That Own me
That Throw me
That Sow me
That Hoe me
That Know me
That Flow me
That Blow me
That Grow me
That Show me
That Tow me
That Go me
That Mow me
That Bow me
That Row me
That Stow me
That Wuw me
That Slow me
That Owe me
That Bone me
That Hone me
That Hormone me
That Testosterone me
That Condone me
That Throne me
That Stone me
That Moan me
That Shun me
That Sun me
That Stun me
That Fun me
That Done me
That Hun me
That Nun me
That Run me
That Ton me
That Won me
That Spun me
That Swerve me
That Nerve me
That Perve me
That Serve me
That Curve me
That Bend me
That Send me
That Tend me
That Verve me
That Lend me
That Trend me
That Fend me
That Mend me
That Spend me
That Spoon me
That Noon me
That Moon me
That Goon me
That June me
That Loon me
That Soon me
That Tune me
That Buffoon me
That Balloon me
That Kaboom me
That Ruin me
That Root me
That Toot me
That Boot me
That Mute me
That Hoot me
That Lute me
That Nuet me
That Cute me
That Befuddle me
That Cuddle me
That Muddle me
That Subtle me
That Huddle me
That Puddle me
That Found me
That Bound me
That Confound me
That Surround me
That Hound me
That Mound me
That Drowned me
That Nouned me
That Clowned me
That Pound me
That Round me
That Wound me
That Astound me
That Ascend me
That Unend me
That Suspend me
That Upend me
That Transcend me

The Day of Taxes and Memories
My father was born today in 1922. If he were still here, he would be 86 years old now. He passed in 1995. I miss him, but not as much as I miss my mom.

Mt dad and I were very similar; same kind if humor, flirtatiousness, passion, inner conflicts, intelligence and argumentative nature. We both loved sports, especially the New York Knicks.

When I was kid, he used to take me to Shea Stadium to see the New York Jets with Joe Namath, Broadway Joe, on Sundays. There were games that were so cold I had to order another hot chocolate every time the hot chocolate guy came around. Which was right after the beer guy that would yell, "Beer Here" in his Brooklyn accent. It made beer sound so manly and primal.

I used to enjoy the long ride to Flushing, N.Y. We would go in taking the George Washington Bridge, to avoid the traffic. We would eventually pass Harlem, this always excited me for reasons I never knew. I always ha this sense that something powerful was going of there. It felt like real people with real lives were doing real things there. This was before the divorce and my dad losing his job. We still lived in a perfect little suburban town with perfect people leading perfect lives. It felt like something out of The World of Disney. I wonder if any of this had to do with being born in Newark, NJ and then "moving-up" to the suburbs.

The final attraction on the way to Shea was the site where the Worlds Fair was 1968 with its massive globe. This is how I knew we were there! My parents took me and my older brother David to the Worlds Fair; it was incredible for me as a young boy. When we were older, my would give us the tickets some Sundays and let us take the train into Flushing by ourselves, it was so much fun.

When my dad married again, it was awkward. She was a working model only a little older than us. We thought she was hot. There should be some kind of law against having a stepmother you think is hot. I saw her naked once, it gave me an erection. I felt embarrassed. They never knew I saw her like this. They fought a lot; her daughter that was nine years younger than me was deeply affected by all the yelling. I barely noticed it because I grew up with it. They got separated after I moved out. The fighting continued and then they got back together again. This pattern continued for many years and apartments.

My dad loved good food too. Fortunately, my mom was an incredible cook. Unfortunately, his second wife was not. He tried to learn to cook but it was a terrible experiment that typically resulted in a big mess, drama and burnt frozen dinners. My mom never made frozen dinners, burnt or not.

He was a writer when he was younger. I remember his blue, Smith-Corolla typewriter. He made really neat birthday and Holiday cards for females. I did not get one till I was near thirty and took a temper tantrum on him about it. He then made me more than anyone else. I was now part of his club of special card recipients. They were created with markers, colored pencils and ink. He would also draw, paint and sketch with ink pens. When I was in my mid-thirties and first experiencing the joy of artistic expression; he gave me all his art supplies. I was just beginning my journey with shapes, forms and colors and was so grateful. I l=felt like the paintings would come out better with his supplies, since they made all those gorgeous paintings on the walls I grew up with, and were still on my mother's living room walls.

When my spiritual awakening first seeds were sprouting, my dad and I struggled. It was my doing while I was trying to figure who I was and how I fit in within the family. Therapy will do that to a guy. He resisted fiercely at first. Eventually, he became a supporter of my growth and development; and our process together.

In 1995, when I left Jersey for an extended solo-backpacking trip around the country, we both knew we might not physically see each other again. So, we had that conversation. It was strange because everybody assumed he would live another few years. Besides, he was a guy who died and was brought back to life in 1972. How could he die after all these years of resisting death?

So, we had that conversation. It was the most beautiful, forgiving, compassionate and loving conversation I had experienced till that point in my life. All was forgiven and replaced with genuine love and acceptance for each other and hour shared history. I could not have imagined a better conversation. I left on July 6th; he passed on September 6th. It was a Friday night. I felt something awful in my belly that night while listening to an outdoor concert at Third Street Park in Bloomington, Indiana. I didn't hear the news till a called my mom about a week later. The wake ha=d already taken place. In many ways, I was grateful I didn't participate. He had given me clear direction to NOT come home if he died while I was hiking. My mom could barley speak she was so upset. He was gone. My dad was gone. We would not watch another NBA Finals together again.

My dad's was the only birth date I would remember besides my own. He would say because it was Tax Day, his birthday was the most hated day in America every year. He loved making jokes about it and say how apropos that was for him and his life.

When I think of my dad, I think about a man who grew up with a single mother with six children during the Great Depression in Newark, NJ. I think of him fighting in the Army in WWII in France, while all "his people" were being executed in The Holocaust. I think of how funny and fun he could be. He was definitely a social performer and could hold a crowd in public; I get this from him. I think of his love for pasta and dancing to jazz, especially the big bands. He was a good dancer and enjoyed dressing up to go out. I think of how hard and frustrating life was for him. He was always an inch from inner and outer conflict. It seemed conflict is what he lived for as times. Finally, I think about how much he loved his grandchildren, David and Michael, and that conversation we had before I threw on my backpack. I love you dad. I miss you dad. And you are not forgotten.
April 15, 2008- William and Mary Campus Flower Garden, Williamsburg, Virginia

Half H2O, Half O
It is easy to deceive ourselves by how we feel and how impressed others are with our "growth". THEY see something and to them we are doing something important, vital. And maybe we are, but we still need to dig and check it out for ourselves. We can't be fooled by what we show them or us, we are magicians and tricksters, therefore, skilled in deception.

One of our clues is demonstrated as successive statements that all end with a positive "spin" to each situation or reference.
Example:
"I didn't sleep well last night, but I got to hear the baby next door crying, it was cute. I usually miss that while sleeping."
At first glance, this appears genuine and balanced. And it may be, but why did I need to include hearing the baby crying in the same sentence? Why could I not make these two separate sentences, as separate emotions/thoughts? Why did I not sleep well? What did it feel like not being able to sleep last night? Did I resolve anything? If not, what was that like? If given the choice, would I choose to sleep through the night or not sleep and hear the baby next door crying in the middle if the night? If sleeping is the answer, then why reframe my true sentiment and make it feel good?

The new age world seems big on positive thinking. The academic world seems to embrace negative thinking, disguised as "scholarly criticism". One sees the glass half full; the other sees it half empty. Me, I see it as a glass with water in it. Part of the glass if full with water, the other part is full with oxygen. Really the only physical difference between the two is hydrogen. Why do folks feel the need to put ANY spin on the glass's volume, not sleeping last night or George w Bush? Why does anything have to be labeled as good or bad? Why not accept things exactly as they are?

Whenever I ask a young woman why they wear make-up, color their hair or any other alteration of their natural appearance; they almost invariably give the same response.
The answer resembles this "I look better". I will not tackle the political or social programming that cerates young woman thinking they need to look "better" in this essay. My interest here is the perception that they look "better" by altering their natural appearance. Better is an opinion, not a statement of truth in fashion and in most cases.

If I see a woman scampering out in the morning in her PJs, fresh out of bed to get the Sunday NY Times absolutely ravishing as she is at that moment, is she not as beautiful as the other instances when she has the opportunity to "get ready"? When I see her the next day with hair full of shampoo that makes her hair shiny, make-up that ides her skin an dark stuff around her eyes hiding the softness and clear eyes that stirred me the day before; is the statement that she looks "better" still hold true? Probably not. A true statement might be that she looks different or altered than the ravishing woman I saw hoping nobody would see her before coffee and a shower the morning before, but not necessarily "better". Somehow, somebody has brainwashed us into translating different or changed, as better. Change means change, not better or worse. It is just change.

Recently, somebody did not respond to a request I made in a manner that pleased me. In fat I was disappointed with how it worked out. I interpreted this as a bad thing because it left me in a challenging situation. I was depending on their help. By the time I placed my head on the pillow of a stranger's couch that night, my life had made a shift that altered mine and those around me profoundly. The series of events that followed facilitated spiritual shifts in a bunch of us; leaps we were balking at suddenly became natural and seamless. Again, if I wrote this at 3:00p.m. that day i was turned away; this would have qualified as "bad"- and the glass would be, therefore, half empty. Somewhere along the way it would have switched its identity and became half-full since several people benefited greatly from this event.

Right now I see it is a glass of water that I have drank half of it and I am still thirsty, so I will drink the other half! Then, the glass will become completely full with oxygen, unless I fill it again with water. For me, the glass is neither half-full nor half-empty; it is a glass with water and oxygen.

Redoubt Park
How many doubts can one man have? Is there a ceiling on the quantity of doubts to is it infinite? I am sitting on a dead, rotted tree in the marsh of Redoubt Park, Williamsburg, VA. It is warm out, probably at least mid-seventies at noontime. A Yankee, in baseball and in geographic roots, I am not accustomed to this type of weather in early April. Especially, since i have spent the last six Aprils in the snow and cold of Madison, Wisconsin.

Redoubt Park. A park in remembrance of the Civil War's battle of Williamsburg. Where Benjamin S. Ewell designed redoubts as a form of defense. I wonder if "redoubts" in war or in life are an effective defense against our enemies? In life, "to doubt again" is not only an ineffective system of defense against the enemy; doubts are the enemy. What greater enemies do we encounter then doubt and then doubting again?

Today, my doubts are less than normal for me. I can be a doubtful guy. Yesterday's Reiki Training and last night's in depth Reiki phone discussion have strengthened my commitment and Faith. This was fortified by productive meditation session this morning. It was productive by feeling the connection to Self, God and the Earth. I experienced a focused mind on my breathing, meditation and the tingles and rushes of energy in my body. I felt present- I could feel myself in my feet and toes and that sense of heaviness when we are totally in our bodies.

Doubt, although always present on some level in my busy mind, is not my problem today. This is a gift for a homeless, unemployed man with no income while living to he road in his 1993 Chevy Astro. Doubt has been my greatest challenge these days- doubting safety, doubting shelter, doubting direction, doubting myself and doubting public ridicule as truth.
But not today.
Today is a day to stand and deliver.
Today is a day for softness and Hope.
Today is a day for parks, trees, birds, swamps and new friends.
Today is a day for Reiki.


Redoubt Park, April 9, 2008, Williamsburg, VA.

I was about 2021 years old. Me and two friends got tickets to a concert in red bank, nj. We were going to see Ian Hunter Band with Mick Ronson. We decided we would get a room for the night, party, drink, enjoy the show and hot the bars afterwards.

We arrived at the Bed and Breakfast mid afternoon. We has spent the day in the beach. We checked in and went to our room to shower and relax before going out for dinner. We each took our showers and went to hang-out on the balcony outside our second floor window. We crawled out through the window with beers in hand, just "dressed" in a towel. A few beers later and the towels seemed to have fallen away and became unnecessary. So, we were sitting on this balcony naked, as the sun was setting, but certainly still light enough to watch the folks on t ..he other side of the street. This particular street was lined with Victorian style beach-houses that were all converted to B&Bs on each side. the middle area was rather large and well-manicured grass and sidewalks. the distancce between the two sides of the street was the basis for our collective comfort with being naked while sitting on the balcony, that and the beer.

We heard a loud an forceful knock on the door to our room. We each looked at each other with the "Oh Shit!" look. We then each scurried back to the room through the window and threw on some clothes. we then answered the door to find the owner an the police standing there with scowls on their faces. Apparently, somebody across the street was able to see and called the police ands owner. Fortunately, we were not arrested nor kicked out, not sure why. we did receive warnings and public embarrassment.

It turns out this B&B was directly across from the manchester inn! It took me a while to put this all together the other night. This journey into my past that i have been on this past six weeks continues., in ways i could not imagine nor facilitate on my own.

Sunday morning, Easter comes with inner amusement, embarrassment and remorse over the reality of where i booked a room by "chance". The Universe is efficient, very efficient. Nothing is wasted, it all has a purpose- in spite if ourselves.

I took a brief walk on The Boardwalk, took some photos of the ocean, a makeshift wooden cross on the beach, this strange street and it s new meaning to me and this beautiful Church sitting at the end of this street. After feeling ready i completed MY Easter experience and go in the van to head north to my cousin jim’s home. the sun was shining brightly and i will spend Easter with my cousins. Easter with family. Easter, renewed Hope.


The Universe is very efficient, in spite of ourselves.

Beth
We were both attending meetings of the same self-help group. It had been six months since the first time I saw her. I fell for her before she even opened her mouth. She was soft, warm and genuine in her walk and demeanor. When she opened her mouth and spoke, there were no more questions: I would pursue her.

As common for me then and now, I was shy and intimidate by her physical beauty. Besides the obvious challenge of being shy, in my case that meant acting differently than myself around her. This is a self-defeating system; if she likes the way I am acting, then she won’t like me when I am myself. Worse yet, if she doesn’t, she may never get to actually meet the real me. I still live this pattern to a lesser degree today.

So, after six months, all of my friends were sick of me talking but not acting, while adoring and admiring Beth from afar. They pushed and poked me to finally ask her out. It was a Monday night when I made the decision to go for it. I listened to nothing during the meeting; my mind was consumed with fear and doubt. I knew she would say no, I just knew it. Why would she say yes? Beth was talented, smart, popular, fun, genuinely gorgeous, loved by family and friends, good job, finishing school and a joy to be around. Beth was the perfect woman for me.

After the meeting, in noticed she was helping clean up, so I joined the clean-up crew. I was patient as the room cleared. Finally, it was just Beth and I. No more stalling, time to step up! I looked her in the eyes, trembling, and went for it.
"Beth, would you like to go out on a date?" I cringed and braced for the rejection.
She then responded as natural and casual as can be, "Sure".
I panicked; I never made a plan that included her saying yes.
We then awkwardly made plans to go out a week from next Saturday; she would be out of town the upcoming weekend.

She handed me a piece of stationary that said Expect A Miracle across the top and below she had written Beth followed by her phone number. We said good-bye, hugged and walked out together.
Expect A Miracle, it just happened: Beth said YES.

The following Monday night we had some casual conversation about our weekends and then she said, "Instead of waiting till Saturday, how about we go to the Diner and scoff down some food tonight?" Oh shit, tonight? Now? I was not ready, I did not prepare. "That would be great" I was able to squeak out. We left together in separate cars.

The five-minute ride both took forever and went by in a flash. We walked in together and I was nervous, real nervous. I think she could tell, or maybe not. I was always nervous around her, like all attractive women.

We asst down, talked about food and what to order, followed by meaningless conversation to kill airtime. It was what we needed to do to work through the awkwardness, now that we were on a "date". Is it like this for everyone?

The food came; we started eating and talking. Fortunately, she did most of the talking.

At some point, I mentally faded out of the conversation and into my head. I remember thinking, "WOW! My life has really changed. I am out with Beth! Beth! She’s gorgeous, intelligent, fun, warm, loving, honest, popular, a good person, everybody loves her, good relationships with her family, good job and going back to school. She is perfect! How did this happen?" Then I faded back into the conversation. I flinched realizing what I had just done. Did she notice? Did I look like an idiot? Then what I heard floored me:

"I’m fat, ugly, no friends, nobody likes me, my family hates me, stupid, failing school, worthless job and I have been thinking about suicide a lot lately."

What did I just here? I quickly switched out of my own head to Beth and her needs. We talked for several hours, till she felt better. We hugged, said good-bye and walked out together again.

My ride home was filled with questions, lots of questions. The one that was the loudest and most forceful was, "If Beth is so attractive and she thinks she is fat and ugly, maybe I am not ugly. Maybe I have been wrong all these years. Maybe."

When I arrived home, I skipped telling everyone about my night with Beth; I scurried directly to my room. I took off my clothes and looked into the mirror. And there it was. I wasn’t ugly. I did not make the leap to good-looking. Not ugly was a huge step for me. That was the last time I ever saw myself as ugly. I have been either somewhere from average to good-looking since.

Besides opening my eyes to the fact that I was not ugly, I learned a valuable lesson. Our inner chatter can lie, and usually for the worse. We buy the lies because we don’t accept the evidence that contradicts these negative voices. We create a self-image that may not resemble the Truth even remotely. We live a lie; not even knowing it is based on nothing but fear and deception. I actually got better looking from that night further. It was not just my perception that had changed, but my face, body and presentation of self were now altered by that perception. And from these physical changes, women found me more attractive. Their attraction provided evidence to support my newfound appreciation of my looks. The relationship between the inner, outer and interactions with women now all fed each other. The ugly guy became the average guy that grew into the above average guy. In fact, the ego started inserting a new lie, "You are the best looking guy". This phase did not last long. It eventually landed at where I am typically today; I am not ugly, nor a model- I am somewhere from average to above average, AND THAT IS OK. The same ego that lies and tells us we are ugly will then lie and tell us we are "it".

Humility is being right size- not too big, not too small. I wonder if any of this would have manifested if Beth didn’t share her self-loathing and suicidal thoughts that night? Would I still be walking around thinking I was an ugly guy?

As for Beth, she needed time and space to get her self back together. I eventually introduced her to a friend; they fell in love and got married. They were perfect for each other. We stayed in touch for a while. I am still grateful for Beth and that night she altered my perception forever. Thank you Beth…

The Decision
Earlier today I visited the town and campus where I went to school in the early eighties. http://www.rowan.edu/CFdata/PressReleases/rowan_logo.png This was the school I went to away from home. This was the one that was my chance to become something. This was where I could start fresh and finally begin to reach my potential. This is the school where all those dreams and expectations faded away and were replaced by desperation, hate, disappointment and surrender.

While driving up to the campus, I was swept over with a flood of emotion, mostly fear and sadness. I recalled that this was the place when I gave up. I could say it other ways but it is where I gave up. The rest are just the expressions of this surrender of hope and ambition. This was the beginning of the rapid deterioration of the Soul, will and courage to be somebody.

I remembered the time me and one of the guys that worked for me were driving down Delsea drive after robbing a friend of cocaine equally about $7,500. He was following us and the guy with me was firing his pistol at my friend and eventually he had to swerve off the road and discontinue his chase. I was that guy. The guy who does that to a friend for money, power and drugs.
http://victoria.tc.ca/Community/Ladysmithyouth/images/cocaine_brick1.jpg

I remembered getting kicked off the radio station and having my FC license removed for playing the dead Kennedy's "Too Drunk Too Fuck" for an entire show, till the staff advisor came in and removed me. This was after a night when my fear of rejection had prevented me from making love to a good young lady who liked me and wanted to be with me. I couldn't pull it off and my anger and disappointment with myself lead to the need to play that song. As funny as that experience and story may be, it is a sign f something greater in my past- fear of rejection with women and the anger and resentment towards them and myself that this produced.
http://homepage.eircom.net/~freedom92/freedom92studio02.jpg

Then a more painful memory rose up within me. The memory of the night of my female best friend crashing on our couch in the living room. We were all very drunk. Without going through the details and the vents leading up, I jumped her on the couch in a failed attempt to coerce into sex while she was sleeping and drunk. She threw me on the floor after the second attempt. I have never been able to let go of this event and the hurt and disrespect I caused her. She trusted me to that moment as a valued friend and I betrayed her and that trust severely. I had also lied previously about having sex with her to my friends. I denied all of this when confronted much later.
http://www.atcmag.com/v1n3/art/graphic6a.jpg

This was where I left college after my brother was released form prison. I left to "work" with him. This meant being a full-time drug dealer and low-level mob guy. This included consuming mass quantities of cocaine, alcohol and pot. This was the decision that paved the road for all the bad stuff that was my twenties.

The feeling in my gut was detested and gross about "that" man. The man that was me. I was shaking and shaken. I did not expect this kind of reaction within myself. I thought this visit was about making amends to my past and my experience at this school. It turned out to be experiential witnessing of me twenty-five years ago.

I have tried many times and ways to find that young lady and make amends to her. Each effort was unsuccessful. Then it occurred tome that they may have some listing of her in the alumni files. I went to the alumni center and asked some questions. They could not find her in the database. For that matter, they could not find me either. It is interesting that it was if that part of my life does not exist on record. That startled me as well. They were able to locate a mutual friend we had and will contact him for me. Maybe this will lead to finding her.

This experience really devastated me for a short period of time. When I left campus, about an hour and half later, I called a friend and made plans for dinner since I would be in her area later. I also shared my experience and began to cry. I pulled over and continued to share what I felt and what I had done back then. None of this was news to her, since she had heard pieces of this all many years ago. She reminded me that was then and this is now. That I am not that man any more and that decision, which was a bad one, was followed years later by a good one that began my recovery and spiritual awakening. I heard her and knew she was right but was not yet ready to let go of what I was experiencing. It took some time but I eventually got some perspective and detachment from the experience.

It is now almost 1:00 a.m. I am sitting of the couch of the friend who I spoke on the phone to. They have gone to bed; I needed to do some writing. I needed to reflect on the day and what it means to me. This last few weeks of traveling has been partially about my past. I did not know this when it began but my past and needing to let go of some of the feelings and attachments to it have been and interesting process. It is becoming clear that I need to get current. I need to be in the present, if I am to go forward. The demons need to be released and set free .I need to be free from my past. I need to be clear of these and al attachments. I realize that is a high expectation and fairly abstract. No more notes from home. No more walking with my head down because of the stuff I have done on my past. I need to get current and stay present. I nee to be open to the divine presence to fill me. In order of this to take place, I need to make space for it to be filled. The guilt and shame need to be let go of and allow Forgiveness. This is the next decision for me.

http://a1259.g.akamai.net/f/1259/5586/5d/images.art.com/images/-/Richard-Franklin/The-Decision--C10081805.jpeg

Hiding

Under the couch
In plain sight Everywhere
Too much
Not enough
Exposure
Under a rock
By the tree
In the dark
White noise
Arrogance
Denial
Ignorance
Naiveté
Rules
Schedules
My heart
Your affection
The Truth
John the Baptist
In the shadows
Distractions and temptations
Exhausting
Asleep and sleeping
Music, film and TV
Being ordinary
Resistance
Weakness
Spineless
Lifeless
A pathless path
A leapless leap
Friendless
Spiritless
Directionless
Satiationless
A fenceless fence
A sleepless sleep

Existing
Time to go
Escape leaving no footprint
That first step
No looking back
The decision
An opening
The Doorway
Passing the threshold
No more
Enough
Not enough
Too much
Too little
The Female Form
Entering
The joy and the ecstasy
Revived
Temptation
Retribution
The Amityville Horror
Tiptoe the Fuck out!
A clean get-away
No regret
No remorse
No return ????????????????
No visitors
No more hiding
Exposure
Extension
Exhalation
Existence
Exit

Thunderstorms

Here in the mountains, folks are always talking about thunderstorms. What they did, do and might do. When and where and stories about past storms weathered.

It is interesting how in different geographic areas and climates, what the metrological buzz is about. In New Jersey, snowstorms in the winter and sometimes hurricanes in the summer. Indiana- tornadoes; Wisconsin- cold, snow, ice and tornadoes; Florida- hurricanes, heart and thunderstorms. And here in North Carolina, it is the storm de jour.
It does not matter whether rain or snow, mild or cold, they are very concerned about storms and their consequences- past, present and future.

Growing up in New Jersey, we never really paid much attention to weather ad its real or imagined concerns. Unless of course, it effected a sports event as spectator or participant. I did not grow up with fear of weather and its hazards. I consider this a blessing. When I am aware of serious weather conditions; I purchase groceries and I am good. I do not sweat this kind of stuff.

It is not that I have not experienced severe weather conditions; Hurricane Georges in Clearwater Florida- we were all forced to evacuate the area. Twice I have been on a boat when an unexpected tornado touched down. There was the time with three of snow and no power for a day and a half at a farmhouse. I hiked solo for six weeks during the summer of 95' when we the nation was rarely below 95 degrees the whole summer. Bike-riding in Wisconsin in –twenty0-five degree weather. Hurricanes that knocked trees on my home in Indiana. I have done 360s and slid across a four-lane highway on black ice, and my car was crashed into while sitting there unable to move. I was fine; the car was totaled.

Immediately after writing that last line, the power went out here. We scrambled for flashlights and lighter oil lamps. Now things have calmed down. I am writing with pen by lamp oil. If I were motivated, I would get out my calligraphy pen and do this by nip and ink. So, here I am writing on a wood table that is several generations older than I, at a historic lodge in the middle of nowhere by lamp oil. I was told I was like Abe Lincoln; I will not go to theater this evening.

Thunderstorms come in other forms as well. There are the thunderstorms that as humans, we rain upon others. Sometimes, they are expected and we can properly prepare for the damage, other times, they are not expected we get caught in the thunder and lightening with out a raincoat or rubber boots to protect us. It is these kinds of thunderstorms that have been on my mind lately. Mother nature has hers; we have ours.

How can we properly prepare for these kinds of storms? Today, and recently, I have needed to weather some "severe weather:" that someone has been bursting all over the place. The first few times, I shrunk and became small. I was totally unprepared for the flood of rage spilling on anything in its path. After having weathered a few of these storms, (I couldn't resist) I reacted with anger to protect myself. Unfortunately anger does not come with raincoats and rubber boots and, therefore, was still unprotected.

I am now learning weather human thunderstorms in a different manner, or at least trying. OK, maybe just experimenting at this point. The raincoats and boots I am trying to keep me safe are the same garments that work in life's other challenges- Prayer, Breathing, Humility and staying grounded in who I am. Thunder, lightening, snow, heat, tornadoes, hurricanes, cold, wind or sleet cannot take that from me. I am Michael.

We do not need to get small,
we do not do anything for anybody by shrinking,
We do not need to lash back,
Thunderstorms do not put out thunderstorms any more than fire puts out fire.
We do not need to bring back whatever memories this brings up for us,
Inner Strength and Courage seem limitless when we need it. Stand tall!
We do not need to be anyone's doormat,
We can remember whom we are and where we have come form, challenges overcome, and know we are not the problem, cause or root. I am who I am and that is good enough.

I am aware having written this; I have now raised the bar on how I will weather natural or "un-natural" thunderstorms. And with writing and sharing things with others, forces me to step up to the plate, and stopping thinking and talking about a choice and start living it!

I Pray we all weather whatever storms we each experience as calmly and safely as possible. And may my pen and oil lamp shine brightly and strong, so that we may see clearly through the damage caused by these broken power lines. Thunderstorms of any kind are Teachers if we choose to become students.