A Pondering Lover's Tale

Walking forward, looking back, seeing the distance covered, I gently peruse my worn out log and weep at its endless pages. Songs of sorrow, hymns of joy, ballads of lost love, and tunes of hope. I continue on, both on foot and in the book. My life delicately put on this parchment. My dreams. Those lost thoughts in slumber, those fantasies that perplex the mind. How some were so real it caused one to depress. Why, why do I ponder onward?
My path leads me to an open field. I traverse this pasture with tenacity. There is a feeling of something waiting for me on the other side. I tuck my tales in my coat pocket and venture on. The clouds dim the sun's brightness a touch. I reach the end of the field to find a path into a wooded enclave. Inside I find a small box. I ponder over the morality of the situation. The box is obviously not mine. I look down and scrolled on the lid is my name, bright, shining, and welcoming.
I open the box with caution, not knowing what perils may lay inside. Creaking open I look inside. Inside there is a small handkerchief made of black silk. I unwrap it to find a celtic ring of love, the claddagh, and a note. I place the claddagh ring on my finger and unravel the note. The note is written in ancient Gaelic, but for some reason I can read it as if it were English. The note reads as follows: Giorraíonn beirt bóthar (Two people shorten the road)
I become dumbfounded. All this wandering, all this wondering. The note makes me long for another time. Companionship lumps in my throat. I have masqueraded for so long that I forgot to open the door to my heart.
I reach for my journal of lifetimes past and pull it out. I quickly open to the chapters that mattered, the chapters about her. I read our exploits and smile, then fight back the tears of remorse. I always told myself that I only needed me. That the presence of another was welcoming but unnecessary. I am wrong. This journey that I am on has been so long and lonely. Giorraíonn beirt bóthar (Two people shorten the road) It didn't need to be. I resolve to find her. No matter how long it takes, I will find her. I clasp the claddagh ring around my finger and make a promise to find my love and journey this life with her, together.
I close the box and bury it. No reason, just did. I sit down for a moment and stare at the sun as it sets. I settle in for the evening knowing that tomorrow my life is changing. I begin to see her in my mind's eye. I send out my feelings for her outward into the ether. I almost feel her turn and look. I pray to the gods that they direct her to my dreams so that my search may begin. I begin to doze off and with her steadily in my thoughts I feel alive. I drift off into dreamland, once again not knowing if it is real or unreal. For now, it doesn't matter, for she is there. She is there, waiting.

The Spirit of Courage

What is courage? What does it really mean to have it? I keep asking myself this. Over and over. What does it mean? I'm not sure exactly. I know that it means to stand strong in the face of adversity or to even defy the odds. So where do I fall into that equation?

Well, I'm a Gearhart. I come from a long line of German warriors. My mother's maiden name is Krieger. In German, Krieger means warrior and Gearhart means hard spear. So in essence, not only am I a warrior but I also have the weapon to defend my honor. I'm more equipped to face whatever life has to throw at me than anyone else, besides my siblings of course.

I look at my grandfather, Medford Krieger, and I see a hero. He fought in WWII in Normandy. He kicked ass. He also fought here in America. He raised 6 beautiful children with a very stubborn, yet loving, wife. He worked and worked to make sure they survived. Then when he got older he had me to contend with me. A very stubborn and intelligent grandson. I look back at my summers with him and my grandmother with joy. They taught me about respect and family. He taught me about hard work and the rewards of that hard work.

I hated him then for it. Making me dig septic tank ditches, roofing, cement work, and anything else his dream house needed. That house over the years slowly got finished and I saw the fruits of his labors, and my own. I remember the fishing trips and I remember the trips in the woods on four wheelers. But most of all, I remember him. My Grampa Krieger. He was pure courage. If I fell off the boat, he was in the water without hesitance. If I crashed my four wheeler into a tree, he was there. If I was crying over the loss of my mother, he was there, holding my hand and teaching me courage. He was a true warrior and still is. He still fights the fight. He inspires me.

My father, Tom Gearhart, teaches me still. I look at his life, I see the pain he went through. The losses and the heartbreaks. And I see him keep fighting. No matter what he goes through, he thinks his way out of it. His brain is his "gearhart", his weapon. He teaches me to use my head. To think clearly and go after what you believe in. We may not always see eye to eye on the things we perceive as hopes and dreams, but the lesson is still there. Have courage. Use your intellect and do something bold. Don't let life's bullshit bring you down. Keep on keeping on until the path opens itself to you or you build a bridge to it.

I'm very lucky. I am both a warrior and a I have the weapon. I am unstoppable. I just have not felt that way this year. I let a lot of people and things tear me apart and make forget where I came from. I have wandered around this past year so lost. Not anymore. The way is clear. Which way is the way you ask? Forward.

So what is courage? I do not have a clue. I do know I have the tools and the ancestry to access it whenever needed though. I am a Gearhart goddammit! I am a Krieger! It resides in me. So onward I go. Not chasing a dream, but fulfilling one. I just happen to be in the prologue of my story right now. Not the story of my life, but the story of this portion of it. I feel like moving back to Toledo ended a major cycle of my life. I am here at the starting point of another. I am hopeful and scared and excited and nervous. All at once. I feel like a new god. A very inexperienced god. All this power and no handbook or map. Well. I guess I better start writing the handbook.

So what is courage? Try the present. The waking of life. Facing your fears in the face and saying, "Go to hell!" Even when you don't believe in hell. In this moment I hope again. In this moment I dream again. In this moment, for the first time, I plan. In this moment, I have found my courage, again. I found it by taking at look at myself and remembering who I was, am, and will be. I will be worth a damn. Worth more than I am today, even if right now I'm worth a lot, I will be worth more. I will be worthwhile.

So what is courage? It is doing something you fear to better yourself. To not be complacent and comfortable in mediocrity and doing something about it.

Webster's Dictionary says that courage is two things: 1. Having the quality of mind or spirit that enables a person to face difficulty without fear. 2. Having the faith of one's convictions, to act in accordance with one's beliefs in spite of criticism. I think that sums up my thoughts on life at present and my thoughts on moving to Chicago in a nutshell.

So what does it mean to have courage? Just wait and see. I'll show you firsthand. Pay attention, you might learn something in the process.

Unaware

she dances
rain or no rain
her body moves
gain or no gain
she gives the ground a treat

she thinks she discovers
the greatness of nature
but it is nature that sees
the goddess in her

birds coo in her honor
she believes they just
enjoy the trees and sky

she watches small fuzzy ones
gathering food for winter
truly they hurry themselves
preparing a feast for the divine

she twirls in the moonlight
beams sparkling in her hair
she smiles, thankful for
the lighted clearing

while the moon spotlights
its one true queen

she encompasses beauty
and perfection
her womb the world

she dances unknowing

that the world watches
with reverence

Thoughts

My box seems full. This is the box I live in. The place inside my head I only dare to step out of. Well, it is full. I only have the space to step outside of it. I have to step outside the box because it is cluttered with bullshit. I can't even put the words together right now.
I feel stuck in a pattern, but a pattern that doesn't work. I want out of it but I don't know how to get out of it. No, this isn't right either. I'm in a state of panic. I am selling goods that no one seems to want. Ahh, that's it.

No Regrets

I'm very contemplative today. I have been dealt an honesty card, which is fantastic. It wasn't what I wanted to hear, but it sure sets things straight. Clears the attic a bit, you know? On top of all that my mind is thinking a lot about others and their circumstances. I started thinking about my own. Started thinking about my past. Where I cam from and what not. So let us take a trip together, to my past.

My parents got divorced when I was 3 years old. There were three of us left in the mess. My mother won custody. Why, I will never know. We were already living in the projects in Toledo, OH. The difference was that Dad was there to provide income and food. Now it was just the three kids and one very meek single mother with no job, no skills, no ambition, and no hope. I'm not sure what Dad was doing or why we didn't get child support but well, it was the 80's during the recession, things were tough. Anyway, we didn't see Dad that often. Mom wasn't working from what I can gather. Just living off of the Government like any good family in the projects.

What I do remember is that we were poor. Dirt poor. We had nothing. Even in the projects you see people with decent cars, stereos, tv's, and what not. We had nothing. There was this cornfield behind out apartment, owned by some big corporation, and mom would send my older brother and sometimes me, over the fence to pick corn, so that we could have dinner. I remember eating tomato sandwiches and even mayo sandwiches. I remember splitting a can of beans between four people. Things they were rough, but at least I had my mother.

Then The Big White Boss showed up. Mom found a lover, a man, to help support us. He moved in and he was pure evil in my mind. He made us call him The Big White Boss. The earliest form of physical abuse I ever knew I knew because of him. He hated me. Singled me out. He had a son my age, who he never saw, and I guess, he hated me for it. I can remember waking up to him beating me. I was 4 years old by the way. In college we were asked to write a poem on one of our earliest memories. Mine was about him. I will share it with you.

The Hand that You Fear

The night was crisp

the air was clean-

I slept like a newborn

after its first meal-

I dreamed of toys

and picnics

as a cold man would dream of a coat.

This last solitude

away from reality

suddenly abrupt by

a freight train of pain.

I awoke to find

the eyes of a

monster

staring at me

as if I had thrust

sunlight into it’s

content darkened world.

My mother’s beau,

this monster-

tossing me about like

a useless hunk of rotted meat-

His voice-

piercing my ears to the point of

deafness.

Lash!

Lash!

“WHY?”

my final word

as the night drew to a close-

-my lips silenced

by the hand

of a drunken beast.

He walked away proud

and I sat searching for a hold on reality-

My mother, she gave me life,

but her lover,

offered me only fear of it.

So this was my life for the next year or so. I turned 5 years old. I remember getting a big wheel with a break on it from my Dad. I also remember it getting broke by my older brother and his friends the same day. Good times. Anyway, life moved on like this. I'm scared of the Big White Boss, I think all three of us kids were. All the while I am wondering where my Daddy is. Why do I only get to see him every few weeks or so? Why won't he save me from The Big White Boss? Why won't my mother? When you are a child you don't understand that things shouldn't be the way they are. You think everyone knows about it. So you don't say anything about it. I thought Dad knew. He didn't. But I didn't know that then. At least I had my mother though. At least she was there to love me and hold me and tell me everything was going to be ok.

Well in November of 1984 that all changed. My mother decided for whatever her reasons may be that she was going to leave us three kids and run away with the Big White Boss never to be seen again. And she did. The plan was to leave us with the babysitter, their friend who was in on it all, and after about 4-5 hours she was to call our father and tell him that my mom and the Big White Boss never came home and that she found a letter. Well, its amazing how things never go as planned. Dad was out of town. So the babysitter had no way to reach him. She started freaking out. She eventually became the person that sat us down to tell us our mother had deserted us. Awesome. I'm sure it was heartfelt. Sarcasm. Anyway, she is freaking out, with no way to get a hold of mom or my dad, she panicked. I don't recall what happened next, but somehow we ended up at my Dad's house where my Grampa also lived. He, I guess, watched us until Dad could get home.

My whole life changed in an instant. My enemy was gone. No more pain from him. But at what cost? I lost my mother to the monster. Imagine a 5 year old trying to comprehend his mother, the one light in his life, running away with his arch nemesis. I still to this day don't get it. It really did a number on me. I am left with a lifetime of abandonment issues and a distrust of mothers. Here is the kicker.

She began writing to us, with no return address of course. She would write me things like, "I'm coming for you my sweet boy. I'm going to take you away from all of that. I will be in a big red van and I will come for you." I would just wait in the front yard for her, for days, and for hours. She never came. And it was hard. Dad and I did not get along. I was a shy little momma's boy, but my momma was gone. I was the middle child. I have always been the scapegoat and very misunderstood, and once again, all I wanted was my momma, but momma was gone. Oh but she kept sending me letters. And she never came.

I spent my next years with a brand new horror. Another physical abuser, my step grampa. Not my dad's dad, who was living with him when we moved in (he died a few months later), but his step father, his childhood abuser. That is a story for another time. But I spent the next years dealing with that, just wishing and hoping that my secret angel, my mother, was going to come save me. I went from wishing my Dad would come save me from the Big White Boss to wishing my mommy would save me from my step grampa and my lack of a relationship with my dad. But, she never came, at least not yet.

So years later, I was 11 or 12. She shows up. Finally my mother, she's here. No red van, but I'll take it! She was coming to take me away! Boy was I wrong. I noticed something was wrong with her stomach. She said she was pregnant and married now. And then, out of the car stepped, you guessed it, The Big White Boss, who is now officially my step father. Fan-fucking-tastic. On top of that, she wasn't here to take us, she was there to say she was moving to Cleveland, OH. An hour or so drive from Toledo. This began years of scattered visiting times, an odd relationship with my mother, and more fun abuse with the Big White Boss, who turned it from physical abuse when I was a kid, to verbal and mental abuse as a teenager. Mom continued on with her ever familiar pattern of choosing him over us. When the physical abuse from my step grampa became apparent, Mom stepped in like the Calvary and said she wanted to take us back. Dad always thought we needed a mother, and so he agreed to it on a trial basis.

Let me tell you. We never even made it through her door. I was maybe 12-13 at this point. We got to the door at her and her husband's apartment and before we walked in, The Big White Boss took mom aside and said he changed his mind. Told my mom, in front of us, that he didn't want us living there and that she needed to decide between us and him. Without skipping a beat my mother grabbed us and our stuff and put us back into the car and took us back to our dad's. This was a pattern that continues to this day even though she and the Big White Boss have since divorced, he is still a part of her life and still controls this very weak, co-dependent person. Not as much mind you, but still does. The only good to come from him was my little brother. He is one of my best friends and would not be here if it wasn't for the Big White Boss.

So what is the point to all of this? Hell, I don't know, I lost focus four paragraphs ago. I will say one thing though. I don't regret it. Any of it. It may bring me sadness when I think about it, but I am who I am because of a lot of that. Hell most actors have had some sort of tragic upbringing, the need for attention and all, I know it contributes to why I like being on the stage. I don't regret. Everything happens for a reason. I tell you now, I will never leave my children if I have any. I will be the best father I can be. I will love them, treat them with respect and understanding. I will nurture them and be there as much as I humanly can. I don't know if I want to because of what happened to me or because it has always been who I am, but I refuse to do anything less.

"The desolation and terror of, for the first time, realizing that the mother can lose you, or you her, and your own abysmal loneliness and helplessness without her." ~Francis Thompson

Dr. Dreams

I am amazed at dreams. They are insightful, fantastical, frightening, heartwarming, sexy, and melancholy. Dreams have perplexed man since the dawn of time. They have done so because they are very close to the truth of ourselves. Henry David Thoreau said, "Dreams are the touchstones of our characters." In essence they are doorways into our very being, our souls, into who we really are. In our dreams there is no censor and there is no taboo. Our dreams are the ultimate stage. In dreams we can be anyone, face anything, and do the unimaginable. Dreams can also showcase our biggest fears. We can run from things, be murdered, see loved ones hurt or die, and face Dracula himself and fail. Dreams come in all shapes and sizes, but all have meaning, I believe.

Dreams have a way of symbolizing your daily life. For example we will examine my own life and dreams. Lately I have gone through a break up. It was confusing and left things unanswered. Here are some of the dreams I have been having.

I am next to a big creek with my best friend, he convinces me to go swimming in it with him. The water was calm and pleasant. I was reluctant at first to step into the water fearing it would change from peaceful to turbulent. I jumped in anyway and instantly the current grabbed and a wave soon followed that swept me down shore. I was able to swim through it, but barely. I got out of the creek and was pissed off but felt much stronger.

Another dream I trying to swim in a swimming pool and there were just too many people in it. I became overwhelmed and kept being pulled under. I fought to get to the edge and found myself not able to get out so I just sat in it.

Yet another dream I was swimming in the ocean. My little brother Dustin was there and he teaching me to shoot at fish with a Russian rifle. Waves came and washed me under. The undertow had me and I could not reach the surface. I swam hard and fast to finally find air.

Notice a theme? These were dreams within a very short span of each other over the last two weeks or so. So why would I dream about all this swimming and almost drowning of all things. I am a very competent swimmer and I love to do so. I have never feared drowning. So what is it? So I did some research on water and dreams. Symbolically water represents emotions. In dreams, specifically, the one's you are facing. In my dreams they are turbulent or troublesome and pulling me down. I was facing a terrible ordeal in real life, emotionally. My dreams reflected that feeling. I was always swimming in it, which represents facing it head on, being very affected by it. Allowing it to hurt me. What else happened in some of those dreams. I usually found a way, through tenacity and will, to get out of the rough waters. Which to me was my subconscious offering me advice. to just keep on keeping on and eventually I will get through this and as a stronger person. Good advice. So I began to think about that greatly. I then commenced to moving on. Now see my next set of dreams.

I am back in college. It is the end of the semester and I am in my dorm room. There is a beautiful girl on my bed. I seemed to be quite fond of her. She was laying there talking to me. Telling me to talk to her. I said I did not have time. I looked down and noticed I was packing boxes. I was moving out. She grabbed me and said to spend this time with her. I was frustrated. I looked out into the hallway and other students were moving things from their rooms already. I had only a few boxes packed. I told the girl no and continued to pack. This game of distraction continued. Sometimes I would give in and kiss her and hold for a few but then the packing had to resume. Other times I would ignore and just pack.

In another dream I was running back to my old house in Toledo because I was late. My two roommates had already moved their things out of the house. I had not even started yet. The new tenants were to be moving in today! I ran back to the house to find it already occupied. I found my two roommates and they said all of my things were still inside. What was I to do? I can't move without my stuff! I knocked on the door and met the new owners and convinced them to let me get my things. I spent the next part of the dream looking for my things. Finding things here and there and most of it was hidden in places. But when I would find something I would pack it.

I had a few more packing and moving dreams that week. So what do they all mean? On this one I went to www.dreammoods.com for an answer. An answer I already fathomed.

Packing
To dream that you are packing, signifies big changes ahead for you. You are putting past issues and/or relationships to rest and behind you.

Moving
To dream that you are moving away, signifies your desire or need for change. It may also mean an end to a situation or relationship; you are moving on.

In both instances, the moving and the packing, relationship issues were at hand. I was packing and moving because I was trying to put all of this stuff I went through behind me and move on and I was having trouble because in my dreams people or things were making my packing and moving difficult. Therefore I was having trouble letting go and moving on from it all. My dreams once again reflected that. The thing I noticed though was once again, my tenacity to keep packing and moving. Which tells me that in my waking life I can do it.

I learned these pieces of advice, not from a shrink or a friend, but from a dream, my own dream. Dreams remind me that we are capable of a many great things. Our minds are there willing to guide us and help us deal. I believe that is why many in the world meditate. It is a very similar experience. But we meditate to seek answers within ourselves or from the divine. Our dreams also offer us the same. Next time you dream, really look at your dream and take it a part and look at the things you are going through and see what answers you can find, what advice you can garnish.

"Our life is composed greatly from dreams, from the unconscious, and they must be brought into connection with action. They must be woven together." - Anais Nin

The True Nature Of Love: A Defense of Valentine's Day

It is officially Valentine's Day. I know, I know. This is one of my favorite holidays. And no it is not a holiday made up by the card companies. In fact it is older than the christian church. It is a fantastic holiday. I am a lover by nature. A romantic to the bone. Quite frankly, I love to love. So should I be sad to be without a special someone this Valentine's Day? The answer really is yes. I should be sad. It is ok to be so. So does this make me want to be one of those anti-Valentine's Day people? No. I still love this holiday.

Love is an incredible thing. Alfred Lord Tennyson put it best when he said, "I hold it true, whate'er befall; I feel it, when I sorrow most; 'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all." I see people who have never known the intimate love of another; and I mean much more then sex with another person. I have seen it and I see the difference in them. Love, it transforms a person for life. Even when it goes south, it makes you something different. Something special.

I believe that everything happens for a reason. Everything. Good and bad. This life is a series of experiences. Those experiences give us wisdom and understanding. This wisdom is not worth having regret. Sadness is not regret. I am sad to not share this, my favorite holiday, with the one I love, but I don't regret losing her. There is a reason for everything. Relationships are two-sided. A reason for her and for me. What is the reason? Not 100% on that yet, but that's ok. I'm here, now, for a reason.

But love. Love wasn't lost. The partnership was. Love is so much more than feelings and touches. Love is a bond. Love is eternal. I still love every girl I had the privilege to love. Are they my priority now? No. Do I love them the same as I did? No. But those feelings will always remain, always. This is why I love Valentine's Day. Love is an amazing beast. It is a drug that makes a person do many crazy things. I look at the times I loved and I smile. When I did love, it was good. That euphoria you get in the beginning, that feeling of being alive, really alive. That first kiss. The first time you really make love to someone you really love, its incredible. How after years of being away from someone you love, how you can remember their scent. That is a prodigious feat.

It is the one thing in the universe that brings the truest of all joys. Love. The whole spectrum of love as well. The crush.

The crush is so amazing. You get so nervous. You see your crush and you just shake and shudder and mumble. You sweat. You find the tiniest thing and relate it to them. Crushes are this giant mystery that Sherlock Holmes even has trouble deducing. Does she like me? Did she think that extra long high five meant more than it did? Is she talking to her best friend about me? Did she wear that shirt to impress me? I did! And on and on. Its a game that is both fun and nerve racking.

Then there is the moment she says yes to your question of dating. You have a new found confidence with an even worse sense of insecurity. Wondering if you will do something stupid or not during the date. But this time is so good. The dating part is so essential and mind blowing. This is where you get to know this fascination of yours. See if she matches up with your thoughts of her. Learning her middle name. Her birthday. Her hopes and dreams. Her favorite food. The essentials. And the best part? She learns all about you. And who doesn't like to talk about themselves?

Next on the list. Puppy love. Things are going so well. You both really dig each other. And then the first kiss. Wow! Its always the best kiss you have ever had. Always. Sparks are flying. Hormones are flowing. Your mind and heart are fluttering in sync with each other. Your soul and body are both reaching out for her. She invades your every thought. Everything reminds you of her and everything reminds her of you. Even the frosted cranberry candle. Even the song on every radio station. Even the moon and stars. Even your dreams. Even the book you are reading, the movie you are watching. Even the dishes you are washing. Everything. And man, you feel so alive! Every minute you can find, you find it with them. This is a great time. A time to be inspired. Your girl is suddenly your muse. Your poetry skills manifest and even a play about your love comes easily. If you write music, every song is about her. Ahh, puppy love.

Then the real love manifests itself. Life begins to unfold and play a role back in your life. But she is still there, now she is your support, your rock. You make love and the world simply stops. This is right. This is it. You look at the two of you in the mirror together. You begin doing things together that don't involve touching. But you never stop looking at each other. In fact you look more and much deeper. You have fallen much more for her. More than just her body and eyes. More than just her laugh and smile. More than just her kiss and her scent. You love her mind. Her thoughts. Her hopes. Her soul. Her very spirit. You love her work ethic. Her compassion. Her creativity. You love the whole package. Body, soul, and mind. This is love. This is what it is all about. You feel like you could live in these moments forever. Thinking about spending your whole life with them, having children with them, growing old together. All of it. But it changes again later on.

Soon that love turns into friendship. A partnership. Both. This is the best part of love. When your best friend is the love of your life. She knows you inside and out. Knows your dreams and supports them. Knows your fears and is there to give you strength. When she trusts you with most everything, including her life. When she looks at you and just knows. When you see her and just know. You begin to buy things together. Move in together. Know each other's intimate favorites. Marriage comes along. A giant official show of trust and a sign of good faith to this partnership. Love. It comes in many forms, but this form, we covet.

It goes on even more. I cannot presume anymore about love past marriage. I haven't been married so I won't take a guess. I will say one thing though. My grandparents were married over 50 years and they still loved each other so much. They had been through hell and back. Together. When my Grandmother died a few years ago my Grampa said the worst part was that he lost his best friend. The person he could tell everything to, even his fears. The person who knew him better than his own mother did. The person who took care of him when he was sick. The person who he played games with. Who he smiled with. The person who just flat "got" him. His best friend was gone. That is love. That is fucking love.

So yeah, am I sad that I have no one to be with on Valentine's Day? Yes. Will I survive? Yes. I have loved. Though I have lost, I at least have loved. I respect and admire one of the greatest forces in the universe. And that. That great power. That divine creation of the gods. That great feeling that can change the world. That is what I celebrate on Valentine's Day.

My personal goddess, Lady Branwen, the Welsh goddess of love, will also be honored. She has an amazing tale. I recommend to everyone to seek her tale and give it a read.

So to those that are Valentine's Day haters I say to you, stop it. Love is incredible. "Take away love and our earth is a tomb." ~Robert Browning

I'm growing up and it scares the hell out of me.

I'm just here right now. What else is there but right now? I used to spend a lot of time eyeballing the future. Just can't do it anymore. Yeah, the future is bright but the present is accessible. Right now. That is what I have to work with.

I try to delicately put things in order, find a balance of some sort. It is much more difficult than you think. Let's take relationships for example. They make us do crazy insane fucking things!! We find ourselves sometimes sacrificing time, cutting friends away, delegating our time with our other in mind, and we forget ourselves. Now I know this isn't all the time nor is it every person, but it definitely happens.

I found myself recently making no plans for the weekend with other people just in case she wanted to see me. Haha. Just in case. What the hell? Then she wouldn't even want to see me and guess what? My friends have already made other plans. Blah blah blah. I know. This is an old rehash of an old rehash. It is for sure.

We are just creatures that need others. That I know for sure. We spend 9 months inside our mothers growing. A definite bond. Then we spend the next 18 or so years being under our parents' eyes. If we have siblings, like I did, it is even worse. I don't know how to live alone. I shared a small bedroom for most of my life with my brother and my sister. There were 3 of us sharing 2 bunk beds. My brother had the top bunk and my sister had the bottom bunk and I switched. Hell I have a hard time even sleeping alone. I have always been the one in a living situation that shares a room with someone. Am I co-dependent? Not really, but I understand that need for human bonding, that connection, and that fear of loneliness.

I'm 30 now. I know I still have my whole life ahead of me. I'm not rushing to get married or anything, but for the first time in my life I actually thought about it. Not in a I want to ask her to marry me kind of way but in a thinking about settling down kind of way. About having kids. About sharing a lifetime together with someone. It blew my mind. Still does. These thought still have repercussions even though I am not with this girl anymore. I'm growing up and it scares the hell out of me. I have this odd desire to be something. I used to just want to be something great. Now I just want to be something. I'm lost and confused.

This breakup threw me for a loop. You are never ready for an unexpected break up. Never. It was unexpected. I'm figuring out my lesson in all of it though. It has given me the opportunity to grow up a bit, like I said. Now granted, the relationship itself had already done that, but I didn't think the thought would stick when she broke it off with me. But it has. She made me want to better myself. Be a better person. And I still feel that way. I want to be something. A better something. I kind of want to be a father. Kind of. It still scares the hell out of me. I want to do more with who I am. I want to be more of a pagan. I can do that now. I want to love my craft more. I can do that now. My new improv team Damaged Goods is already giving me that ability to do so.

In a way, as much as I already do this, I want to love more. I want to be a compassionate individual. I want to love those that hate me. I want to be like Buddha and see suffering for what it is. I'm on a path. A new spiritual path. My paganism has always been touched by Buddhism but right now it lights the way. This pagan path that involves magick, nature, divinity, and the gods, now involves a sense of meditation and self reflection. I have been looking inward more often discovering truths about me, my life, and others. I am going to see the Dalai Lama on my birthday, May 14th, in Indianapolis. I wanted my ex to go with me and still do, but I don't know if she would go. But she inspired me towards this path that has been opened to me and we both share a great love for the Dalai Lama. But like I said, who knows. I will take who the universe feels should go.

As I traverse this mindful journey into the spiritual unknown, I shudder. I'm not looking ahead. I am seeing these present moments as gems. Taking them for they are worth and not taking them for granted. I will journey on.

Accidental Meditation

A walk onward. I took a walk the other night, contemplating life and the mysteries therefore present in it. How far can one walk? How far can the mind stretch its wings in deep thought. Quite awhile actually. I walked for a good 3 1/2 hours. Nature had its way with me.

I was cold. I was tired. I was out of breath. Worst of all, I was lost. Not physically, I was on the right track towards ye olde homestead, but I was lost in cogitation. My mind had slipped into a sort of meditation. I was thinking hard. Pondering the universe too deeply. I became overwhelmed with an emotional fervor. Caught up like a wind by my own inclinations. Copious amounts of images pervaded my third eye. Images of beauty, of the past, of love lost, of spiritual icons, of emotional letdowns both self inflicted and those caused by others, of the future, of pain and suffering, of joys and sorrows, and so on.

Like a super computer I began processing all of this information and insight. Some of it caused me great pain. Reflections of the past can bite you. Some of it caused me joy. Hope for the future can be reassuring. Some of it caused me enlightenment. Remarkable acumen into the present can open doorways into the soul. Almost rip them off of their hinges to show you an ostentatious view inside.

I was given a ticket to leave my mind and enter my soul for just a glimpse. What I found was profound and bewitching. I found me there. Me. All this time. Looking for answers and what I found was me. This me that I found wasn't me though. He was something greater and more alive. He was intriguing and full of magick. He was thoughtful and edifying. He was me. This idea of me I strive to become. I saw it. I felt it.

I awoke and found myself sitting on a tree stump with no recollection of how I got there nor any remembrance of stopping to sit. I found a gentle release from this unintentional walking meditation and took a moment to check in with my body. I was out of breath. My heart was beating double time. I also realized I hadn't moved very far from my last waking moment. I was physically beaten by a meditation. Like I had been on some crazy narcotic, though I had not. As I caught my breath I looked upward to the stars and spoke to my Lady Branwen. We spoke of my recent loss of love and the confusion and pain that accompanied it. The lack of communication and understanding seems to have caused me to cerebrate deeper than usual. Looked as if there was a tendency to become lost in thought. Surprise.

So many instances have caused me to be strong and walk with a broader step. This however, this loss of her, has crippled me somewhat. I can still walk. I just was thrown off guard, taken aback a bit. The unexpected and confusing have a way of doing that. The separation anxiety had a bit to do with it too. Loss is hard, especially when your grip was tight.

I asked her, Lady Branwen, my goddess and spirit guide, the reason for the unintentional meditation. As I sat back waiting for the realization to become clear, I saw her. The one who left me. I saw her at her desk. Her hand was on her head and she was thinking, very hard. She took in a deep breath, shook off whatever it was that just invaded her thoughts and then just continued on. That was it. That was all I got. I thought about it for a moment and picked myself up off of the stump and wandered home. As I walked through the snow and under the stars and thought about her, I thought about me, and I thought about the ideal me I saw earlier. Who am I to become? What am I to do with these gifts I have been given? How will she turn out? What greatness will she be inspired with? Will these two paths cross again? Will the ideal me meet the ideal her? Will another lifetime pass before we meet correctly? Where is my life heading right now? Spiritually? I see the bright doors of the enlightened opening to me. I feel close. I just have to remind myself that suffering is a part of living, accept it and breathe.

I entered my home, removing my cold and wet shoes and socks. Shedding my coat and scarf. I made a cup of herbal tea to warm my body and my soul. As I drank my tea I thought of my experience one more time, more contemplative than usual. I smiled. The gods have blessed me with all of this. I am a part of something great. I finished the tea and wormed my way into bed and in the dark and I sent a thank you to Lady Branwen. I also gathered as much love and healing energy as I could and sent it to her, the one who left me. In whatever way it can help I pray to the gods that it does. I drifted easily into sleep. Into a world of dreams and fantasies. I was for a moment, at peace.