Insidious Adaptation

My body may be sick, but my soul, she is weary. It is the man inside that has been sick my entire life, My. Entire. Life. The word MY cannot be acknowledged there enough, for it is my life right? Me! The problem with sickness isn't the sickness itself, for whether it is a cold, flue, stomach bug, depression, anxiety, these reactions and ways we interpret them are neither good nor bad, but just are, yet, we submit. WE submit to the flu and gather around those who have it, comforting, loving them, "say prayers," and all rightly so, for the, "flu" as we know it to be does have the potential to hospitalize or kill a person as the media likes to give their annual account of flu-related deaths. The, "flu" or a, "cold" seem to be these underlying spirits that promote fear and hyper-cleansing. Yet, then there are "superbugs" that evolve from such hyper-sanitary areas making us sicker than ever, maybe by resistant strains of the sickne...

In 2004, I was thrown into another world foreign to all I had ever known. It was called Basic Military Training. I referred to it afterwards as, "a break." The reason I referred to this 7-week time in my life as this period of relaxation, despite the physical and mental exertion, was because I no longer had to make any decisions. Is all I had to do was literally sit and listen. If it wasn't for my own internal desires to stay, "muscular" I would have been fine. It was the brief evenings where a few of us Airmen stayed up to do some extra push ups or setups, you, know, to stay healthy. It was my first night at basic training, and the yelling and chaos to break our comfort ensued. Those who served know the anarchy that the BMT instructors bring about, and even at the time is nonsensical. It is absurd, brash, quick, and really gets you on your toes, for if the screaming didn't get you, the shuffle inside the cold showers, penetrating any comfort zones through...

A warrior? Not with these pink headphones, I took them from my wife.  The safety of steel, the warmth of artificial heat, the comfort of familiarity, the thrill of competition. The sanctuary for all those who are lost, and the temple other can go to to build their bodies into gods and goddess. The woman at the front entrance, she allows the chosen ones to enter, keeping out those less-fortunate, the ones who are on the outside of this club, these steel, shed walls, not allowed to share in this warmth, in these moments of mental anguish and battle. All ages, all types of people, all walks, social placement, all allowed to walk amongst one another as long as they abide by the laws set forth of the club's owner. Though this monarchy has its ruler, it also has its warriors, and here, amongst the people, they seem to take charge, holding the ability to raise the people on their shoulders, only to be the ones raised up in the minds of the congregation, or at least that is what the...

Recently my family and I were reminded of what life was like, pre-internet. The era my daughter will never know came upon us on Friday afternoon as we were all coming home with high expectations to indulge our Wifi-using selves. For me, it was going to be another promotional post on Instagram or Facebook (promoting my book, Castle-Broken, sold here ), for my wife it was going to be her Sims game, probably, along with other social media outlets. Even my daughter uses the Wifi as the unlimited number of Sesame Street episodes on Hulu inform her of numbers and letters and of course, Elmo's World with the klutz Mr. Noodle who, I am sorry, reminds me of some Black Mirror's episode (this guy is trapped in some room, with nothing else but whatever Elmo finds necessary to entertain some omnipresent audience who tells Mr. Noodle he is doing it wrong, a bumbling hell if you ask me.) The Wifi was out, thus a strong persuasion to make a service call to the dreaded customer service on a...

As the earth spins, the cold wind blows, from The North down, covering the plains with a sheet of bitter sting, simply known as, winter. The earth, she spins on a titled axes, for that is what we all know, some audaciously question, however the seasons change, the heat of summer becomes the cool of fall followed by the frigid state of late winter. These months, they linger, they titillate us with, “so close, but so far away,” as the springtime season smell is in the air, but dampened by a heavy cold.  Walking my dog outside, a Husky, for she loves the winter, she embraces and sits in the cold, as the snow covers her majestic coat, and her piercing blue eyes gleam through the greyness of the winter morning, I notice a peace that I will not get again, not today. The rest of my day is not a walk in solace, nor is it a practice in mindfulness, it is rather, chaotic, involving me holding on, riding, rather than controlling, attempting not to judge, attempting to be a, “better” pers...

It is neither here, nor there. It is not found in any THING . It is not in addition to, nor removal of. Contentment is a baseline of acceptance of place in life. Place being physically, the state, or mentally. To be is just that. To find it is a lot harder trying to explain than something a person can add or takeaway from their life. To feel the BEING, is a gift, one that is no better or worse than anything else, nor can be bragged as such.  This vague cloud of abstract words, with their pompous sentence structure, is all indicative of a concept people miss on a daily basis. That which lies right ion front of us, yet me misdirect energies to try and capture it through misguided means. This, as evident by desires and dissatisfaction when those desires are not met. For contentment is to me, the most ideal state of mind, and what I fathom Heaven to be like. I feel like we get glimpses of the afterlife sometimes here on earth. Maybe an early morning writing session, where it is n...

When I was in college I wet the bed one time. There, I said it. What'd I learn from it? Well, nothing. It was a thing, it happened, I felt embarrassed and hid my soiled sheets from my roommate. I did laundry early that morning for fear of a smell occurring. "I just felt like doing some laundry." My response to an 8AM question of why I was up so early. Embarrassing things happen all the time. To some of us that threshold is much lower than others. Some people seem to be able to walk around with a ripped crotch as though their shirt is simply untucked. Others, the wind blows their hair in the wrong direction (against the natural lie) and all day they feel people are staring at their "bird's nest." What is it about this threshold that when passed we cannot do much else besides think of what this will mean? Why does embarrassment serve us the way it does? Why must we experience what I can closely relate as pain from the humiliation we encounter at so...

What happens when it’s all gone, taken away like the heart in your chest? When what you once were is no more? How do we keep advancing in the face of pointlessness? When we identify ourselves as something of value, whether it be a job title, an achievement, our style, our spirituality, service work, when that "thing" goes away? If we choose it to go away because we are now devoted to another definition, then that seems to be a smoother transition. What happens when we don’t choose it, when it is taken from us? The body has an expiration date, something we were made aware of as soon as we became aware. Death is a lingering curtain on our stage waiting to drop at any moment. Some get the slow closing of the final goodbye, many get an immediate shut. The curtain closing isn’t the problem, it is when the physical self defines us and it is when this thing starts to expire more than grow.  Aesthetically pleasing bodies are definitely something to look at. They grab our att...

A common feeling among those with temperate climates. Inside that is. For those without the luxury of climate controlled indoors, that is merely temperature. Room temperature has another ring to it. A sense of commonality that all people who posses it can attest to. The degrees are around 70 in Fahrenheit, a not-too-cool, not-too-warm feel. A climate softer cheeses are ideal at, and meats are measured to spoil. If the temperature is much above the "room," then bacteria is therefore allowed to breakdown and make food rancid. The cooler, the slower the process. The room has nothing to do with it. The conditions contained within that room, walls and glass, with a floor and a ceiling, for if even one of those elements are missing, then the entire concept a bust. The temperature at one end of the room has to be the same at the other end, for it is the entire, "room's" temperature.  What is it about cliche phrases such as this one that people can relate to? ...