there's the whole array of encapsulated memories, thoughts, opinions, judgements--you know, mind stuff. Does that reside entirely in my brain?

It seems like when I am altering my brain with drugs or alcohol that those things change, sometimes permanently. Is there a cloud, or some safe storage device, where everything I've ever done, thought or said continues to exist, uncorrupted by time or perception?

I feel as if I am wasting time. I worry too much about today's problems becoming the bigger problems of tomorrow. My body goes through one perceived illness after another. Sometimes it circles back to the previous one, but normally, one will appear just as another is disappearing from view. Thank God for my limited attention span. Perhaps I can't multi-task any pain processing.

Anyway, it's a beautiful day in February. Grass is growing, birds are flying about. There's a faint, actually, pungent smell of I don't know what decomposing in the pasture. Mold, I'm guessing. Probably the source of my maladies. (see where my thoughts go). This was a good idea, coming out here where it's...well, outside. I brought a cup of tea with me to add to the ambiance.

This chair is a real stinker, though. Hard plastic, an old shower chair, it is not the kind of thing one could really relax in. But I'm not purposeful enough to haul out another chair from the living room. I'd have to clean the cat hair from it and then haul it back in afterward. All of which would take time away from my---hmm.

Time. Weigh the cost/benefit ratios. 5 minutes of work, to enjoy the pleasure of a comfy chair for the afternoon. Nah, not worth it. I would get antsy being all relaxed in that chair. I'm already getting squirrely, like I'm not fulfilling my purpose here.

Back to my line of----....._____

Oh, crap. Another pen dies under my watch. So into the house I go-- and I'm back with a new pen and a compromise: a pillow for this hard-ass chair.

So, part of this meditation "technique" is to let everything be exactly how it is. Technically then, I'm already meditating. I'm letting myself continue yammering on to this notebook, sipping some tea occasionally, and things are just going on without any intervention or objection from me.

I'm noticing, along with the pungent smell, some insect activity, dogs barking and a generator or possibly a lawnmower starting up. Pretty faint, in the distance. It's probably Bob checking the mail or feeding his chickens.

The fence guy showed up a few minutes ago, but I don't see any activity out of him yet. Birds, mostly, a truck motor, another neighbor checking the mail on their electric golf cart. My hotwire fence T-post caps rattling, as the wind gently blows  the tape.

Yellow grass flowers are the flavor of the week, popping out everywhere in little clusters. It's a quiet day. No chainsaws or heavy equipment in my immediate range of perception. But far off I hear a car, obviously a manual transmission, being forcefully driven away. Pretty quiet again. Sip some tea, why dontcha? Relaxing.

Trying to avoid thinking about my eye. My left eye is somewhat injured or irritated, infected or infested--I don't know. Just my latest drama. It's been over a month. I thought it was poison oak, but googling stuff just makes me more paranoid that it's something else.

I am probably conjuring up all kinds of stuff just by thinking about it. Face mites,  blepharitis, conjunctival chalaisis. And my face is peeling from dousing it with apple cider vinegar. But it was starting to peel beforehand, to be fair to the vinegar. More tea. Let's move on.

It's the kind of day I should be out riding my bike. Exploring or a least getting some cardio. Damn shame about my stupid eye and stupid face. It puts me off my game. I feel compelled to just sit around, doing the minimum until things get better. But what if they never do?

That's where I go in my head. I'm not even living in the real world. I'm in some worry world, where all outcomes are negative.

Two kids are riding a quad and being paced by a German shepherd. Now the whole neighborhood's dogs are barking. Not mine, though. They are most likely sleeping on the grass in the back yard, with the sun warming one side and cooling the other. Dreaming about dinner and peeing on stuff. And smelling stuff that other dogs have peed on.

Everything really is just as it is. It's like I'm not even here, although I am. Better than sitting inside in front of a computer. That was good tea, honey pooled up at the bottom for a satisfying finish.

Who will ever read this, I wonder? And why? Actually, my penmanship is so bad it's more like a secret cipher, so no one can interpret it anyway.

Nice, quiet day. Sharon is inside, of course, watching TV shows or sleeping. She would be enjoying this nice day if she could only even get as far as the front door.

The last time she was out this far, besides in an ambulance or fire truck, was back when she was still taking showers in the shower chair. I wheeled her out to the front door to meet the dogs. They barked at her, and she cried. They never bark at people, but apparently the wheelchair frightened them. She still cries when she thinks about that day.

It's one of my triggers, too. But I have so many triggers these days. Like "Party Size" when describing a bag of Doritos. Because I buy the bag while shopping in a robotic, depressed state, and even I know there isn't going to be any party. Who are they to cruelly promise such things? Or "Big Laughs" on an ad for some new sitcom.

This gets tricky because I've actually heard Sharon laughing at such shows. Merciful that she can be entertained by such banality. And shame on me for in any way looking down on such an innocent mind. Me and my jaded perception of things. I hope I can scrub away the layers of negative filters that don't allow me to see the good in anything.

Not exactly true, I do see it, but I immediately discount it and focus on the perceived flaws in anything. I'm letting it all be, even my rambling, my gross exaggerations, my filtered perception. I am just sitting here, occasionally shifting on this semi-comfortable pillow, and just taking notice. Am I done meditating yet, or should I start?

I Wept

I wept when I read to you about your mom

I wept because I want to believe things aren’t so

But I know all too well

I want to curl up and feel the slumber of unconsciousness

Except that it’s killing me, just like working was killing me

Perhaps goals are important, I don’t know

They keep a person focused, distracted from their pain

I cry for you when I think of the things that still mean something to you

In this world, all you have, all you can barely do

And your salty eyes betray that you cry, too

God spare me any more sadness, please

This life I have only just come to love, is slipping away

Like summer’s end

It’s inevitable, and I know I’m not prepared for another winter

Perhaps the longest one ever

As I watch the slowly fading flowers

The slowly dimming light in your eyes still wants to sparkle another day

Though your voice can barely convey to me your thoughts

I know them better than most, because I have known you

And I want you to be ok

Really ok, not that crap we tell ourselves that is just denial

I want you to shine and sparkle like brand new

And I weep because I know that can never happen

At least not in this world and who knows about any other

I will keep on going, I guess

But I feel my own life leaving me as my body seeks revenge

For all the thoughtless years of indifference

Please, I’ve just now come to love this life

Why does it have to crumble?

Who made us this way, not built to last, disposable?

My Argument with Byron Katie (also on Facebook)

Me: Your philosophy of “loving what is” promotes apathy
and acquiescence to evil.

Byron Katie: YOUR philosophy of NOT “loving what is” DOESN’T promote NON-apathy and NON-acquiescence to evil. See what I did there?

Me: You just basically said “I know you are but what am I” in fancy negatives.

Byron Katie: I’m Byron Katie, sweetie. I win.

I'm Not Angry Anymore

I wanted to tell you

That I’m not angry anymore

I wanted it to be true and to let you know

That I won’t be getting angry anymore

But I was too late

I was busy doing other things

Little, unimportant things like washing clothes

Rearranging the cupboard

When I went to check on you

You were gone

Now I’ll never get to tell you

All the things that hurt inside

Or about my day’s accomplishments

Little, unimportant as they are

Or of the funny thing the cats did

Or anything at all

I may as well go, too

I have no one anymore

No one who is even close to knowing me like you

Better than I know myself

**this was written on the date in the title and wasn't the real accounting of how Sharon passed. I actually held her hand and watched her take her last breath. Not that it makes things any easier, harder if anything.

The Little Things (Phantom dog leap explained)

Sometimes it is the little things that sustain us. Keeping up with our chores, watering a plant, feeding the dogs. Caring about something--anything at all, can be the difference between spiraling downward or keeping your head above water for one more day. 

 

One more day could be all it takes to wake up and discover that everything has been re-arranged in the night. Or to find yourself in a dream you thought you were having, that turned out to be your life, with somebody else’s game show prizes. Just keep playing along; it will work out.

Other times, it is a phantom dog leap that is required. This is what occurs when you are at the point of desperation and make a grand, foolish gesture or perform a ridiculous ritual of questionable significance. Except that it isn’t foolish or questionable to you. It is essential. 

 

A phantom dog leap is leaping beyond your expected limitations and predefined roles. It is you, being your most free and most vulnerable self. It is quite possibly dangerous, illegal, immoral or fattening. Don’t do it without consideration. But don’t hesitate when the moment arrives. Timing is everything.

That being said, relax. Either way, just…

Who Cares?

People always say, “I had no idea.”  “He seemed OK yesterday.” “We were talking, he seemed like he was happy, you know, joking around.”

A lot goes unnoticed. The little clues. The cries for help. It’s hard to see when someone is actually putting on their best face but they are hanging by a thread. We want to believe that they will be just fine. Then we can be OK with going about our own day, doing whatever it is that gives us our pleasures.

No one else hears the voices that taunt and torment a soul. The insidious commentary that goes on in someone’s head is only theirs. “It’s pointless.” “Who cares, really?” “You’re worthless.” “Everything is futile.” 

I find I have nothing to say anymore. I’ve raged. I’ve complained. I’ve cried. I’ve affirmed. I’ve deflected and dismissed, distracted and pretended. Acted up and acted out. Behaved like I was told I should and rebelled with all my heart. I’ve gone blind with emotion, and I’ve gone numb past all feeling.

If there was joy or love, I can’t find it now. It is in the past. In pictures. In stories I tell myself. Those stories all have sad, unfulfilling endings. They have dragging, tedious storylines of watching something slowly decay from the inside. Still smiling and fooling the public. Still making chit-chat.

Find little things to stick around for. Little, short-term goals with higher reward to work ratios. I don’t know. Nothing seems to pay off, really. Half-ass this, half-ass that. Projects too daunting or to draining to start. Little chores pile up into mountains. The everyday necessities that one begins to question, “Why bother?” Why bother putting together complete sentences and such? Who will really care?

Who Would I Be? already posted on Facebook

Who would I be without my incessant need for external validation?

Who would I be without my duplicity?

Without my evil temper?

My need to be right?

Who would I be?

If I was just me?

If I cared about something, what would that be?

What would the world around me look like, if I didn’t carry around that inner critic?

How would each little thing appear, if I didn’t judge it, reject it, despise it?

What if I just waited for a moment,

Paused,

Before reacting?

How would the song of my life sound then?

What would it look like if I laid all my feelings out on the table,

Picked them up one by one, polished them like silverware,

And then put them all back,

In their proper places?

What would be left?

Would I?

Still?

Be?

Me

Waiting

Tedium sets in, then frustration leads to anger. Anger gives way to sadness, then a hopeless drudgery of enduring the moment. Thoughts arise but fall away uselessly. The ones that grip are the ones that reinforce the sadness. Sadness empties out into, well, emptiness. There is nothing left. Out of nothing a spark. Maybe, something? Too soon to tell..

Inside my head on this date

2-21-17

I want so much to be able to say to you before you or I go on, finally, to wherever it is that we go that I am not angry anymore. I wanted to say it today, when I was in the kitchen putting dishes away and thinking again how useless it all is. Useless to do the same things, the chores, the routines. I do them thinking, “If I just keep doing the same things, then things will at least stay the same. They won’t get any worse, right?”

No. Not right. I have to lower my expectations.

If I buy everything on the list, or if I get it all done by five, if I manage to get all the cleanup done and pillows arranged and meals cooked and fed and keep on top of all upcoming events…well, then I can rest and feel good about myself at the end of a day. That on just one day, finally, I got everything right. That I have made something better and not worse.

No, it will still get worse.

And worse is that you will hate me. You do hate me. Have hated me for some time. My tea, my talking, my listening to that stupid audio player, my going for bike rides, my always looking at old pictures, the dumb things I think, the salads I eat, the supplements I uselessly take, the garlic I put on everything, the stupid dogs that barked at you and made you cry. My complaining, my anger, my stubbornly not leaving the room or leaving you forever. My inability to change. And everything about me, ever. All of it.

I wanted to say that I’m not mad anymore, that I just feel sad now. But when I walked in the room, you told me that I had forgotten something and how it was so typical of me. Or something to that effect. And I stopped feeling sad and was mad again. But then sad, because I couldn’t even keep from getting mad after a whole afternoon of wearing out my emotions down to the empty after-feeling that sadness leaves. There was still anger waiting under it all. And I failed again.

I'm an Asshole

Light and love whatever

W the actual F

I don't guess I will ever get it. Here is my feeble attempt to calm my despicable spirit.

Love and light, my dear...Love and light.

Toxic Thanksgiving

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone. I truly wish that for you all. I’m not jealous of all the warm happy households, full of people eating and playing games, talking and enjoying their visits. I don’t have room for jealousy in my monochromatic pallet of emotion. I can see that enjoyment of life is happening, and I don’t want to spoil it by injecting my lousy pain into your moment. I am writing this knowing full well that it is too toxic to share. I have experienced joy in my lifetime. I have known the ease of a life with few concerns. Not anymore.

It has been a slow, torturous slide for Sharon into complete, unfixable disease. Being bedridden is one thing. Being bedridden and unable to eat or drink or move or even sleep is another. She currently drinks from a Camelbak water bag suspended from the ceiling. She is now unable to bring the hose to her lips. And should it be provided to her she can barely swallow without aspirating and coughing for five minutes. All the food she eats must be placed into her mouth by me. But I can’t chew it for her or make her swallow without choking.

I was barely keeping up with the daily hygiene and meal cooking. And going to work. Then I got myself ill. This year I’ve been going to doctors to try to fix a gut problem. The doctors couldn’t figure it out, so they called it IBS and told me to live with it. Take an  antacid. I’ve maxed out my sick days, vacation days and even family leave. I’ve even reduced my hours to 32, so I can still qualify for their crappy health care. This last week I had a bout of bronchopneumonia and had to do the caregiving with a 102 fever. I took the week off without pay. I’ll be surprised if I have a job to go back to. It is all going to hell.

She wants to die at home. That’s the damn hardest thing one could ever put on someone else. Make them take care of you while you become completely immobile and your body shuts down. Make them watch your decline and do their best to provide care while it is completely ineffective. And then make sure to tell them when they are less than adequate in the attitude department. My empathy gene got skipped, but even my reptilian, narcissistic brain registers that this is sad. So very sad. I don’t feel a lot anymore, but when I do it comes in the form of anger, then sadness and regret. Her illness is killing the both of us.

And the other day she said, crying, “I just realized that it is taking me too long to die.”

A Dream I Had

This morning I was in a hypnogogic state, exhausted from fitful sleep. I was recovering from broncopnuemonia and my mind kept me awake until the wee hours. When I finally fell into deep slumber, I found myself dreaming.

I dreamed I was in a military school, located somewhere in Durham, a little south of Chico, California. I was in the locker room putting on my uniform and wouldn’t you know it, the damn pants were too small. I looked at the tag: “Houa.” I was always getting his tiny pants. I decided to suit up without them and left the locker room. Roaming the halls, I got smirks as I passed the other cadets.

I thought of trying to blend in and practiced my “hut-huts” while marching down the corridors. I was looking for my class, which seemed to be behind one of many closed doors. The halls emptied and I felt out of place, so I decided to climb up on the roof for a better vantage point.

That’s when I noticed the many plumes of smoke in the distance. The sky was turning gray, and the sun was a deep red color. I lay down on the roof and tried to get comfortable, but my eyes felt like they were being pried open. I had a sense that I should be in class, but in the current state of things maybe being on the roof without pants was just as good an option.

I thought of an idea that I had earlier and wondered if it could have anything to do with all this smoke and apocalyptic gloom.

You see, I had been toying with the idea of constructing a dimensional gateway in my backyard. I got the idea from, I don’t know, too much sci-fi or late night talk radio. It was going to be simple: two painted, yellow concrete pylons, about four feet high and spaced about four feet apart. At certain times, moon phases or equinoxes, the theory went, it would open up, and beings could pass through from one side to the other. What was on the other side was unknown, but I liked to imagine a place called Azure, an endless beach with crystal, turquoise water and shimmering white sand. But really, I didn’t have a clue because all you could see through the pylons was the backyard.

Anyway, it was all in the planning phase and I really needed to research it more.

More later on the nature of the monsters that would come through and that I would have to deal with in the work that I will call the Final Avatar.  Hint: they look ferocious but they like to have their belly rubbed.

sunday funday

all shot to hell.

love and light love and light love and light.

all is well.

UHHHHH, LIGHT AND LOVE.........

AAAAAAAHHHHHHRRRRRRGH! light and love

or I die.

Day 2 downstairs

Light and love,
my dear.

 From your
 man.

from me and eddie

light and love

Light and Love to my darling wife

The cats and I miss you.

u know the drill

light and love, dearie

light and love

light and love to you

Ode to the Black Knight

The skateboard of death is every mother's wish, as she purchases the $20 skateboard from the department store, not knowing, not dreaming of the epic falls onto the black asphalt, scraping limb and leg into tattered sticks, that would ensue as a direct effect of buying said evil wheeled board. No one knew that EVERY single time you ride it you DIE!

Bad Evil Skateboard of Death. They didn't expect you to live long enough for your wood screws to pull out of the board, as was bound to happen over time in the event that you didn't already die from a self-inflicted launch after hitting a small rock or crack in the sidewalk with your inappropriately small, hard clay wheels. Stops on a dime. Liter-a lee.

The ship that launched a thousand faces. They all went down. Down on the pavement, the gutter and ultimately, the trash, where some angry kid threw the miscreant device, until such time it became available on Ebay for more than 20x what it sold for originally.

Another F'd up Thanksgiving

God, if you think this is funny, you are so fucked up.  I don't know or care about the cosmic state of blahh blahh whatever.  I can't pull out of my funk cuzz I have zero positivity. I spent the last day not enjoying fucking anything at all about this holiday.  I remember the time 4 or 5 years ago when my wife came out to the kitchen for the last time under her own power.  She heard me cooking and making turkey.  There was Christian music playing.  She screamed at me because she hates that crap.  Can't blame her, but I was upset by her ranting.  I don't know it may have been a different time, but we argued about giblets and she said she would never get out of bed again because of my making it unpleasant for her.  I still think that is probably true.  I would try my conjuring of light and love, but I have such negative thought processes going on that I am only capable of making negative statements.  See? I could sure use some help.  See, in the last couple of years my wife has come back from some crazy bitch land to being a very calm and understanding person.  Much unlike what could be said for myself. I seem to do the opposite, and I rely on her to calm me down or give me insight into why I am so fucked up.  But, then I always ignore all her advice and say "I can't, I'm too far gone.."  I feel like I am out of options, I can't be around her, I bring her down. I can't not be around her, I need her spark (when I am not completely quenching it).  She is completely bedridden and relies on me for everything.  Almost. She can still put food in her mouth most days.  I make her feel miserable and seeing her miserable makes me more miserable.  I can't relate this to anyone, no one can stomach all my bitter pain.  I am a coward and a rotten person.  I don't think the cats are even very fond of me any more.  They have seen too much of my rage.  My uncle killed himself around this time 2 years ago.  I said I would never do that, because I have people that count on me.  Cats, dog, and my lovely wife.  But they can't really stand me, so I'm not on such sure footing anymore.  NSA are you listening? I guess I'm not important enough to spy on, really. So, another fucked up Thanksgiving, ruined by me.  All my wife does is try to come up with positive things to keep me going.  Like getting the house paid off or buying me little trinkets to put in a collectable case.  I really ought to go thank her for that.  But she wants me to leave her alone for at least an hour.  I will say it one more time for old time's sake.  Light and love, Boopie.

conjuring required

light and love light and love light and love light and love
i love our happy life i love our happy life i love our happy life i love our happy life

Boopie and Eddie enjoying a moment.

Journal entry for February 27, 2014 (broad spectrum hate)

Sometimes
Most of the time
I am just not happy
But sometimes I am, I think,
Capable of hating everything
No boundary
No holding back
Other times I focus my hate on
Just one thing or person
And try to maintain the
Illusion that I'm
Well, not really happy,
But just not hating everything
Right now I'm
Hating most things

RIP my dear friend

Meaty, my cat of 13 years was euthanized on Jan 2, 2014.  I will miss her forever, til we meet again. She was the best cat ever, no one knew me like she did and I cry every time I think about having to say goodbye.  Damn cancer, damn old age. Love and light, Meaty.  And turkey. And cuddling. God bless!

how do i stop the cycle?

i hate the endless cycle of being a jerk or a coward and then feeling regret and sadness.  i live in my miserable head and am in constant fear or agitation. if i am passably un-jerkish for a day or part of a day, give me a few minutes and it will come back around.  i hate my life.  i am such a fuck. i thought it was my wife's fault, or her illness, but it only revealed what is in there by testing my limits. my limits are shit.  i am shit.  i have no heart or soul and am mostly negative.  i don't even try to be positive. i just do what i can to function in life, but not very well.  i have no friends. i alienate my sick wife daily. she tries to make me more positive and i just get mad and then we fight. i feel possessed.  i feel reptilian.  where's my humanity? what the fuck am i and how did i get this fucked up.  i'm asking the universe to give me some answers.  i fear i will go to my death a hollow, empty shell ready  to be taken over by complete evil.  i don't even know what i believe.  it's all one? it's all good? yah, right. fuck that nonsense.  i am hitler, i am antichrist.  how fucked is that to feel?  is that what you want, o, god? a little walk on the dark side? god, i hate this shit.  give me light and love or snuff out my pathetic hateful soul. the void. endless darkness. nothing. come on, universe. respond.

light and love--right now, people 4 ever

light and love.  light and love. light and love. period for ever.

u know who u r

light and love

u know what

light and love, that's what
eat up

barely human

light and love

last hope

light and love light and love light and love light and love light and love light and love light and love light and love

x100000000000000000000

Light and love

please help

light and love light and love light and love light and love

it's only stupid if it doesn't work

light and love. peace. light and love. peace. light and love. peace. light and love. peace.

Is this thing on?

Light and love Light and love Light and love Light and love Light and love

She said I'm evil

But I won't give the archons the last word. Light and love. For Sharon. Light and love. Light and love. Light and love.

Light and Love for Sharon

the new year is off to a great start. i wish my wife, sharon, light and love. nothing but light and love. over and over and over.

Light and Love

LIGHT AND LOVE LIGHT AND LOVE LIGHT AND LOVE LIGHT AND LOVE LIGHT AND LOVE LIGHT AND LOVE LIGHT AND LOVE LIGHT AND LOVE LIGHT AND LOVE LIGHT AND LOVE LIGHT AND LOVE LIGHT AND LOVE LIGHT AND LOVE LIGHT AND LOVE
LIGHT AND LOVE LIGHT AND LOVE LIGHT AND LOVE LIGHT AND LOVE LIGHT AND LOVE LIGHT AND LOVE LIGHT AND LOVE LIGHT AND LOVE LIGHT AND LOVE LIGHT AND LOVE LIGHT AND LOVE LIGHT AND LOVE LIGHT AND LOVE LIGHT AND LOVE
LIGHT AND LOVE LIGHT AND LOVE LIGHT AND LOVE LIGHT AND LOVE LIGHT AND LOVE LIGHT AND LOVE LIGHT AND LOVE LIGHT AND LOVE LIGHT AND LOVE LIGHT AND LOVE LIGHT AND LOVE LIGHT AND LOVE LIGHT AND LOVE LIGHT AND LOVE
LIGHT AND LOVE LIGHT AND LOVE LIGHT AND LOVE LIGHT AND LOVE LIGHT AND LOVE LIGHT AND LOVE LIGHT AND LOVE LIGHT AND LOVE LIGHT AND LOVE LIGHT AND LOVE LIGHT AND LOVE LIGHT AND LOVE LIGHT AND LOVE LIGHT AND LOVE
LIGHT AND LOVE LIGHT AND LOVE LIGHT AND LOVE LIGHT AND LOVE LIGHT AND LOVE LIGHT AND LOVE LIGHT AND LOVE LIGHT AND LOVE LIGHT AND LOVE LIGHT AND LOVE LIGHT AND LOVE LIGHT AND LOVE LIGHT AND LOVE LIGHT AND LOVE

Make it Work

Love and light love and light love and light love and light love and light love and light love and light love and light love and light love and light love and light love and light love and light love and light love and light love and light love and light love and light love and light love and light love and light love and light love and light love and light love and light love and light love and light love and light.     

To Blog or not to Blog

Love and light. Love and light. Love and light.

To My Wife,

Though I hurt you and can be a jerk at times, I wish you nothing but love and light.  I can't respond in my normal way, as that is negative.  I am raising my nature to a higher one, not dominated by fear or selfishness:

I will embrace all good things.

Everything is good, everything is perfect.

I cannot change what I don't first accept and acknowledge.  

I will not tell my story.  It is just drama.  

I will awaken out of this illusion to the reality of love and oneness.  

I will not be cynical or hateful or fearful.  

I embrace all things.  

I am master of my own destiny.  

No fear shall rule me.  

No hatred shall devour my energy.  

I am free.  I am love. I am light.  

I wish my wife nothing but love and light.  Love and light, joy and peace.  

 

Wait a minute.  Didn't I wish her joy the other day?. No, I said I AM peace and joy. And the next day, I said I would repay all acts with kindness.And she told me that in the middle of watching a TV show, for just a minute, she experienced a moment of pure joy.  She told me this on Thursday night.  Wow.  That's great.  I wish her that again times one thousand.

Come on!

Results

Yesterday's positive affirmation seemed to work a little.  I went home and put my intention on being nice and positive.  It was recognized.  Sure she had been having a crappy day, but it didn't linger into the night.  I will say stuff like that every day if I can get those kind of results in my life.  Here goes.

I am light and love.  The light protects me, the light surrounds me.  I fear no evil.  I recognize only good.  I am light and love.  I bring light and love to others.  I am a being of pure, unconditional love.  I will remain positive and repay all acts towards me with kindness. 

My Wife's Blog

All I am going to post in response to my wife's recent blog activity is this.


Nothing but love.  Pure unconditional love.  Nothing but light and love.  Pure light and love.  I am not a puppet or a robot.  I have free will.  I am love and light.  I am peace and joy.  No doubts no negativity.  Just love and light and peace and joy.  Take that Archons!

Man created God right after God created man

Nov. 1, 2025, and I'm hiding out here in the past, so no new timeline posts going forward. The past has already happened, but so has the future that I'm feeding you right now, so lissen up, scrapers! Here's the deal:

God was lonely, so He fractured himself into a million pieces, so He could have a nice tea party with an adoring fan base. He was also a bit shy, and kinda humble, so He didn't outright claim credit. Or maybe He did, but it wasn't well received. His creation got some critical reviews, and so He pouted and hid His face. 

But each of these little self-aware God bits were so burdened with the weight of consciousness, the isolation of their own individuation, and the need to understand what their limited transceiver brains could never fully grasp, the paradox of existence, that they hastened to construct a benevolent father who would have all the answers, make it all better, and upon whom they could rely to make ultimate sense of it all. The nightmare of personal responsibility, the finitude of our limited reality -- the inescapable "now" -- this can't be all there is. God help us! 

The egg-laying chicken was self-existent. Next question. The question, "Which came first?" is presumptive in nature, and the answer is that a non-sequential non-event didn't happen, and the egg-laying chicken always was, always is, in some quantum time extraction loop. This show is always playing somewhere, so check your local listings for times and stations.

The situation with Boopie

 

Don't know where to start. Only to say sorry in advance if this seems unpremeditated, and if I ramble, again, I apologize. So much bad has happened in the time since I last posted. I had many hopes and misconceptions at the time I wrote most of the stuff. Lots of emotions (mostly anger and hate) but also confusion and not a little bit of ego.

The situation with Boopie and her MS has only gotten worse since the last entry, and all the problems have magnified. Her physical disability (completely bedridden) is overshadowed even at times by the emotional instability. Hers and mine. I won't own all of it, but I will admit my own failings as a caregiver and a human being.

She cannot get out of bed even to use the commode by the bed. She is too weak. So she has to use diapers and bedpads, the details of which I won't go into, but it is a horrible situation for anyone to be in. What makes it unbearable, seemingly, for me, is the fact that she loses her temper with me for any imperfection in my behavior. I don't mean just saying mean things, but screaming and throwing things. There is no in between. She will want something done a certain way at a certain time, and it has to be that way, or she will throw (literally) a tantrum. If you've ever had a tantrum thrown at you, you know it isn't pleasant.

Near the end of my rope

Don't think it is going to benefit me to even start to try to explain what has been going on with me.  Nothing good.  Here's a list of things:

Anger management-fail
Caregiving with a good attitude-fail
Anything with a good attitude-fail
Being happy for even five minutes-fail
Work-fail
Spiritual improvement-fail

I have such a piss-poor attitude and am angry all the time.  Except when I am about to go to bed after a drink or two.  I only get along with my wife during the few moments when we are distracted by watching tv.  I have such hostility when doing everything, I have to distract myself by listening to recordings of radio shows.  I sometimes feel almost human when I am engrossed in such. But give me a minute or two with my thoughts and I am either angry or crying..  My mom and wife are now not talking due to arguments over posting personal crap on Facebook.  I don't have much hope for anything anymore except the end of the world.  That will likely disappoint, too.  Ah, fuck it all. Now I see why I never come here....

Journal entry for September 1, 2012 (or thereabouts--My one decent argument)

I have only one thing to say in my defense: "You are always right."

(slam dunk)

Journal entry for August 24, 2012 (the hotwire sensor and the snake)

The other day the hotwire light came on, indicating a problem with the fence grounding out. I headed out to check out the usual places where deer hit it and cause it to wrap around the barbwire at the top of the fence.

After going 3/4 of the way around the property and not finding any problems, I found myself on the west side by Jeff's garage. For an unknown reason, probably avoiding poison oak, I looked down and saw a black and yellow snake (long stripes, not bands).

I stopped and instinctively put my hand out to steady myself. Unfortunately, I put it out and grabbed the barbwire. When I pulled my hand back, I saw the hotwire was wrapped around it. I didn't doubt that I had just caused that to wrap around, since my hand was on both wires.

I continued to look for more problems after unhooking the wire, but found none. I plugged the box back in and the light stayed off. Yeah.

My wife says "there are no coincidences." What she really means is all there is are coincidences. Random, unconnected events occurring simultaneously. There is no divine plan is what she means. There is no conspiracy, no fate.

What really happened was that the sensor had an intermittent fault and the light was flashing/not flashing irrespective of the condition of the fence. When I put my hand down on the fence because of the snake, I caused the wire to be wrapped, creating a problem and fixing it. That the light stayed off was a coincidence.

Journal entry for June 9, 2012 (more Magic 8 Ball questions)

Me:   M8B, will to day be a good day?
M8:   Cannot predict now.

Me:   How about now?
M8:   It is certain.

Me:   That it will be a good day?
M8:   It is certain.

Me:   Will I be happy?
M8:   YES, definitely.

Me:   Will Boopie and I fight?
M8:   YES, definitely.

Me:   Are you fulla shit?
M8:   Signs point to yes.

Journal entry for June 8, 2012 (Magic Ball?)

Me:   Magic 8 Ball, is tomorrow going to be fucked?
M8:   Most likely..

Me:   Are you for real?
M8:   YES.

Me:   I thought about something and asked "is it true?"
M8:   As I see it, YES.

Journal entry for May 27, 2012 (Magic 8 Ball forecast)

Me:   Is today going to be a good day?
8B:   Outlook not so good.

Me:   Magic 8 Ball, was I right and you were wrong? Today was a good day.
8B:   It is decidedly so.

Me:   Magic 8 Ball, am I going to die today?
8B:   It is decidedly so.

Me:   Am I really going to die? Can I trust you at all?
8B:   My answer is NO.

Journal entry for May 26, 2012 (Magic 8 Ball sessions, continued)

Magic 8 Ball continued

Me:   Magic 8 Ball, what's up?
8B:   It is certain.

Me:   Magic 8 Ball, are you for real, man?
8B:   It is decidedly so.

Me:   Magic 8 Ball, are you fulla shit?
8B:   As I see it, yes.

Me:   Is it because you are Maya?
8B:   It is certain.

Me:  Did I get that last one right?
8B:   Outlook good.

Me:   Are you feeding me a line?
8B:   Reply hazy, try again.

Me:   Are you feeding me a line?
8B:   My reply is NO.

Me:   Ok.
8B:   Better not tell you now.

The Joke

Ha Ha Ha

God, you little devil

With all Your (our) Infinite Wisdom

You (we) decided to play

The ultimate trick

You fooled yourself into thinking

You (we) weren't God

Signed,

Andrew

Yeah, that's cool...

Journal entry for October 30, 2011 (or thereabouts--towards a non-dual definition of good)

Is it all good? Really? No. But only because it is all good.

If all of this is an illusion and God is all that is "real" and God is love, then God, or Love, apparently has some pretty fucked up shit in His/Her/It's mind.

All I can say is it better be pretty peachy rainbow ice cream orgasm when we finish with this world and on to the next. Like when God's done playing with His toys, he better not leave them all disheveled and broken or we are going to need a new definition of good. Like "whatever the fuck God wants at any given time" is good.

Hence all this crap, which is obviously what He wants, because it "is."

Yeah.

Journal entry for October 26, 2011 (spiritual teachers and a light bulb)

How many "spiritual teachers" does it take to screw in a light bulb?

Duh, there's only the One.

There is no light bulb--it's just an illusion.

No, really...How many?

NONE

Journal entry for October 25, 2011 (I gave up on enlightenment)

I gave up seeking to go back to sleep, but I'm conscious of my unconsciousness. Since discovering that all is one and all that jazz I've kind of felt like "What's the point?"

Buddha says your already enlightened, you just don't realize it.

The Course in Miracles says it never even happened.

Hinduism says its all "Maya" (illusion) and "Lila," God's divine play.

Since we're all just acting out roles, it's not in the best interest of the play to pull back the curtain and reveal the mystery.

Let it play out.

However it will.

And for God's sake, enjoy yourself if at all possible.

Journal entry for September 4, 2011 (or thereabouts--meditating with a hungry cat)

I like to eat yogurt, peanut butter, almonds and grapes. In a little bowl at about 11:30 or 12 at night. After I go to sleep and then wake up to pee. It is "my quiet time" to meditate. I will finish my snack and then pet the cat if she shows up. I try different chants like "ohm" and such to quiet my mind.

I won't lie. Sometimes I get mad at the cat for fidgeting when I'm eating my yogurt. Sometimes she tries to knock the bowl out of my hand. Only occasionally will I get to eat in peace and then do my meditating. The cat will go from fidgeting to purring, and all is OK. I never get very far into any sort of "state" other than I could fall back asleep.

Tonight, she pissed me off, though, and I couldn't eat without throwing her off. She got pissed, too and wouldn't come back. So even though I have lit candles and supposedly am getting over my anger problem by meditating, guess what? I'm a big spoiled "meditating" angry brat!

I hate this! Is this funny if God cannot meditate on God because he is angry with a little cat for wanting to fidget and steal his yogurt? Yes, actually...

Journal entry for August 15, 2011 (Sharon's birthday, excuses and a late family therapist)

Yesterday was Sharon's birthday. I got her a pizza and a birthday cake with candles, and did the silly singing. While that was nice, she still did not get her birthday wish, which was to get out of her bed and go into the kitchen, even if only for a 10 minutes.

The fact is that we can't get her into her wheelchair without a Hoyer lift or we risk injury and falling. The lift barely fits in the room and is difficult to maneuver on the carpet. We have never tried this procedure and it must be executed perfectly or the pain of having her feet down too long will make it not worthwhile.

"Blah, blah, blah--excuses!" I can hear her thinking. She has not been out of that room (except to go to the ER) since Feb 14. Before that it was Christmas.

So, how do I feel right now, as I sit in front of my family counselor's office, waiting 20 minutes after our appointment time, to see if she will even show up or call? Um, really, not too bad. Other people can screw up too. And other people have waited longer than me for something that didn't happen.

My wife is at home, hopefully sleeping away this afternoon's grumpiness with me. I will now drive to Oroville and pick up the food she wanted, from the restaurant she likes, and this evening will hopefully be less stressful.

Sure, I have my ups and downs. Mostly, the downs are how I perceive it. It could be worse.

Journal entry for August 9, 2011 (repetitive)

I don't know how long I can keep up this journaling. It is monotonous to keep writing "I lost my temper again" and the stupid reason for it.

Sharon has been back from the hospital for a few days but is still feeling bad. She is losing her ability to be positive, and I have already lost mine. Seems like we get mad at each other now over nothing.

Journal entry for August 5, 2011 (Sharon and the ER)

Sharon went to the ER on Tuesday for abdominal pain.

We were there for 13 hours trying to get answers. C-T scan, chest X-ray, blood and urine tests. The only conclusion was that she was dehydrated and had a bladder infection. Duh. Fremont-Rideout sucks. Their computers were down, and the ball was dropped numerous times, so we waited 3 hours between tests while the left hand tried to figure out if it was a left hand or not.

Deep thoughts? I am not mad about the poop anymore. I think that a routine, no matter how monotonous, will be missed when it is gone. I just think about all that Sharon has gone through these last 3 years, and I feel so sad for her.

Now she's in a hospital room, and I'm sure she's missing being at home with her cats, her computer and her TV. It's not much, but it's all she's got. And being in a hospital with incompetent fools looking after you is no fun.

Journal entry for August 2, 2011 (Pissed)

Me and God ain't talkin'. (again)

Journal entry for August 1, 2011 (Having a shitty day? Meditate...yeah, right)

So, today started with trying to collect a urine sample to take to Quest Diagnostics to prove whether or not my wife's stinky pee and incontinence are due to a bladder infection.

During the collecting of it, she didn't have to go, but she did have to poop, which she did. We managed to get a small sample, which I took. Lots of poop cleaning was required because she was sitting on it and it was messy. I took the sample and also went shopping.

When I got back, I found she had pooped more and once again was sitting in it, this time for 4 hours. I didn't pitch a fit, but I was nonetheless not happy either time. She cried the second time around because the poop was everywhere and it hurt when I had to go and  wipe it from every crevice.

Needless, to say I am disillusioned again with God and my reality (and hers) and wish to exchange it for another.

(later)

Afterward, thinking "I have finally gotten through this fucked up day--now I can meditate," it was 1:30 AM. In the middle of my meditation a cat acted startled. I ignored it, or tried to. One half hour later, as I took off the headphones and climbed the stairs, I was hearing the shrieks of my wife. "Andrew! Andrew!"

She had thrown up on her gown and on the sheets, requiring both to be changed.

Apparently, my whole meditation is one big Ego Trip anyway, because I was--guess, what--rattled and upset. It is now 2:30 AM and I am--guess, what--MAD! I can't get a break, but no matter, my wife has me beat. She is the real sufferer. I am just a whiny brat. Great.

Journal entry for July 31, 2011 (My Facebook Ego and the AC control panel)

A couple of days ago, in the midst of feeling beat down and unimportant, a friend from 30 years ago contacted me on Facebook. What a trip. They put pictures up that included some old ones of my days as a punk in Anaheim. I suddenly felt like I was somebody again.

I don't know if that's a good thing or not. Aren't we trying to get rid of the ego? Regardless of who is me, the me that remembered being me back in the '80s got quite a charge out of seeing pictures that reminded me that I was somebody.

Ok, here's an example of how negative thinking doesn't always pan out (or even match reality). Our power went out the other day leaving Sharon without A/C for half a day. The power was only out for an hour or so, but the thermostat go reset to the factory default setting of 80 degrees when the power came back on.

Sharon wanted me to "take the thermostat off the wall" so I could look at the model number and she could research it online. I felt resistant to the idea of "taking it off the wall," having a fear of breaking it and not knowing how it was mounted, etc.

When I finally went to attempt it, I found that there was a front cover that comes off, and there were 2 ancient batteries in there. I replaced the batteries, and now when the power goes off (we tested it), the A/C comes right back on at the prior settings.

See?

Journal entry for July 29, 2011 (Binaural beats and Dennis, the tool guy)

Binaural beats. A meditation tool utilizing different frequency audio tones in the two separate hemispheres of the brain via stereo headphone input. I tried. It works. It can be scary. Just make sure your Ipod isn't on shuffle or you may get a rude awakening.

Also, yesterday Dennis warrantied an SK tool of mine and promised to look into a couple more. Lesson: Give and you will receive. Forgive and you will be forgiven. But don't do it just for those reasons. Just do it.

Journal entry for July 27, 2011 (Overworked at home, underworked at my job)

Yesterday I felt overworked and underpaid -- it was still the weekend. Today I feel under-worked and underpaid because it was slow again at work. I didn't struggle or suffer too much. Just plain bored.

Journal entry for July 26, 2011 (Drinking again)

So I gave in and drank yesterday.I was tired of feeling bad and not able to get out of my funk, so I returned to an old familiar remedy. I made sure that I didn't fuck around and had 2 shots of tequila and 2 beers and then I felt a lot better (for the moment).

Then my wife and I had sex. It was better than usual, i.e., it went smoother, without the usual physical disasters that regularly happen.

Later, I tried to meditate and it didn't go so well. I was agitated and just felt like getting it over with. I put on my "Course in Miracles" tape and my lesson for today was, "I do not perceive what is in my own best interest." Great. I guess I also flubbed the one for the previous day --"I can escape the world I see by giving up my attack thoughts." It's like this stuff was put here strategically by by some higher being, or like I left a trail of breadcrumbs for myself to find.

Nahhh.

And by the way, you can get a mild hangover from 4 drinks if you don't drink regularly. Today I have to mow the lawn and make food for the week. I'm probably gonna skip the alcohol for a while.

Journal entry for July 25, 2011 (Angry Guy)

The forest fire of my anger is fully engulfed. I am now in day 2 of being pissed. We tried to make amends. She hugged me and said sorry but then qualified it with a bunch of "until you do this & that, I will think the same thing."

I am more pissed at myself, God and everything at this point, and she is just getting the results of it. She only said I was lazy and self-centered, and I kept it going. My ego or blah, blah, blah enjoys anger and pain, I guess, because that's all I allow myself to feel.

I never smile, except in pictures, and of course, it's fake. I just don't feel a smile coming on for any reason. I just hate being me.

Journal entry for July 24, 2011 (Another useless fight)

Ok, how do I feel right now? Angry! Why? My wife called me "lazy and self-centered." She asked me to agree or disagree. I told her that I didn't want to argue with her, but she forced me to answer so I said, "I STRONGLY disagree."

I don't think it is fair for her to say things like that. She knows what I have to do in a day and that even if I wanted to enjoy some downtime, it wouldn't make me "LAZY." But I haven't had a day off of caregiving for her and doing everything else in like 3 years, so how am I lazy? I may not be motivated to do extra stuff because what I do already is a lot. I just get pissed off when someone calls me lazy and is not in my shoes. FUCK

Journal entry for July 23, 2011 (forcing the bloom)

"Trying to force a flower to bloom. It ain't gonna happen." -- Upon reflecting upon my meditation technique, performing a ritual with an impure heart. "You fool, first go reconcile yourself with your brother and then bring your offering to God."

Journal entry for July 22, 2011 (A shit day, prerequistes)

Don't get too sappy just yet. Today was another day that goes in the "shitty" category. I have learned to deal with it at work when I get the shit jobs. You just take your time and keep plugging away. It will eventually be done.

Same at home. Keep cleaning it up--it will eventually be done. But only just for a while. Then more shit will come. Sometimes in the process of cleaning shit, there is pee. And any number of such combos. I grow weary. One step forward, two steps back. Or is is 2 steps forward, 1 step back?

Anyway, who makes a world like this, really? I can step outside and see flowers and pet dogs and go for a walk. My wife is stuck in a bed with her own shit all day. I have a hard time reconciling the suffering of this life with a world of beauty, which is also a world of death. And shit.

Wait, there's more. Prerequisites. Whatever I have to do seems to require that I do something else first. Like, if I neglect something one day, it will be there for me, in my way, before I can do the next thing. I have dirty dishes, but the dishwasher is full. I am too tired to bitch anymore. But I'd sure like to.

Journal entry for July 21, 2011 (Beginning of Decomposition Notebook-- thanks, Big Guy)

I want to say "thank you" to God, Jesus, the Holy Spirit, All-that-is, whatever, for helping me to get rid of this anger and frustration. This week hasn't been any different situationally, but attitudinally it  has. I feel a bit of an ability to cope, to not react and even a bit of empathy for others. I need to stay focused on doing this daily when things don't go my way and also not get too cocky, 'cause it's always around the next corner.

Anyway, no anti-depressants for me just yet. Thanks again, Big Guy.

The Game

Here's an email to my mom which started it all. Sometimes I have to go back to it when I get to feeling like, well, like my last entry.

I have been thinking about you lately and felt like writing, but have had little time. You know the story.

I recently listened to the audio book version of David Burns book "Feeling Good." I remember you telling me about it quite some time ago and it seemed to make sense at the time. I never really followed through with any of the steps at the time, and any insights quickly vanished. Recently, due to the volatile situation at home, and my inability to cope, I sought to grasp at anything that might help me to better deal with my emotions and frustrations. This book has been very helpful in making me see where I am making my own life more negative and depressing than it needs to be.

I don’t say that I am “cured” of anger, frustration or resentment after having listened to it. However, seeing what is happening as it happens is a big step toward improving. He has a lot of concrete advice (something I wish all therapists would offer) and his observations and techniques are very helpful to a person who is “stuck” in some kind of emotional rut or another.

I think the audio book idea is a good way for a person on the go to get the benefit of reading when sitting down to read is impractical. I listen in my car or while cooking or doing dishes. The soothing tone and the rational thought processes infiltrate my thinking. Later, when situations arise, I am brought back to the examples or strategies outlined in the book and I find I can deal with things more calmly.

It has helped me to be more empathic and less reactive to people. I recently had an epiphany or revelation or whatever you want to call it. Here it is. There are other people on the planet besides myself. It is kind of shocking and amazing that I should only be realizing this at the age of 45. I guess, better late than never.

This thought led me to the related fact that these other people have feelings, emotional ruts, desires, hopes, fears and motivations similar and dissimilar to my own. I guess my 2-way radio has been stuck on transmit the whole time. Now I find that I can tune in to the thoughts and feelings of others and this is greatly helpful in making social situations less dysfunctional.

These thoughts running through my head kind of made me forget my immediate issues and start to ponder some of the deeper issues of life such as “what is the meaning of life?”

I am not ready to write a book or thesis but here it is in a nutshell. What I think I believe at the current moment (subject to change):

We are all God/gods as a part of the collective consciousness known as life. This includes animals, trees, sure—whatever.

A long time ago being all powerful, blah, blah blah, We got bored and decided to invent a game to play for Our amusement.

The game is called the world as we know it. It is similar to Monopoly or the game of Life. We come from “the other place” and take on various roles, each designed to teach us different things. But we already know these things, hence the game. We have all this erased, or mostly erased, and come in as a blank slate. The fun is in the process. Not winning or losing. But there is a goal. To become love incarnate.

Religions are like clues we leave for the next round of the game. Tips to help get you there. The “Golden Rule” would probably suffice. Sure, some religions are twisted and not as helpful, but that’s because we are all imperfect as long as we are in this realm. We don’t always see things clearly and we get “programmed” by other imperfect mortals. And we all have the handicap of this mortal body. There are consequences to improper play, but there is no final judgment, only the judgment you make on yourself. We come back again and again to “get” different aspects of the game and perfect our playing of it.

Negative thoughts and emotions, physical disabilities, natural catastrophes, etc are all obstacles designed into the game to perfect our outcome. They are like hurdles for the runner, the bar for the pole-vaulter and the waves upon which we surf (once we have learned how to not flail around in the water). Every game has to have opposing players and every challenge must have something difficult to overcome. It is through these challenges and conflicts that we grow. Remember the goal is love. In the end, we are all really on the same team, just for the purposes of training we have to split up into two sides in order to have a game to play at all.

Things on this planet that make us happy we designed into the game as respites and rewards: food, sex, music, a good book, a sunset—whatever you like. These make the tedious aspects of the game more tolerable. It isn’t all fun. Not by a longshot. But once we decided to play the game, being all Godly and stuff, well, the game isn’t going away any time soon. There are a lot of poor sports who would just as soon chuck the Monopoly board across the room and say “I quit.” But the game goes on. And guess what? You can’t quit! You may have a time out. But really, everyone will have to come on board eventually.

If it ever gets out, this whole nature of the universe as a game and everyone really does evolve to that point…ahem. That is the scary thing for us as humans. It could be the end of the universe as we know it. I mean, when you place the last card in solitaire and everything is nicely arranged—it’s game over. And that’s a good thing. Maybe that is why there seem to always be stragglers and un-evolved people still walking around. We don’t want the game to end. What will We do next?

I, for my part, feel a whole lot more comfortable in my skin knowing that it is just a game. The pressure is off. I’m not going to drive my car into a tree to “hit the reset button” because I have come too far in this game to start again. I don’t know what the “other side” holds, but I’m pretty sure it’s all ice cream and rainbows and nothing even so malevolent as a hiccup.

I don’t know how long a person must live or how many times we come back or when or if we stop. As a human I am used to linear thinking. That is how I came up with the game analogy. I believe that there will be an end. And I believe in the triumph of good over evil. Evil is a potent adversary, but as all powerful Us, we created it, just to have a challenge, just to pass a few millennium. Solitaire is boring. There is no script and sometimes the rules are not clear to us, but ultimately, We cannot be defeated by something We created. In the end everyone will win and good will swallow up evil. George Bush, Hitler, Ghandi and Jesus will all have a cappuccino and discuss the events as they saw them. The stories could go on forever…

That’s the “reason for it all.” So that in the afterlife, when all is said and done, We will have something to talk about. And so We can’t say “I wonder what would have happened if…” For all I know there could be a zillion versions of this game being played out, different universes with slightly similar, slightly different players and constructs. Like an episode of “Fringe” or “Sliders.”

And no, I’m not on drugs.

I just came back to the keyboard to find my cat has typed a good portion of this (kidding---though I will give her credit for any typos).

That being said, I am still human, still struggle with depression, hurt, anger, frustration and fear. I just have a different perspective now and am trying it on for size. Even prisoners in solitary have freedom if only in their mind.

Well, enough philosophizing for now. It’s time for dinner.

So, how have you been? Don’t feel like you have to match my long-windedness if you don’t want to. I appreciate any email from you.

Love,

Andrew

The Dark Night

A time comes in every seekers journey where the initial results of his efforts seem to stop. The same old prescriptions just don't cut it anymore and he is left questioning his every belief. Indeed, God seems so far away and life so meaningless he may be inclined to give up and go back to what he thought made him happy before. But if he is far enough down the road, he realizes that there is no turning back, and yet seemingly there is nowhere forward to go. He is stuck.

I have no advice for the seeker at this point, because it is me. Unable to be rid of my ego, it hangs around my neck like a dead chicken to punish me. It is a foul, rotten thing and I know I "shouldn't" judge it so, but it is what it is.

Misery loves company so I am radiating all of my misery into the ether so I can bask in my "aloneness" with all other seekers who have hit the wall and are considering putting a bullet in it. There's a reason I don't own a gun. I shouldn't even be trusted with scissors.

In the wealth of wisdom is great sorrow. Ignorance is bliss. I have inoculated myself to responding to words of wisdom by listening to countless self-help and spiritual audio books. My wife, who has MS and was severely emotional a few months back, has now become my rock of sanity. I am off the deep end and have no sense of happiness or purpose. Only misery, only me. Universe, what universe?

Journal entry for June 26, 2011 (Diabetes is simple, caregiving...not so much)

Life used to make so much more sense when I was just diabetic. All I had to concern myself with was my blood sugar, carb intake and whatever else would contribute to my diabetic well-being. I had clear cut goals and obstacles, the results were measurable and observable with the naked eye.

And I could smoke my weed and drink my beer and tequila with impunity. I just had to have good results on the old meter. And the sex was just icing on the cake. I could even eat bad foods, provided I had sex right afterward, and this would give me a "happy" reading on the meter.

Fast forward five years, my wife's MS has consumed us both. Everything revolves around her care, from the changing of diapers, the making of meals, the laundry, the non-healing toe injury to the occasional whims which must be appeased or her wrath incurred.

I don't know who I am apart from this. I do dishes, cook, clean and help her into the shower. She has no activity, bedridden 100%. I shop, I come home, I mow the lawn, I let the cats out, bring them in, change their litter box, feed the dog, paint the shed--but apart from these things, I don't know who I am.

I know who I am not. I'm not the guy having any fun at the moment. I'm not the guy feeling peace unsurpassable or enlightenment. I have been (and still find myself) the guy crying about the unregainable past, the guy angry with God for giving my wife her disability, for robbing her of her young body and leaving her to suffer inside its shell. I'm the guy seeking answers in every book and tape and catching only glimpses which flicker and conflict and utterly leave me confused with unbearable sorrow.

Who am I? The one writing this? Certainly not! This is just distilled pain, from thoughts about how senseless this life appears to me. Who is the me who argues with the me that bitches and complains? Who is the one who "understands on some deeper level?" Hogwash, I will never get it. I thought I came close, I really did.

All the new age prophets agreed with me, too: "Life is just a game." Well, is it? Why is it not any fun? Why do I keep losing? Am I not playing it right? Do I have a bad attitude? Can I find fulfillment in doing what I am doing? Should I be doing something different? Where is the Holy Spirit in all of this?

I have tried to be a better person, but it just seems pointless. I don't feel anything good, but I do feel all that is bad. So I should do good anyway, like Mother Theresa says?

If I could pick one religion and follow it, I am sure there would be peace--but all religions contain errors and contradictions, so which one would I choose? They all say, "Stay away from that one" or "This one is OK, but the real truth is..." and I am left scratching my head, or picking my earwax, to be precise.

I have indulged myself in my perceived pleasures, and while they made me feel pretty darn good when done in moderation, they were transitory and always either had to end or led to me wanting the next thing. It was a happy carousel, chasing the next high or buzz or level of numbness (dumbness). I don't regret any of it.

I just don't know what I'm supposed to feel or do now to supposedly advance to the next level of awareness, consciousness, Being or whatever. I feel like I keep coming up with more bitterness, emptiness, and confusion, the more I supposedly seek. And, sure, I could say my meditation and prayer is pretty paltry and weak if I am really attempting to contact God.

But shouldn't He be contacting me? Why does it always have to be about what I am doing wrong? What I must be overlooking or failing at? Are there not billions of people on this planet, some more aware and some less? Are we all lost? Are we all going to hell? Really, now!

And what of all this suffering and the seeming inequity of it all? One person worries about the brakes on his Mercedes, and my wife worries about if she'll poop today. Maybe she doesn't even worry, she just accepts it. And it sucks, yes it does. Judge, judge, judge--yes, I do.

Who, really, am I? It was so much easier when I was just diabetic.

Journal entry for June 21, 2011 (Dreamscraps with Jeff)

Tagging along with Jeff, talking about hybrid motorcycles, electric golf carts and going to country rock concerts. We lived in a newly developed tract housing community with little acre parcels. We were scavenging for building materials in dumpsters in front of newly constructed units.

Journal entry for June 19, 2011 (Voices in my head)

Things perceived to be the voice of God

"It is all just a game."
"I am already pleased with you."
"Thank you should be your mantra."

Journal entry for June 18, 2011 (stolen bike dream)

In a dorm room, in my new school, I had a bike stolen when going to the restroom to pee. I felt rage, thinking, "Is this how this is---NO!"

I went outside and the first person I saw on a bike, I yelled, "STOP!" They crashed the bike, and I chased them with a spear. I was threatening them to never do that again. (And it was my bike).

Journal entry for June 16, 2011 (Non-sequiters)

Anal sphincter buttholism.

Invite Barney Fife and Bucketmouth in for a cup of hot "whatever."

In a band, making up lyrics, smoking weed, or just having it around not smoking it, actually.

"We hide" a song by Eminem.

Try on the dress, see if it suits you.

Journal entry for June 7, 2011 (Waiting for answers with my loveable, prickly cactus)

As days go by, I wonder how I got here, where I will go and how come it's taking me so long to find God. I think, "I am seeking, why does He not show me a sign?" Then I think, "Yeah, for what, 2 months now? And you expect what kind of sign? Part the heavens or what?"

I guess I should look for the signs that are all around me. I guess, first give some thanks for what I do perceive or what was revealed to me specifically.

1. That this life is just a game.
2. That we are all one, all 8 billion of us.

So far that's about it, though each teaching that resonates with my spirit and causes me to tear up, I feel is proof of God's Spirit in me saying, "Yes! Finally! He gets it!" A little late, but better than not at all.

So still I wait, for further instruction, and it comes in the form of tests of patience. My wife's crazy PMS, MS or whatever it is, makes her insane and me as well. I try so hard to love the prickly cactus she sometimes is. But I know it's not her, not really. Just a mask she wears for God, who is teaching me that my love is not yet perfect.

It may be a while yet. I'm still here, though, God.

Journal entry for June 6, 2011 (Death in the Supermarket--a real life hallucination)

I saw death at the supermarket. She was kneeling by the mushrooms. I know that if I reached out and touched her that I would have the touch of death on me. Her lace shawl was touching the ground. She looked about 25 and had black hair, white skin and in intent Asian face.

I took my mushrooms from the adjacent bin and went on my way. Later, I saw her again in a different aisle and she was not death, but only a girl of 15 with her mother. Her intent Asian face was American and she was laughing. I never saw her after that.

Journal entry for June 6, 2011 (Remember the Game)

Remember the game
And why we're here
To become love and
Conquer fear
We do these things
For our own entertainment
To see what it's like
To achieve this greatness
All that we seek
We already are
Though temporarily handicapped
In this earthen jar

Journal entry for Jun 5, 2011 (Magic 8 Ball Q&A)

Magic 8 Ball Questions and Answers

Q   Am I going to heaven?
A   Outlook not so good.

Q   Really. I'm serious.
A   Ask again later.

Q   Ok, what about now?
A   Concentrate and ask again.

Q   Ok, I concentrated. Now tell me.
A   Very doubtful.

Q   I'm still not satisfied.
A   Concentrate and ask again.

Q   I'm still thinking about it.
A   Ask again later.

Q   Magic 8 Ball, you're a good friend. Are you my friend?
A   Very doubtful.

Q   Magic 8 Ball, are you run by demons?
A   Reply hazy. Try again.

Q   So are you?
A   Better not tell you now.

Q   That sounds intuitive. Are you for real?
A   Without a doubt.

Q   Can I trust you?
A   Ask again later.

Q   Now?
A   Yes.

Q   Magic 8 Ball, are you full of shit?
A   Reply hazy. Try again.

Q   I'm not giving up. Are you full of shit?
A   Without a doubt.

Q   Is it worthwhile to ask you questions?
A   Without a doubt.

Q   Really?
A   Very doubtful.

Q   Are you contradicting yourself?
A   Concentrate and ask again.