alive and well

Raise the glass to my sorry ass,
From the far side of the bar,
I stumble across and swipe that smile,
It crumbles and falls to the floor.
Stalking out, drunken louts,
A slap to the face, punch to the head,
Another in self-defense,
Or so I claim, all in vain.
Somehow made it home,
Vaguely remember shouting,
Arguing about six months prior,
Vaguely remember downing the pills.
My heartbeat represented by waves of light,
Went through various levels and rings,
Down to the very last one,
Reddish-orange and strong.
But then it stops, fades into nothing,
The heart beating in my chest,
The beating heart of the sun,
The burning center of the universe.
Still, still, still, echoes into nothingness,
The last beat the loudest of them all,
Echoing into endless tomorrows,
Fading beyond sight and sound.
Eyes half open, breathing labored,
Frothing at the mouth,
Face swollen, overdosed again,
Taken to the car and driven.
Couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t think,
Thoughts just kept going round and round,
Circular motion, endless loop,
Couldn’t finish a single sentence.
I kept repeating the same things,
Over and over and over,
Head spinning, words spinning,
Everything spinning outta control.
They stripped me down in the E.R.,
Hooked me up to I.V.’s,
Catheter to drain my bladder,
I was barely getting enough oxygen.
Ten hours later finally let go,
But I forgot to mention,
I was under close supervision,
And I was let go to another facility.
Telephoned up to use the elevator,
Walked me through double-locked doors,
Into the closed area, no escape,
No laces, no belts, nothing.
Nothing that anyone could use at all,
To harm themselves in any way,
No mirrors, no razors, no scissors,
Not even a TV, just six spare rooms.
Marcus in the padded one, all alone,
Talking to God, who lives in the ceiling,
Gina talking to herself, while wetting her bed,
And Jim—Vietnam Vet—disheveled and gone.
There was also the one-armed man,
Just out of prison, wasted the last ten years,
April with pneumonia, hair like Jim’s,
And Doug, always punching himself.
They fed us well, if you like American food,
Decaffeinated coffee and pop, no smoking,
Starches and canned fruit, drank lots of water,
Ate burgers and cold fries, and whatever else.
I spoke to doctors, nurses, techs,
Even social workers, explained to them,
Just as to everyone else, what happened,
At least what I could remember.
I blamed it on the booze, sent me over the edge,
But that’s not quite half true, less than half,
The fault lies with me, and my petty views,
Taking it out on whomever I choose.
B stayed with me almost all day,
That first long day in the E.R.,
I think I would have lost it otherwise,
No lectures, no anger, just support.
If she had cut me loose, let me go,
Would have fallen apart under lock and key,
She told me it would be all right,
And sometimes hearing that is enough.
I didn’t crumble, I didn’t fade,
Told my story, see how it played,
Pushed for release, little by little,
Put on my best face, blamed the booze.
So they let me go after two days,
Almost unheard of—minimum is three,
But somehow, some way, I stepped out,
And I have to work on fixing my life.
The things that I’ve done to myself,
The beliefs I cling to out of spite,
Somehow some way, she still believes,
Still stands by me, despite all the grief.
Selfishly doing what I selfishly do,
Putting the blame on so many others,
It’s me-it’s me-it’s me-no one else,
Doing these things to me every day.
And still she sticks around, still worries,
Won’t allow me to destroy myself,
Won’t allow me to throw it all away,
Just out of spite, out of anger, fear.
To that list of people I owe,
She is foremost forever more,
Can never repay her in this lifetime,
Might take me a couple, three or four.
I do love you, that I know,
And again, I hurt you beyond reason,
And hurt the children, again,
Seems like I’m only creating pain.
So here we begin anew, another day,
Another view of the same old thing,
But today is different, something changed,
Can no longer keep on staying the same.
I had said that I needed to go on retreat,
To fast or go to the temple and meditate,
It seems like life gave me no choice,
Put me in a place where I had to shut up.
I am free to come and go as I please,
No longer on lockdown, no longer being watched,
Laughing at everything, laughing my self,
Seeing things for the very first time.
Too much wasted time, too many wrong turns,
Living my life the wrong way, waiting for what,
“Do as I say, not as I do,” a negative example,
Try to explain all this to my children and wife.
I forgot to tell you about my dream that fateful night—
Was told to live my life for someone else,
Stop living it only for myself, focus on others,
Before I destroy myself living it as I do.
What’s not to understand, can’t be simpler,
Shut off the noises inside, doubts and paranoia,
Focus on that which is without, open to life,
Experience the here-and-now before it is gone.
Give up my daily meditations on hate,
Of the constant struggle to justify the self,
Live this life and let go of illusion,
Break free of all my delusions,
Make life better for my loved ones,
Before my work on this earth is done,
Toil for those have kept me alive and well,
Through heaven and all my self-made hells.

mantra addict

the voice that i hear is a pain in more ways than one. it tells me i'm not good enough, I'm not worthy of whatever . . . it's not just pessimistic--it's fatalistic.
the voice says that there is no point to any of this (buddhism/skateborading/life--anything) and that i should just give up. on my bad days i allow this voice to paralyze me-- or i try to run away from it.
on my good days i don't care what the voice says. i live. i don't judge. i just do. not sure what to make of all of this, but i've been trying to be more positive in my outlook.
remember the last line from the Suicidal Tendencies song, "Institutionalized"? i liked it because it was silly, stupid, and so over the top--"it doesn't matter, i'll probably just get hit by a car anyway."
the problem is, that is the way that i have been living my life. that is the mantra that i repeat to myself day-in-day-out.
i need a new mantra. i never liked mantras much, i always viewed them as being tools for the weak. well guess what? i am weak. i need to admit that. over the years i have used various mantras-- it was just something i did almost subconciously. if i was chasing after a girl, her name would just repeat in my mind. after each of my children were born, their name would be utmost in my conciousness.
i need more positivity, need to have more "happy thoughts" like the Saturday Night Live skit. if nothing else, i need to end the stream of negativity that flows through my conciousness each and everyday.

vicious circles

I only told two people,
But then they told two people,
Then they each told two people,
And so on and so on and so on.
I don’t make the news I just report it,
So I said in my own defense,
But that really doesn’t cut it,
Just justification for being an asp.
Who am I to judge someone else,
Who am I to spread gossip true or not,
Just to compensate for my own insecurities,
Patchwork job to cover up my failings.
On and on it goes these cycles of samsara,
Vicious circles of hate and vengeance,
Twisting and turning and destroying,
Whirlwind twisting out of control.
I have to stop this at once,
Make the choice to end this cycle,
Take responsibility for my own karma,
Begin living a righteous life.
The Eightfold Path sounds so easy,
Seems so simple and plain,
But as it happens it is not as it seems,
It is the most difficult path to tread.
The Eightfold Way seems dull and uninteresting,
But interesting will be the downfall of me,
Unless I adhere to sense and caution,
Unless I choose right over wrong.
Right views right words right actions,
Just three of the eight but plenty for me,
Those three alone will take all my effort,
And it begins today and it begins now.

just a thought

i put a lot out there in writing, to get rid of it--
feels good to let it go in a way, so i'm not holding any of it in---
once its written its gone, me for that moment, but no longer . . .
but i write about what bothers me, what confounds or angers me . . .
should writing be about celebrating what is instead of bitchn about whatever?
not the first time this has been brought up--
i like to write what i know, unfortunately what i know best is anger and confusion--but in writing about that am i just adding to the confusion, furthering it somehow?

it was nothing special

There is not much I can tell you about my childhood
It was nothing special not to me anyway
But we were raised differently you and I
The context/circumstances are totally different.
I was just thinking about your mom’s appendectomy,
You were six weeks old or something like that
Suddenly I was forced to take care of you
Since Mom wasn’t allowed to lift you at all.
It forced me to take an active role with you
Middle of the night feedings diaper changes
It forced me to be a father a dad
And it couldn’t have worked out any better.
I didn’t even meet my father until I was five
He was forced into the role of father unexpectedly
Did the best he could under the circumstances
spoiled as I was, headstrong, language barrier and all.
I tried to learn from his mistakes
Raised you quite differently
Gave you love and support in all things
At least that is what your mother and I strived for.
Life throws challenges and situations our way
To make us stronger to help us learn
Your health has been a hurdle to all of us
But the lessons to be learned are many.
Life is short and no one knows when it will end,
The everyday struggle blinds us to that fact,
But each and every moment of every day
Should not be wasted or be taken for granted.
You are already ahead of me in so many ways
How you carried yourself persevered against illness,
What you think and how you express those thoughts
We have tried to give you everything that we lacked.
I do not have most of the answers that you seek
Many perceptions and beliefs have turned out wrong
My cravings and clinging are for material things
My concepts and paradigms are built upon illusions.
I hope that we have pointed you in the right direction
That you will succeed where we have failed
There is no integration of theory and action
But our hopes are with you and with the future.
My baby boy turns fourteen in a matter of days
It really does seem just like yesterday
I used to think that was such a stupid cliché
But now I feel it see it for myself.
Someday perhaps you will tell your children
That your childhood was grand and glorious
That your parents treated you like a prince
Because they loved you so much.
We do not have much as far as material things
Despite my obsession with collecting and spending
but we have tried to give you a solid foundation
tried to give you a childhood that was extra special.
Like Prince Siddhartha you were pampered and spoiled
But like the prince you will have to venture outward
And see disease old age and death for yourself
But we never shielded you from the truth.
Life is full of paradox and confusion
Beauty and ugliness pain and joy intertwined
I do not have the answers for you my son
But our love we have given for you to carry forward.

joy in suffering

This game called life-
sandwiched between the extremes of birth and death,
so full of joy but yet so painful at times.
Anxiety and worry overwhelm me now,
Home and security threatened—
The almighty dollar rules this life.
To live and be happy,
Was everything to me,
But happiness has proved to be elusive.
Fleeting moments here and there,
Followed by chasms of struggle and grief,
Eons of regret and longing.
What do I want?
Do I even know?
And who is this I that wants or knows?
There are few answers,
Just more questions—
Vicious circle spins round and round.
I buy and buy,
Accumulate so many needless things,
To stave off the day of reckoning.
I buy into the lie,
The illusion that possessions,
Will somehow shield me from reality.
I accepted the terms and conditions,
Sealed the deal,
Oblivious to the damage and consequences.
Reckless heedless youth,
Plummeting toward disaster,
Awakening at the point of impact.
So much blame,
So much second-guessing,
So little action.
The time is now,
As it always has been,
Only this single constant moment.
Life begins and ends at this moment,
Is lived out in terror and misery,
Or in happiness and joy.
In the final analysis,
What is all for,
Of what use is any of this?
The living to keep living,
And the dead to remind us that life is fleeting,
But yet we take such joy in suffering.