304/365

the clay in which the bougainvillea
grows is sun hard and starting to mold.
grow is an exaggeration and not so much mold
but forming a layer of green algae life
that hints at disease. the leave are an unhealthy
greenish yellow but cling
to spindly branches, blooming to a
timid magenta that barely passes as pink.
we bought this tiny tree together
when you were here and recovering
and keeping alive feels like a heavy vow.
today a giant grasshopper propped
its lanky leg on a languid limb.
other days the butterflies visit,
the nest is gone and the humming birds
are missing in action. what kind of will
is rooted beyond the surface? how our
lives quiver in the darkness in a city
with the moon lurking beyond the buildings.
you are better now and home among the living.
offering advice with a gentle warm smile
as i lay the litany of slights i’m feeling today-
bored in this lengthy bout with perceived calumny.
when i water the bougainvillea a puddle
forms on the clay surface. this can’t be healthy
i muse. but staying alive is often enough.  
it needs a new pot. new soil. expert help.
but what do i know of these things?
what time do i have to mend and heal?
there is a schedule to attend to.
a routine to obey. from where comes
the spark that ignites a change? when did
the awareness to awaken not become enough
to wake up?

Rest and Healing

Today was a great easy day. Work up at 10:40, laid around the pool with friends. BBQ lunch. Had a beer. Played video games with the kids. And now sitting here, thinking about December and survival.


It’s been twelve years since the Tsunami in Thailand. It’s been almost twenty five years since Jason’s accident and late December always has me wrestling with mortality, yes more than usual.


I can’t complain really, so I won’t.


My ankle is healing- wore a shoe yesterday. I drove for a bit and I was able to swim today. I am getting mobility back and the pain is less and less each day. It is still pretty stiff and hurts if I put weight on it weird, but the process is coming along.


I have been purposefully politically disconnected this week. Who can handle it when you are trying to be happy? I am resting these days and the rest feels great.


Kind of nervous about how the entire house will handle the X-Box, but the kids so far have been better than me. Kaia has sleep-over tonight, so I said an hour of Star Wars Battlefront and then in her room for down-time before bed. She and her friend are now cracking themselves up doing mad-libs.


Me on the other hand, I’m wondering if I will give the X-Wing fighter a try, try to get some morphine for the people in The Division, or maybe open the whole thing up and buy Madden 2017 and completely revert to adolescence.


Or maybe I will try and finish up The One and Only Ivan, one of the saddest and cutest books I’ve ever read. The night is slow and easy and not much happening tomorrow.


This is my 361st post this year. Five more and something new...

Too Quickly

I may have over done it today, in my attempt to heal more quickly. I must have crossed that damn bridge at least six times today. And as a result my foot is throbbing, swollen and has sharp shooting pains in a lot of strange places. The cold that I kicked last week came back with a vengeance during block three and has had me a bit knocked out all afternoon.


The foot was feeling good this morning, so I was up, standing, moving, walking, etc…and the reality is that it might still need a bit more sitting, resting, propping. I will keep that in my tomorrow.


Which, I don’t need to tell anyone is a Friday.


Despite the lingering cold and the painful foot, this was a much better week than last. It has been great to get caught up with students and some friends and showered and dressed everyday. I am looking forward to going waterproof (meaning that the wound will have closed up completely and I no longer need to put my foot in a plastic bag.), wearing a shoe, and walking with a cane instead of crutches. I am hoping I can be three-for-three next week.


But enough about the foot.


I am still on Trump hiatus. It’s all too ridiculous. I am thinking of reading 1984 for some clues on where we might be headed. His EPA pick is mind-boggling. It's literally like he is finding the worst person for each job and saying, "Yup let's see how this person will do."


My biggest highlight today was a newly installed water bidet hose in the staff bathroom I frequent. Believe it or not, these are not standard operating procedure in Singapore and it goes without saying that I am a big fan.


The girls were both involved in United Nations Day performances, which were great, but I was so preoccupied with other things and the pain in my foot and the sneezing that I simply endured being in the auditorium and wasn’t fully able to let the peace and music wash over me. A big shout out to everyone involved in organizing it, it was tremendous and the girls had a blast.


Tomorrow should prove to be a mellow day, ending with me watching the Raider game after school. Media black out starts now, so please no updates. Also looking forward to Mary Jo and Patrick arriving to the house bright and early for breakfast.

Tired Writing

So close to the end of the year and I am running out of things to say. I am bored with on what’s on my mind, and no amount of writing about it will freshen it up- or so it feels. I needed a break from politics, so I broke my ankle. And now I need a break from my break.


There is a general aching discomfort and I am mindful of every step. I had a strange prickling burning sensation on the top of my foot all day, and a call to the doctor confirmed that it is normal and okay- the nerves are being pushed together due to swelling.


I wore a sock today and that felt like a victory, but like I said talking about my foot is more boring than dwelling on more Trump gaffs.


One thing I am not bored by are the Raiders. I have taken this fandom to new levels, by liking their official Facebook page and so now I get to see random practice videos, news conferences, cool photos, and more…I’m not gonna lie, I feel like an eight year old fan again. I am literally counting the hours before the Thursday night game against the Chief. We could be 11-2 atop the division and the conference and looking at home field in the playoffs.


But I am no sports writer, and while gushing over my favorite football team is a fun distraction, I know I can’t do it every night.


So what do I need to write about on this Wednesday night in the penultimate week of school before the holiday break?


Besides Trump, pain and football what else is on my mind?


The Bruce Springsteen biography is coming along nicely. It’s not a book that is going to change your life in terms of content or craft, but it is an fascinating life story told in a clear and passionate way.


The Boss can obviously write and I am learning a lot about him. To me, as a child of the eighties, Springsteen was a mainstream hit machine. I grew up in he Born In The USA era and he was safe and comfortable and all-american. So it is interesting to read about how he felt like an outsider in his small blue-collar town. He was a long haired weirdo trying to find himself in Greenwich Village and San Francisco in the late sixties, only to realize that his true self was back in Jersey.


He was also a helluva hard worker. And his persistence to his craft was admirable.


Bojack Horseman continues to be amazing. I am a third of the way through season three and loving every episode. Not watching much else TV or movies these days.


So I guess I am in a state of recovery. A holding pattern. A held breath. A state anticipation until the next stage. It has been great to be back at school and interacting with 11 &12 year olds. I had another full day today and it felt better and tomorrow will be a busy one with an assembly and two UN performances by my own kids, but the end is within sight.


We, the collective we- me, Mairin, family, students, all of you, are tired. And this is tired writing, but no night shall be left without words. Right? I made a promise.


Hoping for some inspiration soon. If nothing else the Raiders will shake things up in a few days.

Numb

Well that felt like 0-60.


Had a full day today. Was at school from 7:30am to 3:00pm. Taught two classes. Did some marking and then went to a meeting about Learning Spaces after school. The foot was feeling okay for most of the day. It was pretty swollen, but I tried to stay off of it as much as I could. It is amazing how far everything feels on crutches and how exhausting it can be just to get to lunch.


The killer was that we stayed after school until six pm to see Kaia’s recital, which was great and super worth it, but after a week and a half of bed-rest, a nearly twelve-hour day was pretty intense. My foot feels kind of numb right now with a strange prickling burning sensation on the top, but let’s pretend that is normal. I’ve got two classes early tomorrow, so I will go in and teach those, do some work on an assembly I am trying to organize for Thursday and maybe call it an early day tomorrow.


Everyone has been very kind and considerate and looks at me like I am crazy to be at school. “It looks so swollen.” They say and it is, but not as much as it has been. I need to be there. It is the last stretch and it feels okay to do what I am doing. It’s uncomfortable at the end of the day, but there are not many days left.


At one point tonight, after Kaia’s piece was over, we were sitting there listening to a few other students play their pieces and my mind began to drift. The drummers played along with a song track and one of my former students, who is in high school now, played Numb by Linkin Park, one of my favorite songs. He was nailing it and in some magical bizarre moment it all felt pretty transcendental.


My foot was throbbing and numb and ached from the long day. My mind was drifting and blank and utterly focused on the song and for a few disconnected seconds I felt fully alive and free. Yes, I was sitting there with a broken bone nearly two weeks after surgery, but I could feel it healing and the music told me that the future was just around the corner and that although someone said to me today in passing, only slightly joking, “Men your age shouldn’t be on skateboards,” I knew that she was wrong.


Men my age can and should do whatever we feel like. Sure we make mistakes and over-reach and hurt ourselves and ruin plans and make life difficult for those around us, but without taking these risks what are we doing? We cannot live our lives if we are always feeling the need to live a life that is overly cautious.


Enrico was pounding on the drums. Linkin Park was singing:


I've become so numb, I can't feel you there,
Become so tired, so much more aware
I'm becoming this, all I want to do
Is be more like me and be less like you.


I am not sure who the "you" is at this point. Perhaps just a doubting voice in my head. I was tired and hurting, but I was alive damn it and fully aware of my existence, some say this is the path to nirvana. I don’t know about all that, for me it was the end of a long Tuesday in early December and I wasn’t feeling too sorry for myself. And that felt more right than anything has felt in a while.

We Are Winners

I’m not big into sports. I don’t really like to play them and I could careless about watching them. Sure, I’ll follow an interesting story or look in to the games of a World Series so I am in the loop. I’m always down to watch the last two minutes of an NBA game seven when everything is on the line, but usually during regular season play, I could careless about most sports or teams.


Except for one sport- NFL football and one team- The Oakland Raiders. And for most of my life they have been terrible. Losers. So watching them usually just meant frustration, sadness and disappointment. But for reasons I have written about before, they were my team and I supported them and the game I love. There is nothing like American Football. It is a thing of beauty. Calculated, graceful and barbarically chaotic, it is the sport for me.


For the last fourteen years or so, I would check in on NFL.com, uninterested, but bound by duty to see how badly the Raiders lost on any given week. I rarely knew their players and had lost touch with who they were. All I knew was that year after they year they were terrible and had become some kind of laughing stock of the league.


But this year things are different. I have watched four games from start to finish. I can name at least six players on both sides of the ball and get crazy excited when our small secondary back Jalen Richard runs for fifty plus yards in our tenth win of the season.


Not only are the 2016 Raiders winning. They are good. And not only are they good, but everyone knows it and is talking about what a breath of fresh air this team is. They are young but determined. They play smart and hard and with flair. They are poised and do not lose hope when they fall behind. They can run the ball and pass the ball and their defense, behind Kalil Mack is coming to life. They are in first place in the AFC and they are humble.


I cannot put into words how happy it makes me to watch them win, read the articles talking about how great they are, watch post game conferences where they mention that they are just trying to “stack up enough wins” to get a good spot in the playoffs.


As every Raider fan knows, there is the expected let down. The downturn where even a decent season ends in a series of losses or a blow out in the playoffs, but this team is different. They just play well. Smart. Scripted. Good football. So while they might lose a few of the last tough games before the playoffs. Or worse they might get beaten by a team in the playoffs- this has already been a season of amazing football for this team.


Regardless of what happens for the rest of the year, I am looking forward to what we look like in the next few years. But, who are we kidding, everyone in Raider Nation knows that we are looking unbeatable right now. Massive O-line, two great backs, a gaggle of big play-maker receivers, a clutch tight end, a secondary that is finally looking decent, a strong D-line and linebackers, the best kicker in the league, a punter who dances when flagged (with the flag) and the potential MVP and best quarterback in the league in only his third year.


This team is something special and I am looking forward to watching them throughout January and hopefully at the school Superbowl party when they beat the Cowboys! Just Win Baby!


…


Everybody I talked to at work, looked really worried about my foot. So much so that they are making me nervous. I checked in with the doctor today- wound is healing. Still split a bit at the bottom and bleeding a tiny bit. He hopes it will be waterproof and sealed in one week’s time. In the meantime, I still need a bandage and bag when I shower. He says to keep putting weight on it, so the muscle do not atrophy too much and make rehab difficult in the coming weeks. I am due back in three weeks for an X-Ray to see how the bone is healing.


So I went to school today and taught a class and got reacquainted with my kids. They were great. So many smiles and waves and welcome backs. I needed them and it felt good to be amongst kids.


By the end of the day I was in quite a bit of pain. My body wasn’t used to being up and about and it took a lot out of me. I came home and crashed for like 30 mins. The foot is swollen and throbbing, but I think that taking it easy the next few days, and knowing that I could take a day to rest, will be my plan. It’s the last nine days of school and I feel like I want to be there and finish things up with my peers and students.


Tomorrow will be my first full day and we are staying late for Kaia’s guitar recital, so I am a bit nervous, but one step at a time is all I can do.


…


This whole ordeal has got me thinking about not taking my body for granted. I need to have gratitude about the little things like walking around my classroom, or from the car park or to the canteen or down the hall….so often we assume that are bodies will always just do what they are meant to do, but nothing like a fractured bone to remind you to take it slow and appreciate how fragile it all is.


I am looking forward to walking again. To running. To skating, To swimming. To rolling around on the ground with my kids.


Take this moment to close your eyes and be thankful for your body in whatever shape it is in.


Oh....did I mention that the Raiders are 10-2!

B-Ball and Beer

I was supposed to run a half-marathon today. Somewhere in a warehouse or garbage bin sits my number bib and tank top. Run might be a tad too optimistic of a verb, I was not ready for this run even before I fractured my ankle. My plan was to have a pre-dawn walk-about to clear my head and sort my thoughts. A slow jog here. A comfortable walk there, beneath the slowly rising sun, through the streets of Singapore, to help me think about and plan my litany of new year’s resolutions. I was looking forward to three hours alone to align my priorities. But that was before the fall. The break. The bed rest.


There would be no dawn. No walk. No run. No need for any of that contemplative malarkey. I have been in bed for over a week. That is enough time to overthink everything and than think about it again.


I was out today. Twice. The sun was out too. I wore sunglasses and watched the girls play basketball. So fun watching them ratchet up their intensity and start to grasp the basic skills. Then home and rest and some work. Read a few grade 6 stories and began the grade 6 weekly mentor presentation.


Later Kaia and I did a home share with her writing and it’s so cool seeing her progress. I can’t help but compare her to the grade 6 kids I teach. I know she still has half a year to go, but every time I talk to her, or every time I teach my kids, I think about whether she would like the assignment, or think about whether or not she will be okay in grade 6. Today’s share put my heart at ease. The girl is starting to learn to write.


We finished Captain Fantastic and then outing number two- met friends at Brewerkz for an early evening dinner. Nice chat with friends. Good food. Setting sun. Cold beer.


My ankle is throbbing something fierce, but it was worth it being out in the world and interacting with people again. I have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow and I am hoping that the open surgery wound will be closed and water-proof, and I am looking forward to a half day at work.

Healing

Today was a good one. I didn’t leave the house again, but I had the company of my kids and some more rest. Marin and Kaia were off to sewing and errands in the morning, so Skye and I hung out a bit. Played some games. Some music and watched a few Beat Bugs. It’s a bit babyish but she is loving The Beatles songs. Every episode features two random Beatles songs. So now she can be heard playing around the house singing Come Together and Lucy in the Skye with Diamonds. Then while she played alone for a while I had a nice catch up chat with Anthony.


Then Skye was off to a birthday party and Kaia was home. We haven’t hung out just the two of us in a while and it felt good to catch up. Erin popped over for a nice visit with Orion and then Kaia and I watched Captain Fantastic. It was a bit slow and over her head, but Kaia was intrigued by their life style and amazed that the kids could swear so freely. I told her that for the time we were alone this afternoon she could swear all she wanted, but she was still a bit timid. We didn’t get to finish it because it was getting late and Mairin and Skye came home. Next time.

Finished the night off with our annual Christmas kick off viewing of Elf.

I did become obsessed with my phone throughout the day. The Trump Taiwan thing was hanging over my head, but I am want to work on getting better at ignoring his every jack ass move, but he is like a drug and I am addicted. It just seems so unbelievable that this is our reality. This is the world now. We all live in a reality TV show.

Read up on the Joe McNight story and was appalled. Researched the stand off in North Dakota and was appalled.

But this was meant to be a happy post about a happy day I spent with my kids. The name Noam Chomsky is now in Kaia’s universe and that makes me smile. I may have stood up a bit too often today, with the shower and making dinner, so my ankle is throbbing, swollen and hurts a bit, but I felt more like a human today than I have in the last week.

Pigs At The Trough

“The most effective answer is the most deceptively simple: do not buy in. We are warring for control of reality.”


Saw that on Twitter today. Some thoughts:


We are stuck in a vacuum of lies and propaganda by a system determined to prove that we are not, as a nation, smart enough or determined enough to fight back for what we believe in and value.


The question is what will this resistance look like.


I for one do not think it will be through social media awareness and activism. It will not come by writing letters and calling our representatives, because they are part of the system that allowed us to be in the predicament we are in. They know our anger and frustration. They saw it in our push for Bernie. They saw us suck up our pride and begrudgingly say that we are with her. They can even count the 2.5 million votes that echoed our voices. So I do not think that they need our letters or signed petitions.


Because even if they wanted to help, and I believe there are a few who do, they may, at this point, be powerless to stop what is coming. And what is coming is a tidal wave of crony craziness the likes of which our country has never seen. A massive money grab by the greediest, liars and thieves, who have stacked the system in their favor for generations and now they want to see what the system they built can really do:


Empower corporations beyond their already bloated status. Deregulate all public services that they have made sure are on the brink of failing after year of obstructionist temper tantrums. Give the pigs at the trough the keys to slop and let them fill their own bellies. Privatize the systems, so they can wring out the last of the remaining wealth all for themselves.


Expand the military. Create a police state. Debunk the media and the free press and promote anti-intellectualism. Create a monster and call it “the others” and simplify the complexity of a nation into chants and rallies and reality show demagogues. Rally around the flag and burn and loot and crash the whole shit show down.


Dark? Grim? Cynical? We have seen this in our fiction for years. We saw this in the thirties in Germany. The formula is not new. It is just happening in our back yards now. On our network channels. Within our own families. How do we fight back?


At this time I am not sure. I do know that things are going to get a lot worse before they get any better and this is the battle of our lifetime.


Readers of history know that it takes generations to get to where we are now, and it will take generations to get us back out. We will fight the good fight where and when we can, but it will be a long tough journey, so we need to pace ourselves. This is a marathon.


We fought Nixon and Jim Crow. We fought Reagan and the Bushes. Hell America was built by its fight with the forces of imperialism and greed. This is not a new enemy. We were just lulled into a false sense of comfort as the beast hypnotized us with a fake post-racial America. And now we are ready to face it full on again. The American left is not some fictional beast. It knows the score. Look to its leaders for guidance. We need to build movements that are fighting long term battles for peace and justice, not against one candidate and his one term.


There is no reason to lose hope or become confused. We need to take stock. Focus. Find our allies. Educate ourselves on the movements that have been fighting for generations against the system that has now taken this neo-facist form.


Find where you are passionate and fight that battle in concert with the rest of the movement. Women's rights? Race? Social Justice? Environment? Poverty? We cannot take it all on at once. Find your focus and fight. Fight long and hard. It's the only choice we have.


….


In other real life news…today was a good healing day for me. Weird how one can feel such dread and fear, but then smile and love life ten minutes later. I had my first visitors today. Was great to see Ian and Paula. I also went out to dinner with the family and had a glass of wine. I felt like a normal person for those last few hours and that is good.


I got tickets to see PJ Harvey and I got some work done. The ankle still hurts and I had some strange dreams in the morning, but everyday I am riding the wave I am sent and hoping for a few good rides. The political stuff is heavy, but I am trying to balance it with the levity of my own life.


Sure we are headed to a neo-fascist America, but the sky was blue, I smiled more today and I am feeling like I am ready to crawl out of this cave. Such is life.


I am blessed and grateful. I could be in the rubble of Allepo or in North Dakota in the freezing cold. Instead, I am in my comfortable home tending to a foolish injury, silently ashamed of my meaningless tirades against the corporate machine that is devouring the world.

Fractured And Scattered

“An empty shell seems so easy to crack
Got all these questions don't know who I could even ask
So I'll just lie alone and wait for the dream
Where I'm not ugly and you're looking at me.” Pearl Jam


It’s easy to feel sorry for yourself. Especially when you are not at your best. Broken bones. Dampened spirit. Heavy funk. The fixes are not easy and they are seldom quick. It can take weeks, sometimes months to get your priorities back in order.


I think I am finally on the edge of moving some things around inside and coming up for air.


It’s hard to tell when this latest tailspin started for me. It is definitely been around for longer that last week’s broken bone. I was talking to my mom today. Telling her about how anxious I am to get back to work, back to my life, back to normal and she asked me if I thought that maybe this broken ankle was the universe’s way of telling me to slow down.


Stop. Think. Reevaluate. I shrugged my shoulders and let her words linger, afraid to think too deeply on them.


I thought back to when I stopped feeling so fantastic. Because at the end of the summer, I was at a peak. I was rested. Excited. Pumping on all cylinders. I had a great time with my family. Saw old friends. Spent time in the trees and great cities and towns. I was on fire. Life was great. So what happened?


My new role started off great and I am still loving it. School has been good. I am not super excited with how I am teaching, but the new responsibilities make up for my early curricular confusion. Work life is solid. Kids give me energy and my peers are as always top notch.


But early on with Karen’s passing, things went a bit off the tracks. That was emotionally taxing. My first real close death and the travel and the stress and the falling behind was a lot. I am not sure I really processed it all as soon as I hit the ground running back in Singapore. I would say that is when it started. All the death this year- Ali, Bowie, Prince. Twinkle.


Then off to Vietnam. A good conference, but I didn’t feel I was great. I was there. I did my thing, but it didn’t feel fresh or new or exciting to me. I felt stale and like I was faking it.


Then I started cheating a lot on my vegan choices and felt terrible about that, and then I think it all came to a boil on November 8th.


Three-way conferences and the election.


I became obsessed with the news and the plight of everyone affected. It felt like the world was going to end. I literally could not look at Trump’s face. I am not sure why this election hit me so hard, but it feels like the forces of darkness and evil are alive in the world. This is beyond politics. This is some cosmic shit. Like we are being swallowed by doom. Like something out of Lord of the Rings. Like everything we cherish and value and love is on trial and the courts are stacked against us. I internalized it all. Add that on to my existing issues that I already mentioned and I was spiraling downward without a way out.


For those of you who have been reading for a while, you know that I was allowing myself to slowly wallow in the downward spiral, toward the end of the year. That was plan. To let myself be gross and sad and just wait out 2016. Not healthy I know, but it felt easy and good and like I somehow deserved it. My second mom died and everything I find vile and repugnant was the president of my country. So I cold eat some McDonalds and feel sorry for myself.


Then I broke my ankle. After the first good day I had had in a while- there I was- skating along feeling the breeze, enjoying the sunset, feeling the concrete below my feet- I was contemplating the change, the rebirth and then I did something stupid: I tried to do more than I knew how to do and I was forced to stop it all.


A week in bed, no work but more anxiety, time to be alone and think, choking on the politics and I was getting worse. January 1st couldn’t come fast enough, but today something changed.


I watched a movie called Gleason about NFL star and ALS survivor and hero Steve Gleason. I cried almost non-stop from start to finish. I can’t say it plainly enough.


This movie will change your life.


There was so much I wanted to say as I watching it, but I am left a little in the blank right now. I still have a few big life changes coming up in January, that I am more and more excited about. I am still working out the details, but I am hoping that these new changes will allow me to refocus my goals on my priorities. To really spend my energy and life force on the things that truly matter to me, instead of scattering myself around too thin. That is a great image- The latter part of 2016 has left me scattered.


And thanks to this movie I feel I am raking up the leaves and ready to start putting some plans into action.


The next couple of weeks will still be about healing. Physically but also mentally. I am a literal metaphor right now of a fracture. School will come to an end and those anxieties will pass. I hope to reconnect with my family and try to celebrate Christmas joy. I am looking forward to seeing my in-laws and spending time with friends. We may or may not go to Thailand, but we will rest and heal and be well again. The future is looking bright.


This shittorm of a year is almost done and for that I am hopeful, but more importantly a new year is on the horizon. I am healthy (ish). I am loved. I am filled with the fire of life and I am tired of being burdened by sadness.


Do yourself a favor and watch Gleason right now! You will not regret it.

Nothing Day

Today was a pretty nothing day. Tried to get a bit more mobile. Shaved. Showered. Even got dressed, but I bled through a bandage and ended up feeling pretty tired, nauseous and banged up by 7pm, which is what time it is now, and I am in bed. Ready for sleep.


Marin and Kaia were out all day, so I tried to entertain Skye, but I could tell that she was bored and needed more from me than what I was able to offer- laying on the couch, in bed, occasionally heating up left-over pizza for lunch. We watched The Never Ending Story in the morning and it was not as good as I remember. It was actually pretty terrible.


We listened to some tunes while we colored. We played Uno and I tried to teach her backgammon. But all I really wanted to do was either crawl into bed and sleep or rip the bandages off, throw my crutches over the porch and go running around outside.


This is going to be a long few weeks of recovery.


Later Skye and I watched Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom and, wow- It was almost unwatchable. Terrible is not even close to describe how awful it was. We made it through the end, but even Skye noticed how lame the the female lead character was"


“Come on lady! Don’t you know what adventures have to do? You’re gonna get a little dirty!”


So now, Kaia is at a sleep-over and Mairin is at a party I was supposed to go to, but Skye is laying beside me almost asleep and I can feel my ankle throbbing. My biggest concern is that the little bandages I am using will not be big enough and I might bleed all over the sheets. I need to go back to the clinic in the morning for a new dressing and to make sure that all this blood is normal.


I had convinced myself that I would be back at work on Monday, like nothing ever happened, but not so sure about that now.

Not Much

Not much happened today. Stayed home from school. There was no way I could have walked, much less worked. I stayed in bed. I napped. Tried to read and watched six episodes of Bojack Horseman. I have been in pretty bad pain all day. Felt a bit nauseous with heartburn.


Not sure what the next few weeks are going to look like and this is kind of freaking me out. Poor Mairin has been doing so much on her own. This was meant to be the weekend when we just chilled-out and rested and now it’s another weekend that she will be on her own.


My ankle starts bleeding if I get up and move about too much, and it hurts pretty much all the time. The pills don’t see to be doing much.


I’m in bed watching a movie with the girls and ready to just fall asleep again.

Pain and Grattitude

There is nothing like pain to teach us valuable lessons. Whether that pain is emotional, spiritual or physical, pain-if nothing else, teaches us gratitude.


I am back home after a 24 hour hospital stay that included a two hour surgery to mend my bones. Here are some random thoughts lessons I learned while I sat in my hospital bed all day:


Nursing is a wonderful profession. It must be so satisfying to bring people such comfort. All day today, a batch of nurses helped me stay comfortable, cleaned my bandages and made me feel cared for.


It’s amazing the trust we put into the hands of doctors. Right before I went under, I was thinking about the fact that I knew nothing about the guy who told that he needs to cut open my ankle and add a plate and some screws. Then knowing little about him or the procedure I said sure. I have no idea really what he did and whether or not it was the best thing. I knew that my bones were broken, because they hurt like hell and he was going to fix it. Made me think about the level of trust parents put in our hands as teachers. They don’t know us, for the most part, and they trust that we know what we are doing to teach there kids. It’s an honor to have this trust and I do not take it likely.


Would anyone be surprised if the Trump presidency actually became a reality show? Like his cabinet picks are being chosen for their on-air personalities. “Bring in the rich lady with no experience in education to run the entire department. It will be funny to see what she does. If it doesn’t work out, I can use my catch line in week 15- You’re Fired!”


The rest is a bit blurry. This was a great post, around 4pm when was drafting it in my head, but now nearing ten, not so much.

The Purpose of Literature

Crushed. Assaulted. Broken. Pulverized.

I am not sure the purpose of literature. What do we expect from books? Where do we hope they can take us? Who do they reveal us to be upon completion? Do they make us think? Feel? See things we never knew existed? Are they meant to tear our hearts out, burn them to ash and force us to choke on the ash? Are they supposed to reconfigure every molecule of our being and leave us exhausted and unable to piece ourselves back together? Is obliteration the purpose of good art?

If so, then A Little Life by Hanya Yanagihara will not disappoint. I started this 700 page plus tome last Sunday and quickly buried myself in its world. I fell in love with its characters, while also loathing them for their inability to give me any answers.

This post is not meant to be a critical review. I will not tell you about who these four men are or how their lifetime of joy and suffering is a testament to our human ability to endure unimaginable pain. There is no need to look at the plot, that spans decades and covers a nation, but rests in New York City. All you need to know is that this book will haunt you.

I was going to write that I have not read a book of this magnitude in years, but I can honestly say, excuse my hyperbole, that I have never read a book that made me feel this uncomfortable. I am at a loss for words.

I often ask my students to tell me what a book is about without mentioning plot or character to see if they have a basic understanding of the themes. A Little Life is about:

Pain and redemption. Forgiveness and self-acceptance in the face of abuse and trauma and self-hatred. It is about victim-hood and friendship. It is about rape and sex and sexuality. It is about a more imaginative look at masculinity. It is about what we demand from each other and what we offer and call love. It is about the fragility of childhood and how we can never escape our past. It is about self-harm, suicide and fear. It is about how easily we are broken and how long it takes to heal.

I am not sure the purpose of literature, but I suspect that at the very least it should shatter a small part of our universe and force us to diligently put it back together. And what we recreate, will never look like the original. The broken shards will leave scars and we should be prepared to hurt.

But it is fiction after all. The stories of men and women who have never existed.  We see glimpses of them in the mirrors we look into everyday, but through literature the hurt and the pain and the scars are self-inflicted. We can put a book down. Walk away. Contemplate. We can learn.

To be more loving to ourselves and the ones who we love and who love us. We can be more kind to strangers, seeing that we are all suffering in our own small ways. We can be more grateful and patient and understanding. 

This book is a dark scary alley. Not one I recommend exploring light heartedly. But sometimes your entire being needs to face its fears. You need to grope around in the darkness and feel the terror of  real pain. If for no other reason than to remind you of the beauty and warmth of life. We can allow literature to remind us that the world is more complicated and just as simple as we need it to be. We can allow it to change us. Crack us open and shift the light. Letting some in and some out.

Rearview Mirror

Human emotions seldom function in isolation. I can't seem to find an apt analogy, but I see webs, ladders, perhaps colliding particles? Maybe somethings to do with tables and chemistry. I never seem to feel any one singular emotion at a time. There is always the blending from one emotion to the next. Sometimes they form bonds and move about us as compounds. Some light and airy, others heavy metals we can never seem to discharge.

I first began to notice the complex collision of emotions when I was eight years old.  Must have been the weight of these compounds that caught me by surprise. It started with shame. Even on its own much too heavy an emotion for a child to deal with, but this shame activated guilt, which quickly ionized into pain and fear. Even as my young heart was trying to contain this immensely volatile compound, I realized that it was merely a catalyst to a much more combustible bond of emotions-- anger and pain.

I buried this unstable chemistry within myself for most of my adolescence. No matter how heavy and confusing and painful it became, I felt strong enough to absorb it on my own. Because even then I was beginning to feel that the pain could transform into strength and the anger into the foundation of my personality. I was creating a defiant independence that would help me become the man I am today.

Three important things happened when I was seventeen. I found friends I could love and trust. I found alcohol. And I was finally able to release some of my pain, anger, fear, guilt, and shame. I realized that I no longer had to carry it all by myself. On those endless drunken nights beneath the moonlight, I told the others what had happened:

When I was eight years old my parents separated. It was traumatic and confusing.  I was too young to see it coming, and so had no idea of the cause. Like most children of divorce, I am sure I partially blamed myself. My dad moved into another apartment with his cousins. Two brothers who I knew as family friends. I can't remember if I was ever given a choice of who I would live with, but I stayed in our house, in my room with my mom. We would get a Spanish roommate named Pillar.

That same year, while I was in third grader in Ms. Wonder's class, I would spend some weekends at my dad's new place. For some reason, inexplicable to me now, I slept on the couch. I remember many nights falling asleep to MTV, Here Comes The Rain by The Eurythmics a song that remains a memento of those nights.

On some nights, it happen more than once, but I cannot tell how many times, the cousin would come in the darkness and touch me. He would lay next to me. Kissing me and forcing me to touch him. It was in this darkness where I first learned shame. I guess it was the beatings made me wise. I couldn't breathe, holdin' me down. Hand on my face, pushed to the ground. Enmity gaged, united by fear. Forced to endure what I could not forgive. After sometime, I told my mom and it stopped. He disappeared. There was some court dates. I saw someone. I think. It was vague and scary. Then it was finished. 

Some time later, my dad would accidentally drive our metallic green Volkswagon Bug off a cliff somewhere on Highway One. He would break his ribs, shoulder, neck and spend months in a hospital in Sebastopol. He came home to a new apartment and his parents wearing a halo.

He was not the only one who was broken. My childhood ended that year. I seem to look away. Wounds in the mirror waved. It wasn't my surface most defiled. I find it so strange to think that my daughter is only a year away from how old I was when all this happened. I cannot begin to think how she would handle any one of those traumas, let alone all three. I have done everything I can in my life to make sure she never has to feel the weight of my emotional chemistry.

But I felt it. For a long time. Even after I told my friends. I carried this secret with me everywhere I went. It wasn't just inside me anymore, it was me. A tumultuous battle between shame and anger. Soon I would begin to explore blame and for the longest time I assigned blame to everyone I could- my parents, the cousin, the world, and eventually myself. Why didn't I stop him? Say no. Stand up. I must have liked it I told myself, causing more shame. More guilt. This had to remain a secret. It had to be my fault it happened and so no one could ever know. My friends knew and that lightened the load, but no one else.

A few years later, I found a counselor. Someone who could voice these emotions. Who had been there. Felt the pain. Been abused. Been the victim. Had the scars, and had not only survived but was now telling me that the pain actually helped him. That the anger, the sadness, the shame all of it was not my fault and that if I could tap into it I could become a man.

I saw things, saw things, saw things, saw things: Clearer. Clearer. Clearer. Clearer. It was as if, there was finally a voice to the silence I carried with me for most of my life. I gather speed from you fucking with me. Once and for all I'm far away. I hardly believe, finally the shades, are raised. Saw things so much clearer. Once you, once you were in my rearviewmirror...

This was the voice of vindication. Of a rage so profound even though it was tempered and searing. It would bring the earlier emotions to a boil and break them down only to build them up again into something new. This music was proof that I would not only survive, but I would flourish and grow. I would shine. I would love. Myself. Once and for all I knew I would be okay.

It was this song, this music, this band that saved my life and allowed me to become who I am today. This is no hyperbole. To this day, I feel my core shake when I hear these songs. Go ahead. Take a break. Watch the video above.

It's funny to this day, beside my few close friends and my wife, I have never shared this story with anyone. There is still the taboo of talking openly about abuse. There is still the shame of exposing one's trauma to the world. A fear that someone, somehow might blame the brutal victimization of a child on the child himself.

But here is what I have learned: These emotions, shame, guilt, anger, pain, sadness were never meant to be carried alone. They are too dark and heavy,  too dark to let fester beneath our skin. Abuse can create great artists- Bukowski, Cobain, Elliott Smith and many more, but the average person is not doing himself any favors carrying the burden alone. There is a sense of relief that comes from letting go.

People sometimes commend me on being honest in my writing. Which is funny, because I have always kept this back. Afraid. But I finally felt it was time. Not because I want your pity, but because I hope that this revelation, this release might help someone else gain strength.

I chose to make my way through the trauma on my own. I struggled through so much anger and pain and alcohol and whatever else to get to where I am now. I don't regret a thing, and I know everyone needs to find their own way, but perhaps someone out there reading this might not feel so alone. Someone might listen to Rearview Mirror and exercise their own demons. Someone might choose to write away their suffering and turn sadness into art.

original image by Paul Watson

Remember that art in general and writing in particular gains force by how it empowers both the producer and the viewer. The powerful part of writing and sharing is the connections created, the communication it fosters. This post has helped me lighten my load. I have been able to unburden myself and finally let go of my shame. It is an amazing feeling to watch into dissipate into the Internet.

So please, if this post has moved you, if it has empowered you, or helped you in anyway, please share some thoughts in the comments. We are not alone in our pain. Also, if you think there is someone in your life who might benefit from some of what I have shared, please feel free to pass this post along.

Life is beautiful because of the pain and the sadness in it, not despite it.

Last Note: I want to thank my parents. I know they are very sensitive with what I share online and I know that this might freak you both out a little bit, but I wanted you to know how much I love you both and I no longer blame you for anything. Although, I wrote about these traumas, I had an amazing time growing up and I love myself, the life I have created and the person I have become, and I could not have done it without you and all your love and support.

What More Can One Expect From A Savior?

I've never been one to pray. Always felt futile to speak to someone who is never there. But sometimes, usually after midnight, with my headphones on I hear a voice. It speaks to a part of me that I've never been sure what to do with-- it's a place of darkness for sure, not a scary place, but one that thrives without too much superficial light. It's the place in which I tend my shame and fear and rage and pain. It is the place born of trauma and separation and addiction, but has surprisingly led to simpler things like wisdom and growth. Some might say, I have sown strength and passion and love from it. Regardless of the emotional enlargement which burrow from its roots, there is one voice who is always there:

Some people have Jesus, I have Elliott Smith to tend my soul. His music is the truest thing I have ever known. The closest I have ever been to the divine. The Buddha might talk about suffering as the state of human existence, but Elliott Smith paints that pain in melodies and melancholy pop songs.

I have written about Elliott before, but I feel a responsibility on the eve of his death to tap into his amazing energy. It is past 1:00 am and I am digging through some old cover recordings to help me find what it is exactly I am trying to say.

Funny that I have chosen to share so many covers when trying to write a post about someone else. I am having a difficult time articulating the connection I have to this artist. There is a very selfish obsession I have with Smith's music. It's as if he has finally given voice to the part of me that I have never been able (chosen) to even hear. The songs seem to be sung by(to) the inner child we all choose to leave in the dark, should he reveal shameful secrets from the darkness. There is a powerful vulnerability and tenderness in Smith's ability to shout the whispers of victimhood.

This year feels extra emotional as it is the tenth anniversary of his death, and I just finished reading Torment Saint.  The book has left me swimming in buried layers of trauma. The dissection of Elliott's lyrics and back-story of his childhood, reminds me of the fragility of my own childhood and the depth of the scars we carry.  His is such a sad, but common tale of the damaged child turned artist. I have been mired in a fog of introspection all week--carrying the heavy burden of emptiness.

A dream: I am in heaven. No saints or angles, no clouds, no vice. no virtue. No god. no judgment. There is a kitchen table, a screen door leading out to some woods. The light is low, candle lit, early evening. A garbage can over run with beer cans. A bottle of wine just opened. The walls are stained. The room is not clean and comfortable. soft music fills the air. Elliott picks at a guitar...

He is smiling. He is sober, healed, whole. Charles Bukowski is on the couch a cigarette dangling from his lips, a bottle of beer in his crouch. Never could give it up he says. He is wearing a robe, the scars on his face soften, but still visible. He is gently arguing with David Foster Wallace about something I can't hear. Kurt Cobain is playing with a young child. They build towers and laugh as they knock them down. You made it, he whispers.

My heroes have all been suicides. Not sure what I want to say here, actually know what I want to say, not able to articulate it. All I know is that there is a pain in my heart, every year at this time, as I take the time to baptize myself in the music that helps me heal. I count my blessings that despite my past, I do not suffer from uncontrollable depression or addiction or unsurmountable pain. I have been burned for sure. I have scars, but my path toward heaven is not as dark as some of my heroes. I am thankful for their sacrifice. I am thankful they could translate our collective pain into the art that helps the rest of us survive. What more can one expect from a savior? A friend to carry the load, we are not string enough to carry. A friend to venture into the darkness and light the way.  A savior is nothing more than a sacrifice. An artist. Maybe I am starting to understand religion after all. Maybe religion is nothing more than understanding that we are not alone and maybe there is no need for god, when we have art and the shared emotional pain of a universe swirling in chaos. We are all saviors, when we share our pain.

So now, when I pray, I close my eyes and listen to Elliott Smith. His songs connecting me to  the eight year old boy I abandoned but never forgot in the darkness. When I am there, I see your scars too, I feel our pain, and realize that I was never alone. I just never knew how to cry out so I as to be heard. Somewhere in these words I scribble, in these songs I hear and sometimes play, in this clutter, perhaps I will find a way to be heard too, In the mean time, Elliott is here for us all.

Why should you want any other when you're a world within a world? 

An Ounce and a Ton

I’ve been carrying around a very heavy weight for sometime now. October 8th to be exact. Yes, that is the day my second daughter, Skyelar, was born, and while it should have been a day that brought nothing but happiness, I can also remember it as the day I was first forced to pick up this heavy load. That was the day I sent out our first job application, and since that I day I have been saddled by the weight of an anxiety and stress that has crippled my creativity, tainted all my days, and made me spend an unhealthy amount of my energy on a future I was helpless to control.

It is easy to speak about non-attachment and middle road Zen philosophies. It is easy to say you believe that it will all work out. It is easy for people, friends, and family to tell you not to worry, but the problem with worry is that it burrows into your very fiber. Like a tumor it grows and infests all the joy in your life. Worry, anxiety, stress, and angst increase in weight and size to the point where it is nearly impossible to carry anything else. Add to your pack rejection and denial, and you are left unable to move. That is where I have been since October. A motionless heavy statue.

The most difficult part about jettisoning oneself of this dead weight is that the harder you try not to worry and take it easy, the heavier the fear becomes. When you are single and alone, uncertainty can often be confused with adventure, but at thirty-six, married with two kids, insecurity is a very different creature. Suddenly the loss of the possessions you so casually denounce, becomes a tornado of emotions you never thought you would deal with.

The difficult part of watching everything hang in limbo is that you realize that your life is not just a set of randomly made decisions, but a carefully crafted plan. Suddenly, you have no control over the plan. You are powerless. This powerlessness makes the plan that you had crafted moot. If one cannot move a plan forward it dies.

But enough talk of weight. Let us now speak of freedom. Buoyancy. Flight. Once the doubt is gone, once we regain acceptance and validation, the darkness fades and we can breathe. I literally felt the blood begin to flow again through my veins, and my creativity awaken. Everything in life, suddenly feels right and easy to manage. The doubt seems an immature neurosis. A sophomoric paranoia.

I am not sure where I am headed now, or how I will get there, but I do know that an ounce of security is enough to balance out a ton of doubt. As I shed more and more of the weight, I am rising higher and higher. The view from up here is phenomenal. The question now is will I remember how to get back up here, if I am faced with intolerant ambiguity again?

We never remember what it feels like to be healthy when we are sick. We never stop to appreciate the perfect flow of life as it moves through our memories. We only seem to notice life when it is dammed or flooded.

by anh quan

I am here to say that as I fly over the river that is my life, I am once again aware of its perfect curves and contours. I am once again appreciative of its simple perfection and grace. All I can do at this point is hope that, if I should face other obstacles, I will remember this moment. Perhaps, I can save this post as a reminder. It can mirror the advice I was given, but refused to believe or heed:

You must have faith in the universe and trust that good things happen to good people. You must believe that no matter what happens it is the right thing and the need to control life is the one thing that causes us to suffer most. Funny how these simple tenets sting so much when we are powerless, but feel so simple when we have found the path again.

The night is soft. The music is cool. My two girls and wife are asleep, and the words are flowing again. Let’s see where they will take us…But really our suffering is all relative. Isn't it?

Indifference

I will light the match this mornin', so I won't be alone
Watch as she lies silent, for soon light will be gone
Oh, I will stand arms outstretched, pretend I'm free to roam
Oh, I will make my way, through, one more day in Hell...
How much difference does it make
How much difference does it make, yeah...

I will hold the candle till it burns up my arm
Oh, I'll keep takin' punches until their will grows tired
Oh, I will stare the sun down until my eyes go blind
Hey, I won't change direction, and I won't change my mind
How much difference does it make
Mmm, how much difference does it make...how much difference...

I'll swallow poison, until I grow immune
I will scream my lungs out till it fills this room
How much difference (2x)
How much difference does it make (2x)

Love Doesn’t Discriminate

A few weeks ago, a friend of mine was attacked when a burglary was botched and the bugler panicked. She sustained severe injuries and was hospitalized. Her husband recently sent out an amazing email about how they are dealing with the emotions that arise from an experience like this.

I asked him if it was okay for me to publish it here on Intrepid Flame, as I feel the message is an important one, and he said okay. Here it is in its entirety- names and places edited to protect privacy:

By now many of you know that a little over 2-weeks ago someone broke into my house and severely beat my wife. It was horrible, unimaginable and a shock to us all in the community, friends and family all over the world.

It left many of us asking why? and why did this happen to her? I am not sure we’ll ever know the answer to that.

It happened mid-day and she was locked presumably safely in our hose.

If you have ever been a victim of a crime then you know that you feel violated, angry, and vulnerable when someone invades your private ‘space’ like that.

Compound that with the brutal beating of someone you love and you also feel rage, guilt, sadness and finally relief when you know that everything will be OK in the long run. Trust me, you feel almost every imaginable human emotion.

Yes, you feel guilty for not being there to help. You feel rage and want to find the guy and make him pay for his actions. You feel grief and sadness when you see someone you care so much for in that physical and emotional state.

All of those are viable emotions and from my perspective quite natural and healthy to feel. But you can’t dwell on them, focus on them or let them consume you.

I can tell you why.

Those negative emotions and feelings aren’t constructive. They don’t build anything new. They don’t replace the loss. They don’t help the healing process that must take place. And ultimately those negative emotions are counterproductive and destructive.

The only truly worthwhile emotion is love. It is the only way to rebuild what was destroyed or lost. Love is constructive. It helps everything heal.

Of course, you already know that. This is just a reminder.

Whether you know it or not you are part of an incredible community that extends from the ____ community outward and encompasses all of humanity. Everyone from the students, parents, maintenance staff, colleagues, and administrators at ____ to friends and family around the entire world reached out to us quickly and lovingly. Total strangers offered their sympathies and help.

People around the world cried for us. People all over the planet have been praying for us and sending positive energy and thoughts. Everyone gave us the best thing they could…. their love, positive thoughts and support.

And here’s the catch. Some of those people aren’t necessarily our best friends. Some are strangers. And… how to say this… some are the very ones that get on our nerves at times or annoy us the most. Some of the people that responded with the most love are the very same ones that give us the most trouble.

That is astounding.

You know these people. We all have them in our life. Perhaps they are the student that is naughty or misbehaving in class. Or the colleague or parent that doesn’t necessarily get along with you very well. Or the acquaintance in the community that you never really had time to get to know. Or someone that just puts you off for some reason or another.

And countless well wishes and prayers from so many different types of people: Muslims, Buddhists, Hindus, Christians, Jews, Atheists, Indians, Indonesians, Malays, Americans, Australians, Africans, Brits, Thai, Canadians, Filipinos… and the list goes on and on.

Not to mention from every layer of society: students, maids, maintenance guys, parents, police, managers, workers, rich people, poor people… their station in life didn’t matter. They all rushed to our side.

You name it… we got it and accepted their love and caring with open arms. Love doesn’t discriminate or know those boundaries and definitions.

I hope you know what I mean. I find it truly amazing. I can’t stop thinking about it.

So what does that teach us and help us remember?

What it reminds me to remember is that all those differences are superficial. They really don’t matter. The minor differences. The annoying quirks and idiosyncrasies. They aren’t what we should focus on. They don’t define the essence of the person.

Race, religion, socio-economic status and beliefs don’t erase or mask what we truly are or can be at the core of it all: loving, caring human beings who struggle through this existence with one another, side by side, trying to make sense of it all.

As I’ve journeyed through this life I’ve learned, forgotten and relearned many times over this simple fact: as we swim through this ocean of experience we try not to drown. We teach each other to stay afloat. We support each other and we build life rafts out of community, friendship and love because we know deep down inside that we are all stronger when we work together. We are not alone in our confusion and struggle.

It is indeed our greatest commonality and asset. This life. This collective struggle. This shared existence.

In our time of need all of those superficial things dropped away like the petals of dried flowers and exposed this fact. Everyone that responded did so in the same exact way. With kindness, love, respect and gave what they could. Because in our hearts we all know we are in this together. Although sometimes we tend to forget that basic tenet.

Of course, you already know that. This is just a reminder.

So here is my challenge to you and what I have learned, forgotten and relearned through this experience:

Cherish these moments you have on this Earth, especially with loved ones. Don’t dwell on the emotions that aren’t worthwhile. And next time someone is getting on your nerves or causing you problems, look beyond the thin veneer of their quirks and idiosyncrasies and gaze deeply into the core of their humanity.

Look at them through the lens of our common human experience and you’ll see yourself reflected there. And if you do this, I promise you will recognize that they are indeed just like you in their essence. You will recognize yourself in them.

Because one of the most profound things I have heard lately came from my wife when she said ‘I stopped being a victim the moment he stopped hitting and kicking me. Now I am a survivor.’

This makes sense to me because I truly believe and feel in my heart we are all surviving together in this existence and experience day-by-day in our own way, collectively.

You are Loved

The anger comes in waves. A slow powerful swell that leaves me raw and feeling useless. Then quick jabs. An uppercut. I am numb. The seeds of rage grow into sprouts of hate. It at this moment of the beating that I breathe. Stop.

I scroll through all the images. I read all the words. Starving children sit besides the corpses of their parents. I see Kaia standing there. My eyes flash open. It is too unbearable to imagine. I see her awash in a fear that is beyond the ability of any one person to endure, let alone a child. A lone child. Who will she become without the love of her parents? Watching them bleed away to nothing. Their murders ignored or branded as self-defense.

How did we get here? I push back the hatred. It is in my heart, just like yours that hatred grows. And it is here that we must fight it. Push it back with all our force. I will carry this anger only so far. My back aches with the weight of the world again. My heart goes to the oppressed everywhere they suffer the injustice of hate. But anger does no one any good.

Please do not take my words to mean that we should ignore the anger we feel when we see injustice. Just the opposite, we must acknowledge the anger, carry it a while and feel its weight, find its source. Let it soak into every fiber of our being, but from that soil we must transform it to love.

Love for our enemies, love for the monsters that kill children in their schools. Love for armies who ban medical help for the people they butcher. We must learn to love those that commit evil, because our hatred only fuels their crimes.

Terrified young men assault each other with missiles and bullets, because they were not able to defeat the hatred in their hearts. Broken men, brainwashed with the fantasies of older men follow orders because the fear in their hearts is too much to bear.

How else do you explain neighbors who kill each other’s children over such meaningless things as borders and gods? Lost in ancient stories, these men have forgotten how to create love and spread it to those who beg for it.

All I can do these dark nights is sit with my anger and prick myself wake from the numbness. There is light to shed in my heart still. I hope this light translates from these words and touches someone who may be reading. If not, if I am alone, I know that this light will not simply disappear into the universe. Perhaps somehow my thoughts will find there way to that little girl standing next to her dead mother. And they will simple say, “you are not alone. I am here in your heart. I love you. Let everything else go. You are loved.”