Just Put It Down

It’s 8pm Friday night. It feels like midnight. The girls are both asleep; the house is warm. Quiet. I am listening to my current favorite artist. His voice is literally massaging an unnameable place in my soul. What’s that? Using the word soul is too wishy washy and hyperbolic, perhaps, but that is where these songs are playing tonight. Don’t believe me? Close your eyes and play this song to yourself. Then let some words trickle from your ________ and drip onto the paper.



Today was crazy. Won't get into the details, but I juggled equal parts fear, paranoia, frustration, and apprehension. All-in-all it was not a pleasant way to pass my time.  My mind is still mired in this uncomfortable rut, hence the music and the words. Using this space and these words to clear my head. I need to hear a guitar strum and watch my fingers turn angst into…whatever you want to call this: confession, advice, meditation, prayer, poetry?

There is a list of more pressing things I feel I should be writing about- but sometimes it is okay to just put things on hold, ignore them, forget about them and tend to where it hurts. Sometimes it is okay to not focus so much on the intellectual and allow some room for the spiritual. It has to be okay. This is what I tell myself to avoid burning out, and I offer the advice to you for free. Next time you feel the world is to heavy for you to shoulder, just put it down.

Three paragraphs in and I feel better already. Next I will grab the guitar and gently sing some songs to myself, careful not to stir the sleeping house. Then I'll crawl into bed and lose myself in a book. I am warm and safe and nothing there is nothing happening that can’t be solved sometime in a vague future. There is no sense of urgency for the events of today. I’ll let them simmer and shed their skin of substance, till I am more in the right mind to tend to their needs.

Perhaps this is the wisdom they say comes with age- the ability to know when to let life sit a bit. Close your eyes, enjoy each breath and feel the power of being alive. The awareness that the only thing we have any control over is the present moment, and that hold is tenuous at best, can be very comforting.

I hope these words help anyone who came across them in what ever timezone you find yourself. No matter want mood you find yourself a sense of calm and gratitude can be very powerful. I hear my guitar calling…thanks for listening.

The Rapture

I’m not gonna lie; I have been a bit obsessed with the rapture. It started with a few snarky Tweets and Facebook statuses. Then I sang this song by Josh Ritter about it this morning:

I'm not afraid of the dark

When the sun goes down

And the dreams grow teeth

And the beasts come out

Cast their long shadows

Every time that they start

I'll be right here with you

I'm not afraid of the dark

and started the day reading a little Walk Whitman.

Clear and sweet is my soul, and clear and sweet is all that is not
my soul.

Lack one lacks both, and the unseen is proved by the seen, Till that becomes unseen and receives proof in its turn.

It’s not only that an 89-year-old Californian preacher could prophesize that the Rapture would begin at 6pm in each of the world's time zones, with those "saved" by Jesus ascending to heaven and the non-believers being wiped out by an earthquake rolling from city to city across the planet, but what I am most flummoxed by is the fact that while most people are casually mocking this preacher, the concept of the rapture is still believed by so many people.

Seems strange that we can all ridicule and mock deranged Harry Campers, but for most Christians the concept of the Rapture is still very real; sure they may not believe it was supposed to happen this Saturday, but many, dare I say most do, or at least should, believe that it will happen sometime.

by CharleHolton

I am trying to offend anyone, or pull the arrogant-atheist-self-righteous card, but really I find it hard to believe that people honestly believe:

...the dead in Christ shall rise first: Then we which are alive and remain shall be caught up together with them in the clouds, to meet the Lord in the air: and so shall we ever be with the Lord.

1 Thessalonians 4:15-17

What confuses me is that I am not sure what I am supposed believe literally and what is metaphorical. Seems unfair for people to be able to pick and choose. If the Bible is the truth than how or why do “moderate” Christians feel embarrassed when people like Camper preach its gospel. Either you believe that the Lord is coming to clean house or you don’t. If there is a deeper more sophisticated way of understand the end of days story (myth?) please by all means share them with me. I would love a book that looks at the Bible stories in a non-literal way. Is the rapture true is a metaphor? If the latter for what?

It is all the Rapture, Lord in Heaven, salvation, and “the believe in me or be punished” rhetoric that has turned me off religion. You want me to love my neighbor, help the poor, be a kind and good man, , a loving husband and father…well I am doing my best. I am aware of my shortcomings and trying to do what I can to be a good human being, but I will not be saved in the name of anyone and if that means that I cannot be raptured and saved, so be it. I don’t want anything to do with a heaven that punishes non-believers. I would literally rather burn in hell. If I am meant to be punished because I do not believe, and not rewarded for my actions, count me out. The world I see is much more subtle and beautiful than that.

I can understand, appreciate, and would love to discuss a deeper view of end of times as described by Mark Morford in his latest column:

Maybe the Rapture isn't meant to happen in a big megawhoomp zap, like a giant piñata filled with little candy Jesuses exploding all over the Colorado Rockies. Maybe it's actually an epic saga, unfolding slowly over time, like the world's longest vaguely depressing but beautifully shot documentary film. Fantastic lighting! Expert camerawork! Stirring, hardscrabble tales of love and hope! Too bad everyone dies in the end.

Maybe we are now experiencing some kind of spiritual downward spiral, and our salvation is not to succumbing to a lord, but to getting our collective karmic consciousness houses in order. Perhaps instead of arguing over dates when the world will end and the “winners” get to go to heaven and the “losers” burn in hell, we should decide to follow the basic tenets of all our creeds. Perhaps we focus energy on ridding our minds and hearts of violence and fill them with love and understanding.

I must say I am a bit disappointed. It would have been nice if somehow all the “true believers” would have been zapped away someplace, far away, where they can sit and read their bibles and enjoy their time alone and finally let us down here on earth get to the work at hand- living our lives as best we can.

by Karma Communications

We could final sing and dance, create our provocative art, enjoy our bodies, and hunger for knowledge in peace. No more guilt. No more sin. Just beautiful carnal animal joy. We could final begin to have a human experience here on earth. We could question everything and assign no blame. We could throw out all the dogma and gospels and listen to the earth.

I know, I know keep my hippy utopian ideas to myself…but there are more of us who are losing hope in old myths. But until more people stand up and say that we feel that it is not only Campers who is disillusioned by claiming the Rapture was meant to happen this weekend, but that the very concept of the Rapture is flawed, we will continue to be stuck in these cycles of unawareness and fear.
Tomorrow will be another beautiful day here on Earth. We will all wake up and hopefully be grateful that it all didn’t end. There is not enough time in life to waste hoping for it to end, or pining for some future reward. This is it, my one go, and  I for one will do my best to cherish and enjoy it. At least until the next Rapture.

Memoir Teaser

It’s been a while old friend. Friends? It has been a while since I have spilled some beans here at Intrepid Flame, but please do not judge too hastily; I have been writing quite a bit and fluidly may I add. Cranking out anywhere from 500-1000 words a night. It has felt great. These bizarre scenes continue to ooze out of me onto the blank pages. I have begun digging into old journals to help remind me of the past. When I find a terrible poem or profound idea that I scribbled across pages of the past, I stretch them out and develop scenes to add to my book.

But now, I need your help. I am not sure if the direction I have chosen for this memoir is the best one. I have been writing in a bizarre frantic blindness since January and now I need to take some kind of inventory and decide which direction to head next.

Basically, I have been picking various episodes from my life from the time I was three till the present and writing a series of first person present tense vignettes. Some are a page, others much longer. Thematically they are bound by this idea of the quiet shy boy who goes through various traumas and abuse, which affect him both positively and negatively. This broken boy uses a variety of defenses from drugs and alcohol, to an uncontrollable rage to find himself and become a man. We peak in on his life always in the present tense about love, loneliness, joy, affirmation, despair etc…Some vignettes are all descpritve, some scenes with dialouge, some  with elements of plot, some nothing more than an extended poem.

How much first person present tense narrative vignettes can the reader take? Do I need to insert a sense of plot or progression? How do I do this in a memoir? I was hoping not to have them lined up chronologically. Is this a good idea? Do I need a third person, past tense narrative to tie these episodes together? A voice dictating the lessons learned?

I have also chosen one voice for all of the vignettes no matter the age of the boy/man. So the sixteen year old me sounds like the eight year old and thirty six year old me. My friend Ari says this is not the best idea. Do you agree?

That is it for now. I would love some comments, ideas or suggestions. If anything this has been an amazingly cathartic and therapeutic experience for me. I have really enjoyed revisiting these moments in my life. I just hope others find value in the lessons I hope I am sharing. A final question- why should people care about my life? Can I rely on the universality of suffering and salvation?

In closing, I haven’t shared much of what I have been writing, but here is something I wrote the other night to give you a taste. Please take a look, think about the questions above and help me out.

Stockholm is city built on several small islands. Fourteen to be exact. It is located on Sweden's south-central east coast, where Lake Mälaren meets the Baltic Sea.  These islands are continuous with the Stockholm archipelago. The geographical city centre is situated on the water, in the bay Riddarfjärden. But right now I do not know any of this. I am oblivious to this knowledge. All morning I have been traversing the various bridges and waterways mapless and rudderless. The air is steel blue crisp and invigorating. Head strapped with ear goggles, the walkman filled with tiny doses of melancholy, but I am alive and my cherry red runny nose and frozen fingers prove it.

I find myself in Gamla Stan, the city's oldest section which is located on the original small islands of the city's earliest settlements and still features the medieval alleyways, cobbled streets, and archaic architecture. It dates back to the 13th century, and consists of tourist shops, bohemian cafes and a vegan diner with enticing pumpkin soup aromas wafting out the door.

Inside, we, the assorted patrons are huddle into various corners of this tiny hovel. The windows let spill thin piercing blades of light, which miraculously fill the room with heat. I am crouched over a bowl of steaming vegan soup, a hunk of bread in hand for dipping, and a green vegetable juice that makes me feel avant guard and cosmopolitan. I am a twenty-five year old college graduate, who majored in creative writing, I’m scribbling musings into a journal with sheets made form brown paper bags. I will head back to New York city soon to end a stint in the Big Apple before heading off to Africa. No one in here knows my story. I think myself wise and profound. I am at the end tail end of my current trajectory. How can I know of a future? How will I understand these passing minutes, this present time as a past? How will I look back on experiences not yet lived. We are constantly pushing the limits of our perpetual apex. The  living of life is standing on the edge of a creeping present tense. And I am here. Swimming in it.  On this cold Tuesday afternoon in a boho den in Gamla Stan, Stockholm. 

Two hours later. Another island. A bar. A Guinness. A Johnny Walker Black on the rocks, sure make it a double. Three cigarettes. A need. Misplaced. Mislaid. Lost. I’ve come off the streets to kill some time, regroup, get drunk. Live the poem. I spent the last hour rifling through trinkets at a junk shop near the water and am now armed with a vintage typewriter, which most likely holds more promise than anything palpable. It is a sturdy machine from a by gone era. I finger each key, a romantic door into our collective never-ending story, as I watch the ice cubes shift places in the tumbler behind a rising wall of smoke. I am wake enough to realize I’ve been placed inside this dream. The same one I have always had. 

Thanks in advance for your help!

Mother's Day

I spend most of my days thinking. Thinking about what to write, who to be, what to think. I can’t seem to turn it off, this voice in my head who examines, explores, and analyzes every thought, no matter how trivial, that dances into my mind. Today was no different. I spent most of the day drafting some profound, loving mother’s day post for my own mom, my wife and all the amazing women I know. Lines and phrases drifted in and out my head, only to be ushered out by a running nose and a rude sneeze. I have not been well. The post is a mess.

I am, bleary eyed with a headache, running nose and a comfortable numbness onset by a giant cup of Therflu, coupled with a batch of soft tunes with a nagging need to be babied by my mommy.

I have spent so much of my life trying to prove to her that I don’t need to be babied and that I can take care of myself. She planted the seed of independence in me early on, but then hovered over me to make sure I would grow. I don’t blame her. I spent so many years veering off track, that she must have been worried that I could ever find my way back. But now that I am on a recognizable course that is more aligned with what she must have imagined in our youth, I want her to now how much I appreciated her unconditional love and support. I am so grateful for her ability to let me find my own way. While I know she must have wanted to intervene in my life, she never did. Thank you mom.

There is so much more I want to write, and I did, but you should be grateful that I have been deleting it all. I am really too sick to be writing anything worthwhile. I just wanted to thank, not only my mom, but all moms in the world- especially my amazing wife for being there for us. Thank you for keeping us on time and well fed. Thank you for taking care of the important things: doctors appointments, bills, travel plans. Thanks for shouldering the responsibilities. Thank you for carrying the weight of the world and keeping us safe. Thank you for thinking of us before yourselves. Thank you for guiding and protecting us. Thank you for being our best teachers. Thank you for allowing us to be who we are.

Happy Mother’s day to my mom and my wife and every other amazing woman out there who is the anchor of their families. We love you ladies and it is a shame we only explicitly tell you one day of the year.

Set Free

I have been burdened by a series of conflicting emotions since I first heard the news, so this post could flow in many different directions. I followed the Twitter feed, which started with conjecture, moved to corroboration and weirdly ended with celebration. I did my part to quiet the simmering jubilation that was quickly spreading across the web...

 
 

...but still feel like something more needs to be said, if for no other reason than I need to clear my own head. I will start in a place that most of you would not expect me to ever venture- scripture:

But I say unto you which hear, Love your enemies, do good to them which hate you, Bless them that curse you, and pray for them which despitefully use you. And unto him that smiteth thee on the one cheek offer also the other; and him that taketh away thy cloke forbid not to take thy coat also. Give to every man that asketh of thee; and of him that taketh away thy goods ask them not again. And as ye would that men should do to you, do ye also to them likewise.
    —Luke 6:27-31. KJV

This passage is the one section of the Bible I have always loved and respected. I believe the promotion of unconditional love is the very spirit of Christianity, not just Christianity but all religion. The concept of compassion and tenderness, of forgiveness and empathy is also a cornerstone of Buddhism. I find it ironic that many will read a passage like the one above and claim it to be idealistic or naive.

"It would be great if we lived in a world like that, but how can we allow monsters like Osama and Hilter get away with evil?"

I guess this is where I see values and morals and commitment to love as more than lip service. Yes it is difficult to do good to them which hate you. It is not everyman who can bless them that curse you, and pray for them which despitefully use you. But if we ever want to move toward a true peace, we must begin to understand that vengeance and violence only lead to more of the same. I also do not believe in evil or sin. Every problem, every villain is a product of cause and effect. To change mankind, we do not rid our hearts of sin or attack evil, we search for our own hatreds and replace them with love. You want to defeat men like Osama learn to forgive and love them. It will not happen overnight, but the other way has never worked. Look through any history for evidence of revenge.

It is easy to follow the pack and demand revenge. It is easy to hate and celebrate the death of a monster, but it is not so easy to stand firm and demand love when it is undeserved. It takes courage to see beauty where it is hidden. It takes strength to be able to act non-violently.

Before I am accused of self-righteousness, let me be the first to say I seldom have this strength. I too find it impossible to give love when given hate, but if we believe in the power of love, if we believe in the value of peace we can never resort to hate and violence, because when we allow vengeance and hatred to enter our heart, we immediately become that which we hate.

To celebrate the death of Osama Bin Laden is to allow him victory. He is a man who fans hatred and violence. He dwells in ignorance and a world in which ideas are black or white. Good and evil. But love exists beyond such dichotomous premises. I am in no way endorsing Bin Laden, on the contrary I am saying that to defeat him and his ideology we must face hate with love, violence with peace, aggression with calm.

I sleep tonight with a heavy heart knowing that men and woman on both sides celebrate and mourn not with love in their hearts, but with vengeance and hatred. In America, people will take pride in a military machine that has caused the deaths of millions of people since its inception, cost trillions of needed dollars, and done nothing to promote peace in the world. The rest of the world will plot new schemes and create new strong men to rally the ignorant to violence. Nothing has changed because of this act. Nothing has been made better, safer, or more peaceful. There is nothing to celebrate no one to honor, no reason for pride.If it is the young people in the military we want to honor, then bring them home. Educate them, find them jobs...free them from the cycle of death.

Now we just wait and see how the other side will react. Declarations of revenge? Suicide bombings? Is the War in Terror over? We are pawns in a theater of propaganda architects. We cheer, we sob. Our emotions are gristle for their mill. I am looking deep in my heart and trying to take back my emotions from the clutches of the mob. I ask you do the same. Ask yourself, "What does it say about me when I celebrate death? Why do I take joy in violence? Are my emotions spreading peace or violence? Will their revenge be justified? If they feel they are right?"

Going in circles so I will stop here and maybe continue in the comments...I hope the comments remain civilized.