HAPPY MOOSEDAY TO ME-E-E-E-E

Thirty-seven years old today. Feeling pretty good about it, too.

To continue with a recent birthday tradition, here is what I have learned in the last three hundred sixty-five days of continuous living:

1. I am responsible for my own happiness, just as I am responsible for own misery. There is no one to blame and there is nothing to forgive in regards to my past. It is all about today and today it is my choice: do I want to be happy, joyous, and free? or do I want to be miserable, discontented, and a slave to my own negativity? I don't need anyone's permission or approval to answer that question. It's completely up to me.

2. I am revising my definition of "cool" (and I'll probably ditch the entire concept as a whole before too long). My old definition of cool was superficial in that it was all about surface appearances - how you look, how you dress, how you talk, where you live, what kind of music/movies/books you like, etc. I have met some very cool people recently and they are not fashionable, hip, or alternative. They are varied in their appearances and interests, and neither of those things define them. What makes them cool is they are self-aware, at peace, and interested in growth and experience. They don't pose, they don't try to look good, and they honestly don't care what I think of them. They are not cool, they are inspiring. That is waaaaay more important to me.

3. Animals can help us heal! I used to laugh at the idea of "therapy dogs", until I saw one happy little dog help a suffering woman more in one afternoon than two years of drugs and therapy. Emotional connection is the key to our mental and physical health. Drugs help sometimes but are not THE solution, they are only part of the solution.

Well, that's all I've got. It's hasn't been a great year, but it's been an important year and I have no regrets. I'm learning a lot, I'm feeling better than ever, and I'm happy today. What more can I ask for?

(Okay, I can ask for more books, as usual...)

In the Sense of, What Do You Want?

What do you want?

In what sense?

In the sense of, what do you want?

You're talking about goals?

If you'd like.

I want to be a bridge of words.

Excellent. What else?

I want to see the beauty of everything as it is. Just as it is.

Yes. Keep going.

I want to be well fed and well read.
I want to be a poem.
I want to see the sunlight through the trees
and hear the laughter of the leaves.
I want to feel the chilling caress of the ocean on my face.
I want to run until my legs are cold fire.
I want to be spoken of in dreams
and remembered with knowing smiles.
I want my words whispered in bed.
I want the world in my skull and the world outside my skull
to slam together in a high speed smash collision
and show the scientists the instant of creation.
I want the magic in the rocks and the song in the waves.
I want the quiet roar of life in my heart.
I want to live each day like it's my first
and discover the world when I open my eyes.

You want to live.

I want to be.

Line 217 Through Bear Country

Rising up off the pavement,
climbing his way onto the bus;
recently hibernating in an alley.

Curling into the seat
in front of me;
mumbling into his fur (growl).

And me downwind
sniffing for bearings
and a proper response,

a scent on the air:
dirt, coffee,
smoke and salted crust,
booze, rusty dreams.

It is the smell of a man
gone wrong.

Gray plaster flecked
in tatters across his forearms;
work dried up.

But now my thoughts have invaded his head
and -cursing me, my kind, and the Cosmos-
he moves to the back of the bus.

"Damn tourists and poachers, hrrrmmm,
whyowncha watch it
and step lightly for a change."

My eyes settle down
on the rolling street
and the night so full
of threats and laughter.

Cobbled Together From Wire and String

Hi!

Let's see, who am I? Who am I? Hmmm. Okay, I'm a kind man. Except when I'm not. I'm a warm and caring man...except when I'm not. I believe in compassion and easing the suffering of my fellows. Except I don't always do that.

Wow, this Self is hard. Let's see. I really hate when people do Yoda impressions. Especially late at night when I'm tired and just trying to wind down. I'm stretching and yawning and getting ready to end the day and then some jackass starts in with his Yoda voice and it just goes on and on. Then someone else has to chime in with their Yoda voice and the two of them start egging each other on. Then I have to go to my room and shut the door and drown them out with my headphones.

What else have I got? I really like it when people smile at each other. Especially on the bus where everyone seems to wear a blank frown as their default facial expression. Then some abuela gets on the bus and smiles kindly at everyone and a feeling of warm sunshine spreads down the crowded aisles and we all wake up and take notice, like, "Hey - we're all human beings right now!" Or maybe we just all love a smiling abuela.

Building a viable Self is an act of faith and creative writing. I am currently building one with some driftwood I found at the beach, a couple of old notebooks, a pound of coffee beans, a bottle of ink, the Tao, and lots of pipe cleaners, tackling wire, duct tape, and action straps. It's not pretty, but it's mine.

Call It Innocence

Do you remember when a kiss
was the entire world?
The heat of shared breath,
the intoxication of an earlobe
and the fine hair on the slope of a neck;
a whispered scent so other and so right.
We knew the joyous inability
to register the reactions of strangers,
a sweet rebellion of two.
It wasn't indulgence
because we didn't know deprivation.
We claimed the right of sunshine on the face
and the rule of abundance without time.

Or at least until curfew.

Dialogue of Two Old Guys Watching Spiderman 2 While Waiting For the Game to Start

OLD GUY 1: Whoa. That sure is some strong web. He stopped a train with that stuff.
OLD GUY2: Wonder where he bought those hand shooter things.
OG1: Store bought. He knows a place in Queens.
OG2: Yeah, probably a good deal. But they getcha on the refills. That's how they getcha.
OG1: Yeah, like toner.
OG2: Crooks.

*

OG1: Oh look, he ripped up his pretty little suit.
OG2: Musta been made in China.

*

OG1: That Doc Ock has gotta be an alkie. He's swaying like a wino.
OG2: Nah, look at him - violent, dirty trenchcoat, talking to his hands - definitely a meth-head or somethin'.
OG1: Love to see him doing eight different drugs at once.

*

OG1: Okay, now they got all the cliches on one train. The construction worker. The business guy. The pregnant woman.
OG2: Yeah and every single race is represented. All for Spidey's big moment.
OG1: I don't see any Puerto Ricans. This is New York and there's no Puerto Ricans?
OG2: The Puerto Ricans are the ones who stole his mask. They hopped off two stops back.

*


This has been another installment of Old Guy Theater! Thank you for joining us! Goodnight and "go blow it out your hole"!

The Rigors and Rewards of Pack Life

I am waking up again to life and starting to remember what it means to be a human being among human beings. Left to my own dubious devices, I isolate, I run away, I disappear. I stray from the herd, following some misfired instinct of self-preservation. And as we have learned from National Geographic specials, bad things happen to the pack animal who goes off on his own.

Don't worry, I didn't have some wild epiphany on the joys of conformity. No: what I am talking about is communitas. Human beings need each other, and despite what my head tells me, I am a human being. Living in a recovery house and interacting with my roommates reminds me that I need - and want - real human contact. I benefit from talking to other people, laughing with them, helping and being helped. I benefit from sitting in group therapy or meetings and letting myself be seen and known. I feel like the crazy dog Cesar Milan throws in with his emotionally balanced pack of dogs - the crazy dog calms down and learns how to be a dog again.

On a very real physiological level, we need each other: our nervous systems regulate and balance themselves when we are around other people. It's a fact, so you might as well accept it and return a smile or two. I know it's not always easy. I was raised on westerns, war movies, and detective fiction, so the idea of the lone wolf is still appealing. But the empirical evidence of my life has shown me that that is not who I am. I get strange without people, I get stuck in the attic in my head with all the dusty furniture and anachronistic machinery. Being the lone wolf almost got me killed. Q.E.D.

So I'll wake up tomorrow and try not to wake up my roommate while I get ready. I'll make a full pot of coffee so the guys down the hall can have some too. I'll speak up in group and find out how the others are doing. I'll listen and be present for them. I'll go see my friends and be "a friend among friends". I'll run with the pack and when I need to go off on my own, I'll leave in good cheer, because I know they'll be there when I get back.