CHRONICLES: The Pain of Beauty, The Fragility of Sorrow

I have seen and personally witnessed some pretty horrible things in life.  I've had friends pass away far too long before their time.  I've received frantic phone calls in the middle of the night from people who I wouldn't expect to hear from, describing scenes of blood and razor blades and shock.  I've tried to convince a man who did everything he could that the death of my son was not his fault before I even got a chance to see his body.

And while I don't suffer from a diagnosed mental illness like depression or an anxiety disorder, I realize that a large part of that is simply due to the fact that I haven't had the ability, time, or personal motivation to address that, because, like everyone else, I have my days.

But I don't have them regularly.  I'm blessed to have positive people in my life, to be generally happy in my place in life, my job, my relationships, my family.  None of it is perfect, but some of it is life-changing and positive in its own right, and I cherish it sincerely.

A few days ago, I had a chance to help some friends of mine set up their exhibit, La Folie Circulaire, at the Main Street Gallery of the Ketchikan Area Arts and Humanities Council.  The pictures weren't all hung yet, but still, walking into that room, a wave of hope, joy, suffering, self-loathing, despair, depression, love, so much love, SO MUCH LOVE, that painful love that you give or receive when someone you know is hurting and all you can do is hold them.

It brought me to tears.  Not heaving, doubled-over crying, but tears, my subconscious and it's tiny, salty, wet tributes to those who are fighting a battle every day in their heads.

The exhibit features graphic images depicting the struggle with bipolar disorder.  It has shocking and beautiful portrayals of being at the highest highs, the lowest lows, the fall out of both, and the ever-present feeling of desperately wishing for an easier path, whether that be a change in meds or the pull of a trigger.

The shocking reality of the struggle that people who have bipolar disorder is something I am relatively familiar with, having spent years with people who are diagnosed, so I'm very familiar with the effects that the ups and downs can produce in life.  However, seeing it up on the walls here in such a way.... it's powerful.

So, if you get a chance to check out the opening, swing by their website, stream the opening tonight at 5:00 Alaska Daylight Time, you will be doing yourself a huge favor in sharing in this very difficult voyage.  I hope you take the time.  It's just... amazing.

https://www.facebook.com/pages/La-Folie-Circulaire/138458886331454

http://ketchikanarts.org/

http://www.nimh.nih.gov/health/publications/bipolar-disorder-in-children-and-adolescents-fact-sheet/index.shtml

http://www.thebalancedmind.org/learn/library/about-pediatric-bipolar-disorder?page=all

http://www.ustream.tv/channel/la-folie-curculaire?utm_campaign=www.facebook.com&utm_source=13878431&utm_medium=social

CHRONICLES: The Struggle, The Comeback

These days, not much can be done except trying to cover your ass from all of the shenanigans that go wrong in life.  That's how it feels to me.  I often wonder if my cell phone will still have service at the end of the day, if my lights will be on when I get home.  It's a weird and difficult time.

The sun is trying to fall asleep.

I've been thinking a lot lately about why I started this blog.  It was my intention to show people why they don't have to be scared of being different.  I wanted to live in a van.  I wanted to push the envelope and take the extra money I had and travel around the country.  I did some of those things.  I travelled.  I pushed the envelope.  I went on climbing trips in Utah that many people dream of.  I bought gear.  I had passes to ski areas that I wanted to ride at, and I could always afford to ride at a place I wasn't covered at.  I went as far east as Orlando, Florida and wound up as far west as Ketchikan, Alaska.  That's kind of where I dropped.

I was lucky enough to have spent some time in some stellar places, cool and trendy apartments in the cool neighborhoods, cozy dwellings, like where I am now, in a beautiful spot on the map.

I've fallen in love with this spot on the map, and some of the people that have come along with it.  But these people are also the ones reminding me that my lifestyle isn't as simple as it should be.  A wonderful and inspiring family I've met, they're moving up north so they can more/less homestead, raise chickens and goats and have a garden and live simply.  My own to-do list has "ministry" and "yurt" on it.

The fire keeps us warm as we tuck the sun in.

But getting there... I've been putting in so much unnecessary bullshit into the ideas that there has to be a certain lifestyle that one has to lead to be considered successful, when really, I never met quite as many great people as I did when I lived in a van, even when I never went anywhere.

The comeback lies in the Pacific Ocean.  Specifically, the Tongass Narrows, or even more precise, Thomas Basin harbor.  Next month, if everything goes to plan, I will be moving onto a 32 foot sailboat, and the adventure will continue.  It won't be the same, but it will continue.

Part of the reason I wanted to share this with you all, is because I was at the beach yesterday.  I had to decompress, and I wound up just looking at the sunset.  I just looked at it.  I remembered the sunset from the deck of the cabin a couple of summers ago.  I remembered the sunsets in Moab, in Salida, in Clarksville, in Kansas City and Yakima, on the M/V Malaspina, and I remembered how free I felt.

Freedom, I've missed you.  I'm coming home, and I'm bringing friends.

I'm coming home.  I'm free.

CHRONICLES: The Aurora Borealis and the Plans

Last night, out of random happenstance, I was awake at 2:30 in the morning.  Lately, this hasn't been a wholly unusual experience.  Typically, the time has been closer to 4 in the morning.  Either way, it is what it is.

I got dressed and went outside for a cigarette, when a simple glance upward showed an extraordinarily large display of the aurora borealis.  Jackets were grabbed, collars put on and leashes attached.  Totem Bight State Park is the destination, only a few miles from Schleicher Pad North.

We got there, and the tide was coming in.  The sound of the small waves slapping the gravel beach added a perfect backdrop to the exquisite green cracks that seemed to be threatening to swallow the night sky.  The aurora directly overhead was streaking out vivid greens, almost like clouds but so much more vivid and wonderful, and all of it seemed to be coming from this point just over the northwestern horizon.  At that place, what seemed to be a giant and slowly morphing green nebula just opened up in the sky.

Pretty amazing.

The next few months are going to be tricky.  I'm going to be getting out of the Schleicher Pad North and onto the sailboat, where I can hopefully live the type of simple lifestyle I want to live without the expense of an apartment and all of the bells and whistles.  I do not know yet what the boat is called, but it's a 32' Hallberg-Rassy, which I believe to be a Swedish company.  (Is that the blue flag with the yellow cross?)  At any rate, it should be more than comfortable for the boy, the dog, the cat, myself, and anyone else who fancies an adventure.  Stay tuned, and don't forget to listen to KRBD if you get a chance.  Not only is krbd.org a great source for Ketchikan's local news, but, of course, the BattleWagon Chronicles!

THOUGHTS: On Astrophysics, God, and a Beach

I recently saw an interview of Doctor Niel deGrasse Tyson in which he said one if the most beautiful things in science. To paraphrase, he said that, over billions of years, giant clouds of dust formed stars and planets, and that, of the very same atomic particles which make up everything in the universe, we are made.

Leaving absent any concept of "how" this happened, the idea that it's true is simply amazing!

The amount if personal conviction it would take for someone like me, someone moderately scientifically literate, a huge fan of science fiction, and relatively intelligent, to put that on some sort of rational proportion in my head... it's nearly impossible.

It's almost as much of a leap of faith on my part as, say, accepting that over the millennia, people around the world have been writing volumes about the same diety, the God of the Jews, Christians, Muslims, Baha'i, Mormons, and the thousands of denominations therein, and that all if these stories are, more or less and before their translations and edits, differing yet consistent enough to be an incredible epic, an easy enough concept for almost anyone to grasp.

However, I've noticed something much simpler and far more grand than either is these concepts.

Last night, I walked on a beach at sunset on a rare, clear, spring evening. The simplicity of it. Me. Another person to share the experience. And a dog. The random stranger. And all the while, across the water and above the mountains, a bright explosion of atomic energy is burning so hot that we can see and feel it from millions of miles away, through our atmosphere even!...

But I'm getting carried away. Simple. Me. Cool, damp, crisp air filling my lungs. The gentle slapping of our tiny waves on the gravelly beach. The fading light.

The color of the sky above the sun.

The warmth of other people sharing the experience, even if only for a few seconds as they walk by with their dog.

The point is that, whether it's a beach in Alaska, a mountain top in Colorado, a desert in Egypt, Mecca, some little used campground 40 minutes from anywhere, wherever, there is a place we all have been where we don't care about what or how it came to be, we're happy. Safe. Comfortable. Humble.

Some of us have more than one of these places. Some of us have a person, a mentor, a role model of sorts. Some of us have a car.

Going with the car, say you've got an old Chevy Corvette you've between meticulously restoring. You nay know who built it, and you may know exactly how they did it. But when you restore it, you put all of that work into it, time and money, and you take it on its first drive... do you think of God? Sure, I would guess some people do. But for some people, there is simply joy. Unexplainable happiness, which followed anticipation and preparation, consumes you, and you know that the work you've done had led you to that place.

You're experiencing what I would loosely call "God", but it's a horrible blanket name for the feeling that is so much greater than what one typically experiences when they think of God.

Maybe a new phrase is in order for this experience. I submit "spiritual gem". I had a high school teacher, Mr. Edward Lambert, who spoke to us about literary gems, those almost perfect phrases in literature that could tell a story and break your heart in one sentence.

Such as my sunset. I can think of the many times I've experienced "spiritual gems" of my own. Seeing Lily Lake for the first time. Standing on top of The Owl in Arches National Park. The birth of my first son. Watching Raiders of the Lost Ark at Red Rocks Amphitheater with a thunderstorm in the distance. The way my second son tells me he loves me.

The way I said goodbye to my first son.

Not all of these experiences were amazingly positive, but all were profoundly life changing. I'm fortunate to have had as many as I have, and, oddly, mostly outside of the places I feel most open to receive then. However, going to these places helps me connect to them, a sanctuary of sorts.

I encourage you, if you're someone who seeks either faith or knowledge, to find and exist in the places with the people that you feel any hint of pure joy with. Cling to the things that make you happy for no apparent reason. Don't walk away from then, and don't label them as nuisances to your "real" life. I'm a firm believer that they're more real than anything else you'll ever experience.

Find your beach, your rock, your campsite, your soul mate, your dream car, your mountain, your baby, your dog, whatever... Find them and love them. Keep them. Don't ever forget them. It may be a picture in your head if a place you saw years ago and never forgot.

The trick is that, when you think of these things, when you remember how happy you were, that you don't forget the happiness. And if that place or person is gone or forever changed, the fact that they existed at all, and out of the billions of people in the world, you got to experience that yourself... you do it a disservice when you focus on the sadness of missing it. You're burying the.happiness of the memory. You're taking away its power.

I suppose, in closing, I should apologize for following a tangent of preaching love and happiness. But I don't think I'm going to. Our time here is far to short in this universe to not find the simply joy in things. I challenge you to share this with your loved ones, to find and share your happiness with anything and anyone. The clock is always ticking. Don't let time run out.

THOUGHTS: Of Life and Death and Life

Today was a very liberating day in lots of ways. Today didn't mark any big anniversaries for me, maybe the beginning of a new one, a date to remember, as a day one remembers simply for having their epiphany in such a way that changes or at least sticks in their life for its remainder.

Today I went to a scary place in my head. It's the scary place in all of our heads, the place where we take all of the bad things we've done, the bad things we've experienced innocently, we wrap them all up in nice little boxes and we keep them there. We don't acknowledge them except in very general and vague terms. When people ask us about these things, we brush off, redirect, or, at most, simply state that they're here inside, locked up.

Today I went to that place. For done reason, I knew it was time. It had to be time. It had to happen, and I was ready.

What happened, what's happening now, what will likely be happening for a while, is most unexpected. It's like a reorganization of faith.

Up until today, I had a good idea about what I believed in, where God fit in, any church, any theological or philosophical proposal, I could give anyone a good idea about how it was all connected. I had no idea that by acting on those principals, that it would cement these fluid beliefs into a certain unique faith.

I actually believe in certain things.

I believe that love is rare, can change lives, and doubles in potency when shared with someone else, be it a dog, a stranger, a kid, an old man.

I believe that there is universal salvation, that nobody will ever suffer more than they do here on this point in space and time.

When we finish with this life, I believe we are present in those who miss us and choose to share our lives with others, that, especially when our life was one filled with love and forgiveness, that the ripple effect our rocks of life have in the ponds of existence will resonate long after we've dropped below the surface.

I believe that God is this simple, a ripple effect in the background, the tide, gently coming and going, reminding us how small we are and how big we can be.

I believe that God isn't always manifested in obvious places. Sometimes God is in a tree, a smile, a hand on your shoulder while you weep, a pain in your abs after a long laugh, a set of eyes your seem to be memorized. Holding a baby. Letting a dog lick your face. A long hug. Saying goodbye. Forever.

Call it what you will. I'm sure there is a proper title for the philosophy behind this, but regardless of what it is, to me, it's something to believe in, something I can see, tangible. I can kiss it, I can touch it, I can laugh or cry or remember what's in my little boxes, or remember what life was like before the boxes.

The key is trust. Faith. Belief. Forgiveness. I said "key" and said four things... They're the same, and it's essential that you have all of them. The hardest part for me was forgiveness. Forgiveness of myself. It's the part that's taken me years to get through, and will likely take new years to complete.

However, I saw it today, the potential, the actual light of having that forgiveness, and it was amazing. Indescribable. Beautiful. Symphonic. Eloquent. Simple.

And so, I share this with love and joy in hopes that it may help someone share some of this love with me.  Throw your boxes away. We're here.

CHRONICLES: State of the Chronicles

Lately, life has been a crazy mish-mash of insanity.  In the span of a couple of months, I've found myself both hopelessly alone and incomparably content.  The heartbreak of close people leaving your life and the joy of finding new people to share it with have been inexplicably hand in hand, and I find my mind clearing itself from the fog that it seems to have been shrouded in for far too long.  I feel like the clouds all around me are lifting and the possibilities for the future are starting to reveal themselves like mountains after a snowstorm, pristine, sparkling monoliths reaching towards the sky, sharing and inspiring a limitless potential.

With any luck, in the coming months, there will be a sailboat/home in my future.  In relation to my son, the boat provides a comfortable, if not unorthodox home for us.  Cozy.  Warm.  Inexpensive.  Mobile.  Docked at a city float with all of the amenities of a small apartment.  Learning how to sail with him years from now will be joyous, and hopefully, it'll provide him with a life experience unlike many of his peers.  With his mother living in our home state of Colorado, he'll be able to see cultural and intellectual things that he can't have here in our isolated corner of Alaska.  But with me living here, he'll be able to see a natural beauty that even Colorado rarely compares to.

The future is a bright one if we can remember to remind ourselves about it.  Try not to get lost in that fog.

CHRONICLE/PROPHESY: It's Better to Have Loved and Lost...

I woke up this morning around 5.  I don't know why, but I couldn't fall back asleep.  I know I must have had some sort of bad dream, but I don't remember what I dreamed about or how it put me in this mood.  I can deduce that it's a bad dream, because when I dream a good dream, it's easy for me to smile in that foggy state, roll over, and fall back asleep.  This morning was different, though.

I finally crawled out of bed after 6.  My alarm clock made it's first and only reminder that there is a necessary and productive day ahead of me.  I rolled out of bed, and I made a cup of coffee, fed the dog and the cat, and just kinda chewed on things for a while.  What did I dream about?  Why can't I remember?

Pieces started falling into place.  I remember a dark hallway, walking down it.  It was like my old high school, a building that no longer exists.  Things were different, of course.  It was dark.  It smelled moldy.  Ceiling panels had fallen to the floor and wiring dangled haphazardly from above where they used to be.  Lights flickered, struggling to stay alive, struggling to help me find my way to some place important.  I carefully made my way around all of the debris on the floor.  Contents from lockers were strewn about with things foreign to any high school.  Old barrels with fires burning.  Tires.  Clothes.  Rats.  Shopping carts.

When I had finally made my way to what used to be a library, I found a bright light emanating from all around the closed doors.  I knew I had to be there, but I couldn't get inside.

I pause to sip my cup of coffee and answer a phone call from an old friend.  It's a brief call.  Not a lot of time.  He says something that triggers more memories of my recent dream.

I searched frantically for something blunt.  An ax or a hammer would be ideal, but I settle for some conveniently placed aluminum bat.  I begin beating at the door, specifically at the padlock on the chain through the handles.  As I labor to open this door, I begin to hear voices and an icy blast of air rushes down the hallway, stirring the smell of the empty building and it's recent inhabitants.  The voices tell me that sorrow lays behind this door, but for some reason, I can't stop beating the lock.

The tears start coming now, as I remember them falling in my dream.  My recollection is trying to break down a metaphorical door of its own, and I knew that I had to work together with my subconscious.  I get sucked into the imagined memory once more.

Sparks flew from the pad lock, flecks of metal stinging my skin with every swing.  My arms grew tired.  At this point, I've almost immobilized myself through tears.  I stop, yielding to the immovable door.  I feel like I failed.  Like I failed everyone.

Suddenly, everything gets quiet and I hear noises on the other side of the door.  I hear kids playing.  Little kids.  My mind keeps trying to force me outside to a reality where a cup of coffee, the sound of rain, and a cozy apartment exist, but I'm pushing now against this door with everything I have, pushing against my brain, trying desperately to cling to this memory before it vanishes forever.

Suddenly something shifts, and the door falls open, and I stumble into this world, where there is nothing but white light.  I actually remember in my dream wondering if I was dead, wondering if this was the cliche of the white light, the afterlife, the gates to heaven and all of that bullshit.  I could make out two figures.  One was small, and I recognized him.  It was my boy.  My younger boy.  He was so happy to see me, and I hoped and prayed that he hadn't had to come the way I did.  We ran towards each other, hugged, and looked at the second figure.  He held my hand, and then he told me that he had to go now, but that I needed to stay.

Another pause in the recollection as I receive a skype call from my boy, who didn't sleep well.  I wonder if he was actually there.  There.  That's where I need to be.

I remember my boy disappearing, and being left in the room (I call it a room, but it was more like a bright void).  There, in front of me, after my eyes worked to adjust, was a boy.  Red hair.  Looked to be about 7 or 8.  He looked so familiar.  I couldn't place him.  And then, with a word, my whole reality, my whole world, all of the light, all of the pain, all of the joy, everything came crashing down around the two of us, me and the boy.  The light started spinning around us.  The walls and ceiling and everything, obliterating itself and whirling everywhere.  It was just me... and him.  I looked at him, I cried.  I wanted to hold him, but I couldn't.  This boy.  This beautiful boy.  The boy who had grown so much since I'd seen him.  The boy who would have just turned 7 in November.  The boy who had just seconds before smiled at me and said, "Dad".

Things started spinning faster.  I felt myself getting more and more weightless.  I reached out a hand, trying so hard to hold on to the moment, to what I was looking at, to WHO I was looking at.  I hadn't seen him in years.  I didn't want to lose the moment.  But, as quickly as it happened, it was over.

It was all over.

Everything.

Over.  The wall had been put back up.  And now I'm just hitting keys on my keyboard, drinking my coffee, and letting the tears quietly fall down my cheeks.