Butterfly and I were talking once, discussing friendship in the truthful manner we once enjoyed.  She told me of a friend she had that she'd only met once in the several years she had known him.  She followed that up with something that's kept my mind busy since: "Still, I'd run into a burning building for him."  She then said she didn't feel she would do that for me.
 I have given a lot of thought to that statement since.  Would I run into a burning building for someone about whom I cared deeply?  I would.  That answer comes easily to me, as I value the lives and accomplishments of others a lot more than I do my own.  For instance, at the moment of her making the statement, I knew beyond any doubt that I would run into a burning building for Butterfly.  Just as I would for Michael or Van or Cupcake or a myriad of others, even those with whom I no longer talk.
 As I move through my life, there are people I have, figuratively speaking, crossed off that list.  All in all, though, I have added many more than I've removed, and I'm glad of that.
 Besides, who is afraid of a little fire?  Not I, I assure you.
 Stay cool...

~s~

Current Mood: contemplative

Okay, so now that I'm past most all of the hatred and self-loathing and disappointment, I am getting to the roots of my melancholy:
Friends.
I miss you all:
BUTTERFLY: I miss the way you used to smile at me. The way you used to call me on my bullshit and help me to readjust my perspective when I would say something self-deprecating or over-simplistic. The way I would feel when we touched, the pure, unadulterated energy that would pass between us that words could never explain. You taught me more than I ever thought I had to learn and caused me to question everything I thought I already knew. The gift of your time, your insight, your love are the greatest gifts anyone's ever given me. THANK YOU. 

MICK: You come through, Brother. You said it best to me in one of the emails you sent me last year before Fall PDF: Brothers in the Burn. You too, I will miss when PDF rolls around this year. To paraphrase something else you wrote to me: PDF wouldn't be the same without YOU. Believe it.
CARYN: You catually read my blog entires. You comment on them too. Though I've never really thanked you properly for the good words and feelings you've sent my way, I treasure them more than you probably realize. I tuly miss having the opportunity to get to know you better. You are genuine and I miss you.
TACO BOY: We never did see eye to eye on most things. But, you took me in when I needed it and you have this way of making light of things when it seems imminent that they'll get out of control. You also have this way of bringing people together, even if there may only be a few of us. I wish you the best, hope to see you soon, and I also hope you find your party. Enjoy that dandelion wine, my friend!
ZOMBIE DAN: You are understated in the coolest way. You gave me some of the music that lights my soul in dark times. I am grateful for getting to know you and I miss hanging with you a lot.
AMMRE: You give the best hugs. You are beauty incarnate and I feel exceptionally fortunate to have felt the warmth of your light. To this day, whenever I am cold, I am transported to lying by the dying burn barrel snuggling with you. Would that every cuddle could bring such warmth and peace and happiness. You hugged me and I felt love.
AMBER: You are Goddess. To this day, I cannot drink hot cocoa and be back at PDF, standing in the cold, huddling around my cup and enjoying the fellowship brought about by your generosity.
MAYRA: Girl, you don't so much hoop as the hoop gravitates around you. You always had a kind word for me and a genuine smile to back it up, and everywhere I have run into you, I've felt the peace you bring.
CUPCAKE: You are genuine. I really miss talking with you and knowing you. I'm sorry I missed you before you left at Fall PDF; I hope you understand. I miss your smile and your easy way. You were very easy to get to know and I will treasure our friendship always. You are never far from my mind and heart.
MICHAEL & VAN: You guys are the kindest and most gentle people I've ever known. I felt so comfortable at your house and always in your presence. You are to hoopy froods who always know where your towels are. Thank you for the adventures.
REiD: Never before have I met anyone so PRESENT. The energy that surrounds you is beyond my words to explain. I miss the Monster Truck Pulls, Bro! If and when I have the opportunity to make another one, there's no way I'll depend on Jersey Transit to get me there: I promise I'll be on time!
AMY & DANA: Despite my fucking up my ankle, I had an incredible time at your house. I miss you both terribly. From Amy's calm to Dana's barely contained, extroversion, you two are great friends. I appreciate all the generosity you've shown me and I would love to see you on the Playa. By the way, you two ruined me on chi tea: it hasn't tasted the same since I had yours. Heh.
DOUG: Bro, you will always be all right in my book. You took me into your home, gave me the code and inspired me to create my own art. You also showed me that loving sex in no way means one has to be a dick about it. Your hospitality, insight, generosity and art are unrivaled, and that says a lot. Keep giving us that prolific stuff! PORN & EGGS FOREVER!
TARIQ: You are my Brother. You too inspired me into artistic frenzy. I am writing again. I feel so fortunate to have gotten to know YOU. You were absolutely right, my Friend.
BRENDA: We may not talk much, but you are the real deal. I've never met anyone who gets to the point quite as quickly as you do. I value your friendship as well as your insight. Heal well and I hope to see you one day.
ARMADILLO: We didn't get a lot of time to get to know one another, but the kind and loving energy you give off is nigh addictive. I've never seen a woman in a bikini with a flamethrower that was anywhere near as sexy as you. You make me want to burn shit!
ROBIN: Insight, love and friendship. You helped to remind me what it's all about. You still calm me. You helped me define my Buddhist tenets. You are patient and generous and wonderful. Whenever you think you're alone, just look in your heart and you will find me there. By the way, I am still trying to find a way to forgive you for putting me in the place where I became addicted to cowboy cookies. As the monster once said: "Cookie cookie cookie..."

If I didn't list anyone here, you are not forgotten. I love each and every one of you and I truly wish I could think of a better way to express it than the few words I've typed out here. If I were still on or near the East Coast, I would love nothing more than to visit each one of you so I could hug you and tell you in person how much richer the world is for your being in it. You have all touched my life in profound ways and, as I am stuck here in AR (believe, there is no Burning Man presence here!!! None!), you are all in my heart and I daily and proudly wear the marks you've all left on my soul.

Peace, Love & Cowboy Cookies for All!!

Sean

Current Mood: hopeful

I have transcended the broken heart. Mine is malignant. A cancer of loss eats away at it from the center. It reeks of decay and where it is pink, it is the unhealthy pink of feverish distention. Those are mere symptoms, though, as the cause is even more insidious.
That which diseases my heart is loss; loss of friends, of lovers and love itself. God, that four-letter word: love. When one reads or hears a word or phrase or sees a picture and one is reminded of something else, it is called allusion. When I hear or read or think of the word love, the allusion my mind makes is loss, suffering and the purest agony. I feel my soul rend. I feel my heart turn cancerous as it begins the arduous, deliberate process of devouring itself.
Heartbroken? Not I. I am heart-blackened; blackened with self-loathing, with all-encompassing, pathetic self-hatred.
If you don’t get the idea, the full picture yet, let me paint it for you. Imagine this:
You are looking through some sort of looking glass, a microscope if you will. It is set to maximum magnification. At first look, you see horned and betoothed cells viciously attacking one another, biting and rending seemingly at random. Lessen the magnification a little, and the cells seem to merge into a black and gray putrid mass of squirming, seething, bile-like almost-flesh. It seems to be retching and yet unable to settle and heal. Pan back even more, yes, that’s it, way back. A little more… More… There, you’ve got it! The entire muscle, or what’s left of it, is now framed in your monocular vision. Had you a strong stomach, your steady gaze would bring you a vision of purest horror, far worse than anything Hooper or Raimi or Baker could conceive. The heart itself is nearly unrecognizable. It is four-fifths cancer, the blackness of the diseased center purposefully endeavoring to consume the rest. Instead of emptiness where the cancerous growth obviously began, you would see a thriving mass of anti-heart, of malignancy incarnate. It writhes and shudders, as its only purpose is the consumption. The outer edges are violently pink and red-hot with the fever of sickness. There is no doubt, as your horrified eyes comprehend the truth of what you see, that the rest of the heart bears no chance of salvation, of healing. The malignancy is too embedded, too extensive. There is no hope of separating the bad cells from the good: if the bad cells were to be cut away, the rest would collapse into uselessness, so much primordial sludge to taint the soul. There is nowhere for the malign cells to retreat.
Thus, you have a fair description of my state of being. Being hurts. I find hope excruciating. To me, memory is a wretched souvenir of my every failure to love and be loved. Happiness is so distant a phenomenon as to be considered fiction; I know I have been happy in the past, but it is now so long ago it may as well be the distant remembrance of someone else’s narrative.
I am a burden.
I am consumed with sorrow, saturated with hopelessness.
I am pathetic, unworthy of pity.
Were my truest wish granted at this moment, it would be for nonexistence. Dying would only bring me to another level of consciousness and the fear of this all-consuming malignancy transcending with me is too real and all too probable for me to risk it. Nonexistence is the only comfortable thought. Here one moment, never having existed the next.
And yet, such relief is not to be.
Do not feel sorry for this diseased traveler. No, don’t you dare! For, I have brought all this unto myself, all by myself. I blame no one but me and me alone. Only I am liable.

If you are happy, I entreaty you with every milligram of my existence to make the absolute most of your joy. Go into the world and gift your bliss to everyone you meet. Be that smile that changes moods. Be that energy that people find irresistible. Be love and happiness and bliss and comfort and enormous peace. I beg you. Please, from one who has lost everything and who has nothing but nothing to show for thirty-six-plus years of toil and adversity to another who, hopefully, finds all of this despair foreign, please embrace nirvana and run full-tilt into the light of being as if there is nothing to fear and less to loose.

~s~

I have been fascinated with the life of the monk for quite some time now.  I am not sure exactly when it began.  It could have been a few years ago when I first read Even Cowgirls Get the Blues by Tom Robbins.  It might have even been something as silly as adopting the Monk class when I used to play Neverwinter Nights.  (You're right, I am a geek at heart.)  Maybe, just maybe, it was watching "Kung Fu" every week and being held in awe of the Grasshopper.  Most likely it is all of those and more.  I digress...

I equate my journey as that of a monk, seeking to learn from everything I do and witness and partake.  A monk does not teach, nor does he follow.  Instead, a monk walks his own path, always aware of change and footing.  I learned some of that from Robbins' The Chink.  In the book, The Chink imparts some savory wisdom upon Sissy, telling her that one should never seek a preacher, priest, monk or shaman, but rather walk his own path, seeking his own enlightenment, his own answers.  The answers of one does not apply to another, as attractive as it may seem.  I subscribe to this belief as well.  I am my own monk, walking a path of my own choosing, making my very own mistakes.  I own my actions and the resulting repercussions.  I own my decisions and my flaws as well as my good qualities.  I even own the passion that drives me to overreact to my misunderstandings.  I own my ability to adapt and... change.

I am learning that the path of the monk is only comprehended as lonely, even though I must always walk alone.  I have met so many wonderful people in my journey, people worthy of novels and and songs.  So, no, I am not always alone, though grasshopper I may be.

~s~

Current Mood: thoughtful

I posted my last entry some two hours ago. I have calmed somewhat now. I have learned, being the passionate person I am, that I tend to let my passion override my good sense all to often. This time, it took a friend from as far back as grade school, someone with whom I did not even interact much, to show a very important lesson about giving into fear.

In short, she posted a comment on one of my other blogs, something that was sent to her, by a friend, in her time of need. Rather than post exactly what she sent me, I will paraphrase somewhat.

Essentially, the sentiment of that which my friend Mikki forwarded to me draws parallel between life and transition and that of swinging on a trapeze. The trapeze symbolizes the place I am before transition occurs. I swing to and fro, sometimes content, sometimes not, on my trapeze. Before me, I can see another trapeze swinging toward me, the place I am meant move on to. Between, there is open space, near-void. It is in this space I am meant to grow to prepare me for my next hand hold. This space is the actual journey where I am meant to learn the most about who I am, my strengths and weaknesses. It is of this space I was always taught to to be afraid. To be alone in the void is terrifying, unthinkable. (In retrospect, I feel I have nearly always lived in this space.)

The challenge is to release my grip of the trapeze onto which I am white-knuckling in preparation of latching onto the trapeze that beckons me, this empty, swinging hand hold I can see before me. No matter the distance between, I must learn to fly if I am to reach my destination. What if I fall? I swing alone, so there is no one there to catch me; this is my journey, no one else's. What if I slip? What if my arms are too tired from swinging on the old trapeze to grip the new one? What if I carry a metaphor too far?

Faith. Faith in the between. I am finding that the transitional "empty" space between hand holds is not to be treated with fear, but reverence, respect, joy. Joy? With all this trepidation I feel? With all this dread and fear and remorse? Yes, joy. To change is a joyous thing. Without change, there is stagnation and rot; death. Change is to be celebrated. Change is to be revered, not discarded as too hard or too scary. Change is what lead we as humans out of the trees in search of more meaning and, eventually, in search of love and art and enlightenment. Yes, enlightenment is ever present. Without change, there is no enlightenment, no art, no love, no meaning. No life.

So, to Mikki I say thank you. Thank you for sending me exactly what I needed, when I needed it. You are a true friend. I will pay your generosity forward in the hope that I may help someone else in their time of need.

I am still sad and a little disheartened. I don't hold it against my friends that they knew not of my expectations. I should know better than to hold anyone to my standards, for most do not subscribe to my thoughts or feelings. If you read what I wrote two hours ago, please accept my most sincere apology if it caused you any angst or sadness; such was not my intent. There is a time and place to vent my frustration and I may have chosen poorly with my last entry. Thus, I learn.

Here I am, now 4:07am, Eastern, sitting at a kitchen table that is not mine, flying through the air in transition...

~s~

Current Mood: contemplative

A month or so ago, a very good friend of mine told me I was pretty (thank you, M. Butterfly). When I didn't so much acknowledge the compliment as brushed it off, she asked me a very curious question: "Do you not think you're attractive?" (I am paraphrasing.) I looked down at my hands, but they held no answers. Upon looking into my heart, I realized I had always considered myself, if not ugly, then definitely unattractive. I told her so. A nearly sad look crossed her face before she spoke. She told me I was "hot" and that she felt I should be getting hit on often. I smiled and shook my head ruefully and told her that was far from the case. so much so, in fact, that I tended to fall in love with nearly any woman who took an interest in me; something I was working on changing at that time.

Since that conversation, I often ponder my attractiveness, my outer beauty. I consider my friend's point of view and the amazing level of honesty she brings to every conversation and insight. I have even taken into account the beautiful women I've dated, some of whom I have fallen in love.

I still don't see myself as physically attractive (I have issued with my inner-beauty as well), but I do know there are a few people in this world who do consider me easy on the eyes, especially one dear, honest friend.

I submit these photos to my album, not for you to consider the aesthetic quality of my appearance, but more so you can see who I am when no one is around; so you can see me through my own eye.

~s~

It occurs to me after way too much trial and error, that I really need a plan to make all these changes I've gone through work in my life. As much as I hate the fact, I cannot keep on with this losing and changing of jobs every few months. I need a career, but nearly refuse to jockey a desk any longer. I have to know that what I do for a third or more of my work week is causing a difference in my community or the world at large. I need to leave a footprint, no matter how small or shallow; not so I can look back and point it out to someone else and say, "Look at what I did", but more for self satisfaction. Towing the company line merely because I was told to doesn't work for me any longer; it just doesn't cut it.

Now, what to do... The EPA would be a good place to start. There are challenges aplenty, no doubt about that. A rape or abuse clinic. Something, anything, just to make a change.

So, how does a guy like me with ample enthusiasm, intrinsic intelligence and a friendly demeanor, but with no degree, help myself to some hard-working, satisfying, make-a-difference, paying work? Yeah, I'm still working on it.

Okay, that's as deep as I get in this one.

-s-

    So many changes in so short a time.  I remember when getting high seemed so important.  That was before i caught a glimpse of the world with my Third Eye.

    It seems I am growing so much these days, and yet standing still.  I always thought that, once I had things figured out, everything else would come to me.  Apparently, it doesn't work that way. Apparently, I still have a lot of work ahead of me. Hell, at this moment, I am without my own place to live or a job or even any direction.  Yeah, I've been moaning about these things since I got canned about two weeks ago.  I didn't even expect that.  If I had, I would have prepared somehow.

    Shit, what am I supposed to do now?  I know, get a job.  What job?  Where?  Doing what?  I can't go right back to jockeying a desk again.  I need to do something that will allow me to help people, and not just my skills.  I can do nearly anything.  And yet I have no degree.

I started working as a busboy in a small restaurant in Oolitic, IN when I was fifteen.  I worked for Mike and he paid me under the table.  Just over $3.00 an hour.  I thought I was rich, back then.  On to McDonald's after Mike skipped town owing most of us money.  I don't know if the IRS ever caught up with him.

I did go to school when I was twenty-five.  I went to Indiana State University in 1996 because a couple of my friends went there.  I quickly got caught up in drinking too much whiskey too often and smoking entirely too much weed.  That was the end of my higher education.  Much like a lot of things in my life, I just didn't follow through.  Like most things in my life.

I have no reached a unique position in my life where I can choose between a plethora of things I want to do.  Sure, I'm running out of money quickly, but how often am I in the position where I have no rent due?  No girlfriend breathing fire down the back of my neck?  Still, I can't help but feel something might be passing me by.

Current Mood: exhausted