On Breathing, A Meditation On Movement And Being Alive

The only real cause of death is that 

We stop breathing. 

To breathe we need to move

No matter how diseased, injured, crippled or scarred we are

We need to move 

To breath

To expand

Compress the lungs

To move 

Another inhalation

Another inch

Another mile

Another moment

Another year.

We are all diseased, injured, crippled and scarred

No matter:

We keep on moving

Drawing breath




And as we move we look around us and see Others

Diseased, injured, crippled and scarred

And if we can

While moving

Struggling to breathe forward, 

We can reach out to those others


“Keep breathing

Keep moving

With my motion 

My breath

I will help you

To breath

To move

Just another moment

Another year

Another life time

Until our lungs stop exhaling


And not moving…

We die

But dying, 

We did reach out past our disease, injury, handicaps and scarring

To help others

To simply move

Draw breath

And in moving…

Continue to live just a little longer 

Until that last breath. 

On Hate

Some people wonder why I find it hard to hate haters.

Because I know that Hate



And so many other destructive emotions

All have a parent

A parent named, “FEAR”. 

Hate is borne of Fear


Another child.

Those filled with hate are to me fearful children

No matter how big

How bad

How badass

They are as adults monstrous enlargements of 

Frightened children first crying

Then lashing out with anger

Then violence.

Adults with so much in common with frightened children

Children they often look and sound like AS adults. 

I was once a scared child but only cried much

I never learned to be constantly angry as some. 

I never went THERE with my fear.

I cleaned the fear off with tears

Then later fits of panic that never converted to anger


Or rage. 

I never let that parent rule me

That parent of Fear 

That births the anger hate and rage. 

When I squint the eyes of emotional perception, 

At times I can, 

For a moment,

SEE an angry hateful adult 

As the child they once were

And ARE… somewhere very deep inside.

An innocent child

Probably a very lonely frightened child

THAT CHILD I look to

Embrace with a moment of emotional perception

And that momentary embrace,

Save me from poisoning myself with hate for Them.

Closure – Moving On

Photo on 9-15-18 at 6.49 AM

Today I went into an external hard drive, found a folder of photo of a recent girl friend, looked at them all for a moment, analyzed what I felt and then deleted THEM ALL. I did it this way to be sure I did not feel anything like wanting her again. Things were said recently that were a line that if crossed, kills a relationship TOTALLY. When someone gives me a list of words I cannot say. The message came out of the blue. Things had been doing a slow fade-out, out the door for some time. All the bitching was long done. I had given her an analysis of how fucking NUTS she was in a very patient you-need-to-get-help way. To someone that needs an intervention. A caring person. There was denial and then attack.

Line crossed fuck it I do not need this from anyone. 

I sent a nice reply of a few words of “have a good birthday and trip back to China”. Very nice of me. I felt nothing. No wait: I FELT TIRED. Extremely weary of being nice to someone that I once feared would kill me in my sleep when they came to visit me. Yeah, THAT crazy THAT bi-polar THAT personality disordered. As my friend Sammy said, she “gas lighted” me. Hey look over there at YOU!” Sort of thing. 

I know crazy.

I studied myself all my life and know my own.

I know the crazy in OTHERS when I meet them after a while and I am confident after thousands of dollars spent on therapy; many hours in it and much research, I am anxious about alien environments and travel but “crazy” to some dangerous degree I am NOT. 

I felt a bit sad and lost for a short time and recently picked myself up. I used-to do the get into good shape thing to please her and myself. NOW I do it for ME. Life and self affirmative. My body my mind do it for ME. It’s all positive. Back to the long walks and stationary bike rides. Pump! Get moving! Work hard and no more trying to appease someone else that accused ME of bullying but was a pint-sized control freak bully. Yeah she hit me for some insane temper freak-outs and I just let her. Me? Hit a woman? The hell if I would! Been that way all my life and proud of it. 

After doing considerable research, I recently chose an internet dating site to join. BIG WAKE-UP CALL ABOUT AGE! Last time I was looking was years ago. Before I hit 60! I look at profile photos and read profiles. I am in wonder at how many women have just let themselves turn to BLOBS. They should be honest and say their favorite activity is EATING AND SITTING A LOT! There are some very rich looking women that make me wonder WHY they are so wealthy looking and looking. AGAIN. Of course many profiles look like the same person wrote them: “ I love dancing, camping, eating out “ … and you are very very boring. Yeah. Many advertise their college education and want THAT same in a man. I do not have that. I look at them and think, “how shallow”. I advertise my good person inside. My emotional intellect. Recent photos are me with a slowly growing beard. Ok some do not like the beard and bald look. The opera loving factory worker oh how eccentric! But that comes back a big reason my recent GF and I broke-up: I have to be ME. No list of words and actions for me to NOT be. I believe I am NOT an asshole or cruel. I do not throw tantrums or scream and yell … as I did when younger and partial to drinking. Now I am super mellow man.  

On the dating site I have sent NICE unconditional messages to women. Compliments because THAT IS ME. Nothing threatening or creepy. It’s weird being 63 and looking for….





Not a sex partner but intimacy in a joyful way would be wonderful. 

I find it simple what people my age want with another: They don’t want to be alone and want good companionship without the bullshit of those they knew and once loved in their past. At least that is what I want. 

I look back on so many relationships in which WE agreed to stay together and try to work it out. It was naive and stupid at times. People need to see there are things that break relationships from the start. For example: MY DRINKING. Over 20 years ago. MY DRUG USE over 30 years ago. Someone’s temper. Not accepting the other person as they ARE. Nothing in common and too much in common. Money issues. Bigotry – my own included. 

EGO is, I have found the biggest problem with most people in the majority of relationships. Not being aware of it and thus blundering through life beating ourselves and others with it. Once we let-go of that to a great degree … we can find some equanimity with ourselves and others. In relationships though, it takes both doing that. 

I may be single for the rest of my life but I will continue self-growth and being a better person single or not. Now the new struggle is with loneliness. To not inflict it on others and learn how to live with it as I once did. That is not self pity. That is facing a new old situation in life. 

Of What You Could Be

When you saw me blind, 

I felt the motion of your turning away


“That could be me some day”

When you saw my scarred disfigured face and body 

Limbs missing from body

That ugly rash here and there, 

I saw you turn away,



“Could that be me some day?”

When I stunk from my low life

My life of poverty


Matted hair and beard,

You crossed the street to escape me


Yet                  wondering (with a shudder of fear)

“Could I ever fall so low in life

Could that ever be me?”

When I lay dying

Then dead

You nearly ran from what was left of me

Not knowing why you ran

But I,

the last breath I exhaled followed you with the wind,

I knew:

I reminded you that you too would die some day

And part of your running 

Was running from the many deaths you could imagine for yourself.

Just as seeing me in so many ways

You turned from me 

And so many others

Reminded of what you could be

And finally,

Reminded of what you will be

The same as all of us





And finally… Dead. 

The Sickest Are Not The Obviously Mentally Ill

The sickest most monstrous people in our lives 

Our world,

Are those mentally ill that try to hide it

Hide from it in Denial

Defensive fights against seeing it

Knowing it

Acknowledging it. 

They point at others 

They pointed at me for decades of my life





Because I

Because WE 



And seek help for 

The live with 

Our mental illness,



While they

The sickest 

Practice their sickness in the darkness of Denial inside

Growing a monster they hide

Pointing at others around them


Removing all eyes 

But not suspicions 

Of themselves.

They are the weakest

The most cowardly among us.

They will not face and know that monster in their own darkness

That sometimes comes out

Unleashed by Denial

Attacking those “sick” around them

Beating them with the labels of their ridicule

Beating them



With their ever worsening



Hidden sickness.

I can look inside and situationally KNOW AND ACCEPT my life long monster

See it in the light of my day mind

accept it

Learn it

Know it 

Try for a life time to try to heal it 

With compassion for that part of myself

Healing with open-ness


And humility.

My facing of

theraping of  my mental illness makes me stronger

I have

You have

WE have

The COURAGE to do all this

To face the monster

Monsters in our labyrinths

While others

Hide it

Hide their monsters

Growing them in their darkness

Their lies to themselves

Denials of suspicions by others…

(Until eventually the hidden rises

Consuming the guardian host in Denial

And becomes the Person

A monster of hidden mental illness).


The older I get

The more my vision fades

Cataract clouding slowly 

Snow falling cell by blurring cell.

The older I get

The better my vision becomes

Mind seeing more clearly than ever

The fainter shapes of people 


Living things

The deeper I see all things


The words of a friend a stranger


Wind through the trees.

The deeper my vision flows 

Smelling so many things

Tasting so much

It all becomes a way of SEEING 

Beyond my eyes,

A way of seeing with mind

With every moment of my past

My present life. 

So many so blind to only feel they can see with sharp eyes

So many so blind to take it all for granted

So many so blind to not slow down the flow of what they SEE with their Senses

And touch 

And feel 

All slower

All deeper

What we think we see 

With our eyes and senses. 


I was thinking tonight about a difficult relationship I have had with someone. It has been painful and yet I cling to it. 

The more we cling to something painful

 the more it hurts us. 

I know that life is impermanence

The more we fight against that fact of life

The more madness and pain we bring ourselves

And sometimes others.

We rage

We fight

We madness against what is so real

So natural 

That it hurts us… not wanting to let it go. 


Change is a law of life


Wanting any kind of relationship to remain the same

With man 





Any and all social environments, 

Creates pain.

Holding on as the Other slips away 

But it is not THEM 

Or Life situations that cause us pain

Me pain,

It is I


That Cling 

And Madness against impermanence 


Against Change. 

Learning to not grasp

To touch all 

As a Childs fingers dance in the wind,

We find a joining 

A peace 

Because we are with the Impermanence

Joyfully free 


A Blue Collar Commentary

I am a 63 year old white male with ONLY BARELY a high school education. For over 41 years I have worked jobs (saw mill and factory) in which getting cut, bruised, battered, sweating much and filthy happens weekly and daily. Not a week goes by that I do not find myself limping and wincing from pain. It’s a living. The work is often considered very “MANLY”. You cut off a limb and gruffly say, “shit … it’s only a scratch!”

What I do not understand is how any blue collar middle class or poor WHITE person or any other shade of skin person that prides themselves on being a bit tough can support or even LIKE a fat prissy old man that has the body language of a SISSY. He has a voice that would normally make tough guys cringe, laugh and ridicule him for being a PUSSY. I can SEE that trump has never worked a day in his life. Never sweated unless it was during sex. He has never suffered nor known privation of any kind and yet people in my socio economic group SUPPORT HIM! He does not have a single scar or callous on his hands. My hands have no calluses because they have been worn off from work. If you have ever been around genuine real TOUGH MEN you know that they do not talk a lot of tough guy shit. That is what the sniveling big mouthed ass kicked wimp in high school did and does. “Tough guys” as so many think trump is, do not talk a lot of shit. If they are going to kick some ass they just jump in and DO IT. They don’t try to menace a woman by stalking her and trying to scare her during a debate as they sniffle from a bad case of sissyitis. They just go in and get shit done. In a fight, working or relationships. That is not trump. I just don’t get it how anyone can support a person that men that work the hard jobs would call a… “PUSSY”. 

Long Before Google, There Was MOM


I was joking with someone recently about how long ago, if I did not know something or could not find the answer, GO ASK MOM. It was always that way when I was a kid. Doing homework or any question that came to mind. Don’t know something? GO ASK MOM!

Even if mom did not have the answer, there was always something satisfying about her referring me to a higher power of DAD. If dad did not know, there was the lesser power of … look it up in a BOOK. 

I recall when I first left home for a job in a sawmill. Extremely home sick I would call mom just to feel that the universe was still there and working ok. That the world was not going to fall apart because MOM was still there on the phone. 

Later, having got my first apartment, I did not know a damned thing about cooking. Who did I call? I called MOM, of course. The go-to expert on all things in this world even if she did not know the answer. Mom was smart but not very worldly. I fine wife to dad and mother to her children. She was a house wife and even though she had only a high school education, just being MOM made her seem omniscient. That to me is how mom’s are and how my mom was: You gave birth and thus you are all powerful! You can stare a kid into cringing silence or tickle them into screaming laughter! YOU ARE MOM THE ALL GREAT AND POWERFUL! BECAUSE YOU CAN DO THAT STUFF!

For many years I would call mom just to talk to her and get her feedback on things even though deep down and often near the surface I knew the answer. It was comforting to call mom and get her feedback. Tell her my drama and all the pure bullshit of my life. After talking to her I always felt I could LET myself face THE ANSWER inside. Often I felt like telling mom how wrong she was and at times she was but… there was a part of me that always felt there was SOMETHING in what mom said. Something very special. 

MOM was what was so special all the time. 

When mom was sick with cancer I still called her and asked her things but never asked any questions about mortality and death. It was something I wanted to run screaming.

Especially because it would have been about MOM and mom’s mortality was something I never wanted to face. 

Face it did when to me, she died suddenly after a long fight with cancer. Her death was “sudden” because to me she was supposed-to-be immortal. Always there. 

Mom has been gone a long time but it seems every day or so I itch for that old phone to call her with. Not that iPhone thing but the phone that was for a while a big bulky buzzing thing with an antenna and before that, a handle like thing with a mic and receiver. Big bulky and a stately thing to make those important calls seeking the answers to life from… MOM. 

At times I hear her but it isn’t questions with answers. It’s just small talk with mom listening so well as she always did. Nice to feel her still around… inside me.

But when I don’t have the answer … I often whisper the question inside to mom and it’s not important if she has an answer: It matters that no matter how young I was or old as I am, I still turn to her… listening… 

A LOVING listening…feeling her there inside me no matter where or when… in a way always there and more knowing and important than Google ever was. 

Sorry Google, you may have the answers but you ain’t no Mom!

Letter To A Friend About Life, Death And Suicide

Dear ________;

As I told you, I tried suicide once and thought of it many times over the years. It was always the easy way out. Cliche. LIVING was the hard part. Thing about suicide is there is no coming back. Ok for me there was: I died I believe. Went up that tunnel of light and back. I found once I got past all that self pity and found some balls or courage to live, life got better. I had to realize that LIFE IS CONSTANTLY CHANGING. LIFE IS “IMPERMANENCE”. Life is suffering and life is joyful. It’s pure stupid bullshit to think that life is FAIR OR UNFAIR. Life IS. Some get the stick and some get the shitty end of the stick and sometimes we experience both. It is pure bullshit for anyone to believe that life needs to be fair or unfair. Life sucks and life is a miracle of joy. I believe that  religion is a big con job about life. Except for buddhism. THEY got it right. Instead of thinking about and planning suicide these days, I look for pillows knowing I am going to fall. I am TRYING to throw those pillows into my future so that when I DO FALL AND HIT I DO NOT SPLATTER AND SHATTER! I Believe that people get maudlin and sentimental about their own death. THAT TOO IS BULLSHIT. Billions live now and have lived before us. DIED BEFORE US. What makes MY killing myself or my LIFE any different or important than any of those billions that lived and died before me? What matters to me or the meaning of life is not a self pity party before I die but a simple checklist of: Did I ADD SOME GOOD TO MORE LIVES THAN BAD? 

Are people going to remember me with a smile and laugh? 

Tell a few heavily embellished tales of my good deeds or bitch about what a sonofabitch I was? 

It’s like when someone leaves a job and those remaining talk about that person. 

Smiles or snarls?

Such is a death. 

Smiles, sneers or snarls. 

But, like I said: Life is impermanence.

Billions have come and gone and what does it mean?

It don’t mean shit to the cosmos. 

We are just stardust still moving through the cosmos

Sometimes we stay on this planet until our ashes or bodies totally merge with the earth

Then move as the planet dies 

But we live on without consciousness


But honesty, thinking about what we mean after we are dead is all bullshit: 

Except for if we made a few smile with tears in their eyes with laughter

And not smile, 

Grinding their teeth when we’re in the Hereafter 😉