My Version of the Truth...

A Note To The Reader (...to better help you see through the clouds in this series of my life)

So I assume you know me, where I’ve been and where I’m going. I assumed wrong, you are just as clueless as I at this point in my journey “what the hell is he talking about?” you may ask yourself. A lot of people close to my heart could tell you the many wonderful things about the character of this man. A lot of people in the path of my destruction could tell you of the pain and confusion I have caused them. It is up to you to decide which of these participants in my life you choose to ally your perception of this man with, for I the selfish, self-centered man of the hour (you’ll be finished reading my treatise long before that hour has passed) don’t really give a damn. It is through these series of short essays strung together that I leave part of my life for you to examine, laugh at, shake your head in disbelief and say “…there by the grace of God go I…” and truly be glad it is not you.

Clearing The Clouds

I’m not very good at just letting it all hang out. I’m not very good at speaking literally; I like the color and tone of figurative speech, the play on words, the dry wit and cerebral nature of it all. I’ve been called “deep” and at times “too deep” I sometimes resent that because I feel I write like an impressionist paints a work of art, you have to look at it or in my case read it. Not once or twice, but many times, you have to study it, because it says so much between the lines, hazy definitions and splotches of color on the canvas or in a sea of vocabulary. I try to say so much between the punctuations, play on words and white space between the lines. Many Impressionists like Cezanne, Gauguin or Van Gogh works of art, "works of their lives" were never fully appreciated in their lifetimes. It is only after they can no longer contribute to their body of work that the world can catch up to what they were trying to communicate or capture during moments in their lives. I can find no other words to explain; but to say this is my own unique testimony.

I feel a great task charged to my being, my existence, that my charge in life is to be more than just another human animal occupying this spinning orb. Is that being too presumptuous? Is that the ultimate conceit? I only want to help, contribute, to give of my true essence, to give “his-story”. They say the line between genius and crazy is obscure, I would never consider myself genius; but I don’t hesitate to call myself crazy. It’s my way of prescribing to false humility at the same time of doubting my abilities that everyone can see but me. So lets continue…

The Water (....a continuing metaphorical journey of a man we all know)

The water is cold it has been awaiting my arrival from just off "The Plank". They, the wood and ocean are complicit in my ultimate discomfort. The lath and sea desire my acceptance; but I hesitate to capitulate. As I struggle to gain my bearings, as I struggle to learn to stay afloat…no, learning to just stay alive is today's struggle. The first inclination is to reach for that damned boat. At least I wasn’t alone, with all its doomed passengers, I thought sometimes I was in pure bliss, until the sun rose in the morning and I realized I was not a part of the world that loved me and wanted me to succeed, I was in a mere fantasy land. Where is the mermaid to lead me to Shangri-La? Where is the “guard of the coast” to throw me a lifeline, a dingy, anything to fight this wet, cold and lonely place that I find in myself?

The Water

They say it is cleansing, I remember the last time I sought the water on my own. How it felt so good, how I was so willing; but this is a new baptism, a new cleansing, a new death, a new birth, another second chance…how many chances is one afforded? How long will I drift like a buoy, as a signal for other sojourners, a sign for one who has had to “walk the plank”; AT YOUR OWN RISK the metaphorical message that beacons from my presence in these waters. I am so empty, maybe that’s why I float so well (I would hate to think I’m full of any other substance that floats). It’s my time to fill my essence with all that is good; it is my turn to learn to swim again.

Here I am today, remember me and don’t follow me (unless you are on that frigate) let me show you the beauty of the human spirit, the determination of “I”, the power of will and why it was me that was chosen today for this task and not you…

 

The Plank (...a metaphorical essay of a point in the life of a man we know all to well)

Life has afforded me one of its cruel and unusual punishments. Not by choosing me for hardship or heartache, I have done that to myself; but by making me the victim of consequence and circumstance.  It is only now, that after my offense to the ones I love and love me that I have to “walk the plank”. I realize much too late that I have not yet learned to swim in this vast ocean.

Walk the Plank

I have attempted to resign from my occupation for the last decade of a quarter century as Hell-raiser and Co-conspirator of this frail, pitiful and penniless craft only to be finally forced overboard (for there is no room for “good” men on this frigate built for pirating, pilfering and plunder). Contrary to the many mates, masters and prisoners of this journey, I will not begin to drown in the blackness of the abyss and scurry for refuge on-board this Hades bound vessel. I shall be better apt alone against the currents and waves of the sea than with the mass of bedeviled brethren that occupied the “hell of a ride” with me. I bid you all farewell and good riddance as I get on with my liberty, my freedom and prepare for due justice meted out by those who deal in the laws of reality.

I will conform to the ebb and flow of what is good, wholesome and all consuming. I will learn to wade, and then soon swim like a shark, a predator of the sea with no natural enemy; but man, the man of my reflection cast upon the glassy waters that have pooled beneath my own eyes. He will no longer be a nemesis but an advocate, for the beast shall learn to live inside the man and not the man consumed by the beast.

So I wish death to all who want my company for mere amusement, torment and benefit of selfish pleasures. For I am not the one being led to the end of the lath; but it is you that have seen your last days of me. It is you that will find yourselves tethered to the wreckage of this ill-fated craft at the bottom of a dark, cold, unforgiving pit within the sea we so loathed, it is you that occupy the wrong side of the board; it is you that are on the deserved end of the plank.