There is nothing in your past, no pain, no regret, no crime…nothing, that cannot be forgiven. But you must ask. Start with yourself.

Pray without ceasing...and when all else fails, use words.
Pray without ceasing…and when all else fails, use words.

What Purpose?

Source of Inspiration


How is it that people
act as if their lives
have some kind of purpose?
Daily routine, same story
told again and again. For
what, I ask? These life
rituals are dandelion
fluff in the wind.

Most do not have a clue
about their true essence,
that underlying beingness
where overdue bills,
sagging skin, one more
purchase…none of this matters.

Most people never give this
a thought. They assume only the
spiritual greats have the
knowing about themselves,
but each of us carries
this seed of divinity…just
waiting for us to claim
our true selves.

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Facebook evolution

Long, long ago in a far distant land of 50’s Middle Class Suburbia there lived a loathsome creature; its broad smile with teeth yellowed from Chesterfields, bright white shirts, starched and ironed to razor sharp collar folds that claimed the heads of more than one.

These returning vacationers, as they were called, lured their victims into their dens to suck their minds dry…Friday evenings and God help us, Sundays after pool parties…the carnage.

It always began, innocently enough, with refreshments, libations and ridiculous snacks they called: “Poo Poos”.

And it was then then that the cylinder (one if you hoped to survive), the true monsters brought out two, three and, I am ashamed to admit, my own father, tortured tens with four cylinders of…35mm slides. Each slide was accompanied by:”…and here we are…”;”…the kids were so darn cute…”.

I learned early to run, with eyes closed, fingers in my ears chanting loudly the mystic ‘LaLaLa’. At times this did result in a collision with an offending wall or door frame but a mild concussion was far preferable to vacation memories.

I am now far from that land, that Suburbia, the scars of past collisions covered by Just For Men enhanced locks and my father’s Cannon was buried with him; I thought I was safe…but no.

I carelessly opened my Facebook page and it was there: Bobby Jean has posted 127 pictures…”here is little Judy having her first bowl of Cheerios at the lake. Isn’t she cute?”

Madly scrolling on; “…this is the steering wheel of…”

“George has reposted Ted’s favorite meme that he found on The Knight’s post of last day he and his kids were vacationing in…”

I thought it I just pulled the plug…the battery was fully charged…I closed my eyes, muted the computer and bolted for the door, hoping against hope that I remembered to close it…alas, no collision.

These fiends that hope to drain you of any intelligent thought, they are not your friends; ESC, ESC.

peace out pilgrims

Walkabout, vision quest or just running away

My posts of late have been limited to uttering of others; memorable, no doubt, but reflecting the empty space where my own thoughts should be.
I’ve obviously denied myself a few new adventures…and so, I’m off (perhaps off my nut, some of these adventures are taking place in Beaumont, Texas…in August…without air conditioning).
My journeys begin at the end of July in the mountains of Georgia and Tennessee; a two week stay in spiritual retreat at the monastery in Beaumont. Beyond that…
I hope to find stories, hear stories and share stories…all I’ve ever really wanted to do; no destination in particular aside from peace (within), good fishing spots (catching optional) and loving each day and myself again.
I’ve a little less than three weeks to limit my worldly possessions to what will fit in a Toyota Corolla. I feel a bit like the time traveler in Wells’ The Time Machine.
There is, of course, the limited fishing gear, backpack, tent, sleeping bag and on…what tools?, what books?
There are a couple of things on the old bucket list I hope to scratch off: 1) Fall in love with a new city. 2) Jump out of a plane (voluntarily)
I would settle for hang gliding in place of #2
Peace out pilgrim