Lasagna

It’s kinda hard, writing

When your humble servant (me) first started with WordPress (WP) I was probably just like the majority of y’all;

Didn’t know how to use the regular editor thingy
Didn’t know, and still don’t know, how to use the CSS thingy
STILL don’t know how to promote my writings, poems, musings or my carefully rewritten and reorganized ummmm…..what’s the word for stealing other people’s stuff and acting like it’s yours?

It’s either, ‘plagarize’ or ‘inspired’…

They’re both so close in their meaning, because if you look up both words in the dictionary and read between the corporate lines, they are, pretty much the same thing.

I guess I’ll go with ‘inspired’ because I do it without malice of forethought.

That means I didn’t mean to steal someone’s stuff and make it better.

Besides I can argue all day about why I have never willingly or knowingly plagarized anything.

I don’t read other peoples stuff or I should say, can’t read….

No, before y’all get all crazy and indignant, hear me out

If I read words from a page, I mean, literally read words on a page from a book like entity, I will be asleep in less than 2 minutes.

I have been like this since the 3rd grade. That’s when Mrs Salter first noticed it in me.

I can’t read instructions, newspapers, scriptures or anything over a page long. Seriously.

I will pass out.

I don’t think it’s a problem with dyslexia because I’ve always been a good speller, good problem solver and such; plus, mathematics doesn’t do it to me. I’ll look up dyslexia and see if I’m using it in the right context.

hmmm…doesn’t happen when I write.

I just noticed something else….

Why is dyslexia such a weirdly spelled word that represents a ‘condition’ where people have difficulties with spelling or the correct sequencing of words?

Oooo, look. My first wild tangent in this post.

Anywho…

My life has gotten in the way of me writing as much as I would like.

eating
paying bills, willingly.
paying bills, that I have no idea why they are as much as they say they are.
Treacherous wife
Treacherous children; at least the ones I know about.
Work; I guess that would be a ‘gimme’
I wish I’d been born rich
Life changes before my upcoming 52nd birthday.

I never thought I’d ever write that statement “Life changes before my upcoming 52nd birthday.”

But…I’m glad, or blessed, that I have gotten as far as I have gotten in this life; this test, this probationary state.

Because, if any of you have ever read any of my previous “get to know me” or “self revealing” posts on my humble blog, you will know that it’s pretty much a miracle that I have lived as long as I have lived.

Note: If I say I’m humble, does that mean I’m not?

If you haven’t read them, let me just simplify it so you don’t have to go thru the torture of reading them

It’s a miracle I haven’t killed me yet.

I was baptized into the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints on August 11, 1984; 32 years ago.

I was 19

When I came up out of the water in the baptismal font, I actually checked to see if my tattoos had come off.

Ignorant, yes, I guess; hoak’m maybe

But, man, I wish I had that feeling again.

It’s been the one instance that has seen me thru my fickleness for these past 32 years.

Yes, one moment in time, I knew that everything was gonna be alright.

….past 32 years….

I knew that I wasn’t alone, we aren’t alone. That, I knew secrets…and that I had to tell everybody.

If I had known then, as I stood waist deep in holy water, wiping the soul saving water from my eyes, what would happen in my life over these next 32 years, I probably would have asked the kindly missionary that had dunked me to dunk me again….until I quit kicking and tossing about and just floated, face down.

“Where were you when I laid the earth’s foundation? Tell me, if you understand.” – Job 38:4

I have free agency but, Who am I to question God?

There’s a lot more in that question than you actually see at first; read it again and ponder.

I have free agency but, Who am I to question God?

“Mortals, born of woman, are of few days and full of trouble.” – Job 14:1

I have free agency but, I must cry repentance?

I wish I could keep a fetching steady stream of thought on one particular thread of contemplation and insight.

Stupid adult ADHD….

C’est la vie.

I’m all over the place with this.

Have faith?

Oh yes…I think I do finally.

I think I have an understanding in the concept, thereof.

If you are a memeber of the LDS Church, you will understand this…if not, I will add some links for clarification and has absolutely nothing to do with brainwashing. (You are a chicken, you are a chicken)

I have been faithful to the law of tithing for a while now. Tithing

I have been faithful, as much as it is possible these days, to the Word of Wisdom Word of Wisdom

I miss tea and coffee…..WHY!!??

I am trying my darndest to pray each day, as much as possible, considering that I never really made it a priority in my life, plus I’m lazy, plus, I’ve always been like “Why, pray? God knows what I’m thinking or doing or what I need and what I;m thankful for, anyways. He’s a busy God; wouldn’t my stating the obvious to him just be a cruel redundancy or I’d be jamming up the lines for more needy and desperate or WORTHY souls to get their prayers heard?

It’s all about obedience to the word of God, I find out…dang it

Tangent 2….

I have so many ideas and directions that I can go with on this subject that I can’t keep my thoughts organized.

I think my writers block is gone.

Hallelujah

Anywhos….

I don’t know why I’ve gone in this direction with my blog.

Maybe it’s a natural course, maybe it’s a budding writer that is searching for meaning. maybe it’s because it’s time for everyone to start exploring their own souls and I can feel it in the air….

Maybe, I heard the voice of God in a prayer where I was saying nothing at all; maybe I was just listening for him, to see if he was eavesdropping on me.

He was.

I heard “Endure to the end”

As if someone was leaning over my shoulder and spoke into my ear, in a normal, level voice.

Not still. Not small

It happened.

I was there and I’m just as surprised as you are.

I opened my eyes. Got off my knees and sat on the edge of my bed. “hmmmmm”

That was strange.

Why’d he say that?

Not “OMG! God just spoke to me!”

Why’d he say that?

I know why. You know why. We all know why.

Endure. To. The. End.

So, I looked it up.

Endure: verb (used with object), endured, enduring.

1. To hold out against; sustain without impairment or yielding; undergo: to endure great financial pressures with equanimity.

2. To bear without resistance or with patience; tolerate: I cannot endure your insults any longer.

3. To admit of; allow; bear:

His poetry is such that it will not endure a superficial reading.

To hold out against?

To bear without resistance or with patience?

To hold out against, what?

To bear without resistance or with patience, against whom?

Hold out? Without resistance? Oxymoron?

Time?

Satan?

The World and all it’s ‘glory’?

God, himself?

I know what it is….

I have to hold out against myself….

The greatest obstacle, hindrance in my life is undoubtedly and unsurprisingly…..me.

I only have to hold out, endure to the end, against the greatest supervillin known to me.

Great.

No problem.

I have to think on this.

TTYL

p.s: Oh, the last meat dish I have eaten was Lasagna.

p.s2: I miss meat but, not really.

August 22, 2016 2

Elder Clarke Returns

The nice Mormon people sat in the church pews, surreptitiously glancing over their left shoulders as the doors into the chapel opened; breaking the air pressure in the big room, alerting the members of possibly a new investigator or an old crib Mormon coming to worship, and wondering even more so “Why’re they late to church?”

Sinner….

I was a little apprehensive to say the least as I peered thru the doors; the numerous heads turning my way, and the exploring, questioning, judging eyes.

Like walking into a room full of scary baby dolls….at your great grandma’s…

There were some smiles of course; or was the baring of the teeth an act of territorial bravado?

There were mostly frowns and straight, clinched, undecided lips.

A baby cried…

I also noticed that there were some indignance, impatience and irony scattered here and there among the congregant faces.

“Guilt” I think to myself “I feel guilty for getting here late”

That’s a good sign, I guess.

After all, I’d been gone for a long time; from church, I mean.

Definitely lending credibility to the phrase of “Better late than never”

…..whatever

Of course this all took place in the blink of an eye and a simultaneous breath, like most death-defying acts of bravery occur.

I passed thru the door into the chapel, heart thumping.

There was no lightning or burst of hellfire.

No thundering voice yelling “Depart heathen!” or a hissing, demonic “Get. OUT.”

Pheeww…

The echoes of my sliding steps across the carpeted floor were mind numbing to me; ringing off every hard surface like insane church bells being jerked up and down by a crazed hunchback!…. I believe I could actually see people wincing as their ear drums busted!

Young mothers screamed, holding their infants up as human shields; old men grabbed their chest and fell to the floor; old women rifled the old mens pockets and the young husbands grunted, opened their eyes, looked around sleepily, dug some Cheerios and Apple Jacks out of a Ziploc bag and munched on them all the while putting the binky back in the baby’s mouth; the preacher leaps over the pulpit, swinging a blinding crucifix around his head, pumping righteous death at me from the barrels of 2 golden revolvers, spitting Gods justice in molten hot lead!!!

Well, it coulda happened…No, wait….

That’s just my imagination. We ain’t got crucifixes in our chapels….or preachers; technically speaking.

The door shut behind me as I slid clumsily into the last seat in the last pew, closest to the aisle.

Peoples heads turned succedently, obediently, back towards the front of the chapel; the room pressure returning back to an optimal church worshipping level.

My ears were buzzing and I realized I had to pee.

“Welcome, Elder Clarke, been a while” came a voice from above…

Oh, speakers….

I looked around the room, scanning various faces that were looking at me again..

I’ve got food on my face, don’t I?

I wipe it off.

Is there an Elder Clarke in here? Weird…

“I’m talking to you, Brother Clarke” said the same all around me voice, followed by a slight microphone squeal.

Oh crap.

I’m a Brother Clarke….(I’m still looking around during this time freeze)

Microphone means speakers, speakers mean microphone, microphone MEANS PERSON TALKING TO ME!

Well, technically in the LDS faith, I am an elder but, I don’t consider myself worthy of the title.

I wouldn’t even say I’m a Jack Mormon. I’m more of a…..Doug.

“Yep, Wolf amongst the sheep” I mumble to myself; man, have I gotta pee.

I throw my hand up in a “Howdy y’all” half wave; the kind of greeting you give to a crowd of people when you are late to a meeting or event and gratefully accept the sentence of death pronounced upon you by the goodly town folk.

But, in a nice, Jesus loving way….

“It’s good to have you join us today; welcome back” said the person at the microphone.

He smiled at me and winked.

So, this is how it’s gonna be, huh?

Dirty pool, Bishop.

Note: (That’s what we Mormons call our dirty, rotten, lying, good for nothing, treacherous ward leader)

No, not really. He’s an excellent human being. Ugly kids though….

He promised me yesterday that he wouldn’t call me out in front of the whole ward (that’s what we call our….wait….I don’t know why they call us “ward’s”. You look it up. I’m writing, here)

I threw him a curve ball.

Making a wide, sweeping glance around the chapel, I pronounced “I just got back from my mission, Bishop”

He still smiled but, I saw a look quickly pass over his face.

What was that….intrepidation, fear? Nooo….

The dirty bugger can’t wait to hear what I’m gonna say.

Touché mon ami….

How’d he know…… Dang!

I hate it when people talk to Jesus behind my back and figure me out….

“A mission?” I hear a voice ask; somewhere off to my right, slightly behind me.

I follow the trailing echo of the voice and locate the source.

A teenaged girl. Cute, brown hair, invisi-braces….those questioning, Doubting Thomas green eyes.

Not, the Bishops kid, I surmised.

“You’re too old to go on a mission” the highly astute young girl stated.

I said “You’re never too old to go on a mission” I smiled, sarcastically but, in a loving Jesus way….

She flipped her hair, turned her smug little, snotty face towards the front of the chapel, denouncing my presence in her sphere of supremacy and pronounced the obvious..

“I see you around all of the time, Mr Trey (that’s my name) How can you be on a mission when you never left?”

Smart girl.

I hate smart kids; used to beat them up.

**Back and forth banter (I hate having to put ” ” after each quote; bugs me)

“Well, dear, I was on a mission of sorts”

“Did the church call you for your mission?”

“Kinda”

“How can they “kinda” call you on a mission?” *snort laugh * Where’d you go on your “mission?” *12-year-olds faint laugh of derision*

……..silence for a few seconds.

Everyone is looking at me.

I feel tears coming.

My face feels hot all of a sudden….

I hear the Bishops voice; not on speakers….right next to me.

I look at him.

He puts his arm around my shoulders and winks at me again.

“Elder…Clarke (he grins) told me this yesterday”

I hear the low rustle of people in church pews paying closer attention. Y’all know that sound.

“Tell them where you served your mission, “Mr Trey”.

Everyone is looking at us, I can tell.

I turn to face them.

Deep breath…. Funny, I was breathing just fine a second ago.

“I went to Hell” I said

…….quiet from the cheap seats.

Absolute.Quiet.

I think the crying baby was even listening now.

Baby’s are smart.

They talk to angels until they get older and learn how to forget Angel stuff.

Bless his heart…

I know this little boy was sitting somewhere across the aisle, invisible to me; lost among all the big people surrounding him.

“Did you baptize anybody in…you know; where you was at?”

*low snicker* *mom quietly hushing little boy* *grunt, rustle of Ziploc and Apple Jacks*

“Just me” I said

This was too good for all the tweens in my new audience; the missionary scholars…

“You can’t baptize yourself!”

*louder snickers* *quiet slap of a low five*

“You’d be surprised” I said.

My gaze wandered to the front of the chapel, a picture of Christ hung there….

It was the Jesus picture that stares at you, follows you around the room.

I stared back, got dizzy.

How does he DO that?

Once again, hushingly “I was in Hell for 20 years….

I felt the Bishops hand squeeze a little harder on my shoulder; I looked back at the curious people in my ward.

They looked back at me, noticing that my voice had changed, my eyes, my face….

I heard “Mommy, Mr Trey is sad”

“No he’s not, baby….” hushed Mommy. “He’s happy”

I smiled at her.

My voice is husky now….

“I was in Hell for 20 years, here…..and here” I first pointed to my head, then my chest.

*Small voice from cheap seats*

“Is Hell bad?” it said

I sat there for a few seconds before I leaned forward; grabbing onto the top of the pew in front of me; knuckles turning pink, red then white, from my grip….

“Yes….” I said.

“Yes……..”

10592739_309434649228541_4702930826788118450_n — “Yessss….you could say that”

July 17, 2016 2

Loser Lips

I wonder what kind of person I would have or could have or should have been without other people around me; the people I mean, most of all, are the ones that made the biggest impressions on me during my “sponge” years; made me what I am; made me, despite me….

I’m pretty positive that up until my 5th year, that I wasn’t racist, politically active, religious, civic minded or had an opinion on any singular complex subject really other than the hard learned fact that I didn’t like the looks or taste of leafy green foods or their seedlings.

Oh, I was also born knowing that I hated tomatoes. I knew that from the get-go. It’s in my DNA.

Guess what “wasn’t” in my DNA?

Hate.

Anger (Self righteous anger, I mean)

I had jealousy and envy. I wanted a BB gun too and I was upset that everyone else seemed to have one but me.

But, was that jealousy or did I just want to fit in?

I know for a fact that I learned hate, true hate, in and around the 6th grade.

Before hate, we’ll heretofor(sic) [from here on out] refer to the period of time of my “normal” childish tantrums and hissy fits as BH (Before Hate)

I hated everyone.

They made fun of my tennis shoes covered in pig shit.

They made fun of my crooked, buck teeth.

They made fun of the fact that I seemed to be the only human on earth to get lice in my hair every other week.

They made fun of me because I rode the bus, even though they did to but, I had to sit in the front. They sat in the back.

They was cool, man.

I sucked.

They made fun of my clothes, my books, my pecker, my nose, my eyes, my fingers…etc!

They tormented me because I was too beaten down at home to stand up to anybody, and they knew I was scared.

You see, I was too used to being told that I was stupid and lazy; a piece of shit, and I believed it.

If my Dad thought that about me then it must be true.

After all, he was my hero.

Hero’s don’t lie.

I just thought of something.

Maybe the reason I can’t or we can’t, remember much of our first few years isn’t because we were too young; maybe it’s because we never had too much of a traumatic event to scar us and cause us too subconsciously start marking time by the painful events in our lives, not the good times.

I don’t think parents have any idea of the monsters they can create with a word or none.

I’m doing a lot of soul searching in my life right now.

I don’t know if it’s a phase that all 51 year olds go thru; you know, facing our mortality and morality…..looking back?

I am a Mormon and I am beaten down by regrets.

They are as real and fresh to me now as the past instant they became a regret.

“Let go, let God”

I don’t have that much faith.

No, wait…let me rephrase that.

Someone, in my youth told me that God was vengeful, God was jealous, God should be feared and worshipped.

God is Love. A God of peace. A God of forgiveness that drove Adam and Eve from the Garden of Eden forever, flooded the world and watched his very own son die on a tree….

I have no idea which God is which.

I have faith.

This is my faith. This is what I believe.

Suicide is a sin.

That is why I am still here. That is the only reason that I am still here.

Someone, somewhere, sometime BH told me that killing someone or even yourself was the worst kind of sin.

I know that burning in hell was mentioned as one of the least torments shelled out to killers, by God, of any type.

What is weird is that I am a Mormon that believes in a literal hell. The residual threads of my Baptist, Methodist, Pentecostal upbringing are still tied to me somewhat.

I don’t know why, it’s probably just a description; Hell I mean, of a terrible place to frighten uneducated and unsophisticated peoples enshrouded in the superstition and ignorance of an ancient time and place.

I am a Mormon in a constant non-stop struggle with myself and my inner monsters, a never ceasing battle between my mind, my heart and my regrets.

I have the forgiving others part down, pat! No problem.

I forgive, I forget; to an extent. I’m only human, dammit!

Of course I’m still hurt and bitter about some things people have done to me but, I don’t beat them over the head with it; I’d welcome them back into my life and never think of those things again and sing and dance and throw flippi’n flower petals all over the place if they’d just let me….

How come I can know that people change, that stupid shit happens, that family is family and no one else seems to?

I’m having a little petulant party this evening it seems.

I’m a Mormon that can’t forgive himself.

Where is the faith that I need?

I would kill for the faith of a mustard seed.

“Let go, Let God”

He has enough to worry about, or, he’s quit worrying.

Why should he listen to me, I’ve lied to him before.

I have gone to the well too many times.

I am a Mormon and I do not believe that God is that forgiving. There is evidence in the Bible that he has his days….

I am a Mormon that believes that I am already in Hell.

I am a Mormon that believes that I am already on the lowest level, the terrestrial, of the 3 degrees of glory. (look it up)

This is as good as it gets for me.

Pain still hurts here.

Here’s the twist….

What if my life sux until my last few minutes and then all of a sudden…POOF!

I understand it all….

Suddenly I know why I suffered or thought I suffered or, I come to the realization that I am actually really here on earth and that HELL is real, and I’m going there FIRST CLASS! No customs to declare!

What if I find out that God had originally sent me here to back up Christ during his trial, help him escape and I got drunk, just like I always do….and he gave me eternal life to feel the regret!!?? FOREVER!!!!

I am a Mormon fighting alcoholism and depression.

No, I am not drunk. I am depressed but, I am writing about it and working thru it, or trying to.

That is how I roll.

I heal myself bit by bit by writing, confessing….bitching at the injustice of it all.

Why couldn’t I have had a normal life?

My God, is this a normal life?

I just remembered something as I stared off into the writer idea abyss….

I have a whole body, even my appendix.

I have my sight, my hearing, my mind, my memories, my sense of humor…

My humanity.

I have a wife that loves me and a step daughter that is planning on putting me in the cracker house.

I have a job I love and I have hope.

I haven’t decided which is better yet, hope or faith.

I know I’ve written about this quandry of mine a few times and I feel like I’ve reached a happy medium between the two.

See…it works.

I was feeling bad, down in the dumps.

So…I wrote about it.

I worked thru it, a little.; and I feel a little better.

I am a Mormon, I am a sinner that never quits trying to be better.

God knows this about me, if nothing else, that I am always trying to be a better man.

He might not talk to me anymore but, I know he knows.

I have faith in that fact.

And that’s better than nothing.

Thx for reading

February 12, 2016 0

Blood Sucking Heathen

Wow….

It was June something or other, when my financial ability to pay my WordPress domain rent went kaput….

It was one of those times that we, as Americans, whom reside year ’round in what’s known as lower middle class, come face to face occassionally with tribulations in our capitalist existence.

We like to call it “Broke Ass”

I don’t really require much.

Food? I eat too much as it is, maybe I can cut back a bit. The rest of the family are all fat and disgusting and could do with a litle bit of hunger strike practice.

House? I’ve been homeless before; you can do wonders with cardboard and tree limbs. The “boarders” in my house would die in less than a day if they locked themselves out of MY HOUSE!!!!

Car? Uh….I really need the car. My wife drives it all the time but, it’s in my name so IT’S MY DANG CAR!!!

I am a fantasy…..

Utilities? Candles….well water…..snuggling…..clear night, bright moon.

My loving La Familia would die in less than a day if they couldn’t keep my bathroom light on 24 hours, constantly….forever.

You see my point?

What is the worry about a teeny little WordPress blog when I gotta worry about sloppin’ the hawgs I live with….or should I say “Live in my house, drive my car, eat my groceries, spend my spending money, pay for their prescriptions” and all I get to do is drive around in this semi-truck, eat bologna everyday and send money home….to a place I hardly even live!

Do you think it’s out of place for me to feel resentful about this?

I struggle with it. I always scold myself later because I get upset about their seemingly blatant disregard for hard earned money and their never ending need of it and not giving a hoot where it comes from or how long it took to make it, as long as it keeps coming baby!!!

20150318_131303-picsay — “It was funny….”

Money isn’t the most important thing in the world; love for my family is….

I’m gonna kill myself…

I’m gonna drive this semi-truck off the side of the mountain, exploding into a massive fireball with my guts and burning hair slinging everywhere!

My last smoking, screaming words will be “I cancelled the freaking insurance a year ago you dirty, blood-sucking pagans!!!”

“BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!”

SMAAASSSHHHH!!!!!!!!!!

Too bad I won’t get to see their faces when the check for the Porsche and lake house doesn’t clear!

“MUWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!”

Okay….I’m sorry, Honey Biscuit. (that’s my wifes pet name) *sigh* we used to have a pet, but they ate it.

I know that I am being unfair and mean.

I know it’s my job to pay for everything while you and your stupid kid sit around and hold the couch down so it doesn’t run off, and HEY!!! Watcth that damn TV, every freaking second, so it doesn’t fly away!!!

Oh….for the love of all that’s holy, please make sure to open up the fridge at least 500 times a day. We need to make sure the lettuce gets plenty of air and the ICE CREAM AND CORN DOGS DON’T GO BAD!!!!!

“AIIIIIEEEEEEE!!!!”

Okay….I’m sorry, Honey Biscuit.

I know that I am being unfair and mean.

I am a cruel and insensitive brute.

I shouldn’t care that my family lives better than I do or that my kid ignores me when I’m there.

She hates me. I think she’s planning to kill me.

My wife says I’m being paranoid but, I think she’s in on it too…..

I catch them watching me sleep; when they let me.

When I’m home they’re always wanting to go do stuff, spend time with me, sit next to me on the couch, go out to eat….crap like that.

Why can’t they just take my money and leave me alone.

I don’t like hanging out with needy, clingy women. Especially a 46 and 15 year old with hairy legs…..

You’d think they were Pentecostal or something…..

I think I need a younger wife……maybe one of those little adopted Chinese kids!

No, I didn’t mean the Chinese kid for a wife…some people…….

I actually got to keep $26 this week, shhhhhhh.

Well, it was really $32 but there’s no need to tell the harpees, is it?

10670270_347409812087093_482638345951863755_n — The Blood Sucking Harpees

I’m planning on cutting them out of my will as soon as I get one.

Oh well, anywhos….

WordPress took pity on me, because they have seen thru my blog that my married life, spent entirely as a battered and abused husband, was my only respite….my only escape; so, they gave me extra time.

So, I’m sitting here outside of a Walmart, waiting on an old person to come out so I can bump’em in the noggin and borrow some of their retirement cash to pay WordPress.

My Salvation Army setup wasn’t working. I jumped the gun on the Xmas slant, I think….

I’m back and that’s all that matters.

P.S If I disappear, my kid Lacy did it.

July 10, 2015 5

Delusional?

“My argument against God was that the universe seemed so cruel and unjust. But how had I got this idea of just and unjust? A man does not call a line crooked unless he has some idea of a straight line. What was I comparing this universe with when I called it unjust?”
― C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity

I am a Mormon.

I am a terrible Mormon.

Don’t misunderstand me.

I am not a terrible person by accepted social standards but, I feel that I am.

I am very critical of mistakes that I make.

I am very critical of mistakes that others make but the difference being that when others make mistakes I can think “Don’t be an ass, everybody makes mistakes” When I make mistakes there is only one line that I stick too “I’m an idiot”

I don’t think I’m depressed; not anymore.

I’ve been depressed and medicated for it; plus, I have been certified and have my own mental health dossier as being anti-social, border-line personality order with manic-depressive tendencies.

Basically, I’m normal and not on medication.

The difference is that I have a very critical opinion of myself, not so much in everyday things mind you but, in things that are personal and unique to me as an individual; things that no one would know, ask or even care about.

You see, I know the thoughts that go thru my mind.

Y’all know the thoughts behind your eyes.

Are they dark?

I know my first reactions to anything.

Y’all know how you will react to things…

Very, very rarely are we ever truly surprised by anything.

Lord…I have had my mistakes.

I have MOST DEFINITELY fallen short.

Sometimes, I’m ashamed of things I have done.

Thank God, for forgiveness and repentance. Because I ain’t getting any down here on earth.

Hell, I can’t even forgive myself….

Not these days.

Of course there are things behind my eyes that people can’t see, things I don’t want people to see.

Sometimes….maybe 1 out of say….192,094,954,021,783.623 I’m actually surprised by a reaction or a response to any given incident.

You know you…

I know me…

I know exactly what I will do when presented with any of the countless myriad decisions to be made, in less than a heartbeat, of life’s challenges.

If I react differently over something than I thought I would, I just think “Doesn’t surprise me”

I know before I know….

Y’all know before you know.

Is it instinct?

Is it a trained response, or something we “just…know”?

More times than not, I can control my attendant vocal response to such reactions. I can keep myself from screaming, cursing or showing any interest that such a situation may garner or require.

Times like these are when I can honestly thank God for the built in volume control that we humans all come with as standard default software.

But, alas; I am human and sometimes my mouth overrides my butt.

But, I can think in silence.

I can hide the feelings in my eyes.

I can keep a stoic, masterly countenance with absolutely no outward appearance of a reaction.

I’m especially good at reacting, or showing a reaction that a person, or people, would ever expect as a typical response, nay, the obvious response.

“Why aren’t you freaking out right now, your *bleeping* leg is cut off!!”

I look down and notice the missing peg…

Stoic countenance, steady eye, unsoiled trousers…

“No biggie” I’ll say. “I hope no one trips over it”

Like I said…

I am 50 years old.

I am canny, underhanded, sneaky, experienced….

I have tenure in the University of Life.

I am a visiting professor.

I am on a sabbatical from Heaven.

I am normal.

I hate being normal.

I wanna be different.

I wanna be unique.

I wanna be….like him….or her….or them.

I wanna be someone other than me.

I wanna……I wanna just be……….something.

Then, like right now, I realize that THAT’S the secret of life.

……….To never be satisfied with yourself.

Always, wanting more….

Not so much in material acquirements or personal recognition from the public; that’s a lost soul’s obsession but, in your own self worth or better yet, what you expect from yourself.

I believe that letting yourself down is the worst thing for a person to experience.

To lie to the one person that it is impossible to lie to.

Isn’t it a terrible thing that you actually believe your own lies?

You know that they are lies but, you no longer care because it lessens or maybe, it covers the fact that you accept this.

Sad…

I did it for years.

Lots and lots of unfulfilled potential….

Anyways, I’m getting off the subject.

I like beating myself up.

As I said earlier;

I am a convert to the LDS faith. August 11, 1984

I am a Mormon.

I am a terrible Mormon.

I do not fit the stereotype.

I fit the “Biker Gang” stereotype.

My driver’s license photo looks like a serial killer mug shot.

I don’t care what faith you practice as long as you work at it with true intent and a humble spirit.

I don’t care if you’re an atheist as long as you believe in yourself and the right of freedom for others to do likewise without hurtful criticism or persecution.

I don’t care if your higher power is a Pet Rock or a Chia Pet.

I am not a preacher.

I am not a missionary.

I am not even a good representative of my own chosen church.

To some, I am an infidel.

To some, I suffer from a God delusion.

To some, I am a pain in the butt.

To me, I am.

I am a simple man with complex feelings.

I am a complex man with simple tastes.

But…..

I cry when I read the Bible, because I know.

I cry when I read the Book of Mormon, because I know.

I cry when I watch videos produced by my church and others depicting Christ’ life and mission.

I cry when I pray, because I know.

I cry when innocent people are murdered because of their faith.

I cry because I don’t know God’s will and why he allows bad things to happen.

But, I believe that God speaks to us.

We just don’t listen that well, or outright ignore what we KNOW to be good advice.

Jesus said, and read it carefully: “Then shall they deliver you up to be afflicted, and shall kill you: and ye shall be hated of all nations for my name’s sake. And then shall many be offended, and shall betray one another, and shall hate one another. And many false prophets shall rise, and shall deceive many. And because iniquity shall abound, the love of many shall wax cold. But he that shall endure unto the end, the same shall be saved. And this gospel of the kingdom shall be preached in all the world for a witness unto all nations; and then shall the end come.”

Jesus was honest.

He told us the truth.

He said in John 16:33; “You will have suffering in this world.”

He didn’t say you might – he said it is going to happen. (Courtesy of Christian author and apologist Lee Strobel)

But why?

“Where wast thou when I laid the foundations of the earth? Declare, if thou hast understanding.” Job: 38:4 (Courtesy of God)

I don’t understand everything….I’m cool with that.

I don’t like it but I don’t have to, I guess.

It’s not a matter of blind obedience and the fear of God.

Free will is the truest gift.

I can decide if I want to believe in anything.

I can decide if I want to be a good man.

But, there are rules and penalties for those of us that seem to have a hard time learning from our mistakes.

(You can’t see me but I’m raising my hand)

Knowing the punishments, no, that’s not a good word; knowing the rules and results…..that’s the other gift.

Think about that.

“For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.” (Courtesy of Sir Isaac Newton)

It’s physics….

My faith is weak, not dead.

I know I am human, a mere Christian.

I can still be brought to tears by reading the word of God.

That’s a good sign.

I am happy with my God delusion.

There is a way to find comfort in this world and I feel pity for the souls that suffer.

I know there is a way to live a good life.

I know there is a God.

I know there is a reason for it all.

There has to be.

God, I’m counting on it.

Thanks for reading my Sunday post.

“And out of that hopeless attempt has come nearly all that we call human history—money, poverty, ambition, war, prostitution, classes, empires, slavery—the long terrible story of man trying to find something other than God which will make him happy.”
― C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity

March 1, 2015 3

Canal Street Jesus

I haven’t decided if I believe in God anymore….

It seems like as I get older and creakier, it doesn’t make much sense.

I mean…..there are discoveries of million plus year old human bones all the time.

There are the plate tectonics to consider also.

Would my God create an earth that has earthquakes and volcanoes?

The God of my understanding would not do such shoddy work.

Science is heresy and all scientists should be burned at the stake.

My God didn’t give us intellect and free will just to learn how to make fire….besides; we stole that from the aliens.

Science is proof.

Mathematics is proof.

But, religion tells us that we can’t understand the mind of God.

It tells us to trust in God.

I don’t trust anyone I’ve never met.

I met the devil in the bottom of a bottle….and I don’t trust him.

He lies….

Would my God allow mankind to run rampant over one another, destroy the basic resources that are vital to our very survival? i.e., water pollution, genetically engineered foods and forced extinction of human and animal species and a Sharknado sequel…

No….my God wouldn’t.

But something made me reconsider all these thoughts the other day while I was walking down Canal Street in New Orleans.

It was something Chris said….

It was a Sunday and the streets were throbbing with people of all makes and models.

I was walking down Canal with my 2 friends Chris and his hot Mama Kellie, weaving between the waves and eddies of human skin in differing shades and hues.

I don’t really care that much for crowds. The smells of crowds disgust me.

People make me nervous.

My job as a truck driver is a very solitary occupation.

I might not be around any people for weeks at a time.

That’s why I drive a truck….Or ONE of the reasons.

I am an agoraphobic trucker…..

Cool, I always wanted to be a hermit. I guess my truck is kinda like a cave…..

Okay, sorry…back to what Chris said.

Anywho….

It went something like this:

Trey: “Look at all these people” (Taking in all the colors and weirdo’s on a French Quarter Sunday)

Chris: “This is nothing you oughta see it at night”

Trey: “This is Sodom and Gomorrah” (I say with a little uneasiness. Remember that I hate crowds)

We continue to walk down the street and I begin to hear a voice coming from a small PA system floating thru the crowd of future saltlicks.

The voice is coming from an old black man sitting on an actual soap box. He was overweight and his big legs made his un-tied shoes look like kids feet. His clothes were soiled and he had a card-board sign hanging around his neck that read “Jesus is coming”.

He was also wearing an umbrella hat…..I’m serious.

It was sad to see an old man like this.

That could have been me…..I came very close at one time.

Too close…..

What caused him to go off the deep end?

How long has he been crazy?

Shit….I hope I don’t go bat shit AGAIN and end up on a street corner!

Trey (Walking past the old man trying not to stare): “Man that’s sad”

Chris: “That might be Jesus in disguise”

What?!

Why did he have to say that?!

I, like many of you know the parable or story from the bible or other places, I don’t know if there are comparisons from other religions, but I’m sure y’all know it.

Basically, be kind and charitable to whomever you meet in life because it might just be Jesus or an Angel in disguise.

I have believed that all of my life. I was taught that way.

That is until I got older and became an apostate heretic.

What is weird and what this whole post is leading to is this:

When Chris said that, I stopped and turned around to look at the umbrella hat preacher.

I had never thought of it like that, or gave it any real, serious consideration.

It immediately popped into my head that I had just met Jesus.

I thought I didn’t believe in that stuff…..

I mean, I believe Jesus existed as a real person.

I believe he was one of those teachers that changes the world, on an even keel with the Buddha, Lao Tzu and Plato….to name a few.

Do I believe that he is the actual “Son of God”?

I believe that as much as I believe that you and I are also actual children of God.

I don’t….But that’s just my opinion.

This chance meeting actually made me think about things though.

I looked at the old black man with an umbrella on his head and a sock wrapped around his microphone.

Why did I think that he might be Jesus in disguise?

How could I even entertain the thought?

Jesus was just a man.

He was a teacher and fisher of men, so says the “good” book.

Was I standing there looking at Jesus?

I was arguing in my head now.

“That’s not Jesus” (snotty like voice)

“But what if it is, how can you know for a fact?” (Whiny inquiring voice)

“You can’t” (wise voice)

“Quick, do something nice, give him some money or something like that…just in case it is him?!” (Asshole politician voice)

“Too late dumbass. If he knows what’s in your heart and mind already like they say then he knows what you just planned to do, so that invalidates the whole charity without gain thingee” (lawyer voice)

Jesus was just a man….a shepherd they say.

But what if he WAS the umbrella hat man too?

I’ve thought about this for a couple of days now because I am strange and have no life and nothing better to do.

Then, this morning it came to me.

It was a seed that was planted in my mind long ago.

It was the personification of the Golden Rule sitting there on a soap box with an umbrella hat that I was looking at.

It made me remember my Vacation Bible school days as a child when we were taught to be kind to our fellow man.

It was sad to see that old man like that.

Sure, he was smiling a lot and laughing.

But true crazy people don’t know they’re crazy.

And crazy people don’t guffaw and let out loud belly laughs.

Crazy people giggle, snicker and cackle.

I know…..I’ve seen it firsthand.

So….What it amounts to is this:

I met Jesus in the French Quarter on Canal Street in New Orleans, Louisiana on January 26, 2014.

I may have my doubts about God’s plan for us and definite “bullshit!” about mans translation of his words and teachings.

But that moment….the timing….the way Chris said it….my reaction….The old man’s laughter and smiles….

I’m sure it was him….

Because after all, Jesus is in all of us they say.

Buddha called it enlightenment

Jesus called it the Light

I call it a message that I was meant to hear and study on.

It won’t change my mind about organized religion….I think I’m ruined on that.

I don’t think I’m an atheist.

I’m a Catholic Buddhist Mormon Methodist with Baptist tendencies toward Zen.

I am a spiritual person that believes in karma and heaven.

But that brief encounter with Jesus on a street corner reminded me that I should be mindful of those less fortunate than me and not judge by appearances.

Just in case it’s Jesus in an umbrella hat.

You never can tell…..Can we?