Night Time

Night time is the roughest part,
This pain inside, it always starts,
The Day's successes drift away,
Setting with the Sun, ending the day,

Darkness falls upon my heart,
Amplifying the agony it feels:
Sitting alone, sapping my will,
I form it into expressive art,

Emotions gnaw on my soul,
They feed, they crave, they wish me not-whole,
But whole I am, as you can see,
For trapped on this page, now they be,

They flow from inside, a powerful force,
I wave goodbye, hoping for relief, a divorce,
I give  them wings to fly away,
Banishing them before the day.

I am a tree

I am a tree,
this is me,

Strong Winds and lighting only prune me!

Ice and Snow only show me my strength!

I bend defiantly against the tornadoes!

I grow towards the scorching, withering sun!

I laugh in the torrential rains!

I sing as all life dies around me!

I invite my enemies to try to subdue me,

There is nothing you, LIFE, can send me that I can not/ have not mastered!

To stop me, LIFE, you must cheat by taking my life away!

I am a tree,
THIS is me!

Fathoming the cost of Trailblazing.

The cost is that sometimes one finds oneself running into obstacles that stand in one's way like a dense North Carolina forest, a solid wall of green with more than its fair share of stinging, biting insects, poison oak, and thorny vines; a dense wall that looks impenetrable. If anyone had ever come this way all trace is gone now. I pay the cost of the forest and make it easier for everyone that comes after me. I brandish my machete, the bug spray, and all the other trappings of trailblazing. Momentum is sometimes my only ally as I blaze. I lean into the dense, dark mystery of life, of what lies ahead, and dare it to stop me, because i am more than the sum of my parts, I have a will that compels me ahead to my destiny, to my dreams.  

There are times when I envy those that get to follow the path of another, a parent, an older sibling, a close friend, a spouse, but for me...no one steps up fast enough, no human knows my destiny, so how can they? Others have attempted to lead me down different paths, but those paths didn't lead where I needed to go. The same old paths hold no sway with me. I make the freshly hewn paths of today, instead of the well traveled roads of yesterday. 

I rest for a moment now, I pause to size up the obstacles ahead. My eyes measure and calculate the cost, as I refresh myself. I watch the wall like a commander measures an oncoming horde of barbarians. I have a plan. I take inventory of my assets and liabilities and decide to push ahead, trusting my instincts: We will be okay, time to keep blazing.

Some Parents

The inadequacies of family...follow
The tendencies of incongruity...make hollow;

The diversity of curiosity...not chosen,
The prosperity of identity...broken;

The felicity of utility...avoid,
The ingenuity of bellicosity...causes noise;

The intensity of frivolity...beckons,
The hostility of love...reckons,

The possibility of animosity...calls,
The ferocity of anonymity...falls;

Our parents follow closely behind us,

They invade our lives, hidden in our actions, our words,
They haunt us, from deep inside ourselves,
They marry with us, they merry with us,
They work with us, they strive against us,
Though they live distant, they are present;

We cannot parse them from us,
No matter how stubbornly we try,
Still, little by little,
Bit by bit,
We learn not to be them,
their clothes don't fit,
Theirs can't be our problems, and they never have been.
Mistakes show us, we are not!
We can never be them, we cannot fix their problems,
We can't solve their sins.

We must make our own way,
In our world, in our life,
There is enough to contend with,
Without their strife.
 

Advocacy for Veterans

                I have begun advocating for veterans every day of my life.  I am not sure when it happened, but now in many conversations I find myself explaining them: their advantages, their disadvantages, their issues, and their resilience.  I find irony in the audience to whom I am constantly educating and explaining.  Civilians cannot grasp veterans, too many differences divide us.  Two distinctly different paths lead us ever away from each other.  The audience with whom I advocate for veterans with is veterans themselves. 

Due to the training we receive, through social learning and operant conditioning, we are able to face a reality of civilized society that most civilians will never be able to stand:  Killing; government sanctioned, righteous killing for the U.S.A.  We are forever changed in many ways by this training, and mostly by killing, and by being vigilant to kill our government’s enemies.  

You see?  Veterans must be convinced that they are not just okay, but that they are a cut above.  They struggle with killing and with death because these are hard realities they have faced, not because there is something intrinsically wrong with them. 

"For those who fought for it, freedom has a taste the protected will never know." 
-- Willie "Bo" Nelson, Mancelona, MI

This semester I have completed two excellent books which have forever changed my perceptions of veterans and thereby…myself:  On Killing and On Combat by Dave Grossman.  These have unlocked an understanding that I believe essential for anyone wishing to counsel veterans.   The new information I have gleaned from these books has allowed me to accept a large part of myself. 

Now with this knowledge I speak to the questions and concerns of my fellow veterans. I assuage their fears and confusion by speaking intelligently to their deepest self with a message: These feelings and fears you now have are understandable, explainable, and more importantly shareable. 

                I looked around about a week ago and realized that I was ministering to quite a few different veterans throughout my week days on campus, speaking life, hope, and information into their disquieted hearts.  I didn’t set out to take these actions, but I, now, hear the hurt between their words, and I have information bursting out of me to aid them.

                For example, one of my friends from the Veteran’s Group Therapy group shared that something must be wrong with him, because he killed people in Iraq and didn’t feel anything, he felt normal.  Dave Grossman specifically addresses this feeling which my friend felt.  So, I delivered Mr. Grossman’s response: (paraphrasing) In light of the social learning and operant conditioning you were trained with, this is a normal response.

We are taught to shoot and kill without thinking about it, if ordered by our leadership and if the ROE’s (Rules of Engagement) are met.  My friend shot and killed under the right conditions, for the right reasons, without emotion, because that was how he was trained, not because something was wrong with him.  Since delivering quite a few of these messages to him from Dave Grossman, we became fast friends.  Every time we meet and talk, he shares more, and I am more than happy to explain from my newly established knowledge and ease his internal strife and suffering a little more.  I do direct him to these book quite often, and sometimes only answer his concerns and questions with a location in either of these books that could help him understand.  He is, after all, the person who suggested the first book to me, in the first place.

References

Grossman, D., & Christensen, L. W. (2008). On combat: The psychology and physiology of deadly conflict in war and in peace. Millstadt, IL: Warrior Science Pub.

Grossman, D. (1995). On killing: The psychological cost of learning to kill in war and society. Boston: Little, Brown. 

Physical Therapy

The nodding, grinning face of pain,

Approaches me,

I smile back with no restraint,

Accepting thee;

Bending, stretching, twisting, scraping,

Ancient tortures await,

Becoming, embracing, facing, erasing,

Making crooked, straight;

Gritted teeth make my smile,

Laughing away the agony,

Deep breaths are required,

Walking through unfathomable, nebulous, change;

I treasure this deep, priceless pain,

I run to it, embrace it, and welcome it in,

Knowing that doing so protects me,

From the debilitation of low exercise.

Transitioning from Religious to spiritual

First off, I was sick this last weekend.  I am feeling better and catching up with my work.

I believe most of us take 'the long way around' on our spiritual journey.  My journey has been no different.  Religion became everything to me from a very early age.  Let me define 'everything':  My emotional outlet, my fun, my friends, my guilt, my shame, my beliefs, my hope, my future, and my food: my world.  This reality is still unclear to me, so let me explain further.  

I don't know what my parents did with the money my father made, but it didn't trickle down to us.  I started working at 15 so I could have clothes, enough food, and fun.  Before 15, we children, literally received the scraps in the 'everything' category listed above.  Church became an alternate source of all these things, and thereby Religion as well.  I was at church every time the doors were open, my parents insisted, but I would have insisted if they didn't, because it was where all my needs were met.

Religion became 'everything' to me, and church was the source of this Religion.  Effectively, the church became my parents in many regards.  I was hungry for knowledge, for growth, for love, and for food.  Church isn't every day, so I found myself becoming two different people, Aaron, the pious (righteous), and Aaron, the normal (bad).  So, in affect I was the epitome of incongruence.  Aaron, the pious, was acceptable everywhere he went, Aaron, the normal, was sinful and guilty every time he appeared.  I couldn't grasp the differences at that age, so I shunned the normal side of myself, and shone the pious part.

Fast forward from 15 to 30 years of age.  I was going through my first divorce, the church, shunned both sides of me, and the Religion I believed in with all of myself made no exceptions for me.  This intense deep pain, this rejection finally allowed me to see these two parts of myself, and they became allies.  When all of me became unacceptable then I awoke to find that all of me was good, and the religion and the church was unacceptable.  I began to accept all parts of myself.  This was the first time in my life that I loved myself completely.  I literally, fell in love with myself.  I gave myself grace for my mistakes, gave myself understanding for my sex drive, gave myself 'everything' that I thought I needed from everyone else.  While, this one moment was somewhat culminating, it was also only the beginning of a spiritual journey to discover myself.  

I can recognize that there were many boons i received from this attachment to Religion and Church.  I studied the Bible fervently, down the languages and contexts of the passages.  The principles behind the words on the page have stuck with me.  Understanding King James English has helped me in my understanding of today's English language, so I have fun with it, my latest discovery is the word meteorology:  the study of meteors!  I have a clear sensitivity to manipulation in words people use, mostly on themselves, but sometimes people try to manipulate me, and I take a step back, recognize the 'dirty fighting tactic' and walk on.

Once I started loving myself, I was forever changed.  Imagine a world where discovery and curiosity are the driving forces.  Imagine a world where all the parts of oneself are working together, instead of fighting amongst themselves.  While it sounds perfect, there are good days and bad days.  The rain still falls, the sun still shines, and I still make what I used to call 'mistakes', now I call them discoveries!

Some of the parts of me.

I am pondering my plight as a transitioning Marine.  I am parsing through the myriad identities I have cultivated as if picking a team of 5 from 100 people.  Rewarding as it is tedious.  There are so many parts of me which are so useful and yet so unacceptable.

I have been weighing the sacrifices I have made for the people of this country.   These sacrifices can be mostly measured in the broken hearts of my children, and the broken marriages in my wake.  I reel and revel at measuring something so honorable, with people so broken.

Every identity in me wants to be seen, seeks to be known, longs to be understood and counted among the visible parts of 'me'.  This world needs all of these parts of me, but wants no part.  So I pick each by hand, to cultivate a 'college-friendly' me.

Which me-s do you see?  Why, you get to see the very best of me, the me-s that I mostly want you to see.   People generally like the quick-witted humorous me, who brings tough subjects and emotions down a few notches with a well-timed joke.  People like the helpful me, the me that might just die so that they could live.  People don't realize that they like the cool-headed me, that can think and move through in an emergency.  People need, but don't quite get the confident me, who is not daunted by taking internal or external problems head on.  People misunderstand the genuine me, because I seek to understand my deepest thinking with curiosity.  People like but don't trust the generous me, who shares out of a limitless fount of self love and concern.

The child

The child peeks,

The child dances,

The child throws some furtive glances,

Why hide,

When, inside, all the answers lie?

Why be shy,

When we all journey a lifetime outside?

Why not shine,

When you live every day, with your eyes wide?

Life Fluid

The emotions come,

They pulse through me,

Flowing from heart to paper,

Thought transforms to words,

The media doesn't matter,

It can't molest the method;

Passion pushes through perfectly,

Agony, angst, annoyance, adulation, all:

Phase like water into steam,

Dropping all dross.

Longing is not lost,

Nor lamentation, yea, all:

Equally egress as escaping egrets to words;

As a snapshot saves a picture,

So, poetry captures a moment of full Life,

Storing humanity, somehow,

In letters, held together,

With strategic spaces;

Painting into poetry:

A smile,

A love so deep,

A death-longing agony,

A life set ablaze by romance,

A loss so great words fail to hold in the pain.

Poetry is an art capable of circumspect life for those willing to listen.

My purpose statement

Transitions

Game-changing, 

genre-bending, 

gut-wrenching, 

nuts-driving, 

pain-bringing; 

Sometimes acknowledged and most times unknown, undercurrents of life.

Condensed lessons that life is life; it isn't fair, nor consistently any other flavor.

Blinking warning lights on the dashboards of our lives'.

Reminders that change is life, growth is life, death stands counter posed.

Life's happiest moments come after.

Transitions: Life

Words or not?

We use words to define our reality.  We use words to express our feelings.  Words communicate 'us'.  The words we choose; communicate more about us than just the message we are intent on sending.  

For instance take the word "fat"; this is an emotionally laden word in our culture. It is loaded up with many negative implied messages.

I have been listening to my words very intently as of late, listening for messages from my subconscious.  These messages might be for me, or for someone who is listening, or for anyone that would listen.

I have been gaining a deep respect for my subconscious self.  It has been spot on with many instincts lately, so I would like to listen to it more.  

So far in my 40 years only one person is better at listening to my subconscious than me: my soulmate.  She has an uncanny knack for it, in fact, I have dissassembled my words and phrases to see where she received the information from, only to find secret messages in and between my words!

It feels like talking to an ancient person when I communicate with my subconscious.  He is not the 'dirty old man' I was always taught to believe; but a better truer me.  I really like my subconscious, he is such a bright and insightful guy!!  So much of who I consider myself to be; flows from this hidden part of me.

The path that isn't taken

There is one way to go,
you can't see it,
It exists to be trod,
lean into it anyway,

Push through the bushes,
through the trees,
The mud won't stop you,
nor the rivers, lakes, mountains,

Traversing distance,
Transitioning daily,
Truly determined,
Taking damage;

You will find it between your stride,
when your mind wanders on the breaks,

You will notice it in your peripheral vision,
Conversations will form and grow,
Paradigms will appear and shift,

Then your eyes will open,
Then you will see...yourself.

Weekly Agony

Wracking pain in every joint,
Chills shake my heat out in waves,
Heart smacks against my ribs,
Breath escapes through clenched teeth;

My stomach flips: growling, then angry.
Neck groans at a head that aches,
Abs radiate a moan to my mouth,
Eyes burn and tear, as if a sadness has destroyed me.

Damn the medicine that brings this pain,
Pain once again my ally,
Pain takes days from me, tearing them away,
Yet yielding years in return.

Here is my curse, measure it,
Here is my pain, feel it,
Here are my blessings, allow them to effervesce around you.
Allow them to embrace you, for they are me.

I am my pain, my curse, but it lets me be your blessing.

The road less traveled

Ahhh, the quiet, shady road less traveled.  Whenever a comparison word is used a comparison should probably be used so here is a road 'more' traveled:

The sidewalk implies "walk here", Whereas the dirt road implies "this way has been walked."  The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost is a source for these thoughts.  The 'road less traveled' concept sings to my trailblazing heart.  

Unchanged country is hard to find in today's world, unless one seeks this inside themselves.

For the better part of my life, I cursed this invisible trail.  I tried walking the paths others did, none of them kept my interest long.  I shuffled and kicked the rocks on this trail, drudging along alone.  The loneliness was a mantle that I felt burdened to wear.  People would walk with me for a little bit, but no one lingered.

Religion didn't ever offer companionship, all the rules led to more isolation because of guilt.  I was convinced that something was different/wrong about me.  I was at least half right.  

I came to a crossroads, and chose to continue on my own path, blazing a trail.  Then I realized that I was made for this trail.  Yes, I was different, my path was my own, but that I didn't have to walk it alone.  I thought I was only one person incapable of only loving others.

Imagine my surprise when I realized that the person I was missing was myself.  I am finding that no one else can understand my path.  Even my soul mate has a different path, that runs parallel some times.  

I have found ways to translate my personal thoughts into words and actions that most other can understand.  They didn't blaze this trail, most people don't blaze any trail they follow mindlessly behind others.  

This road less traveled continues to lead to a deeper understanding of myself.  As one person understands another better by continued interaction, so this trail teaches me about who I really am.  

I would enjoy your company on this path, but it is not for the faint of heart, or those whose chief concern is safety.  You will get to see some stuff you have never dreamed of.  Maybe what you see will help you push through a rough spot in your own trail,  chances are good that you will see things that I could never dream of.

It could be that you feel trapped, lonely, doomed. Look at your crossroads, choose your way, push forward, find a little bit more about your unique path.  There isn't a wrong way, as long as you lean into it.

The Bones of Memory

Gazing out the window,
   at the bleary world;
Cold, icy precipitation
   filtering the light;

Ponder fleeting memories,
  wrestle the bones:
Detail, fact, and feeling,
   on the oldest, scarcely remain.

Kindred are the bones,
   of a lost civilization,
left by holocaust,
   jutting accusing fingers at the sky;

A holocaust of the mind,
   missing essential flesh
from the bones of memory,
   on this devastated plain.

Indispensable bones, though, hold rightful their place,
   pinioning heart, mind, and action,
requisite priorities held in place,
   this varied world of thought comprised of
      some chaos,
      some extinction, and yet...
      exquisite growth!

Evidently there ARE limits

I guess there are limits to how much one can grow and change. I feel overwhelmed, stretched, weary, and beaten. I set out with hope and confidence two weeks ago that I could set some goals in regards to getting ready

Is Blood thicker than water?

Medical science says "yes". Blood is made up of all kinds of substances: Red blood cells, platelets, white blood cells, plasma, and water.

The colloquial cliche (blood is thicker than water) doesn't seem to ring as true for me, at least not all the time. The cliche: "we hurt those we love the most" seems to be a better fit in many of my life experiences.

Extended family (blood) seems to try to take advantage of each other at every opportunity. I wish I could say that I had only seen this in my family, but in many families, the older prey on the younger, and the stronger family member preys on the weaker, and the concept of family is destroyed by a kind of Civil War.

Many of us wander like wounded weary civil war veterans, searching for peace, trying to find the family we were so proud of in our youth. All that remains of that pretty picture is shattered fragments of an illusion which we once thought was real. We were young and we didn't look too deep into things.

I managed to get far enough away, so as not to be percieved as a threat, so I am able to maintain a shaky, tentative peace with my parents. They call if someone dies, but otherwise they are the North and I am the South, except in my history I rebelled, broke away and became my own country. I wanted to live life differently than their religious zeal would allow. So, I live as a pariah from my parents. They only tolerate me to be able spend time with my daughter, which grates on me.

Perhaps blood is thicker than water overall, even if it doesn't seem to be to them. I keep trying. I keep hoping. I keep allowing communication with the grandkids. So, at least to me blood is thicker than water.

I was raised to be smart, religious, legalistic, and judgemental. I am gracious, accepting, moderate, and intelligent. Obviously, what was done turned out decent.

I guess they are standing by the window waiting for the prodigal to come home, the same way I am. Waiting is my last resort, whereas it seems to be their only option.

Back to the original question: In regards to our children, this statement does ring true. The more I try to be a 'father' to my step daughter the more I become the typical step father- aloof, firm, and insensitive. Whereas with my 'birth children' a balance of firm and fair seems to come naturally most of the time.

I am realizing that the only way to achieve balance with my step-daughter is through the guidance of my soul mate which is her 'birth-mother'.

Blended family life has many lessons to teach. That "blood is thicker than water" is only one of them.

My parents treat complete strangers better than they treat me for some reason. I am not upset or offended at this truth, just curious and confused. I look at my children and wonder at what point I will consider "cutting my losses" and pulling out my investment in their life. If they do illegal drugs? If they get drunk? If they murder someone? If they get a DUI? If they steal money from me? I do see that these actions might require some different boundaries be set.

Hopefully never, hopefully I never see my time to help them in life has come to an end. Yet, I haven't done these things and my parents have gone silent. This is why I say I am curious.

Is blood thicker than water?

Medical science says "yes". Blood is made up of all kinds of substances: Red blood cells, platelets, white blood cells, plasma, and water.

The colloquial cliche (blood is thicker than water) doesn't seem to ring as true for me, at least not all the time. The cliche: "we hurt those we love the most" seems to be a better fit in many of my life experiences.

Extended family (blood) seems to try to take advantage of each other at every opportunity. I wish I could say that I had only seen this in my family, but in many families, the older prey on the younger, and the stronger family member preys on the weaker, and the concept of family is destroyed by a kind of Civil War.

Many of us wander like wounded weary civil war veterans, searching for peace, trying to find the family we were so proud of in our youth. All that remains of that pretty picture is shattered fragments of an illusion which we once thought was real. We were young and we didn't look too deep into things.

I managed to get far enough away, so as not to be percieved as a threat, so I am able to maintain a shaky, tentative peace with my parents. They call if someone dies, but otherwise they are the North and I am the South, except in my history I rebelled, broke away and became my own country. I wanted to live life differently than their religious zeal would allow. So, I live as a pariah from my parents. They only tolerate me to be able spend time with my daughter, which grates on me.

Perhaps blood is thicker than water overall, even if it doesn't seem to be to them. I keep trying. I keep hoping. I keep allowing communication with the grandkids. So, at least to me blood is thicker than water.

I was raised to be smart, religious, legalistic, and judgemental. I am gracious, accepting, moderate, and intelligent. Obviously, what was done turned out decent.

I guess they are standing by the window waiting for the prodigal to come home, the same way I am,