Tuesday, June 28, 2011

HELL DREAMS

James’ skinny legs ached as he laid down in bed.
I hate pain, he mumbled.
He wished his mom had not run out of medicine.

James sighed heavily as he realized the light was still on.
Sitting up, he rubbed his knees, his thighs, his calves.
It hurt deeper than his muscles… it ached in his bones.
He rose, turned on the closet light, and closed the closet door… except for a crack.
This should help, he thought.

On his way back to bed, he hit the wall switch, shutting off the overhead light.
James sat upon the edge of his bed.

Raising one leg at a time, he got into a prone position once more.
He grabbed the covers and pulled them over his 12-year old body, and up to his chin.
He glanced at the small amount of light streaming out of the closet onto his carpeted bedroom floor.

James was afraid of the dark; he was afraid of what lurked there.

His dad, a preacher, had told him, “Son, there is nothing in the dark that can hurt you. Just turn on the light in your life and the darkness will flee. It cannot exist where light is present.”

He tried to remember that, but thoughts of his favorite subject at school, science, conflicted his father’s teachings… What about black holes? No light can escape in a black hole

Aauughhh… he groaned as he reached for his aching legs. Why do my legs hurt? I wonder if mom is right and this is just growing pains?

His thoughts trailed off to growing bones, light and dark, heaven and hell, monsters in the closet. Was any of it real?

He laid as still as possible, hoping the pain would go away.

As he finally fell asleep, he dreamed…

ALL WAS BLACK
JAMES COULD NOT SEE
BUT HE HEARD GROANING
A DEEP, DARK GROANING
WHO’S VOICE WAS THIS?
IT WAS GUTTERAL, AND PAINFUL TO HEAR
HE TURNED TO LOOK BUT COULD SEE NOTHING
ALL WAS PITCH BLACK
NO LIGHT WAS PRESENT
THE PRESSURE WAS IMMENSE
THERE WAS TREMENDOUS PAIN
HORRIBLE, BLOODY PAIN
UNFATHOMABLE PAIN
DEEP
UNRELENTING
TREMENDOUS PAIN
IT ATE JAMES ALIVE

THEN HE HEARD ANOTHER VOICE
IT WAS CRYING
NOT JUST CRYING, BUT SOBBING
TEARS WOULD HAVE BEEN GUSHING
COULD HE HAVE SEEN IT
JUST TREMENDOUS SADNESS
LIKE THE WEIGHT OF TEN THOUSAND HEARTACHES
UPON A SINGLE SOUL
STABBING THE MIND
SLICING THROUGH THE WILL
CRUSHING THE SPIRIT
SOBBING…
SOBBING…
SOBBING…
ENDLESS FRICKIN’ SOBBING…

HE COULDN’T STAND IT
THE MOANING PAIN
THE SOBBING PAIN
THE DUAL VOICES IN THE DARK

THEN JAMES HEARD ANOTHER VOICE
THIS ONE WAS SAYING SOMETHING
YELLING SOMETHING
THE VOICE WAS ANGRY
SO ANGRY THAT IT WAS SCREAMING
SCREAMING… NOT FAR AWAY
BUT IN HIS EARS
BOTH EARS AT ONCE
SCREAMING!!!
S-C-R-E-A-M-I-N-G!!!
THAT DAMN YELLING
THIS SCREAMING HURT HIS EARS
IT FRAZZLED HIS MIND
HE DIDN’T UNDERSTAND
HE COULD NOT MAKE OUT THE WORDS
MOANING
SOBBING
SCREAMING
ALL AT ONCE
TOO MUCH!
FUCK THIS!
MOTHER FUCKING VOICES!
SHUT THIS SHIT UP

JAMES THEN REALIZED
THE VOICES WERE CHANGING
THEY BEGAN MELDING INTO ONE
AND THE YELLING BECAME MUTED
THE SOBBING BECAME DISTANT
THE GROANING REMAINED

IN THE DARKNESS
HE HEARD ONLY THE GROANING…
AAAUUUGGGHHHHHH….
AAARRRRGGGHHHHHHHHH…
MMMHHMMMHHH….
OOHHHHHHHH…
AAUUUGGGHHHHH…

THEN HE BEGAN WAKING UP

Waking up…

Hearing groaning…

And he recognized that the groaning…

This incessant painful moaning…

… was his own voice.

James opened his eyes and saw the light from the closet.

He blinked, twice.

Hell is real, he thought in awe.

Hell is real, and it is within me.

James realized, not with words, but with thought and experience…

The bottomless pit is the endless darkness of the black hole that exists within people…

Every bad thing, every painful thing, every sadness, groaning and moaning ache, every single wave of anger and threshold of what a person can endure, or feels to its extreme, is hell.

A personal hell.

Hell is a state of being, he considered as he rubbed his aching legs once more.

Perhaps heaven is also real, he thought.

James finally understood why he was afraid of the dark.


Monday, June 20, 2011

MR CHEN AND THE RED RIBBON



Mr. Chen sat under the money tree wondering about the little spirit fish, Shu, that kept nibbling at his feet but could never be caught on his fishing pole hook. He threw out the line on his long bamboo pole, and saw Shu swimming around in circles. “I wish there were more to life than fishing for spirits,” he mumbled. A spirit bird flew over and landed in the money tree above him, peering down at him with the wanting eyes. He knew it desired to peck his head, so he tightened his hat. “I wish that terrible bird would go away,” said he.

Right then Mr. Chen spotted something white coming down the river towards him. I wonder what that is… thought he. He noticed it was long, like a snake, but part of it was being held up by the sky. Mr. Chen jumped up, nearly losing his hat, so he could get a better look. That quickly, the spirit bird came down and pecked at some stray hairs on his bumpy head as the hat slipped off for a moment. “Get away you terrible bird!” he scorned as he quickly covered his head once again.

His eyes landed back on the long white thing floating partly in the water, and partly out of the water, toward him. He readied his cane pole so he could catch it out of the water; however, the bird flew to the object and snatched it out of the water and began flying away with it. “Nooooooo! Terrible bird!” cried Mr. Chen jumping up and down, “I wanted that!” He was very disgusted at this bird that never stopped causing him problems.

Just then a giant hand appeared out of the sky – HUGE! The clouds and haze that were in the distance covered the source of it, but there it was, a giant hand… a female hand. It was reaching down and held the long white thing, snapped it in the air, and scared the bird spirit, which flew away instantly. “Yay!” Mr. Chen yelled. But then the hand started reaching in his direction.

“What?” Mr. Chen said aghast. His jaw dropped nearly to his dirty bare feet. Mr. Chen became afraid, and trembled as he saw the ominous hand coming closer to him, with the white soggy long thing in its grasp. He wanted to run, but he simply couldn’t move. He realized then, since the long white object was a giant piece of cloth… a beautiful ribbon, satiny white. But Mr. Chen was afraid of the hand that was holding it… This must be the hand of the great sky goddess, he decided. He thought quickly.

Mr. Chen grabbed his cane pole and flicked the line and hook toward the giant hand as it came nearer to him. The hook went into the top of the hand’s skin, and then he pulled and pulled, and the skin began to rip and bleed. Blood from the hand rushed down over the white ribbon, dousing it completely in its red color. The goddess hand let go suddenly, dropping the ribbon by Mr. Chen’s feet before disappearing.

Mr. Chen looked around, and saw that the bird had returned, but it would not go near the red ribbon. “Aha!” said Mr. Chen, and he climbed the money tree and tied the red ribbon around it, and sat under it. The bird chirped and chattered and fluttered around, angry that Mr. Chen had put the red ribbon in its favorite tree. The bird spirit flew away.

“Aaahhhh,” said Mr. Chen, “now I have outsmarted that terrible bird!” So he sat once again, this time directly under the money tree, and enjoyed his bloody gift from the great goddess hand in the sky… the red ribbon that makes terrible birds go away. “I shall fish tomorrow from beside the money tree, but tonight I shall sleep under it so I will be safe from that bird,” … forever, thought he.

But just in case, Mr. Chen slept with his hat on.

Wednesday, June 15, 2011

AT ONE YEAR


Last month I cut off all communication with my beloved husband Bruce. It is something I had been putting off for over a year – and it has been a year this month since I moved across the country to start my new life.

I just knew it was finally time to let go completely. So that was it.

I had my phone number cancelled, forever. I no longer write him letters. I removed my ring.

I moved on.

I have not seen him in a year. I have not lived with him in 2 ½ years.

Celibacy sucks. Whatever.

There comes a time, no matter how much love either party feels, when you realize that life must go on without that person, because he is not present anyway, and will not be for many, many years, if then.

Love conquers all. Right?

Right?

No, it does not. It does not fix anything. It does not solve life’s woes. It does not change the corruption of the powers that be, who have the power to destroy everything you’ve worked for. Love does not make it all better.

Love does not see one through, even though it exists, and is felt deeply, and is present in the heart and mind. Love does not bring him home. Only a miracle could do that, and my faith for such things long went by the wayside.

Betrayal by the universe? Perhaps.
Betrayal by the self for not listening sooner? Probably.

But honestly, if ever there were a heaven, it would look like my heart now feels.

I am happy, truly happy. I have the greatest kids in the world. I have a good job and wonderful co-workers, a new home, the best of friends and family, and am liked and even loved by them.

I live in beautiful Washington State, where the flowers and trees, grass and water, moss and ferns, waterfalls and mountains, ocean and animals, and other natural delights, fill my eyes and feed my soul.

My friend recently told me, “Sharon, where did you come from? You just swept into here like you belonged and have quickly rooted yourself, gained everything you set out to do, and have done it with ease, grace, and success. You are amazing.”

How can I top that?

With more plans… and there are many.

I choose to invest in my family, in myself, in my future, in love, in the heaven on earth, which I have found here… and make it grow.




Monday, June 13, 2011

SEX... DIRTY?

Sex.
Sex, sex, sex.
Dirty word?
Dirty deed?
Who says so?

Many Mom’s and dad’s say so even though they do it.
Oodles of Pastors and Preachers say so even though they practice it.
Some Priests say so even though they pretend to be celibate (I won’t mention what else they’ve done).
Some little kids think so but they have no clue yet (“Ooooohhh, cooties!”)
Some teens think so because they’ve been taught it is so… many teens don’t.
Some old men are called “dirty old men” because they are considered sexual perverts.
The statistics for old women are to become more promiscuous/inventive/exploratory upon entering “old age.”

People who have sex, in American culture, are either considered:

Married
- or -
Whores
Sluts
Man-whores
Fornicators
Cheaters
Adulterers
Masturbators

Sex is also considered…

Fun
Beautiful
To express love
Exercise
Personal expression
Release
Healing

For some sex can be…

Impossible
A challenge
Better with oneself
A score
A mental fixation

For some, sex is thought of as:

For getting pregnant
Molestation
Rape
Dangerous
Not for children
Not for teens
Not for old people
Not for sick people
Not for ugly people
Abusive
Criminal
Evil

For Bible thumpers the…

Marriage bed is undefiled (Hebrews 13:4)
But this can also mean a husband or wife can…
Rape, molest, or use the marriage as a license to otherwise abuse
because no “wrong” can be done if the marriage bed is undefilable.

So many other forms of sexual expression are common worldwide…

BDSM (role play, heightened sexual intensity/release)
Bestiality (zoophilia - farmer Joe did it, and so did the shepherds)
Oral sex
Anal sex
Kama Sutra (many positions)
Kabbalah (sexual direction)

People who have sex can be…

Straight/heterosexual
Gay/homosexual
Lesbian
Bi-sexual
Transgender
Transsexual
Hermaphrodite

Pop Quiz: Can a eunuch have sex?

And there is…

Nymphomania
Necrophilia
Hypersexuality
Sexual phobias
Sexual blocks

And all of these are but samples of a plethora of alternatives
within normal, sexual, human functioning and practices…

ALL are within the normal range of human variation around the globe.
ALL are “normal” except for the rules and labels that people call it.

Sex is normal.

We are here for three reasons…

To eat
Survive
Reproduce

Anything outside of that does not matter.
The human race can only continue if those three things occur.

Right now the human population is exploding.
The earth cannot sustain a global epidemic from overproducing more people.

We have grown beyond the need to reproduce.
When that happens (and this the first time in history or pre-history where it has happened)…

There is no need for reproducing.
There is no need for sex?

Except as fun, as something beautiful, to express love or for personal expression, for exercise, release, and healing… and more.

Or we should just call sex “dirty”?

It is not who does it that makes sex “right” or “wrong”…
It is not their age, gender, social status, socioeconomic status, ethnicity, nationality, whether they have a penis or a vagina (or both or neither).

It is how society labels sex that makes it “right” or “wrong”
How it is enculturated into our thoughts and beliefs.
How it is formed into mindsets…
How it is used for or against others...
That makes it “right” or “wrong”

Sex is unsafe.
Sex is safe.
Sex is bad.
Sex is good.

Sex, my friends, is just sex.

How do you think about sex?

Why?
Where did you learn that?
Who told you?

You were not born from the womb with that attitude.
You learned it.
You were enculturated.
Learned behavior.
This is your culture.

“Sex is dirty.” This is our culture.

Just “good clean sex” is also enculturated.

Why do you like or hate sex?
Why are you indifferent towards sex?
What kind of sexual, or nonsexual person are you?

Sex.

Dirty?

Only to some…
Not to others…

Do you ever have “dirty” thoughts?
Do you ever think sex feels wonderful?
Can sex be fun simply because it is seen as dirty?
Like you’re getting away with something?
Like you’re in on a secret?

Sex…
Dirty?

Can it be both dirty and good, depending?
Yes?

Welcome to the concept of sexual relativism…
Where both views are equally valid and neither is “right” or “wrong”

After all, “dirty” is merely a label, a concept.

Sex is an act.

Have you had some good dirty sex today?

Friday, June 10, 2011

WHO UNDERSTANDS?

Who understands me?

All of the many human beings I have known or met all have different relationships with me. I wear many hats… daughter, mother, sister, wife/separated spouse/ex (depending), varying level friend (depending upon the person’s position and history with me), co-worker/consultant/owner/writer/minister/counselor (depending), friendly face/someone they have to deal with, or complete stranger. All of these relationships are true. None of these relationships are the real me, nor the whole me, so they are equally untrue.

Who understands all of me, at my core being, the eternal and deep well within me, which once named cannot ever be the truth, simply because it was named?

There are a few, a select handful of people (you know who you are) who have known my heart, my mind, my life, my wishes and desires, my very thoughts.

Husbands/lovers/boyfriends over my lifetime have known parts of all of this… one never knew… one knew a little… one knew most but believed that “the one who loved the least was the one who was in control”… and one knew me as well as my best friends, and became one of my best friends in the world.

Who understands that when one finally finds such a person that it is hell to watch their professional name defaced, their reputation and income demolished, their very soul tarnished with false accusations by the corruption within those who perpetrate it, which they call glorious from their own perspective?

Those who are hated are often the least understood. My own personality is shared by 1% of the population. 99% do not understand me, and some of the other 1% may also not due to other cultural and environmental factors out of my control. My whole life I have striven to be understood, when finally I realized it is wholly impossible. I am hated because I am not known. I have been hated most by the people who did not even know me. Is not victimization a choice? Is it not a choice to care what people think? Especially when they do not know what they think they know?

Who understands what it is like to have these similar views and actions of hatred and disgust imposed upon oneself by others, and to watch as they victimize the victims, and bring great emotional harm to the children in the worst way, while claiming they are saving them? What hypocrisy. What self-deceit. What relativistic truths, which seem like opposites… yet these are all truths in and of themselves, even if apparently contrary. Whose truth is better than another? They are equal, even if not the same. Labels are man-made concepts. We are all labeled as this or that. They are truth to some, and falsehoods at the same time, because they have a partial view, a limited bias, a narrow mindset.

Who understands this?

Are we not all equally capable of the gravest errors, and the most awesome blessings?

Who understands that I am not the person that many think I am? Who knows the real me? Who sees my soul bleed for truth, and who hears my pain? Who feels the ragged blade that ripped through my heart and stabbed me in the back? Who senses the spirit of who I really am rather than the one they choose to see through their misjudgments? Who tastes the bitter drops of betrayal that they shoved into my mouth? Who smells the putrid agony of death that was laid to rot within my very soul?

Who understands that I am not the person that many think I am? Who knows the real me? Who sees my soul as the spring flower that blooms within me, and who hears my lips whisper gratitude to the trees and sky and water and powers that be? Who feels the peace that emanates from my innermost being that makes me smile when no one is looking? Who senses the spirit of who I really am in totality or in part? Who tastes the glory that shall one day be mine? Who smells the sweet smell of justice as the truth is told to the masses?

I do.

I understand.

That is all that matters.



Tuesday, June 7, 2011

MR CHEN MEETS SHU


One fine spring day Mr. Chen sat cross-legged under the money tree and began fishing. He put his bare feet in the cool river and felt the fish spirit nibbling at his toes. “I am tired of these fish…” Mr. Chen said with a sigh. He longed for someone to talk to.

The rocks under his rump were making his back sore so he got up and stood in the water’s edge. Mr. Chen walked deeper and deeper towards the middle of the river. The water reached up to his chest. He stepped up onto a large boulder, but it was slippery, so his foot slid off making him fall completely into the water, dunking his head, and making his hat fall off. A spirit bird flew down, nabbed Mr. Chen's hat, and dropped it on the bank. The river, with its mighty arms twisting and turning Mr. Chen's body, swept him downstream.

Mr. Chen floated down the river, and swimming only kept him on top of the water but would not bring him to the bank. He continued floating downstream, passing a footbridge, then a large hanging branch, which he tried to grab without luck. He saw clouds pass by, heard children playing in the distance, and the sound of a stringed musical instrument. Finally, he snatched a small log that stuck out partly into the river, but it pulled loose and it held him afloat as he continued to swiftly go farther and farther away from his fishing bank by the money tree.

Mr. Chen became so weary that he lay across the log and shut his eyes. Time passed and he heard a voice – a soft, gentle, but concerned female voice. “Are you alive?” He cracked his eyes open and saw a small woman standing over him from atop a rope bridge. She had reached down towards him and had grabbed his shirt, and caught him like a fish from out of the water. Dragging him to the bank she said, “I am Shu, who are you?”

He stuttered, as if in a dream, and choked on the water for a moment. “…Mr. … Chen,” he replied, exhausted. Shu took him to her village and aided him to regain his health. They had many conversations, for many days, very long and in-depth, and entirely fascinating. Mr. Chen was drawn to this little woman Shu, and felt she was part of him. He knew things were okay, and he thought about his home back at the money tree, by the riverbank. Before retiring for bed he told Shu of his home, and where he was from in detail. “You are well enough to go home,” Shu said, “but I will see you tomorrow by the water.”

That night Mr. Chen went to sleep in Shu’s village, but when he awoke he saw the underside of the leaves of the money tree he was so familiar with at home. He sat up quickly; the sun was rising. Panicked, he looked all around, and got up and called out for Shu, but she was nowhere to be seen. Did she take him back home in the night while he slept? Did he even meet her at all? Was it a dream? Was he alive or dead?

He noticed his cane pole by the water’s edge, so he sat down cross-legged, put on his hat that still laid on the riverbank, and began to fish. Missing Shu he put his bare feet in the water and wondered if he would ever find her again, and he considered what would happen if he went downstream. He shook his head, figuring she was lost to him in time and space. He could not remember how far away Shu’s village was. Shu had caught him out of the water as if he were a fish when his eyes had been closed.

Right then the little spirit fish came and nibbled on his feet, looked up at him and said, “Are you alive? I am Shu, who are you?”

Mr. Chen jumped! Then he realized he must be dead, and so calmed down, sat down, crossed his legs, and picked up his cane pole. The only thing left to do would be to fish.

May be this time he could catch Shu out of the water…

MR CHEN GOES FISHING


Mr. Chen sat under the money tree wishing for something to do. "I am hungry... Ah," he exclaimed, "I will go fishing!" So he grabbed his bamboo cane pole, sat along the waters edge, crossed his legs, and began his patient hunt for fish.

After some time he caught a fish, cooked it over a smokey fire, and began to eat it, but on his first bite Mr. Chen choked and died. His spirit left, floated up by the top of the money tree, and looked down at his body. "I should not have gone fishing," and so he jumped back into his body and awoke.

As he looked up, his eyes spotted a bird in the money tree. "I am still hungry," he said, and so he killed the bird, cooked it and began to eat it. The first bite of the bird tasted good, and he did not choke, but then the spirit of the bird pecked at his ears and pulled the hairs on his head the rest of the day. "I should not have killed the bird," said Mr. Chen, shaking his sore head.

He finally jumped in the water to flee the bird spirit. Mr. Chen held his breath under the water for a long time, and saw the spirit of the fish he had previously caught, swimming around him, nibbling at his toes, but it did not hurt. "Hhhhmmm..." said Mr. Chen.

He got out of the water and saw that the bird spirit had flown away. He quickly put on a hat in case the bird came back, then picked up his cane pole, sat by the waters edge, crossed his legs, and began to fish. He contemplated the rest of the afternoon that angry fish - even if you choke and die - are better than angry birds.

To this day you will find Mr. Chen, sitting cross-legged under the money tree at the waters edge, and doing nothing but fishing with his cane pole.

Always, always, he will be wearing his hat.