I remember a scene in a movie. The movie is from when I was a kid and the story itself is not important enough to mention. Plus, a little piece of me is shaking my head because of a silly movie, which I remember all too well.
In any case, people had to pass through the gates to meet the Southern Oracle. My memory of this is a little hazy but one of the gates was a mirror that reflected your true self. Most people faced this gate and ran away screaming from what they saw. Maybe this part of the movie was more real than I thought.
Mirrors do have a way of reflecting things that we’d rather not see.
Me, Being the Protector
I see myself in this dream. As a matter of fact, there are many dreams like this, which come in similar variations. It is cold but I am not affected. I can tell the dream takes place in wintertime. The sky is gray and the trees are empty of their leaves. I am in my hometown again. I am walking around the pond at Eisenhower Park. I am dressed in a gray sweat suit with white sneakers, which is odd to me because I have never worn nor owned a sweat suit that looks like this. The ducks and the geese are gone. The water is dark and the cement around the pond is somehow dim; as if the entire view of everything around me is slightly gray-washed or nearly black and white.
Continue readingJust Remember: Life Happens to Everyone
There was a night that I recall. It was nothing special, at least not for any reason other than it was a nighttime in my young life. I was about to find myself at the spot where I traded my money for a few bags of self-destruction. Or wait, no. Maybe it’s more accurate to call the bags a form of self-distortion. It was true what they say, “The first hit is always free.” This is how they keep you coming back.
Continue readingWrite On
I have come to the understanding that each life comes with an inherent truth. But what is truth? Or better yet, what is my truth? Or, should I ask, what is ours?
(Does anybody know?)
I have found that honesty can sting. Even at times when honesty is only pure, like the beauty of an old couple at a lake, looking across the surface to watch the ducks swim past before the sun goes down. The sky is on the verge of change and the color blue is about to switch to a pre-autumn sunset. Orange, I think. Yes, with shades of a purple hue to lace the clouds. And oh, the face of the lake is like a mirror to the sky. It’s perfect and true; yet, endearing enough to bring a tear to the eye.
It’s Wake-Up Time
It’s okay.
There’s something about these words.
And there’s something to it. To be, “Okay.”
What a concept, right?
Just to Write . . .
I have a box of memories. I have it somewhere, probably buried amongst other boxes, stored away someplace, but not forgotten. I have pictures and old letters. I have postcards that I sent home from when I was in sleepaway camp.
One of those postcards is as simple as ever. “Dear Mom, send food!” and that’s all.
There are greeting cards that I sent when my Mother first moved to Florida. I believe I sent weekly cards for a while. She kept all of them.
I know this because I found them when I packed Mom’s things before we moved her to assisted living. This is life though. Ups and downs, the good and the bad. And so is this box: it’s life.
Inside the Thought Machine: Page 25 (The Last One)
Did I ever tell you about the time my Father swam in the Senior Olympics?
No?
He competed in a few different races. I’m pretty sure he competed in the freestyle, backstroke, and breaststroke but not the butterfly. He said he loved to swim the butterfly stroke but his breathing wasn’t right for competition.
The Old Man slimmed down and practiced. He trained hard. But more, this was something The Old Man did to prevent from feeling old.
Inside the Thought Machine: Page 24
In recent pages, I have discussed a popular explanation of depression, which is living or thinking irrationally in the past and anxiety is living or thinking the same way in the future. The question then becomes where is the peace. The answer is here and now. However, our reaches into the past or projections into the future have also created certain errors.
As for now, we are a mass of different circuits and patterns. We are records of our past. We are lessons from our experiences. We are also the product of our environment. We can say things like, “My parents used to do that to me,” and then we would swear that we would never do the same thing to our kids.
Inside the Thought Machine: Page 23
There is a common theme with this book. The theme is the same as it is with all of my books, which is that first, there needs to be a truth of self and self-discovery. Secondly, and especially when discussing personal or transformational change, improvement or calculating the thought machine, we bring our understanding back to us. We keep this person centered to adjust our thoughts appropriately to fit our needs and personal understanding.
Continue readingInside the Thought Machine: Page 22
It was autumn and the weather changed. The leaves switched from green to yellow and orange and the winds moved from warm to cool. The mornings showed frost on the grass and above all things, it was football season.
The ground was hard and the toes were cold. I was small and played in what was called the pee wee league. My helmet was bigger than my shoulders and my pads were too big as well.
I was no stranger to sports because sports was an important topic in my home. My Father was a coach. He was an athlete when he was younger. My brother was well-known in town for his time on the football field.
The Written Addiction 