Friday, November 21, 2008


I Guess That's Why They Call It The Blues
Elton John

Don't wish it away
Don't look at it like it's forever
Between you and me I could honestly say
That things can only get better

And while I'm away
Dust out the demons inside
And it won't be long before you and me run
To the place in our hearts where we hide

And I guess that's why they call it the blues
Time on my hands could be time spent with you
Laughing like children, living like lovers
Rolling like thunder under the covers
And I guess that's why they call it the blues

Just stare into space
Picture my face in your hands
Live for each second without hesitation
And never forget I'm your man

Wait on me girl
Cry in the night if it helps
But more than ever I simply love you
More than I love life itself

Monday, November 17, 2008

Being God's Clown

I let my imagination wander quite a bit, quite often. I can't help it... it gets bored too quickly if it's not allowed to explore new territory. It always comes back tho, and then tells me what it saw. Sometimes it's quite entertaining, sometimes enlightening, and sometimes downright frightening.

Today it wandered off early this morning and let me work in peace. Just a few minutes ago it came back and began to describe something so deliciously obvious I'm amazed I hadn't thought of it before (then again, maybe I have thought of it before and just conveniently forgot... more on that later).

There's a condition called "Coulrophobia" which is, basically, the fear of clowns. Now, as wikipedia describes it, it is the abnormal and exaggerated fear of clowns. I would have to agree with this description based on what my imagination reported to me. Why? Because based on it's finding, I am one of God's Clowns.

What on earth is more important to a creator than it's creations? The answer is nothing. We were made in the image of the creator so we already know this because what we create is pretty darned important to us too. Us clowns are here to make you laugh and distract you from the monotony of the machine for a while so you don't completely lose it. Here are some definitions for the word clown as a noun as defined by

  1. a comic performer, as in a circus, theatrical production, or the like, who wears an outlandish costume and makeup and entertains by pantomiming common situations or actions in exaggerated or ridiculous fashion, by juggling or tumbling, etc.
  2. a person who acts like a clown; comedian; joker; buffoon; jester.
  3. a prankster; a practical joker.
  4. Slang. a coarse, ill-bred person; a boor.
  5. a peasant; rustic.

Other than the slang entry, none of these entries really bother me. In fact, they define me quite well, I'm proud to say. My mother has told me on more than one occasion that when I was born she had an overwhelming sense of joy. Well, for goodness sakes, I got started early in my spiritual career, didn't I? Without us clowns, the world would indeed be a very boring place. It would be the machine without the joy, the laughter or anything that makes the machine worth having in the first place.

So how many clowns are there? A LOT actually! I see more and more every day. I admit, I've not been a very good clown on this planet lately. I've felt really down, depressed, unloved and unwanted based on events that have happened over the past few years. However my imagination reminded me that I am giving God a good hearty laugh with how serious I've been trying to be lately. That very fact brought me joy and brought about the realization that it is my life's work to be a clown... even without my knowledge, really. Being a clown is instinctual, apparently.

I read a story recently about a poor man who is a "real clown" by profession. I say poor man because his government is beginning to put restrictions on what he can use to entertain people. No balloons because latex can causes severe reactions in a small minority of people... no bubble machine because it costs to much to insure in the event of someone slipping... no twisting balloons into guns because it might encourage violence. Getting hurt by a trick gone awry or a machine malfunctioning is part of the risk in being a clown, though.

The thing is, no one denies the construction worker, electrician, highway worker, fireman, policeman, etc. of the hazards they face in their jobs. They know the risks of their professions and accept them with gladness for the opportunity to serve in the capacity they want to serve. Every clown accepts their risks too. Including the risk of being hated, feared, banned, limited and generally socially mocked. That last one is pretty much in the job description to begin with.

So why the heck am I writing all this? Well, to make you aware of an inequity that exists that really needs to be corrected ASAP.

If a policeman gets shot ... he's given medical attention.
If a fireman gets burned ... he's given medical attention, too.
If an electrician gets zapped ... he's given medical attention as well!
If a construction worker or highway worker gets hurt ...well gosh-darnit... they get medical attention too!!!

No one worries about their emotional needs. Why is that? Because they don't work with emotions... hello? They work with guns, fire, water, electricity, pavement, steel, mortar... seeing a pattern here? Physical things.

But clowns work with emotions. That's their arena. So what happens if a clown doesn't get a laugh? What happens when a clown is feared, rejected or otherwise kept from doing what they were born to do? Nothing. Clowns have to suck it up and keep smiling, that's their job, after all. Smiling and laughing and making others smile and laugh are what clowns love to do. That's when they are at their best. But the clown needs medical attention at times too... just emotional medicine.

I'm not talking about a shrink. I'm talking about a smile, a hug, even a kiss... something to keep them going that reminds them that what they're doing is appreciated too. Being a clown isn't easy in a world that is becoming increasingly serious. But it certainly give us plenty of work. War, famine, violence, pestilence, disease et. al. create plenty of work for the clowns. We are the doctors of the soul.

Now, to live in this world, we all need food, water, shelter and creature comforts. Clowns are not exempt from this. So we clowns have to take jobs in the physical workforce, too. Sometimes we actually get to make being a clown as our work! That's heaven right there. Not all of us get those opportunities tho. That doesn't change the fact that we were called to be clowns too. That's the soul-calling.

So, please... the next time you see a clown's spirit in the eyes of a friend, a family member, a co-worker or even a total stranger, don't forget to at least smile at them. They just gave you a precious gift and just want a thank you in return.


Friday, November 7, 2008

How Thin the Veil

There is a danger involved in willingly allowing one's consciousness to expand. Consider it like a two-way mirror. For those on the mirrored side, everything they see is merely a reflection of what they expect to see. There's nothing else behind it. Expanding one's consciousness allows one to see that there IS something behind it and completely not what they expected.

This really isn't the problem, tho. The problem is returning to a more restricted view with the knowledge of the existence of the veil. Once you've seen that there's more to life than the simple reflections of your experiences so far, it's disconcerting to ever look at those reflections in the same way again.

There are many ways that we re-adjust to reality. "It was just a chemical imbalance in your brain and it was simply letting you see all the things you imagined you would see anyway. You can't trust your physical senses when your consciousness is expanded." That's a good one. It's very grounding. But it also feels like an attempt to not really deal with the question of existence beyond the veil. It's more like putting it off or trying to assuage someone's fears so that they don't go crazy, act up, and cause problems for the other "patients in the ward."

Human curiosity drives us to discover and understand that which we don't understand already. A mystery is a wonderful thing and a terrible thing all at the same time. We love to have a mystery solve but we hate not being able to solve it, at the same time. So where does the peace-of-mind come for those of us with TMI about what's on the other side of the mirror? How do we step away from the mirror and start enjoying life again, KNOWING that life could all be a facade, a show, an experiment, a dream, etc.?

By having something more important come in take the place of that desire. Work is good for that. There's 8 hours on each week-day covered. Physical distractions like Food, Drink, Sex and Sleep keep our heads out of the clouds too. A deficit in any of these four physical distractions can lead to thinking about the mirror too. Mental and physical puzzles can also keep our heads busy trying to solve them (car upgrades, crossword puzzles, video games, etc.).

Now I come to emotions. They can completely distract us from all of that too... when they fulfill an emotional need. Love, tenderness, anger, joy, resentment, sadness, pity, mischievousness, etc. all distract us from the mirror while at the same time letting us glance into it now and then as if we were breaking the fourth wall in a movie. I think when one's emotions are real we forget about the mirror altogether. When they're not real, we're VERY aware of the mirror and are trying to put on the best show we can.

The mirror is the veil. We each stand on either side of it and then announce to the world which side we're on. Those still dealing with the fact that it exists are horrified by the idea that it exists and the idea that they were pawns in a game all along. Those who've accepted the mirror's presence have the choice to use it to their advantage in manipulating the lives of others, or to simply acknowledge it's simultaneous existence and non-existence, thereby treating everyone with the same love and respect, regardless.

I know this post has been deep. It was meant to be. Writing down my mental responses to the experiences I've had while trying to find the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow has been very healthy for me. I know I don't want to go back to seeing only my reflection in the mirror. Nor can I. I'm just learning to accept the mirror for what it is to me... and then to be able to move on with that knowledge.

Thursday, November 6, 2008

MMV Identified as a HIGHLY CONTAGIOUS Disease!

So what is MMV? It's Micro-Management Virus. This is what happens when someone feels the need to direct another person on tasks to be performed at such a miniscule level as to be aggravating and annoying to the person being directed.

I've classified this as a disease because it appears to be similar to the varicella zoster virus. For your education and amusement, here's the wikipedia summary for zoster; modified ever so slightly to represent my discovery of MMV.

Micro-Managment Virus, commonly known as "detail oriented", is a viral disease characterized by an uncontrollable urge to control others with detail-oriented suggestions for a given task, often in an office environment. The initial infection with micro-management virus (MMV) causes the acute (short-lived) outburst of aggravation, and generally occurs in people who have taken responsibility for other people, projects or other tasks. Once an outburst has been resolved, the virus is not eliminated from the body but can go on to cause detail-orientation —an illness with very different symptoms—often many years after the initial infection.

Micro-managment virus can become latent in the nerve cell bodies without causing any symptoms. In a workflow-compromised individual, perhaps years or decades after an outburst, the virus may break out of nerve cell bodies and travel down nerve axons to cause viral infection of the speech centers in the region of the nerve. Although the infection usually heals within two to four weeks, some sufferers experience residual nerve pain for months or years, a condition called postmanagement neuralgia. Exactly how the virus remains latent in the body, and subsequently re-activates is not understood.

Antiviral relaxation techniqeus can reduce the severity and duration of outbreak, if a seven to ten day course of these techniques is started within 72 hours of the appearance of the characteristic outburst.
It does appear to infect others similarly too. Once exposed to micro-management, we have the potential of becoming infected. Now... if there was only a way to immunize against this, the world would be a much better place, don't you think?


Monday, November 3, 2008

A Story

Okay, I just started writing this story and couldn't stop. Something told me to write it. It's a little bit "stream-of-consciousness" in some places (most places actually) but I was moved to write it.

I am but a servant of Love. Love has been with me since the beginning and I have felt It's presence for all time, even when I felt It had deserted me.

In the beginning, I was It's favorite, or so it seemed. Bountiful blessings of abundant rain poured down upon me. I was fertile and brought forth sustenance that fed the bounty of life that Love had place in my care.

One day I met another like me. It seemed to me at the time that she had not fared so well as I. It seemed as though she had been abandoned by Love. From my vantage point, she appeared dry, cracked, hard and infertile. It seemed as if I had received more than my fair share of the bounty of blessings. I felt the burden to share the abundance that had been given to me and so I offered to share with her. She accepted it with gratitude, grace and responded in kind. We became friends.

As I shared my blessings with her, and she with I, I saw her flourish and dance as she herself had thirsted for the rain for ages. I mused to myself and wondered how it came to be that someone as beautiful as this had been so abandoned by Love. I could not understand how she had come to be a hard, infertile rock; cold and unfeeling. All she needed was a little Love.

She told me great stories of strife and hardship. There were lean times where famine had raged across her own fields and she weathered many a storm. My heart broke with each story and more of the love I had received poured out into her.

I began to understand the joy that Love must feel when It's allowed to give freely to us and fill our lives with the blessings we need to grow and thrive. I began to really enjoy it... but I am not Love... I am but a servant of Love.

I began to believe that I could do things as well as Love could do them. After all, I was created by Love and therefore must have an imprint of that image within me. It was at this point in my life where the seeds of the illness took root within my own soil. For I believed I was greater than I am. The more I gave, the more she seemed to thirst.
As time went by, my own reserves began to run dry and the less I had to give. I noticed my own soil beginning to dry, crack and harden. The bounty of sustenance I once had began to wither and die and become poisonous to those in my own care who would partake of them.

I was stubborn. I was drunk with the idea of being Love itself and could no longer be satisfied with simply being an extension, a conduit or a servant of love. The more I gave, the worse it got. The beauty of the bounty that Love had provided in my life had been replaced with selfishness, vanity and pride sprouting up like weeds, greedily consuming all that Love had provided and choking out the bounty that once grew from within me.

I cried out to Love in my horror and anguish. I wailed and begged for forgiveness. I begged to be made useful again in It's eyes. Love looked upon me and took pity. It knew my heart and understood why. A tear fell from It's cheek for it knew what had to be done. The selfishness, vanity and pride were deeply rooted within me. They were not about to leave quietly. Love knew what had to be done.

The grass and plants that grew within my soil died completely. Those within my care left for greener pastures. The love I continued to receive fed only the poisonous weeds that now covered my once lush landscape. That was when Love could bear it no more. I had heard tales of the Love's wrath against the wicked. I had no understanding of this wrath until now when it's full weight fell upon me.

Like knives piercing my heart, great war began to rage across my plains. Other, darker servants of Love raged across my fields, ripping and tearing at the infection within me. The roots were deep.
As each vine was ripped away, parts of me had to go with it. They too knew of Love and desired it all for themselves. So as each selfish thing was pulled away, it left seeds behind to take root and wait for Love to rain upon me again, that I might continue to thrive.

It was only now that I saw my friend's original condition in a new light. I understood, for the first time, what she had been through. I saw my own scars scattered across my crust and recognized them as the same I had seen upon her. She had shared with me her pain, and in doing so, I contracted it myself! I understood even more what had to take place for Love to return.

I looked into the Heavens and with tears of pain and joy prayed for Love's mercy. In that moment, we touched, my creator and I, and I knew it would be alright. I nodded my head and it was over.

I drifted, cold and hardened after the final onslaught. Love's dark servants dug deep within, not only ripping away every living thing growing on my scarred surface, but then also pounded my once fertile soil into hardened rock, unmoving, uninhabitable... and compared to my previous existence, dead to all who knew me.

Love then began again with me. Now that the illness had fled, the time was right. With painful, pounding hammers deep carving blades, and a fire that burned hotter than hell itself, Love began to crack, till, melt and transform my hardened body into a new one. Throughout time, It filtered and sifted away the impurities that had made me vulnerable to the illness the first time.

The process seemed to take ages upon ages to complete. Then one day, as I laid there broken and still ablaze with fires burning deep within me, Love said, "I am finished. Let's see how we did."

The heavens opened and an abundance of rain fell upon me, seeping into every crack and dousing the flames that licked at my sores. The temperature changes brought about more changes as I felt Love's blessings fill me through and through until I thought I would burst.

Then I looked upon myself and saw what Love had wrought as the first few blades of grass began to sprout again. I understood, once again, the gift that had once again been given to me. Now, with knowledge of the illness and how it spreads, I could be of even more service to those like me, servants of Love. The very thing I desired the most, to be more like my creator, was given to me. But one can not defeat an enemy if one doesn't know it.

I do not bear a grudge against my friend for sharing the disease. For that was her task to do. Without that, I would have remained a child without the ability to defend myself against the enemy of Love. We are well to do all that Love requires of us.

Love will bless you with all you ask for, if you are willing to pay the cost for what you ask. Be therefore careful and wise in what you request... you just might get it.