Breaking open the seal

With a touch of hesitation in my step I approach this keyboard, nervous as though I’m on a blind date or seeing an old friend for the first time in years. There is fear in my throat even as I type out these first few words because it feels as if I’ve been encased in stone and I’m not sure if I still have it in me to spin words the way I remember doing so long ago.

There is rust in these knuckles and my fingertips have gone soft. Each breath carries with it a bit of self-judgment. The passing moments present themselves as opportunities to slip my foot just a little further out the doorway of procrastination and excuses.

And so I steady myself, swallow the fear, let go of expectations, and allow vulnerability to be my strength.

I mean, after all it’s not as if I have some epic novel to write here.

So yeah, it’s been a while. It’s been far too long, actually. I’m not exactly sure what happened except that I just up and closed the lid on this book of thoughts…..hmm….actually that’s a lie. I know exactly what happened. I shut down. Life got really fucking strange and I shut down, emotionally and in some ways physically. As life was going pear shaped I was finding ways to distract myself, mostly self-destructive and not at all in keeping up presence with what was going on in my heart. I barely spoke out about it and instead chose to drown in bad decisions, alcohol, and pointless Youtube spirals.

It’s a funny thing that we fool ourselves into thinking that we can run from our suffering because in truth we can never really escape it. In fact running only heaps more on the already festering pile and even though this bag of stones strapped to your shoulders may create the illusion that you can carry the weight, you are only breaking your own back.

Getting wise to your own shit can be a bitter pill to swallow and lately I’ve been eating those pills by the fistful.

This is partially why I return to this medium of expression, because I don’t want to hide anymore. I’ve got nothing to gain from carrying excess weight and everything to gain from shedding it onto the threshing floor.

So I've been shedding, and I've been noticing lately that these pills have been tasting less bitter and positive changes are becoming much easier. My heart is becoming free of dead weight and miraculously my back is much stronger for it. Instead of hiding I am poking my head out and testing the air, shrugging off my armour in favour of bare skin.

Indeed it has been far too long. The past year and a half has been a series of trials, ripe with triumph and trip-ups. I have loved, lost, lived, and gained. None of it has been easy, but all of it has been exactly what I’ve needed and I honestly wouldn’t change a thing if I could. But what I can change now, and what I will continue to change until my dying breath is my mind when It wants to retreat into that comfy yet oh so stale hiding place. 

And as I write these words, as the fear leaves my throat and as I take my foot from the door and plant it firmly in presence I remember what it is like to be alive. As each day passes and I become stronger in my body, more whole in my heart, and more expressive in my speech, I remember what it is like to be free. As I embrace this freedom like an old friend I thought I’d lost long ago I remember who I am and what I am here for.

And I hold that old friend more tightly than ever before, whispering in their ear....

“Thank you, I love you!”

~ N

Something sacred, something shared

This is the most beautiful and profound place on earth right now.
There is nowhere I'd rather be and nobody I'd rather be sharing it with.
It is the perfect place to retreat from the world and connect to my inner world with my perfect partner.

I look across the grey green water and all I see is rustic beauty. Water, trees, a few tucked away remote island cabins, and juts of rock that serve as beacons for passing boats. This place has an untouched sacredness to it. 
The world that surrounds reminds me to slow down.

No striving.

I haven't heard bus brakes sounding off, relentless horns blaring, or constant traffic for nearly 5 days. 
I haven't been met with a nasty downcast glare in almost a week.
I have only felt the light and energy of the earth.
I have only heard the plop and hiss of waves carving out their age old initials into rock.
I have heard only silence and the whole world whispering to me, carving out age old initials into my being.

I yearn for silence. I yearn for peace. I yearn for balance in my surroundings.
I crave the space that allows me to think, and to not think at all.

There are so many birds here. SO many birds of a different feather that it's hard to keep track.
An eagle lives nearby and on the occasions that she has gifted me with her presence I have been struck dumb by the majesty of her flight. She is larger than any bird I have seen before and is way more focused than most humans.
There is a hawk as well, or maybe two or three. They do flybys each morning and dusk, searching for or bringing back a meal to their roost.
They are living on natures take-out, only this ain't no Dairy Queen.

At one point we hear these sounds that are like carnal mating calls. Gruff and nasty low timbre yelps that could only come from a species without ego or hangups, carried across the still waters, us listening with ears pricked like peeping toms on the other side of an echo. We could hear them working their way up towards us for at least an hour before seeing them. At one point I "expertly" decided that it was a bird....I even said to Britt, "I bet that's the sound of birds mating!" like a city boy who thinks he knows something, but apparently I know so little.
The sounds got louder until it was revealed right under our faces, a couple of otters mating. Hard. Core. Mating! A mess of oily slick bodies entwined and twirling around one another, her making playful noises that sounded like laughing, him biting at her neck with front paws wrapped tightly around her. It was a private dance that we'd been invited to by chance and a little bit of luck.

At a glance I look out of the kitchen-nook window and see several species of trees and wildflowers.
Outside I notice that pollen from these wildflowers covers every available space within minutes. It is like a gritty yellow dust. To some it could be annoying and irritating to the allergies but to me it is fascinating.
Right then and there I decide that the many bee's and wasps flying about are a direct result of this abundance of pollen-rich air.
I imagine the little fellers flying around, huffing the air and getting totally fucked up on pollen.

You tend to notice the little things when you're present.
Every scrape of every leaf is profound.
The thrum of hummingbird wings is transcendent.
The wash of colors all around, hand in hand and supporting each other in perfect unison. 
Watching the loons diving underwater for lunch and then resurfacing a minute later, 30 feet away.
The bee's that look like they've just gotten out of bed, antenna askew and bee fur matted, but they are elated in this early Spring splendour, smacking into the glass that surrounds our porch over and over again until finally they get pissed and fly upwards and away.

The leaves turning in wind. The smell of fresh rain. The water flowing, endlessly etching out change.

These may be small simple things, but right now they are among the most important for me.
They remind me of what I crave.....

There are no car horns, sirens, or overpriced bus stops here.
People smile and say hello and take care of you where and when they can.

Not to paint a utopian ideal or wear rose coloured glasses indoors, but I see this kind of place for what it is and could be for me. Present, untouched, silent (save for otters fucking) sacred, filling to the heart.

It is difficult to imagine any of these things whilst living in the city, but I know they can exist. It takes some work and envisioning, but they can exist. And until I am in a land of water, forests, wild animals, and quiet, I will do all that I can to get to the heart of it, no matter where I am.

And for now I will remember this most beautiful and profound place on earth.

Thank you.....

New things, new times.

6 days. 6 days!
In 6 days I finally get to hold my lover, rub her messy haired head, and kiss her face! It's real, and I am so eternally grateful for this past few months.
Cheers to change, shifts, intention, decisions, and the faith of a mustard seed.

Thank you, I love you!

Moving, Shaking, Stirring, Whirring!

I sit amongst packed boxes in a room that is becoming less of my space and more of a shell to fill for another. I see my roomie and good friend Shawn Luco off for the last time as a room-mate and I think of the things that will be a series of final acts before I leave this house I have made my home for the past 12 years, and the weight sits heavily in my heart.

This is no flighty prance from one place to another. This is a major shift in reality.

I sort through years of collected possessions and pieces of history, papers, trinkets, and relics worn brittle and dusty with age. Part of me wonders why in the hell I keep all of this crap while part of me is mourning long-held memories…..love notes from girlfriends, bad pictures I thought were cool at the time, beer coasters from a great night out in another country, foreign coins, horrible hand written drunken diatribes, broken promises on the backs of notepads, power plugs twisted beyond use, years of collected published writing the world will never see again. It’s crazy the things we keep! They are the things we pretend that make us more “us” but when you really look at them they are just dusty old fossils that make us sneeze and perhaps a bit annoyed because they’ve been taking up so much space for so long and no longer have a place except in memory.

Some would say that I am an extremist in how few possessions I actually have and I suppose that is true, especially as I grow older and more aware of what is important for me. But still, this mess has proven difficult to go through, and maybe it’s because of 12 years spent sitting and collecting. Apart from the great books, albums, and clothing I still wear……who needs a play-dough happy face crafted by a kid I lived with over 16 years ago, aside from some shred of my ego that still wants to hold on to the past?

Memories will last for a lifetime or until I’m an old grey shell drooling into a paper cup and pooping in my adult diapers.

But believe me, while I have made residence here at 1802 Franklin the memories collected have been the richest I have experienced so far, and none of them carry dust or are in need of being filed away in a box for Value Village.

The beginning was a breeze with some road bumps. The couple, Christine and Brett who lived upstairs were reclusive gems who I grew to adore and were the first complete strangers who I actually felt comfortable with under a shared roof, as little as I got to know them. Frustration came with the hip-hop guy Dov, who lived across the hall from me and would shuffle around with his McDonalds food and shitty girlfriend in tow, later leaving his McDonalds trash on the table and a listless feeling all around. Before him was Neale the graffiti artist who’d make his living taking odd jobs while disappearing for weeks on end making spray can art across the country, only to appear near rent day to pay up and then disappear again for a few more weeks.

And then there was Ben. Sweet Ben-jammin, who was in a hip-hop crew with Dov and a few others. Ben was my favorite back in the beginning because even though he was a naïve young kid, he had big ideas and a big heart. I will never forget the day he phoned the house on the afternoon of September 11, 2001 and told me that he thought it was the Chinese who did it. I thought he was a jerk for suggesting that but to this day I’ll never forget his scared self just needing to talk to someone, however misguided he may have been.

Later on the house shifted into what became a home. After a month on my own I awaited new strangers who would fill this space, and fill it they did. Out of nowhere these three strong-willed, earth centered women came in and gave this house a light it hadn’t seen in years. Elise, Susanna, and Anastasia are given full credit for truly planting the seeds for what this place is now. I lived in a run down and grey looking space that I kept clean for a month and then they moved in and ran with it, painted happy hippy colors all over the place and started something even more beautiful.

There was Elise with her biking everywhere, low impact pre-hipster ways, Sue and her down to earth, digging in the ground garden ways, and Anastasia with her light heart, easy laugh, and big beautiful face….those ladies and a wild German Sheppard with gay hippy neck beads made this house a home. However much I was resistant to shifting I will forever be grateful for their modes of change and for pulling me out of my shell, even if for a little bit at a time.

Then came Sean, who was an odd character that I have yet to fully understand completely. He took over the room across from me, and was the always moving kinetic fellow who delivered piss samples to science labs and biked all over the place. He was the guy who was destined to do really good things in life and to this day I am amazed that not only he is still here, he has done amazing things in life, namely building a lot of shit I could never wrap my head around even if I tried as well as making a good living with a great partner in crime. Come end times and if I were to choose who to survive with, Clancy is the man!

And lets give a good long moment to Timothy Wisdom. I won’t take credit from anyone else here past or present but Tim is HUGE in this home. Tim the DJ, the scientist, the mathematical equinox, has brought SO very much to this space! I would have never experienced a true party had it not been for him. The music that he laid out on the table and the friends he brought to dance, celebrate, and lay down their weary head between these 4 walls is the stuff of legend. In fact, words don’t even give it legs. If you were near to here during that 5-7 year stretch then you know. All I can say is that if you grew up watching those 80’s movies where the house party is wall to wall deep with people and the music is loud, then you have just a tiny idea, only our parties were WAY sexier and really did go until the break of dawn.

From that party stage came Lucia, who dated Timothy and later married him for a brief spell. Lucia was a wonderful grounding force, a source of much folly, and the bringer of my favorite cat in the world, Tiga. Some of my most blessed moments were hearing Lucia laughing in the kitchen as well as sharing summer picnic table hang-outs with the captain chicken-heart kitty. I miss them both a lot.

And here we come to modern days, where the breed who live under this roof have been solid for years. Clancy’s partner Erica, who gardens, bakes, and can always be found with an easy laugh and dirt on her knees or under her nails. Or Martine, who flows like water and has the cutest giggle I’ve ever heard. I love her rock collecting, sage burning, blossoming spirit! Or Luco, who can throw a mean disk, grill a good BBQ, and has brought an awesome assortment of new friends to the mix.

These people. I love them all so SO much. I love how they challenge me and help me to grow. I love how they make me want to retreat and come out of my shell at the same time. I love their friends and their lives. I love how they have accepted me and my fucked up, non-committal, comedic, raunchy joke laden, just passing through lifestyle.

I love how I can come home and count on Erica to be making or baking or garden-growing a spread of food. I love how I can come home and find Clancy fixing or building or tinkering with something. I love how I can rely on a good laugh with Tim when we’re feeling up to conversing and hanging out. I love how much Luco and I love each other. I love how his sweet partner Martine brings stability and good nature to this old woody dusty home.

I love them. I love this space. I love my extended family. And I will miss them terribly.

The crippling nature of this shift is becoming more real by the day and in many ways I just want to put all of my shit back in place and close my door, but I know it’s time.

As hard as it may be, I know it is time.

From the bottom of my heart, I thank you all, past and present.

I love you. Always!

In this moment of this breath

I can see lots of flowery type things from my window right now.
I can see a crow stalking up the sidewalk and then across the road. It searches for scraps, bugs or whatever and then it takes flight. Guy on a mini motorbike drives by. A fly buzzes in my bedroom window. A kid and dad on bikes pass by. The sun is in my eyes.
A junky cackles away somewhere up the road. Seagulls go nuts over yonder for fish bits from the docks. A mom and daughter on bikes pass by, possibly related to the son and Dad on bikes from a minute ago. My roommates chatter. The sun is in my eyes.
An angry hooker with crossed arms walks by. A fly buzzes. Grass and flowers and life are outside my window.

There are still lots of cars driving past, looking for some kind of emotional soother. But not as many as i remember from my early days here over ten years ago.

A seagull with a puffed up chest proudly struts across the road in search for scraps. Plays it cool when it doesn't find any.

Bikes. Lots more bikes, and not of the stolen street working variety. More like the now united biking family who just rode by again or the few hip folk and commuters I often see riding past most days.

But still, there is this street level and its little demons and slaves who work openly right out in front of my bedroom window. The grizzled old hard livers still stumble down the sidewalk and the packs of jet fueled punker kids still holler 'fuck' into the night.

The sun is in my eyes. The sky is gorgeous.

That tree in our front yard is pretty rad. It could be healthier but look what it has to work with; chicken factories, junkies, hookers, discarded debris, people passing out against it, air soot. Noise.
A swinging arm as he walks Italian-looking guy strides up the road, chattering loudly into his cell phone. Business deals, probably.
Car alarms go off, traffic rolls by, and a Bob Dylan tune rings in the other part of the house where some roommates and company hang out.

The sun is hidden behind a bank of clouds now, but the mountains are pretty awesome.
A smoking guy in a cowboy hat who can probably walk speeds past on a mobility scooter.
The big red cargo cranes at the dock are a stark contrast to the mountains, but the mountains are beautiful.
Two hot women on bikes fly by.
The sun is no longer in my eyes and warming my face, but from my window I can count six wild growing flowers and another five human planted.
It's getting darker now and the clouds look like bluey mottled puffballs. Ski run lights on the mountain give a lonely glimmer.
A guy in sandals stops to admire the flowers, or maybe he's tripping out.

This is my home, my view, my moment, and I am grateful.
N

Confessions from the alter of a city dweller

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 Attention human beings, if you’re in a supermarket perusing the cut flower section and some old feller comes up to you and makes small talk about how beautiful the flowers are, capping off his apparently one sided conversation with, “You can smell them from here….it doesn’t matter how old you are, the smell of flowers makes you feel good inside. Deep inside your body.” I ask you to please give them your presence, if even for a moment of your time.

Maybe you'd even best stop and pay attention for more than a fleeting second or two. Give him or her a bit of your time because those old fellers may have wisdom that extends far beyond your silly guarded city walls, and who knows, perhaps giving a moment of recognition to that old withered soul saying simple profound things may make their last days on earth less lonely, and your moment more worthy.

I’m not saying that you should take every needy and probably mentally defunct person out to lunch. You don’t have to invite them into your house and have a PJ sleepover ending with a handful of quarters and a slap on the ass out the door….but for God’s sake, we’re not living in a country that stifles emotion. We're so lucky that we live in a place that allows for basic human recognition, so why not utilize it instead of working within our socially bereft forms of non-communication?

Instead of being a silly awkward gorky teen-adult, try looking that person square in the eyes and saying quite simply, "Yeah, I hear you!" if you're shy. Or maybe even thanking them for their wisdom, if you're bold enough. Maybe even grabbing them by the hand or place a hand on their shoulder to acknowledge them instead of pretending that their voice is a distant fart in the aisle next over that is easily ignored. Because no matter how grizzled and “gross” that human may appear to you, they ARE you! They share your air, they share your thoughts (no matter how old world they may be), and they share your fears and neurotic fantasies. 

One day YOU will be that crazy old fucker in the produce department, making random 'in need of human contact' comments to strangers, and won't it feel totally barren and lonely when that shitty snob guarded person ignores you?

I took a walk around my city this evening and my most magical moments came when I looked at the sky and saw darkened rain clouds with birds soaring across without a care. And the deep intake breath of fresh sea to city air. And my peace with every step. And the overheard one-sided conversations that I'd wished I could have played out differently had I been in the other persons sneakers.  
Everything else was heads cast downward, guarded eye contact, and manic text conversations.

Christ, some fruit looped old gal even clutched her purse to her chest as I walked by, because we live in a neighborhood where the last three dollars to your name might not be safe, no matter how young, old, or retarded you are. She'd have probably died of a heart attack had I asked her for directions.

This is the world we live in.

And unless you’re on some island living an idyllic life where everyone knows your name, this guarded city life is the reality of things, lest you have your eyes wide open. 

Our walls are way up, and we’ve lost sight of of what’s important, such as wisdom, experience, storytelling, touch, love…..LOVE! It hurts me to think that some of us will cast aside a human who has decades of experience on us, just because our stupid ego tells us that we “should” feel uncomfortable at another person randomly talking to us and their "unattractive" qualities.

It hurts. And it brings a white hot ball of emotion to the throat.

 But I have hope. I really do. And I'll never stop.

Just some things to think about.....

Thank you. I love you.

N

Adventures of a part time insomniac

Midnight, the sleepy starts to settle in and the words on the page of my book are beginning to bleed into one another, signalling that it's time to call it a night. I'm glad for this because the night before was a bit restless and my addled brain needs some healing. "This is gonna be good" I tell myself as i pull the plug on the string of lights that surround the room of my lovers apartment. "Tomorrow I'm going to be wide awake, alert, and excited about getting some good work done."
I love sleep. I love the mystery of dreaming and telling my lady about the weird places I went to during that 6-8 hours of alpha-state. I love waking next to her and falling in love all over again, feeling happy that my body and mind are refreshed and all is right with the world. 
"This is gonna be good" I tell myself as i lay next to my love, placing one hand over my heart and one on my belly, beginning the process of slowing my breathing, giving thanks, and cycling through my day before submitting to rest.

1AM: Something isn't quite right. I'm relaxed and should easily be drifting but the second I make the conscious decision to give myself up to sleep I am suddenly wide awake, feeling as though I'd recently popped an E-pill, but minus the touchy feeling love and need to dance. Well, that's odd, however I can be a bit of a night owl at times so maybe I just need to keep breathing and think of rolling hills and naked maidens splashing around in waterfalls.

2:15AM: Well, here I am still awake. Starting to over-think and toss away hope that tomorrow will be awesome. Although I have dealt with 5 hours of sleep before and I've done alright on even less, so it's not a huge deal. But I'd really enjoy passing out. 
The waves of exhaustion tell me that it could be close, but the fireworks going off behind my eyes tell me differently. I'm a fan of light shows but this Pink Floyd laser show crap can take a hike.

3:00AM: Hi, I'm wide awake and starting to get pissed. I get up and have a wander around the small apartment, taking myself through a few rounds of Surya Namaskar in the kitchen because I know that to be calming to the mind and it's proven helpful at times like this. After a short meditation and a piss I crawl back into bed and hope for the best.

4:30AM: Eyes burning, mind racing, delirium beginning to pry rational thought and frustration apart. I'm thinking strange thoughts such as what it would be like if man survived on dirt alone and if the dirt was enriched with nutrients, could man maintain some semblance of health. I shake my thoughts clear and listen to the sounds of my lover sleeping beside me. It is oddly soothing and i prop myself up to have a look at her. In the shadowed wilderness of bed covers and pillows I can see her clearly and she is beautiful. Always. My love for her is vast and even though I am frustrated at this lack of sleeping situation, I take heart that she is here, safe, and riding on some dreamy cloud. 
Also, I have noticed that the constant din of traffic on 12th avenue does in fact let up for very brief periods of time, but only for about half an hour and then it's constant again.
I drift off for the briefest moment until my body decides it's time to have an allergic reaction to something. This continues for a while.

5:30AM: Oh, thank Christ I have the chorus to "Enid" by Barenaked Ladies running through my head over and over again. I fuckin' hate that song even more now and I wonder if it's possible to sue Steven Page for inadvertent cruel and unusual punishment. Probably not. Maybe in America? Hmmm. I wonder what Honey BooBoo is doing right now?! Did Jesus get mad when he couldn't sleep? I bet my third grade teacher Ms. Halfknights still looks pretty good for an old gal. I miss my first puppy, Bandit. I'd probably be a sexy broad. I shouldn't have eaten those nachos at 10:30. What if i realized that I'm gay, who would i come out to first? "Enid we never really knew each other anyway" 
OH GOD!!!!! WHY??

6:30-8:00AM: Somewhere in between these hours my crazed brain finally releases and I pass out for a sweat drenched fitful sleep. More of a nap at this point. In this period of time I dream of wandering through various rooms of a house in the middle of the night, unable to sleep. Great. Thanks mind. That's rich.

The alarm cuts through my long awaited and short lived nap. My eyeballs feel like hot coals in snow and my emotional state is fragile. I want to cry and if I could remove my brain and thrash it until it's a bloody mess, i would with glee. My lady turns over and our eyes meet. She's still there and she loves me so. I feel like raw tuna but my heart grows three sizes and I muster the strength to shower her with kisses. 
It's really not so bad. I've been here before and truth be told I've gone through much much worse. It sucks but life goes on. Exhaustion can just mean that your day is slightly altered and you have an excuse to take it easy. You can't change what already is and so you can only make the best of it. 
When you're in the throes of insomnia it can feel like the loneliest place in the world and I wouldn't wish it on anyone. I've had periods where I've slept maybe eight hours in a seven day stretch. You learn a lot about the frailty of the mind when you haven't been able to refresh it for days. I am thankful those days are behind me and I am thankful that on the now rare occasion when this happens that I am able to handle it with at least a little bit of grace instead of losing my shit completely.

It is six in the evening and I am tired as hell, but I have my health, happiness, love, and the ability to laugh at it all. "Enid" is but a humorous afterthought and in a few hours I will most definitely pass out. Tomorrow is a new day.
One night of no sleep ain't worth tossing out the good stuff.

Love,
N

The Great Slumber

 My God! Stepping into these corridors again is like revisiting an old dusty book found in the attic of my parents townhouse crawlspace. The pages are browned with age and smell slightly of mildew, the spine is ready to crumble and i was nearly ready to give it up to the landfill, or at least place it back up in that crawlspace where time would continue to have its way. "Maybe it's best to just burn the whole damned house down," I said to myself, "Maybe I'll just secretly throw away the baby and nobody will notice the missing stale bathwater." I reasoned. 
 However, much like that scab you can't stop picking, or much like the accident you can't turn away from, or much like the drug you can't fully turn your back on.....i kept looking. Guilt and shame would cloud me and i would put it away with the faint promise that "one day" I'll get down to the act of mending, never fully committing, never really meaning it, always forgetting. Conveniently.

Conveniently I always found other things to occupy my time, making excuses for my lack of attention, finding reasons not to try. Or simply clouding myself over past the point. 
Because who wants to try when they're stoned or hung over or rushing out the door or working on a host of other projects? Who can try when love simply isn't present? Who can offer anything worthy when self worth isn't being offered to oneself?
I know I can't. And so i didn't.

But I am done with that stinky thinking. I am done with the guilt and shame spiral. I am done with clouds of doubt and the negative influences that create them in the first place.
I am through. Emerging. Coming out the other side, born anew.

I come to you today with a song on my lips and peace on my tongue. These are not the words of self actualized hippy all-goodness, in fact i have actualized nothing. I have simply emerged, casting off my self-tempered chains. Running instead of crawling, climbing with strength instead of clawing in fear. Smiling when i wobble, laughing when i fall.

This path, this life has shown me everything. Along the way i have learned many a thing. In the end I know nothing.
This path, this life is full of surprise beginnings, middles and all things in between. While we think our vessel is filling, we are actually being tossed against the floor of threshing, separating and preparing us for our surprise empty handed ending.
And empty handed we go. Arms outstretched, mind released, chains free. Holding onto nothing.

I come to you today having crawled over coals and through fire, having died a thousand tiny deaths and about to die a thousand more. Though I have not lived the life of a rich man or a particularly holy one, I can safely say that I have tried to live well, and I will continue to live well for as long as my ticket is valid. I will shed every bit of chaff and I will bear every ounce of my being.....for there is no time left for excuses. There is no time left for clouds of doubt. There is no time left for stories tumbling from a fumbling parched tongue.

I am here. I am free. And I am empty.
In this place I have everything to give.
This i promise, today and always. In All Ways.

Thank you, I love you!
N

Hello chums!

 Here's something different.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k9QXY80OxS0

I've seen this a few times over the past several years and each time my experience has been a little different. At this point in my life, though i don't condone or "respect" whatever Charley Manson did and instigated in other people, I can still respect his full on awareness of what he thought he was doing.

In this clip i see a crazy dirty old man, but i also see presence and a truth told.

It amazes me to think of the different spectrum's our power can touch. Truth is truth, no matter how fucked up. But when told so blatantly you can't help but notice.
We are nobody. But we're nobody with so much power to make a name for ourselves and a difference in each other and i think that is amazing. 
We're all teachers after all. Even famous dirty old hippies.

Gosh love you all.
N

Some thoughts

 Sometimes I believe that if there is a God then it is a paranoid schizophrenic drug abusing bag lady who lives under a bridge, wearing a shoebox on each foot and lording over an imaginary button collection kept inside a jelly jar. This scenario makes about as much sense as the existence of an all encompassing being who makes up the rules as it sees fit, sometimes painting a tapestry with splashes of happy yellow and hope only to cover it up with nine layers of shit. 

Now, I'm not an atheist. Never was one. I am a creature of hope and faith. I believe in....something...but I'm not too sure what it is anymore, if i really ever did know. Never one to subscribe to popular belief or whatever the good book tells me on any given day, I have spent most of my inquiring life remaining open to all possibilities, turning over the ideas that stick and dismissing the ones that don't. What I have learned so far is that if there is a "God" then it is just another fuck up like the rest of us. Part and parcel, as they say. Made in the likeness and image of us. If that is so then there is really nothing to worship but ourselves and that any surrendering ought to be done only for our own and our fellow man's benefit, not to please some fickle ideology with a cruel sense of humor. 

 My belief is that we are the God. My belief is that we have the miracle within us but since the beginning of time our faith has become weakened as a result of the many tragedies both personal and worldwide that have befallen our human race. Humanity has taken a beating and in our defense we have built up desperate walls of survival in the form of fear, and fear will sap the God from even the strongest man.
 But as we've all seen, the spirit is tough as nails and can survive even the harshest of conditions and It is my belief that this has to do with love. It may be a tiny spark or it may be a raging volcano, but we have it within us and it is our choice alone whether to act on it. Our miracles, our faith, our ability to move mountains and destroy nations is all a matter of choice. Not God. At least not any sort of God I'd like to be acquainted with. 

 And who is this God anyway? Who is this supposed temperamental fuck who toys with its creations like a kid with his G.I Joes? What is this 'all loving being' who apparently has the power to create yet blindly allows innocents to be destroyed and then later is given a get out of jail free card because he "works in mysterious ways"? It's nonsense. That's what i think. It's a fairy tale we frightened humans are writing as we go, and it is dangerous in its sway over the frail irresponsible mind. In fact, this fictional character more resembles the Satan figure we've chosen to give personality to and the fact that there are so many persuasive people out there who hold the 'all-good unless you fuck up' idea over their followers heads, I'm surprised that we haven't crashed and burned into a firey fearful mess a long time ago. Then again, maybe we have and we're all just walking through fire and happenstance.

 But yet we keep on. Because we have to believe in and give excuse for something. As long as we don't have to do the work ourselves. As long as we don't have to answer for our lack of belief in ourselves. As long as someone or something else tells us how it is and why things happen as they do.
 As I've gotten older and experienced more I have grown to understand that things just happen, good and bad, and that it has everything to do with us and not a mysteriously moving trickster in the sky. This is not to say that there are no forces at hand and that results are simply a dice roll of chance. I think there are very powerful forces at work but i believe that we are steering this ship and that the more we can understand the controls the more favorable our lives will be. In understanding the controls I am speaking of fully utilizing the energy that surrounds us. I am speaking of allowing ourselves complete control and belief in our ability to create and NOT in trusting an outside, unseen and unreliable fluffy bedtime story. 

 The power remains within us. If you think fearful thoughts you'll see a fearful world. If you hold thoughts of love you'll see a loving world, or in the worst case, you'll see a world where things happen that aren't always awesome but you'll always know that you're at choice in how it affects your will.
 For me, and for now, I see that it is about will. And yes it's about faith, but faith in my own stuff. It is about doing the work and not backing down. It is about holding on to my power and not giving it up for even a second. It is about not being lazy and sitting back in wait for results. It is about taking the "bad" and working within it. It is about taking the "good" and knowing that there is a whole lot more where that came from. 
 It is about dropping the idea that life is happening to us and taking hold of the very real possibility that it is actually us that is happening to life, and that if we don't wake up and take our power back then we are simply the ones smearing nine layers of shit on the happy and hopeful yellow tapestry. 

So it is my wish for you and myself to look within and not without. It's all there in our heart and fingertips and there isn't anything anyone can do to take it from us. No matter what, no matter how hard it looks, happiness is still a choice.
At least, that is my belief. For now.
N

The world is sick

                                                    

I watch recently released video footage of this James Holmes kid sitting in court, 24 years old and his life is over, just like many others of his kind. I look at other recently released video of him when he was 18 and in school, this brilliant and shy science weirdo with a bright future ahead of him and i wonder what the hell happened. There is talk that his later academic ventures were a bit of a crash and burn and i wonder if that was part of a greater breaking point for him. 

We live in a world where our first world problems are stress, ridiculous amounts of work and striving to be the best you can be as long as it's better than the next person. And for a person who is already mentally ill, painfully shy and trying to do your best, failure can be the worst thing ever. Failure can be the deadly sin that makes you snap out and kill 12 people.

I don't for a second condone violent behavior and I would hope that James gets the help and justice that he needs. I hope for all of those affected and crushed by his unspeakable act that he sits for a very long time in silence and grows to understand and know the pain that his actions have caused. 

But i can't help but feel profoundly sad for him......not because he is now due to spend the rest of his life in jail, if he even makes it past a few years from now.

I'm sure there are many who'd revel in his suffering and eventual gory death.....and maybe this is why it makes me sad. Because, here's a kid who had an undiagnosed fucked up thing in his head that exploded because something in his life went wrong. Here is a kid who slipped under the stupidly large cracks of our first world society and did something totally mind numbing and now those involved, in hindsight, are saying "Oh yeah, that thing he said or did WAS kind of weird, now that i think about it". 

Dude bought fucking guns from his local Safeway and "buckets" of ammunition off the internet. Dude was a science geek who knew how to rig explosives to blow people apart. Dude walked into a theater in riot gear set to wage war. Dude was so out of his head that he thought he was a villain from Gotham city or some shit. And clearly, dude had nobody around him to see that there was something seriously wrong and that he needed some help. 

I watch recently released video of this James Holmes kid and i see someone who has been, and allowed themselves to be, lost in the shuffle of life. 
But maybe this is just how life is nowadays....

I observe this 24 year old kid and i see a messed up being who hasn't slept for a few days, who is scared, humbled into the cold dirt and who has probably lived with an undiagnosed form of schizophrenia for most of his life....and i just feel so damned sad. For the 12 lives snuffed out that night. For the 70 injured. For the countless others directly and indirectly rocked by this stupid and senseless act. And for James, this wild eyed mentally ill idiot boy who let his world spiral out of control and away from him. 

Believe me, i don't condone his actions at all. In fact, i am sickened by them. But in the same breath i am also sickened over the fact that we live in a world with too many people, too many pressures, too many hang-ups, too many drugs and too much striving to be awesome, and for some, seemingly not enough room to be a failure. 

Maybe I'm being naive. 

Maybe it's uneducated to think that with a little love and nurturing we'd all be ok, but maybe this is the world i also choose or eventually hope to live in. 

I've seen enough to know that help is out there, but I've also seen enough to know that it is easy to go along unnoticed. And maybe that is what is so scary and sad to me, that some of us are one shitty day away from snapping out and doing something horrible to ourselves or to others. 

I wish that i didn't have to hear about these things.

I wish that I had more insight and knowledge to understand.

I wish that i didn't feel so damned much. For them, for him, for all of us....

I wish for all of those who know how to love themselves to keep loving themselves and to provide shelter for those who don't know any better. 

I wish for all of those who don't know any better to have people around who know how to help them.

Please rest easy crazy people and sane alike. We're all in the same boat and can only hope that there is someone who will guide us through our darkest days and beyond.

Much love and peace.

N

In every town and village

 As you walk on to the property of the Sri Radha Madana Mohan temple the first thing you notice is the building itself. The structure has seen better days and for the past few years it has carried the appearance of always being in mid-repair. But she is still a sweet sight with her beehive like shafts (Sikhara) extending out from the roof and the towering statue of Lord Chaitanya Mahaprabhu quite literally lording over the back yard. Yes this is another world, especially when coming from the bustle of the city. Here there are no suits or stressed out furrowed brows. Here you’ll find humble monks in white or saffron robes, Indian families dressed in their Sundays best and guests from all walks of life.

 If you’re not immediately transported to another dimension by walking onto the property the constant ring of kartals (small cymbals held between the fingers) and mridanga drums filling the temple room inside might do the trick. This isn’t your typical Sunday church service. This is the Sunday love feast held every weekend at the Hare Krishna temple in Burnaby and even if you have an allergic reaction to religious dogma it’s hard not to get swept up in the emotion of this sacred space. 

 One of the most beautiful parts of this entire experience for me personally is stepping foot into the main room, but not only because this is where the action happens, this is also where the main altar is and unless you have a heart made of salt and vinegar those deities dressed so immaculately will kick your ass every time. I have often walked in there, gazed upon Krishna, Radha, Chaitanya and their groovy Vedic-age pals hanging out on that altar and have fallen deeply in love. I’m not sure if it is the years of worship thickening the air or the opulent dressings of these seemingly simple statues made of plastic and carbon…whatever it is it’s potent and worth every visit. 

 After taking a seat on the floor and navigating through the 45-minute class on Vedic philosophy which you may or may not choose to sit through you’re treated to almost an hour of devotional music. Building from a few lines of opening Sanskrit prayer and exploding into a full on Hare Krishna mantra melt down that has even the oldest and most staunch disbeliever bobbing their head it begins to feel that this is part of what you’ve come for. This is what celebration at the feet of God ought to look like. I don’t care if you’re a Krishna, Mormon or a devout catholic, if you love the Lord that damned much then celebrate shamelessly! Whether among the faithful or just an observer, being in a room full of adults throwing their hands and voices into the air is an amazing thing to behold. This is part of why I come here. This is part of why I believe.

 So if the singing and chanting in this beautiful temple room haven’t won you over, the free vegetarian feast will rope you in and make you a convert wanting to come back for more. Here is food prepared by people who understand Indian cuisine with the added bonus of it having been offered with prayer and devotion. Now, suspend your disbelief for a moment and imagine pure, easily digestible food being prepared under the steady energy of devotion, served with a smile and the promise of more if you are hungry for it. Think of curries, subji, daal, fresh roti and fruit nectar taken alongside strangers and otherwise in a large room that resembles an open-air grotto in the morning sky. Imagine eating your fill and still walking out feeling lighter, as if you've been somehow "spiritualized". 


That's how it feels for me. And that is why i keep coming back. 

 There is something pretty magical about the whole Sunday love feast experience, be it the drawn out discourses given by one of Krishna’s yogis whose thick accent might make it hard to decipher. Or the hour-long God conscious dance party that turns adults into blissful children again. Or the fill up of purified food that treats your taste buds to one heck of a gift. I may not be near to a vegetarian, intoxicant free, non-gambling and promiscuous sex abstaining Krishna devotee, but that odd Sunday evening when I find myself between those 4 walls I leave feeling lighter and happier than I “should be” having just been to a church service.

 No matter where I am in life it is the things such as having drunken the kool-aid of an ages old tradition or a perfect gritty sunset or a fun day riding bikes with my lover that makes for a sweetened life. It is this stuff that I try to remember as I stress and fuss over ‘not having it good enough’ and it is this stuff that consistently brings me back to living. Life isn’t always a gas but there is always ample opportunity to refuel and I suggest that while you are here and able you find your spark and worship fully and completely. You’ve really got nothing to lose.

Many lovings,

N

"Sweet moments" for $400

Answer: When i look outside my window and even amongst the soot, tossed needles and electric lines i see cool paintings like this.....

Evolution is a 4 letter word

"In Love. Such heavy handed words. Such a supposedly "light and wonderful" feeling. So much damned weight. So many factors to consider. It's pretty difficult to admit to something that gets so easily stuck in my throat like a bone and fattens my tongue like a severe allergic reaction. It is something that i never thought I'd be able to truly say to another or feel much a part of. Not even sure if i can and perhaps i never will. I tried that once and it didn't work out. I spent half the time waiting for the foundations to crumble. 
So i swerve and get mildly uncomfortable, wanting to pull back and lock up the doors to my heart while whispering the combination into your ear really fast and only once, for even in this i hardly even have the faith of a lousy mustard seed." --N. Pike June 2007

 The word 'love' has been rattling around in my dome a lot as of late. It's not that the feeling is a new concept for me by any means and in fact I'm pretty certain that I have a lot of love to share and have for many years now, despite all former appearances. But recently it has started to mean more to me. The feeling of love has begun to take on new tastes and textures. My capacity to give and to receive love has reached new levels and quality. Suddenly there is more substance and I am experiencing it more consistently in my day to day life and in my intimate relationships. My thoughts and decisions are more rooted in love instead of fear and I am glad for this. I think it suits me far better than the crunchy coat of sarcasm and bitterness I had been wearing for far too long.

 I've made no secret of the recent changes in my lifestyle. Among those changes comes a daily meditation practice that i guess was long overdue because my body and mind took to it like strong adhesive glue. Almost two months on and I now look forward to that 20-40 minutes that i offer myself for breath and reflection. It has become a part of my daily spiritual practice and though the results may vary, I truly enjoy the boost of energy it gives and how it has quite effectively kick started a massive rewiring of my emotional thought patterns. I'm watching judgements arise yet they aren't so hardened with attachment. I'll experience a jolt of reaction to something, however big or small, and yet the clinging to my idea of it is becoming softer and in fact the reaction itself is substantially less aggressive because I'm not giving it as much power or holding on to it for so long. I am giving my grinding teeth and furrowed brow a much needed break and I'll tell you what man, It feels fantastic! It feels like freedom. In a way I guess that is precisely what the gurus and spiritual masters are talking about when they speak of liberation. Because even at this early juncture where I am still taking baby steps in a journey that is infinite, I am seeing how much more space there is for the stuff that really matters. Like patience, respect, hope, faith....and love.

Now, this is no hippy trip I'm taking you on. I'm not hanging up my raunchy humor or scathing tongue for eternally gazing at the heavens. But I'm certainly well on my way to giving up the fear and loathing. That's a tired game and it's not doing anyone a shred of good. Besides, I'm finding much more enjoyment in calming the fuck down and replacing negative emotions with the more life affirming stuff. It certainly gets me more easily through the day and I'm just not so stuck anymore. Life is still the same weird trip and bad crap is inevitably going to go down but I'm finding it easier now to avoid getting caught up in the details, and even if i do it's getting easier to step away from them. 

My heart is open and I am more in love.

This is a blessing I will never let go of again because as i get older I realize that life really is too short for this pouty, angry, judgement ridden, medicating the pain away nonsense.

While I'm still here I'd like to give, receive and express as much love as i can. 

Even if it never made a difference to anyone else, I'd have left this bag of bones knowing that I'd given my heart in everything. 

That's really all there is.

N

Observations from a water drinking gig attendee

 The tall svelte raven-like creature I saw on the bus is also here, sitting in the corner alone, face lighting up every minute and a half from the cool steely-blue glow of her iPhone. She madly checks into her life in text messages sent and received as a means of escaping from the reality of being here at this show all alone. She's Ill at ease like a lot of others, nursing drinks with one hand and gesturing with the other. 
Already people are stumbling around glassy eyed and the show hasn't even begun yet. Hell, the room isn't even half full yet.
This is going to be an interesting night.
  
 We're all posturing and itching to be/not to be seen in this scene of life, no matter how tough or weak looking, no matter how well dressed or sloppy, no matter how drunk and brave or sober and awkward, we're all united on this tiny rotating crust and we all secretly wish we could stand alone, together. I nurse my third glass of ice water and try to maintain an air of confidence as i peer around the growing crowd, listening to snippets of conversation and watching the actors play their parts in the big game of gig attending.
This is shaping up to be an interesting night.
  
 I'm not drinking like the rest of them. I'm not stoned like some of them. My energy is even keeled and I'm feeling quite happy about it. This is still a novelty, this being sober at events thing and i admit that it's still a bit strange. I feel like everyone knows. You know, like when you're stoned or something and you feel like everyone can tell? That's kind of where I'm at right now. But it's okay. My eyes are wide open, taking in more than I can remember ever having taken in before.
I spot the svelte Raven as she slams back a can of PBR and looks around. She looks like she wonders if anyone can see her, if anyone knows that she's alone. I know. I'm alone too. Kinda itchy isn't it?
We all try to maintain the decorum of cool, even though we're all just nerds in disguise. Some proudly wear their colors, some don't. Some will pull it off and some just won't.
It's looking like a revealing night.
  
 The red overhead house lights reflect off this ginger beardo dudes pallid skin, giving him a ghostly eerie sheen. He has bags under his eyes and he looks like he's been soaking in a puddle of milk for a week, but he has a nice smile and the girl he's chatting up seems to like him okay. Maybe he's dead and that's attractive to her because maybe todays ladies totally dig a dead guy. All i can think of is how well a zombie would do in a mosh pit.
A tarty blond with a pretty face and skinny legs that don't look strong enough to support her upper half tosses back a beer that she's probably too young to be drinking in world record time. She stumbles back a bit as if hit by a strong gust of wind and her eyes go out of focus, but she's a trooper and regains her footing. I've watched her and her buddy circuit the room, stopping to stand briefly next to guys they think are cute and then they run off giggling to get more beer.
Meaty jean jacket kids hit their Cariboo hard like it owes them rent money and then they get into mock fights with their pals. Hard rock wrestling matches that only alcohol can fuel are ways these fellows pass the time before the music starts. Girlfriends hover in circles, chattering and eyeing up other groups of girlfriends and talk about how they wish their men would spend as much time wrestling them as they did with their rock and roll buddies. Beer gets spilled and dander gets raised but it all washes away with a bad joke and some boisterous laughter.
For some this is going to be another one of those nights.
  
 The Ramones are on the house speakers and it's way too loud, or maybe i just hate the Ramones. Yeah, I think that's the problem. But it's not like I'm going to ask them to turn it down. The crowd gets thicker. It's almost show time. More drinking. More noise. More things to watch. I am at a gig for the first time while sober and while I may be near to being the 'odd man out' I take heart that this is going to be a well recollected and healthy night.
  
 Incredibly heavy music is followed by ears ringing, booze replenishing and glazed eyed milling around pockets of folks engaged in the various intricacies of conversation. Drunken friends old and new bond over shared tastes in alcohol, career and musical choices. Numbers and plans are promised, some soon forgotten and others even tossed away in disinterest. 
In the toilet a sweat drenched skid next to me sways as he's pissing and i pray that he keeps his spray to himself. These urinals are gross enough and i don't need stranger pee on me unless I've paid for it. Later after the show I see him half walking/half jogging diagonally toward his home in the east side where he will crash hard into bed, and where his night will wash partly away into a blur of mucky colors like paint thinner thrown onto a brightly colored canvas. 
I've been there a few times and I don't envy him for a second.
I'm grateful that I'm no longer keen on having one of those kinds of nights.
  
 It's midnight, I am naturally sleepy and I kind of can't wait to get back home to my woman. She's the intoxication I need right now but there is still a headliner act on stage and I have a job to do and I'm glad that I'll be able to do it well. 
This band is much friendlier to the ears. The other band was cool as well, but this guitar heavy emotive rock has united the crowd in a more positive way. The room is solidly packed with a sold out crowd and the temperature is much higher in here than it is out there. I keep a comfortable distance from the thick of the throng but stay within enough to really feel it. There are bodies surfing the crowd every couple of minutes and beer is flying everywhere. A communal joint is passed amongst a bunch of people in front of me and I catch a faint whiff. It's nice and a whiff is all i need. I enjoy watching the dude in front of me get more animated as a result of his long steady draw from this joint that has somehow made an arc to near the front of the room and almost back towards where i am again. I always appreciated a well rolled joint that seemed to last forever. To my right and downwind is the skinny tarty blond who's being well jostled around by the heaving crowd but still holding her own and having fun. She's a funny dancer and i bless her, wishing her a safe rest of the night. Near the front and side of stage is tall cool raven-child looking stone faced and disinterested. She checks her phone. I wonder why she's even here but then i bless her her and hope that next time her friends manage to show up. Ginger beard ends up riding on top of the crowd and loses his toque in the mass. But he doesn't seem to mind. After all he is a zombie with a nice smile and the world is full of toques. All around me are drunk and happy people united in the name of music that is powerful and thrumming a steady rhythm in my heart. Those guitar tones are awfully pretty and we all know it. 
 I take my leave as the last chords are ending. I don't feel like fighting my through the hundreds strong mad dash out the door. I'm ready to head home to familiar territory and to begin processing an experience i will later write about for a local publication. With peace and contentment in my heart and clarity in my brain I begin the walk to the bus stop, happy to have been in this room full of strangers who gave me things to ponder and observe, thankful for the power of music that, as always, has restored my faith and love for artistic expression. Thankful for eyes with which to see people enjoying, thankful for ears in which to hear it all, thankful for another day and many more to come. 
Thankful for an interesting and revealing night.