The Fragile Man

I have shopped my writing around to the publications closest to my subject matter and have found that they aren't interested in my opinion. They publish the editorial works of experts and I'm no expert and all I really have is my perspective. So, I've decided to write about the only subject I'm an expert in, myself.

I'm going to post the beginning of a book I'm writing and I'd like your feedback. Here is what I propose: Read the beginning few paragraphs with the understanding that this will be the telling of a six year journey through fibromyalgia and my other ailments. So read and let me know if you'd keep reading this book, or if it's best kept for myself.

Thank you in advance :-)

Namaste,

Ryan

I awoke on my couch, facing eviction, the power being cut off and working a job which was entirely too physical for my body. My wife and children were gone, left to Texas because I had been a violent man. I had curbed my physical outbursts, but was still difficult to live with. I was full of delusion and victimization and all the pain medication and muscle relaxants I had left. I didn't want to live another day, not without my family. I had the two dogs for company, and they loved me but it was hard to love them back when they reminded me so much of what I had lost. I looked into the empty room my sons had shared; toys still lain on the floor. I laid back on my couch, which had became my bed, since I wasn't sleeping in our bed. I lived a life of busting tires all day, six days a week, 70+ hours a week and staying awake all night. As I laid there a thought bubbled up from the center of my mind like the message from an old '8 ball"; all I had was myself for company and I hated myself. I was an ass-hole and a bully. As I realized this the room began to fade into so much black nothingness and I was there floating by myself.; outside of time and space with no beginning and no end. As I realized that  this was the fabric of reality, I knew myself completely and my body faded. I was simply the energy of me, this observer. I looked back and saw the fabric of my negative energy threaded through the lives of my family causing so much of our distress and problems. I saw it changing the beautiful nature of my children. I saw it causing my lovely wife to bend and change. I could feel her pain and fear in my deepest heart and I awoke.

I sat there staring into the room, blinking at the vivid clarity of it all just as I had done so many years ago when I received my first pair of glasses. Trees weren't just green cotton balls; life wasn't the fabric of my dreams. I understood into the center of a deep placed I had long ago suppressed,  that we are all connected and I had been so very irresponsible with my part in it all. I had been irresponsible in my role as a father, as a husband, as a friend and as a human being. I was selfish, judgmental, and so egocentric my victim mentality was like a suit of armor. I saw it so clearly of myself and I stripped myself naked unto the light of truth. I had fought against the worst of myself for so long. I was tired of shirking, tired of being ashamed of my true self. I turned and fought, finally. I closed my eyes, I grit my teeth, clenched my fists and faced it. When I opened my eyes I expected to be facing demons, shadows, enemies of some sort and what hit my like a blade to my heart was the sight of myself, pale face in my hands weeping at what I had done. I saw this man, who couldn't stand tall; who had faced his whole life as though visited by the ghost of Christmas past.  His shoulders were slumped and his heart was wallowed in sorrow and despair. I became aware of the energy, call it atmosphere, esp or however you can understand it, but I became aware of a looming choice. I felt it with every fiber of my physical being. Like my own spidey-sense; my karmasense was tingling like crazy. The fight or flight reaction was pulling like the riptide of the oncoming of a tremendous wave. I didn't care, I had made my choice and as the wave crashed I covered that man with my body. In the churning destruction I was washed away, split into so many layers of facade as the cinema of my life was shown before me. Each scene; a layer of delusion ripped away, exposing me, skinning me alive. I didn't falter, I didn't shirk. Layer after layer I watched as karma; my energetic responsibility for the threads of delusion, hate and judgement I had woven into reality were heaped upon my shoulders. I used those scenes flashed before me as bubbles of truth to follow to the surface if I were to survive. As I pressed into these scenes, no longer a witness; neutral, I became. Without knowing or noticing perhaps I became that figure I had seen. My face in my hands weeping as the pain I had wrought on others only to disguise myself, to cast my view from who I was. Their pain was to alleviate my own... the source of my shame shown before me as the last load of karmic weight. I stood and assumed it all unto my being. I was one again, like I had been so many years ago as a child. I was washed clean while not removing my past. This wasn't a fragmentation, it was a reunification. I could stand tall because I am a good person. I have done bad things, but I was no longer running from them. Stripped to near spartan living I walked my talk every day.

I had been shown the subtle luring nature of that inner space I came to call the cave. I walked every day being as present as I could be. I had seen the shields of delusion and their consequences and I rejected my reality and stood for truth come what may, how ever I may be judged or scrutinized I will walk in the light of truth. My first tool was to openly call bullshit on myself. When I was being weak and letting others do more work than I on the job I would call bullshit on myself. At first it took stepping into the restroom to actually face my reflection and call it out. "you're being an asshole, you're using and manipulating them and it IS NOT RIGHT" I had to affirm it in reality, not the vacuum of my mind because I can change the facts as I see fit in there. Out here in reality, if I spoke it aloud, I couldn't take it back. I foiled my sneaky and underhanded ego-self this way. It was what it was, I could not change it. Those moments were my foot holds, my anchor points for when I fell, and I fell a lot in the beginning. I began to see again, as I did in that moment of clarity, the sun warmed me, the coffee was richer and I was real, and I was ok. I began to rebuild myself in this way. I was raising two boys into manhood and I couldn't define it and the shame of my example to them thus far was like a burning  coal for the engine of my purpose. To be a good person.

The Language Demon Robs You With its Gift

All words, how ever profound, are nothing more than vibrations crated by our vocal chords. They are communication, nothing more. They are meant to communicate the intent of our hearts. We have created the trap of language, the trap of allowing ownership of words. Words are nothing more than a translation of thought and how can anyone own that? I can think of the copyrighted word Coke and there isn’t anything they can do about it. I think it all I want.

For this rant, essay, conversation with myself or what ever you’d like to call it, it would be best to begin with an explanation of impermanence and how I understand it. I want you to know where I am coming from. Nothing is permanent, not one single thing.  If you doubt this, go back to your home town, the place where you lived when you were eleven years old and see if it looks anything like you remember it. The world is nothing like it was in the time of Cesar. Nothing is permanent. You could point to artifacts in the museum and I’d say “give it time, it’ll fade too”. The point of this is to illustrate the pointlessness of clinging to things and those things in this talk are words. You can copyright the word, but you don’t own it. You may have some temporary legal action upon it, but give it time, it’ll fade.

Now I’m not talking a bout life being pointless, rather I’m trying to shift us a different direction. We use our words to hurt, entrap, protect, attract, coerce, offend, anger… we use our words to manipulate life around us. We often use our words in this manipulation to validate ourselves, to prove our existence. We hold up the words of others to define who we are. We wage wars based on the words that we’ve held as our definition because if they are attacked, so are we. I feel it would be best if we understood that words are just words and the matter at hand is our intent, our heart, not the vibrations of sound.

My good friend, my spiritual Sister, had on her refrigerator a collection of words on little magnetic pieces. We all took turns making funny sentences or phrases. I wrote one, it just popped into my head, but it would consume my thoughts for some time after. I don’t own these words, I didn’t “craft” them, they popped into my head and I placed them on her fridge. “The language demon robs you with its gift”.  I have found this to be true. As soon as I lock a beautiful thought into words describing it I lessen it’s innate beauty because mine was only one perception of a concept which is open and available to all people, all perspectives. It exists before words, before thought. When I capture it with my words and put it on display for all to see they can’t experience its true beauty, only the diorama of my perspective.

So when we come to religious texts we experience the same dynamic. They wrote the words from their own perspective. Whether they were inspired by Jesus, Guatnam Buddha or any other holy figure, they are only words and simply describe a perspective. Even if they were written by that holy person themselves, they are still words; still the mental currency of the ignorant.  I say ignorant because if we weren’t ignorant of this we’d all be holy and we wouldn’t be here. We cannot be so full of ourselves and our own ego as to think that the divine would sound anything like our speech. We cannot be so egotistic as to believe that only those who speak the same language it was written in were meant to have it, were somehow more holy or special. We have to understand and acknowledge that God is pronounced differently in every language. It is the perspective of that person who heard it. Even if God him/herself spoke their name to a person it would be the name that person, in their ignorance, could understand.

If we could just realize what our words are, what language actually is. They’re our innate connection to each other. They aren’t under attack; it’s just someone trying to express themselves in a manner we’ve all been taught. Remove your attachment to your words so you can fully understand, without bias, when others may use them. In this way you sacrifice yourself for your fellow human beings expression. In this way you’re an empty cup waiting to be filled with their knowledge. In this way there is nothing between you and their expression and you will know them, and yourself, better for it. Remove your intent from words like freeing them from a prison.

I believe in a concept, a dynamic, I can only express as love. I do not paint the word “love” with my understanding when someone else uses it. I do not trap them in my definitions. I listen to hear what they are saying and I look for it in the skies of my beliefs which float endlessly. So hold dear the intent of your heart and watch for it always in the words of your brothers and sisters. Remove the fish-hooks from your transmission so others can experience them with a truly open heart and mind. Do not cheapen those words which reflect your heart by using them as a shield, or worse, as a weapon.

Namaste