Tag: Spirituality

Through the Fabric of Time

6361796709723034612039581096_time-7Time – in some instances referred to as the fourth dimension – but whatever our understanding of its concept, luxury seems an invariably, non-existent trait.  Unyielding hands on the clock counting seconds; minutes falling in line as the hours turn into days and weeks – years. A blueprint of past occurrences etched in stone; where dwelling in regrets or offering up heartfelt apologies still cannot alter the path we have walked – future interests that promise no guarantee; no donation or sacrifice can brandish an extended life warrantee. Breathe in this moment; capture its essence; catch sight of its elegance accented over a distinctly dismal backdrop – perhaps through the haze, it heroically outshines the viciously mundane.  Time is as simplistic or complex as we choose to make it; boiled down into a series of present moments that either amplify merit or deduct from its worth.  Constant business in the realm of the spirit can prove to be enormously depleting; an implication of encompassing stillness can effectively replenish a withering morale – resulting from the chaos is a distinctly unique art from a time-weathered heart; the mission is to find ourselves ultimately settling into that ostensibly unattainable, yet perpetually sought-after balance. 

But where does passion end and obsession begin? I sense an overwhelming correlation – where we find passion, obsession lurks and when push comes to shove, time will be spent. I passionately write about the tribulations I have endured; I can only write about what I know and I can only share my perspective on topics which have gravely affected my life. Over time, perceptions can change even though the factual events or situations in and of themselves do not – it’s simply my reality and whether I was in or out of touch with said reality at the time does not alter the experience. But these words that spill out over the page render me madly obsessed – addicted to the perfect stream; infatuated by the romance of choosing optimal words; perfection in their phrasing – love for the prose; a puzzle’s inception intricately interwoven amidst a sea of black and white anarchy; ideas that collide causing a subsequent consummation; carried to term and birthed from a mind interminably maneuvering misconnections. I grow consumed by their rhythm; possessed by the beat, tormented by rhymes ‘til my riddle’s complete. I reach deep within, for in crafting my words, an alliteration alternation authoritatively forms.

time-machine-5Do you feel what I feel when my words breach your eyes? Do you see what I see? Does my pain seep inside? I seek satisfaction in the emotional punch, when it splinters your soul and seeps deep in your guts. It’s merely meant for no more than a clarification; to spare the experiential eternal damnation.  So, the choice of my words with their cadence and tone, provide voice for the ones who feel most alone; transcribed for the ones who go on reprimanding; displayed for an ignorant world’s understanding – and after my words have pummeled your soul, I know that my story was rightfully told. But don’t be misled, because ingrained in the madness, is a message of hope rising out of this sadness – no, don’t be confused by this story of mine. I’d tell you much more, but I’ve run out of time.

So, can we conquer without sacrifice? Can we truly gain mastery of our craft without the derangement of fixation? Is greatness always achieved at a price? I find inspiration in tale after tale of prominence throughout history, but the underlying facts of achievement are almost always formed from the mayhem of obsession – no backup plans, no fail-safes in place – it’s that all eggs in one basket approach; an all-encompassing do-or-die mentality fueling the spirit to accomplish what no other has before – something original; an exclusive imprint on the fabric of existence; something brave – sacrificing what few others were willing to sacrifice; pleading for that sacrifice to make a difference in the greater good. Obsession can absolutely live without ultimately attaining greatness, but can we ever achieve greatness without entering into the ugly world of obsession?  

Heavy is the Head that Wears the Crown – Part 1 “The Fallen Kingdom”

706c6430b3ea93a4fac7a2d06ea02e40I once knew a king afraid to be seen; sequestered from a merciless worldly machine; grace was relinquished through selfish desires; sought shelter in darkness and yearned to expire. He found his solution in liquid pollution; it blackened his heart from a promising start. With nowhere to run from that unsettled feeling; without nostrum of sorts that could provide healing – not person, a place, a thing, or idea could muster the might to release him from here; sought high and low, both distant and near, to evade all the whispers that punctured his ears; to hold back dead eyes breaching banks filled with tears; to cease rustles of intensified, bone-chilling fears. But the heaviest head bears the weight of its crown; with a kingdom now fallen; his highness struck down; because reigning as ruler was not as it seemed; vibrations of love were cast out from the scene; contentment had vanished and peace grew extinct – civil war surged as his spirit unlinked.

—–

For the majority of a relatively conscious existence along the road rising to ruler, alcohol was the driving force in propelling a barren spirit to life; in sprouting wings to soar through a vast and endless blue yonder; in supplying the obligatory courage to carry on, all the while constructing a magnificent empire solely for satisfaction of selfish desires; most of all, however, it assigned an unadorned ability to simply be.  But seemingly as quick as the climb up through the atmosphere had been; as much as the thrill of excitement and discovery filled that deep emptiness through the conquering of new challenges, the predestined day still arrived – after all the promises, after all the codependent companionship, and after the acquisition of the fullest, most heartfelt allegiance – this friend, who turned out to be no more than a serpent in disguise, slithered its way under the cover of night to snatch away the sky; a spirit sent swiftly spiraling down into the depths of an abyss never comprehended in existence.  Dethroned and uncrowned in the passing of night; a kingdom built on a lie had finally crumbled and fallen – those who remained in the land left shattered by a wake so strong and so devastating – deserted to despairingly fend for themselves; a king cursed to suffer, broken and alone, in the gutters of a realm now ultimately betrayed. 

904d3bae0723b90e534cea1c390bdda2The king scoffed at the scene, laying nearly lifeless in the dilapidated dungeons under a city of ruins; cast blame on everything and everyone for the fall of an empire – how could the people do this?  How could there be such betrayal of nobility or a double-crossing of such innate charity and loyalty? The world was far too trivial and petty to comprehend the magnitude of raising an illustrious kingdom to reign; they would never be worthy of understanding the potent pressure or significant stresses of ruling over a great land – reflections rapidly racing as progressively more mind-numbing potion coursed through the body, infesting a mind now drowned of its strife; a solution that consistently relieved any semblance of ailment; that, for a sacrifice of the seemingly irrelevant, placed a plug in the void of in an incessantly dehydrated soul – forever fueling an ego that cannot admit defeat; cosigning pure pride that would never allow for an acceptance of sole responsibility; dwindled, in turn, from an army of the ample, to the repression of the insufficient.

It is in this place the King would remain, wrapped up in the throws of selfishness, self-pity and resentment, for a great while as the city he had built continued to crumble all around him…

Storm of the Century

6021b919fdbb70ace0dd3da86819e3b0Consistently rising tides breach the banks of destitution, freeing a spirit from being engrossed in depths of total darkness; as if a storm surge of clarity finally saturates a consciousness deserted – delivered from unabridged ignorance and robustly thrust into a thriving enthusiasm to embody virtue; to actively hunt what is honorable and heed what is noble whether or not that lies in the face of adversity – disseminating the region masterfully concealed within where brute, unrefined strength of character is essentially derived from; to finally comprehend and pledge adherence to respect these convictions of the heart – the most grueling but scrupulous means of gaining entry into the expanse of genuine inner peace; to unleash an authenticity that has been extinct since undergoing the digressive transformation which paved a course for total corruption; existing solely in the duplicitous – to commit premeditated murder on the complete and comprehensive interest to satisfy self alone. 

If nothing changes – nothing changes; I trust there is general agreement that insanity can be defined as repeatedly behaving in the same, old fashion, but expecting a different result each time; when priorities waiver off course, the fundamental motivations for seeking self-transformation will find themselves floundering – lost again in the shadows; misaligned with the objectives and misdirected away from original intentions – intentions to ultimately lead a fulfilling, purposeful and, at the very least, manageable life – in every accord; substituting one unhealthy escape for another unavoidably mutates into the solution – what holds value in the heart or the mind inevitably takes charge and transcends to rule as a life’s higher power – whether or not this is deliberately calculated; sooner or later these seemingly harmless coveted comforts convert into law of the land, all the while sinking sturdy, deep roots in the process and re-emerging with force as the newest form of chains binding the soul, resigning peace and tranquility to serve as no more than ideals to be desired yet again.  There is no shortage of stories, including my own, where people abstaining from the use of substances are still finding conclusion in angst, torment or flat out misery.

Who or what is coveted and sought after for influence over our personal lives sheds light on an enormous treasure trove of information, pin-pointing the current residence on our respective spiritual journeys – or lack thereof – it’s knowledge just waiting for harvest, if we tend to the field; if we consciously make the decision to incorporate practices of self-awareness into daily living.  As substances are wiped out from the canvas of our being, we are undeniably left to sort through the rubble and sift through the remnants of a storm that ravaged the landscape – we are chartered with the task to rebuild; how well we reconstruct and fortify our defenses will fundamentally measure how well we are able to weather the next one – so on and so forth.  Are we striving to stand up and be an example of what we feel the core of our being instinctually believes to be right?  Staying true to ourselves?  More often than not, do we give in and go along with the antics of the crowd because that overwhelming threat of fear or disapproval sinks in, that we will not be understood or accepted?  That we will be labeled as different?  Do we engage against our better judgement and adopt ideals in calculated cruelty, deliberate dishonesty and voluntary vileness if that’s what is required for us to fit in or fly under the radar?  Are we going to remain firmly planted or are we going to crumble and falter under the raw power and the sheer strength the next storm manifests?      

usedI feel for the sad state of our culture where a steadily increasing amount of folks are so morally and spiritually bankrupt; where insecurity and disconnection run rampant; where flaunting arrogance or cultivating money and power as a frontline defense suffices, all the while deriving any semblance of invalid self-worth by ensuring others feel less than; where disrespect for people, places and things has become par for the course – where we can just use or abuse each other as if the human race as a whole has digressed merely into disposable objects to be tossed aside after ultimately deceiving ourselves into believing we have been satisfied.  If we truly desire change in our life, simply taking drugs or alcohol out of the equation is not enough – continuing to exist as undesirable miscreants that perpetually deplete healthy resources rather than replenish them, or each other for that matter, is unacceptable; if the spiritual malady or characteristics of irritability and discontentment cease to depart our disposition, we might as well sustain the fraudulent solution found in mind-altering substances and preserve their pre-established position, allowing them pass to remain flowing freely through the dead, arctic veins of our spiritless corpse.

There is a favorable medium in all of this; an even balance to be found – we can sing along to the lyrics of our favorite music without the words necessarily reflecting our personal views – a song cannot persuade us, nor be used as an excuse, to objectify women or shoot up a school; the reverberations of pleasurable sound can simply be a powerful tool to embody the upward flow of spirit; we can enjoy the creative craft of film or television shows without having to impersonate the characters we identify with and behave in a way that disrespects the world around us – we cannot rob a bank or go on a killing spree because Hollywood’s influence has glorified violence; there is a time and place to joke around with our friends, just as there is a time to be aware of our surroundings and act as a responsible, respectable member or society.  We were entrusted with the gift of freewill, it is our responsibility as individuals to hold ourselves to a higher standard.

7-deadly-sins-1Whether or not we find it advantageous, human beings as a whole have evolved into a civilized entity over the ages.   Civilization demands law and order in spite of feeling these strong pulls or natural effects of the animalistic instincts ingrained deep within us; but there is some method to the madness as to why we have these instinctual necessities directly wired in – we need to feed, rest and procreate as a means to continue on as a species.  However, we do not need to participate in any of these inherent tendencies at the expense of our neighbor – sadly, more times than not, that appears to be the case; there is no shortage of testimony related to the crown prominently worn by the seven deadly sins.  Still, we don’t have to wait for the scales to tip in the other direction – some of the largest, most influential trends throughout time have begun with the actions of few.  “Be the change you wish to see in the world.” – Gandhi

Runaway Train

traintracksmountainstrainoutsidesomewherebridge-14f856dad59eba5807dca40fd8c0fb19_hAs if a storm of indignation befell like hail from the heavens, emergence of a menacing silhouette ferociously ruptures the horizon.  It’s coming for me – me alone; its illustrious chanting renders resignation into a trance; an infestation of enticing pheromones tortuously taunting and teasing – saturating the atmosphere as the notion of crossing over intensely increases in appeal; far more formidable than remaining aversely trapped at the mercy of everlasting insanity.  The tiny sliver of land where I stand is now steadily shaking underneath tired feet; an earthquake of despair defining this crumbling of reality.  Crisp, autumn air meticulously prodding and biting at the vulnerability of rancor ravaged flesh; I can sense the end is near – this borrowed body all but terminated.  Time is of no existence in this plane of awakened unconsciousness; potion drained from the venom-ridden bottle coalescing with blood pumped from a heart cast in stone takes the stage for an all too familiar tango; dancing as one through the veins of oblivion – proclaiming the audience irrelevant and the trivialities of this world no more than a distant figment of imagination.

It is here I’ll stand alone – covered in the blood of battle; it is here I’ll face the fear –  supplying substance for the sweat; it is here I’ll confront the demons – shedding these tears I could never fully comprehend; it is here on this bridge I embrace what destiny has prepared – for better or for worse; to be granted perpetual passage into an alternate realm where darkness overcomes; to declare my one last foundational cry out to the gods for relinquishment of any prominent power or persuasion; that they may bestow me diversion from traversing the precipitous portage generated in my wake – and so I stood, patiently waiting with no distinct notion of a response; murdering the last glimmer of faith in a god I cannot grasp an understanding of.  So I just stood – almost in silent solitude for the places I have been and the truth I had arrived at.

I commit to holding my high ground overlooking the park where I innocently created memories as a child – much like an eagle majestically mounted on its perch viewing the world from a distant and foreign perspective.  Vigorously pushing present reality aside and sentimentally reverting attention back on a far simpler time, I reminisce and relive glimpses of the past that are rapidly firing on all cylinders.  They breakthrough my disillusionment and appear like a slideshow in the forefront of a now tainted stream of awareness; pondering how every pulsation of my heart, every step with these feet has led me from being that child with infinite dreams to a man shattered at the seams; recurrent botched efforts to gain tangible focus on the definitive turning point and lock it into the crosshairs of my clarity scope; that single second in time I seek above all else where everything I once desired expired and exposed the first perforation leaking down into a bottomless void.

history-lists-8-things-you-may-not-know-about-trains_istock_000021551059large-eMy wavering attention quickly shifts back to the present moment; back to reality or whatever semblance of it still pertains relevant – these tracks and the impending collision with a fate yet to be determined; the massive fusion of steel and brute, deadly force barreling forward; its course to inevitably intersect with the ground I have chosen adherence to.  It’s surreal staring straight down the barrel of mortality; to know it could all be over; to mourn what I could miss; to no longer experience – to plead my concession and allow the void to swallow me up in the ultimate compromise for sustainable stability.  Abruptly a blanket of peace overtakes my being; a rare quieted mind; an unknown solemn spirit – despite all the mess and regardless of the agonizing internal conflicts, I felt a sigh of relief amidst the violent event transpiring in my presence.  Deep in the core of my being, if only for a second, I accepted the coming moments to be my last; that I’d draw one deep final breath into my lungs and exhale into a domain of the unknown.

Suddenly silence sank over the landscape and my encounter on the bridge swiftly turned much slower in motion, as if the world was stuck buffering and any semblance of connection was lost in translation; icy water trickling through the rocks down below merely left to be sensed by the detection of moist eyes; flapping of feathered wings sending ripples of energy through the air and crashing off my chest like blows from clenched fists – I felt a vitality blossoming in the chaos; resurgence of what it felt like to be alive – and almost as quickly as it arrived, the train passed me by and continued on track toward its destination; seemingly unaware of the power it manifested; obviously oblivious to my sickness soaked soul – and so there I remained holding the high ground mere inches from its might as fate barreled by and invigorated a dying spirit. 

imagesidvj2rjuBut at my conclusion of confusion, this fresh spark of life was quickly smothered out by a supplemental realization; discernment for the probability I could never refill the void inside me that was rapidly depleting with the passing of every second; that this distinct feeling of freedom I crossed paths with could very well have been as good as it was going to get for the lost and the broken – so sticking with the cognizance of my new self-diagnosed reality, I edged my way over to the side of the bridge.  Almost in ritualistic mockery to the gods I felt failed me, I turned my back to the abyss and gazed upwards in surrender to a baby blue sky.  I obeyed the overwhelming urge demanding its desire for me to let go; to finally hand over the control I had so clearly lost; to allow gravity the chance to showcase its guidance.  Continuing my contempt for the faith I had lost, I lifted my arms and spread them wide while simultaneously shifting all weight backwards, transferring my fate into the arms of its embrace; it was now that I felt authentic freedom – virtually weightless in mind and body; and as I descended down from my conflicted higher ground, the baby blue sky slowly faded as I welcomed the shift into sanctuary of the black.   

Restart This Heart

restart-heartPinned to the sidelines; cast curse on the stars; written an ending; cashed in my scars; detested myself for this mind’s misconnection – total betrayal through misguided direction.  Counted my blessings, no matter how few; scaled up the mountain to seek peace in the view.  Traipsed through the valley where darkness seeps in; hunted by death and conceded the win.  Escaped from its clutches time after time; soul searching through grime as I climb from the slime – adding powers of showers which rained from above; washing clear smut to make room for the love; but still most of all, hope carried me through – when totally lost and knew not what to do.  There must be a reason, for by skin of these teeth; I countered the spiral from way down beneath; breathed in fresh air; felt warmth on my face; vowed no return to that ill-fated place. 

c95b708a5a5f4acf87e7dce318db1315But no sooner than free I fell back in despair –  my fortress of rubble; my grim, dreary lair.  Escape a mere fiction, absconding a dream; deemed to endure its harrowing scheme.  “Where did you go? You thought you could leave?” It taunted my soul and adjourned my reprieve; inhaled me back in with no chance to break loose; seduced and reduced to bear the abuse.  Shackles and chains and poisonous rains; fire and coal that burned through my soul; shreds of the dead breaking into my head; the frontier of fear was clearly right here.  Begging and pleading in hopes to go free; I haggled the demons mastering me; “Just let me die!” I solemnly cry; “I can suffer no more on your blazing hot floor!”  They pointed and snickered; demonically whispered, “you don’t like the heat? Try a violent blizzard.”  A hell that’s now frozen from words I had chosen; a place of disgrace I’m forced to embrace; through all of the hardship, through all of my might; the odds firm against in the arduous fight. 

There’s no easy solution to elude its pollution; from being immersed, ensnared in its curse – for to sustain liberation from despondent damnation; seek a total revamping of soul understanding; it’s bound to get bloody and darker at first, but that’s what it takes to break free of this curse; that’s what it takes to find a way home; to experience life and not be alone; to really find purpose and meaning and grace; forever free from that deepest, dark place; an ultimate unbounding from a cycle of crashes; to restart a heart and rise from the ashes.         

Only the Lonely

_16 FB beginning tubBalmy; humid; utterly miserable – this motel bathroom suffices more accurately as a tropical torture chamber.  My body lies, awkwardly twisted and face up, at the base of the tub which, for all intents and purposes, is shedding some living insight into what it might be like lying in a coffin – the final resting place for my forever tortured and disconnected soul.  Steaming hot water rains down on me, concurrently generating a dense, cheap lavender smelling haze which renders it even futile to make out the battered, decaying tile despairingly clinging to the walls; there they hope to remain, holding on for dear life and overseeing my predominately lifeless body; the random gaps in between illustrate comrades not adequately spirited to endure the torment of their rather trite existence.  I unpropitiously stay behind, sprawled out and conquered, resenting their ability to irrevocably let go.    

It’s the loneliest place in the world; the most disengaged and isolated I’ve ever felt from reality or life itself – including all the self-created drivel and mendacity that even I had naïvely bought into as authentic over the years; my head just as clogged and clouded with confusion between the factual and the fraudulent as this hell hole is overrun by the fabricated tropical steam produced from that rusting piece of water-bearing metal protruding from the wall far above.  No matter what I do or how far down I sink into oblivion, I cannot, for the life of me, get to that place where I no longer exist, where everything is nothing – the sentence I crave for an eternity lost in the black.

24b34492dd28b994fb14f03aa5f50962The notion and idea of resilience is, well, annoying – especially as I despairingly lay, hopeless and spiritually shattered, at death’s door in the tub of my room at motel hell; although I’ve knocked many times, I have yet to be graciously greeted by those on the other side.  My body wishes to carry forth, but my mind and spirit are ready to concede.  I cannot comprehend why the reaper maliciously skulks all around me, but ceases to ever grant me admission into its world.  To me, the greatest lie ever told is not convincing the world that Lucipher doesn’t live amongst us in the shadows, it’s that entrance into his kingdom of Hell down below is widely believed and accepted to be worse than remaining forced to endure here on Earth one more day. 

Thoughts incessantly race through my mind; how outside these incarcerating walls, folks are happy, joyous, and free, going about their day and basking under the sun – or how some of them must be actors as well, tirelessly going through the motions as I so often do; what my kids are doing at this exact moment and how the woman I counted on to be there, betrayed me and wishes to evict my existence from their youthful, collective consciousness; I wish I could shoot the fucking sun out of the sky and damn everyone to witness eternal darkness, as if finally seeing the world through my dismal, ill-fated eyes would be the end-all-be-all, that suddenly everyone would finally understand; I wish my body would allow me to ingest more of that mind numbing potion, but it continues rejecting any of my thwarted attempts; it won’t allow me passage back to the black.  I think about ordering a lady of the night to get me out of myself temporarily, but I can’t handle anybody seeing me in this dire a condition, paid or otherwise; besides, my wallet is now devoid of any currency due to the, “who knows how long”, bender I am currently and barely living through.  I miserably attempt to rub one out, but even that, my body states, is a temporary escape that will not be rewarded.  Resilience; yeah, it’s a bitch.

dc87bb9377d7c360a0da67c4a518bb5eMy body aches; I can’t muster up enough strength to stray away from this desolate tub of torment; I don’t deserve to depart from it’s rigid, wet porcelain shell anyway – the sheer will to carry on plays no role in my immediate, cognitively distorted mind, nor does it appear to be an undertaking I’ll be in pursuit of anytime in the near future.  Microscopic bullets of water ceaselessly pummel my face as they ricochet off what’s been collecting in the bottom of my makeshift casket.  Through the suffocating mist and dim glow of flickering light, silhouettes of bath towel demons lurk, seemingly floating and motionless in mid-air, patiently waiting for the moment they can finally carry me away; whether or not visible to the naked eye, these spirits of the darkness perpetually tail my every move; making their presence known through various incarnations and dialing, intrusively, into my every fleeting thought.  I meditate over the probability of whether or not they know I’m thinking they can go fuck themselves for perpetually prolonging my suffering.  I ponder whether I will, in fact, ever make it out of this tub alive. 

The sociopathic tendencies I periodically exhibited throughout various aspects of my life and relationships started to make me wonder if I was devoid of any feeling or emotion at all, but in my brief and far between moments of clarity, I knew that could not be the case.  I knew I wouldn’t consistently crave a substance that makes feelings and emotions disappear if I was not aware of them to begin with.  I started to think quite the opposite at that juncture, that maybe my feelings and emotions were so intense, so real and so bold, that I didn’t know how else to handle them besides stuffing them deep within or forcing them out altogether through use of mind-altering chemicals – the first solution that seemed to work regarding my issue of an overwhelming amount of passion and unrelenting remarks from the heart.  Maybe every emotion I have been exposed to over this lifetime has been felt at an abnormally extreme level – maybe I love too much, admire too much, and care too much; maybe I feel overpowering senses of enjoyment and euphoria.  Maybe, this too, would insinuate that I feel inordinate amounts of hate, disgust, jealousy, fear and insecurity; that I cannot have one extreme without the other; that if I blot out the negative, I am also eclipsing the positive; that I would have to set forth on a journey to understand myself, my emotions, and how to create a healthy balance if I ever wanted to evade a life ensnared and alone in the bottom of dingy motel bathtubs.    

Religiously Spiritual

desktop-backgrounds-beach-sunset-wallpaper-2

I’m walking now; exclusively powered by instinct and muscle memory; life has momentarily transitioned into a state of tranquility, shifting back and forth between bouts of conscious rumination and subliminal stillness. This unworried feeling is foreign to me; remarkably unlike the artificial, bottle-fueled abyss I have so often been self-destructively hurled into time after time.  I welcome it; a rare condition of mind I can only compare to winding up enthralled in an episode of lucid dreaming, but rather than feeling awake actually locked in a dream, I’m actually awake feeling locked in a dream – a role reversal I ungrudgingly usher in – a breath of fresh air readily embraced.  Satisfying warmness inundates my face as the sun locks me in its crosshairs, firing the rays of its life-bearing light into my soul; its glare creates a prism effect as I gaze down the beach; the blur of distant objects; these metaphorical indications of what’s to come vehemently scream warnings not to be concerned with what the future may consist of; procuring the blind faith to accept that everything is blurred out in a condition of ambivalence for a reason – acceptance is key, staying locked in this moment is not only enriching – it’s vital.  

Invigorating sand sneaks up through the divide of unsheltered toes – a tender and rugged euphoric fusion yielding to my presence and giving way to every step; if only each aspect of life was so accommodating; if to the exclusion of everything and everybody else, my wants and needs were habitually met without question while concurrently encompassing absence of shame or guilt – not the case however; those narcissistic thoughts only intend to lead towards supplemental suffering and the means to conserve my sickness.  This place is my constant in a world overrun by variables; right here I am free; an authentic solitude unaccounted for back on the mayhem occupied streets of society; streets which persistently lie in wait a couple hundred yards away for my assured return – I retreat here in the surf to charge a worn soul, revamping my spirits in order to survive when I set foot there once more.  Flashing a quick glance behind me, I catch sight of the tide gently over flowing impressions left by my feet; footprints of my past washed away into nothing but a recollection – evoking a subtle truth that what took place back then is finished; it cannot be modified or revised; it’s gone now; so I stay the course; trudge on; press forward – a happy destiny still awaits; magnificence obtains its majesty over the duration of the ride.

FreedomFor me, meditation isn’t practiced in a dark, candle lit room, burning incense and playing music to the tune of Kumbaya in futile efforts to clear out all of my conscious thought life – it’s a stroll along the shoreline, being mindful or connecting with the texture of the sand and the sounds of the ocean; it’s hiking up to the peak of a mountain and overlooking the valley below or walking a trail through the woods, searching out the stunning sight of a secluded, jaw-dropping waterfall.  The sole purpose of meditating is to engage in contemplation or reflection for the purpose of reaching a heightened level of spiritual awareness – the beauty is, there are no set guidelines or boundaries – it’s ambiguous, it’s personal; we are all free to customize meditation to how it best suits ourselves – something religion can and will never offer us.  Spirituality, for me, is simply an assessment of my interior being – the life, power, and energy in my mind and body; I have the ability to honestly conduct this assessment in a meditation style customized to my personality.  Adopting this is so pivotal for my journey due to its genuine cleansing of my soul; when the tank is empty, I require fulfillment; as long as I’m replenishing my spirituality tank with positive vibes, I’m not being permeated with the desire to escape.

I think the word “meditation” itself can initially come across as off-putting or threatening, immediately turning culpable folks away in contempt prior to investigation; its uninviting, pre-determined ritualistic nature or religious connotations supply enough reasonable doubt to justify these conclusions in the eyes of skeptics.  Although there are many religions that embody meditation as a part of their rituals, it is by no means all encompassing – at least not if we are able to open our minds up to the innate differences separating religion and spirituality into entities completely independent of each other – and they are, no doubt, quite different.  Every religion around the globe incorporates specific traits or qualities which make it just that – a religion.  This includes a definitive god (i.e. Jesus, Allah, Yahweh), a creed (i.e. rules or belief system), rituals (i.e. communion), prayer (i.e. The Lord’s Prayer) and organization or hierarchy’s (i.e. priest, pastor, parishioners, church buildings, etc.).  The saying goes, at least around the rooms of twelve step programs, “Religion is for those who are afraid to go to hell; Spirituality is for those who have been to hell and never want to go back.”  The spiritual aspect for me is, as I stated earlier, simply the assessment of my inner being, which meditation allows me to complete – no rules or guidelines or hierarchy’s; no definitive god, at least not in the sense that major religions of the world are concerned; just connection, self-awareness, and mindfulness; that’s all, plain and simple. 

gi-letting-go-butterfly11I’m not religious; far from it actually, but feeding the spirit inside me through how I exercise meditation and incorporate it into my life plays a large role in why I can now achieve so much acceptance and feel so much peace, even considering all I’ve been through and all I still face – it allows me to take a step back and realize I cannot “play god” in an attempt to control how I believe things should be; that everything will fall into place as it should, which is perfectly fine – and that is enough.  Now don’t get me wrong, it doesn’t bother me in the least that there are people practicing or taking part in any of the multitude of organized religions either – millions do, so who am I to say there is not any validity to it whatsoever – that would be insane or at the very least, intensely egotistical; I believe people should follow their own paths and partake in what works on their own individual playing fields – it’s just not my path and I know that now – I’ve tried it and my experience was fueled by deceptions and contradictions that render it highly unlikely for a return – but that’s just me.  By the way and in case you are wondering, yes I do have a higher power, but that, my friends, is a tale for another day.