…and it’s time for you to get moving again.

Haven’t you slumbered long enough? Do you not know at this stage in the game what you are supposed to do next? Are you caught up in the very act of looking for secrets and mysteries, instead of simply living your life?

You want to find some kind of drug to help you. A drug that makes you richer, but not meanly rich. You want both material wealth and the richness of having a brain full of ideas and memories of grand experiences.

The drug you seek might be the very one you’ve used to practically destroy yourself over the years. Yes, the imagination.

You stopped believing in the power of your imagination to produce anything of value, because you were going about it all wrong.

You imagined that some wonderful super hero kind of ability would suddenly appear inside of you, and you’d be able to move cars with your mind and telepathically convince women to go to bed with you. You had the maturity of an eight year old boy as you went about your business with your imagination.

Of course, the real world let you down, as it should. Nobody has any right to become a petty tyrant, a shallow, perverted slavedriver of other souls. You can thank the Lord for making this reality one that pushes back hard when you try to push on it with the hands of a pervert.

Your hands weren’t made for doing filthy deeds. You have the hands of a doctor and an artist. With the right kind of attention to your imagination, heart and hands, you could be creating the kind of artwork that is only seen in other dimensions beyond the ones your eyes and 3D hands know.

The birth pains of our troubled humanity are such that we have successfully gone from being people mired in superstition to people who demand evidence and facts to build our internal cities of truth. The real crisis is coming, though, in which some of us will completely forsake our spirits forever in the naive hope that we can exist in our 3d bodies independently of any force field or energy yet undetected by scientific instruments.

The rest of us will be divided into those who fall back on utter superstition–reaching out and clinging to any spiritual force that happens to visit us. We might become in league with the devil, or we might not.

What you have to do is develop a body of work that is essentially a living manifesto for how to be, which relies on creating imaginary objects with your head, heart and hands — objects that can be used as tools to heal others, grow plants, and help unblock obstacles created by crises of reason, when those who live by reason alone become filled with despair because they have abandoned all faith and hope.

These imaginary objects are not in the domain of witchcraft, nor are they in the domain of any particular religion. They are yours and yours alone to use, but you may call upon the help of the Lord Jesus to purify and sanctify them, so that they do not become tainted with Evil.

The first imaginary object that you will create is a simple large sphere of blessing and healing. This sphere will expand to fill the room you are in and act as a medicinal treatment for your anxiety and the anxiety of others. It does not claim to relieve you of other aches and pains, nor does it propose to heal physical ruptures that should require the attention of a medical professional.

The second imaginary object that you will create is a simple large pyramid of wisdom and knowledge. The pyramid will help you to refocus your mind when it wanders, and keep you from straying down rabbit holes of unnecessary inquiry. It will help you retain what you are learning, and give you insight into new paths of inquiry that you should be following.

The third imaginary object that you will create is a simple large cube of beauty and harmony. This sphere will help you to seek out the beautiful and the sublime in this world, and see more deeply past the superficial elements of beauty professed by this generation. If the underlying structure of a thing is of a nature toward chaos, violence and disorder, the cube will help you avoid the thing, even if on the surface it is quite aesthetically pleasing.

The fourth imaginary object that you will create is that of a large corkscrew or drill bit type object, which embodies faith, hope and love. These are the three that together can cut many of the knots created by overuse of reason. (Of course, faith, hope and love can cut through situations in life that are riddled with purely material obstacles as well!) Overuse of reason comes when it tends toward imaginary scenarios that are not backed by any true world experience or evidence. Reasoning born out of such imaginary scenarios is not necessarily bad, and can become sublime in the case of great philosophy and mathematics.

But, such reasoning can also be perverted or used to justify any number of untenable or downright evil endeavors.

With a large corkscrew object of faith, hope and love, you can cut through crises where it seems as if there is no way out, no good exit.

I woke up this morning and I knew that some things had to change

I woke up this morning and I knew that some things had to change. I just didn’t know where to start. All paths had been attempted. The last time I’d stopped running, and the ten times before, were all due to excuses that I easily made for why I couldn’t be bothered to get up off of my ass and just run.

I could go back and analyze each set of circumstances that led to my peculiar set of excuses surrounding stopping running during any given time period, but the long and short of it is that I simple found my ass on the sofa or bed to be a more agreeable state of existence than my ass up and running on the road.

There has also been a lot of me erupting in anger over the fact that I’m living in Waco now, instead of Austin. Well, of course, this situation isn’t perfect. But, there’s been no choice made along the way to get us up here that I wasn’t a part of and clearly agreed to. I certainly could have put my foot down back in 2011, and told my wife that I was determined to have a career in Austin come hell or high water, and that she would have to continue to accept internships and part-time work until a full-time position materialized.

And, you know what? There is some part of me that knows this would have been a viable alternative. The thing is, I would have had to have been 100% committed to everything that my so-called pursuit of a career in Austin stood for, and I would have had to own up to the fact that any given shitty situation I was in at a workplace was due 100% to the fact that I had made this choice. So, I took would could cynically be described as a copout.

Instead of declaring that my career should come first, I rationalized that since my wife went back to school and got her second master’s degree, that I should get behind her and her pursuit of a career, wherever it took us. Of course, at the time, the places it seemed likely to take us were schools back east or in California, though I was only slightly more aware of this as time went on: that my wife really didn’t want to leave the state and be so far away from her parents.

So, by coming up here to live and find work in either Waco or Austin, but having it be telecommuting work, I’ve managed to secure the best of both worlds: I can bitch freely about my job because it is theoretically not an ideal one that I could have had were I living in Austin or an ever bigger city, and I can bitch about being stuck in Waco.

But, the bottom line is, I was too much of a chickenshit coward to go through with pursuing my own dreams, and that state of mind began a long time ago, long before I ever met my wife.

The other unsavory truth revealed is that when I complain a lot about Waco and and my work, I’m really yelling at my wife for having chosen an occupation that means we will always be on the poor side, and probably never live some place cool like NY or SFC. And sometimes, I’m just yelling about Waco because I’m really yelling at my wife for embodying my own personal sense of not having achieved everything I could have achieved.

Which, of course, is exceptionally painful to face up to, but it is the truth and it’s got to stop.

It’s got to stop because if I’d decided to never ask my wife out, and continue to drift along on the unreal fantasy that some girl just out of college and ten years younger than me was going to agree to live with me in my tiny condo in East Austin before the two of us relocated to SFC or NYC, then I would probably still would have bounced around through the selection of jobs that I’ve bounced around through, and be ten times more miserable for having been without any real sense of love or purpose for this long. Can you imagine me carrying about Austin, pushing forty as if it were still ten years ago? No, I can’t either. I don’t really want to, but that’s the truth about what would have happened had I not moved forward with dating and marrying my wife.

The even less savory picture is one of ending up back with one of the ladies I’d dated in the past out of sheer desperation, probably carrying about some kind of STD, and feeling even more miserable than the me of the above paragraph, knowing that on the inside I want to be a Christian and go to church, and yet never getting the nerve to break away from the controlling woman in the relationship.

Awful, terrible, and utterly dreadful.

But, the tendency to drift off into fantasyland and imagine what life would be like were I to go back in time to ages X, Y or Z and disrupt my anti-progress so that I could be someone different is a tendency brought on by the devil. Like so much of what starts to cook inside my skull during the day when I’m at home by myself. Any number of thoughts will appear that make me wish I was somewhere else, somewhen else or someone else. And this is all the work of the devil, I think.

And, it’s got to stop.

The bed I lie in is the bed I made, and I am 100% certain that I made the right choice to date and marry my wife. When I put aside the doubts of the devil, and I analyze the fact that the two of us have spent as much time together as we have, and we still can carry on fresh and interesting conversations, this tells me that I did indeed find the right person–the right person being stripped of all the superficial and artificial images that our culture puts inside our heads–images which are so easily worn away during the first months of a relationship. I knew when I first saw my wife that I would relate to her on a level unseen, and that I was being guided by more than simple sight.

The most important thing is that I am 100% convinced that she is the right person to have and raise children with. I don’t really think there’s any woman I’ve known before her who would have held up in the very long run. Once it came time to discuss the proper way to give a child both an intellectual and spiritual life, almost anyone you meet today is likely to be in disagreement with me. There will either be those who favor on or the other very strongly, of course, but having both seems to be a great rarity.

The yardsticks.

The names recorded in the history books, and the things that they accomplished, are the yardsticks by which we all measure our own self worth. It’s inevitable, this need to build someone up or tear them down based on how much of a name they made for themselves.

The non-obvious powers and forces that move through this universe are the ones that you need to study.

Do you think that all of the mothers down through time had no influence on the outcome of the events that transpired during key moments of history? Are you still unconvinced that men and women cloistered in cells and praying for peace had anything to do with why we don’t see total war and anarchy at all times?

The skeptic is by default a pessimist. He asks, “shouldn’t there be no babies born with birth defects and no wars if there is a God who answers prayers?” The believer is by default an optimist. She asks, “shouldn’t this planet be completely scorched by now, and soaked with blood beneath its scorched surface if there is no God to answer prayers?”

The average individual thinks nothing of either extreme, and inevitably allows his limited series of experiences inform and shape his final decision on what reality is. He might pray to God as a youth, and see his prayers unanswered, and decide after lobbing a few half-hearted cries in the night that there is no God. He might pray fervently for days on end, and see only minor improvements in a loved one’s chronic illness, and declare that God is good and hears our prayers.

But, all of them still hold up Caesars and kings, Presidents and movie stars, billionaire businessmen and pop divas as manifestations of who has successfully won the game of life and come to wield the true power here on earth.

Anyone who would die broke and anonymous, without having his name added to the pantheon of great human achievers, is simply part of the bulk of irrelEt human refuse, fit for the dustbin of history, and simply the unfortunate recipient of less-than-optimal DNA.

Such is the unconscious way we are conditioned to accept how to measure who is great and who wields power in their lifetime.

But, come take a walk with us, and let us show you the non-obvious forces and powers that move through the Universe. In a world beyond this one, the entities who existed on the Earth that we deem to be great are a completely different set of names from the ones you might recognize. We’ll show you key turning points in history, where battles determined the rise and fall of kings, and choices made in universities determined what was discovered, invented or decided who would drop out to start the game-changing businesses we all know and love or hate.

Behind every Jobs, Gates, Clinton, Bush, Rockefeller, Roosevelt, king and Pharaoh there were certain individuals who have now been mostly forgotten in the recorded histories left on this planet. We are not typically referring to the almost as well known sidekicks or spouses, either, but we are talking about teachers, professors, police officers, random homeless people and others who simply appeared in the right time and place, or were thousands of miles away sending out their telepathic rays of positive energy so that great solutions might be found, and peace achieved to end brutal wars and genocides.

During those epics of our history where we witnessed plagues and mass genocides, so many of the brothers and sisters of our order lost the faith, hope and love needed to keep their prayers centered and focused. If there ever comes an age when they have all left or they have all lost their faith, hope and love completely, then we will witness in that age the true Apocalypse of Man. There will not be a soul on this earth who doesn’t rise up against another soul. Each will think he is a god, and all other humans but beasts or some even lower form of life fit only for slaughter. In a quest to be the sole owner of the planet, each human will seek all means at his disposal to wipe out other humans and animals in his way. By the end of this epic, the Earth will become like Mars.

You are a member of our order, though you have probably long forgotten this, as the process of death, bardo and rebirth necessitates a wiping of the memory.

You have long been focused on the material things of this Earth. You seek to leave behind a small legacy or fortune to your offspring, no matter how paltry it might be. You have in your head and heart clearly defined ideas about what reality is and isn’t, and you assume a baseline kind of understanding exists between you and all sane, rational…normal people.

However, you can also clearly remember those moments in your upbringing and early adulthood when that assumed baseline was greatly tested, as many more people you encountered in the workaday world were not necessarily in possession of the same baseline. After enduring so many shocks, you’ve reset the baseline somewhat, but you now think you have a fair enough grasp on reality that you can take a baby and make him a productive member of society, which in your mind is the ultimate good thing a man can do.

We are not here to dispute this, but rather, we are here to let you know that you have a rather narrowly defined conception of what your mission is here on Earth, and it does require some adjusting, so that you are not forced into endless situations of bad faith, where you might feel possessed to commit crimes or harm others in the name of putting food on your family’s table.

I guess it’s time for me to get to work

I guess it’s time for me to get to work. It’s almost 30 minutes after 8 o’clock. I am feeling the drowsy affects that linger with the night time medicine. The medicine gives me a way to push aside a lot of errant thought patterns that often spin into violent expressions. I am also unable to have any meaningful or interesting thoughts while still quasi-sedated like this.

I don’t find any issue or problem that is happening in my immediate environment or the outside world to be more pressing than an other one. They all seem to fade into a dull roar of gentle humming noise that stays in the background. Maybe this is what it’s like to be a normal, average person. Finally.

I certainly can’t take an issue with being able to feel and think normally, can I?

For me, there is an interest in being cast in many different states of being

For me, there is an interest in being cast in many different states of being. With the openness of self, there becomes an invitation to experience the chaotic, macabre and downright evil. So, the self closes back up tightly, and fervently practices an adherence to playing by a narrow set of rules. This inevitably becomes suffocating, and again the self wills to seek outward, other forms of being.

If you knew that all that happens in this life mattered in only a temporary sort of way, what would you do differently? If you understood that you could destroy your soul for eons by harming others, but not be the recipient of eternal damnation, would you embrace a more risky path?

Do the people who live in large cities and embrace diversity and sexual freedom have more interesting and rich lives than people who live in small towns and embrace the similar, and practice monogamous sex with the same partners all their lives? On the surface it would appear so, but then, the people in the large cities with the seemingly more interesting lives seem to end up having their day-to-day existences coalesce around finite ways of being that can only be described as mostly homogeneous and unchanging.

There was a young lady I was once infatuated with, who I was still kind of sort of wistfully hoping to date around the time I first started dating my wife. She would roll her eyes at my suggestions to possibly go to the local Austin museums and events and happenings, because she’d already “been there, done that” in bigger cities. But then, every time I’d ask her what she did on the weekends with the men she did decide to date, she’d tell me that they would basically go get drunk at this or that bar or someone’s house.

The same could be said for the rich heiresses and celebrities we see who are famous for being famous. They travel more than we do, but then they end up spending most of their time in places like Thailand just lying on the beach or by the pool, which is something I can do on the cheap in Galveston. They might drink more expensive drinks and find thrills with more lovers and drugs, but after awhile, their experiences all start to seem homogenized, because they are pulling from a finite set of thrills available for someone who doesn’t want to use their brain or risk their life too much.

All of this could be, of course, a way for me to comfort myself as I sit here knowing that I will probably be stuck in this small Texas town for the next twenty years, going about the business of raising my children.

Nonetheless, there is a will to fill the mind with the unique and novel, even as I approach forty and should know better, and be content to simply go sit in bars and much cheesy bread, sipping cheap light beer, watching baseball or football or whatever.

The unique and novel experiences available to someone with little money to spend on travel, and little inclination to seek out illicit pleasures mostly come in the form of information. Information provided in the way of books and streaming movies, music and digital representations of art and sculpture. Also, of course, I can’t forget to mention dreams.

Except, as I approach middle age, I demand some structure and purpose in seeking out these experiences. I want meaning, I want to improve the self that I get to take with me when I die. I want to wake up and know more this morning than I did when I woke up yesterday morning. I want to understand myself better than I ever have before, even if this means having to face the facts that I am never destined to be somebody special because at my core I am utterly boring and normal–or, if it conversely means that I am never destined to find a solid group of human beings I can fit in nicely with, because I am just that exceptionally different.

I’ve been slow to write lately.

I’ve been slow to write lately. Not because I don’t feel like writing, because I do. And, not because I don’t have anything rolling around in my head that needs to get out, because I most certainly always do. But, because I’ve been reluctant to put more of the same to paper, and I want the words to have an impact on me.

I want to write and feel like the words are being chiseled somewhere deep in my soul, and shaping me into somebody better.

Lately, I’ve been beset with a lot of visions of everyone who ended their relations with me bearing a scowl and deciding that I was not worth their time. All the parents, relatives, teachers, friends, lovers, classmates, coworkers and random strangers I’ve let down. None of the happy moments. None of the good times. No will to think completely rationally about these individuals. How most of them have probably forgotten me and whatever I did that made them upset at a certain moment.

The problem is really one of me constantly feeling the need to pick myself back up, go back out into the world, get involved with other people, initially impress them as being somebody especially wonderful, and then inevitably let them down as being somebody not so great.

The problem always comes back to the fact that I can’t really shape, grow or change my identity simply by reading books and writing words. No matter how many times I read words of wisdom and have wise thoughts that I put to paper, I can’t really change until I go back out there and test my mettle around others.

In a lot of ways, I feel like I’m getting worse, not better, when it comes to being the great, “love-thy-neighbor” kind of soul. I’m finding myself picking up more acutely just how different I am from my neighbors, and feeling a sense of disgust coming from them when they see me driving about in my tiny, foreign car.

I am not a real man. I am what they perceive to be part of the problem with America. Young men growing up as wussies to not appreciate the great American traditions like driving monster trucks, shooting stuff, and loving contact sports. Aside from the obvious cliches, I am simply never going to be the kind of man that fits in with the culture that surrounds me.

Obviously, I spend a lot of time in retreat. I meditate, or do whatever I think approximates meditation. I read and reflect on my soul.

I give in to a lot of my old vices and addictions. I am seized by images I see online, and incapable of bolstering the spirit against the flesh.

I am too hard on myself. I am terribly unpractical in my will to change. Instead of seeking first the process of sustaining change, I simply cave and then beat up on myself mentally. I have moments where I feel utterly doomed to spend eternity in hell.

I am beset by a certain sense that I must get things right for eternity. I can often feel that people around me are wasting their time, as I often am, with issues that don’t matter or amount to anything at all when it comes to the matter of eternity. The petty cares of the moment are mostly to be forgotten, and insignificant in the face of how you will feel when you stand over the deathbed of a loved one or they stand over your deathbed.

When you start to think about humanity being exceptionally fragile and susceptible to utter annihilation, then people as individuals become precious. If you think of humanity as some collective, hardy block–like a mass of fire ants or cockroaches–then you have no sense of caring for individuals who are being lost every day to bad choices and terrible environments.

It is incredibly easy to make the mind flip a switch about this stuff, too. One minute, you are in complete despair over your pending mortality, and the next, you are going to likely live for at least another ninety years. One minute, everyone around you are simply objects that are getting in your way, and the next, they are precious souls worth more than all of the world’s treasures. One minute, that thing your dad said to you some fifteen years ago has paralyzed you with a violent heart because you never properly “got back at him,” and the next, you are practically sobbing as you think about how awful it will be to lose your dad.


The history of me after college is one of trying to forge my unique, masculine identity in the world, and it also exposes another aspect of myself that I’ve been slow to examine.

Every organization I’ve gone to work for, with the exception of the first few jobs and my present one, has seen me reaching a point where I care more about the health and success of the organization itself than even my own career or health. Almost every single time, I have actually reached a point during my employment where I am able to become the ideal employee that every employer thinks they want–he puts the success of his company or non-profit first in every decision he makes, and loses all expectations of promotions and raises for the sake of seeing the company succeed at obtaining more revenue and/or market share.

And each time this happens, I am quickly met with the utter realization that this is not really expected or the norm. Every boss and every HR person thinks (and rightly so), that I am purely motivated to perform by selfish reasons. That I must be pushing an agenda so that I will look good to my boss’s bosses, or that I am simply building a resume so that I can go somewhere else to look even better. I am also met with the backlash of realization that no company is ever going to reward such an employee for having that kind of absolute loyalty. In fact, the “reward” is usually one where the heads of the company sell out and the new parent company fires that employee, or efficiency managers are brought in to declare that employee non-integral to achieving the bottom line, instead of giving that employee more projects and roles with greater responsibility.

The problem is, of course, that I have the peasant’s sense of needing a great Master I can be absolutely loyal to. A Master that I am ready to die for, kill for and swear my firstborn over to. Such a Master, in my peasant’s way of thinking, can’t be an invisible one, like God, or an abstract one, like Country or the Church. This Master must be a palpable organization with very clear and well-written laws for how I should think and act. This Master must have a clearly defined foe or Other as an adversary, of which I am to always know as my sworn enemy to death.

This is why living in the present, globalized world of fragmented cultures and unclear alliances is so damn difficult for a peasant-minded person like myself. It is too easy, with the flow of information being what it is, to see how swearing utter allegiance to the Catholic Church or United States in its most militant incarnations would inevitably find me sticking up for atrocities that these organizations commit in the name of keeping the light of good alive in the world.

The obvious answer is that I shouldn’t be looking to earthly institutions or representations of God if it’s God I want to serve. But, it’s a hard thing to follow a Jesus who exists mostly invisibly. I think it must be a necessary kind of step in order for me to grow. I have to completely stop allowing myself to become so caught up in the cares and concerns of my employer that the organization becomes my reason of being on this earth. What’s more, I have to eradicate all sense of my own ego–the notion that the story told by my LinkedIn profile is the most important one to tell about me.