WRITING PROMPT: “To Be Continued”
To be continued means we want your attention The story’s not over, there’s a twist, did I mention She has an evil twin from another dimension To be continued means you tune in watch next week Because she’s pregnant and kidnapped down by the creek And her lover was a con artist, a regular sneak To be continued means somebody unexpected might die Someone beloved, or the suspense was a lie Because they want us asking ourselves “why oh why? To be continued means keep this channel on longer And buy useless crap after these words from our sponsor Manipulating us using models covered in bronzer To be continued seems to always mean danger A major guest start playing a mysterious stranger There’s nothing worse than a shocking cliff-hanger To be continued could also mean I’m eternal I like that thought so I feel for my journal And try to capture the truth, even if just a kernel
A Peek Into the Future
I facilitate a writer’s group with the Stratford Arts Alliance that meets every second Saturday of the month. In April one of the prompts was to “imagine what it would be like if you could peek into the future.” My ramblings are below: I don’t want to look, I’m afraid of what’s out there In the land past this moment, past the unpredictable unfolding of events in every newly emerging unit of time. If I became certain, got to look behind the curtain, I’d hold fast to specific outcomes and forget to wonder, forget to find freedom in mystery and forget the joy of watching events unfurl before me in a way that is both haphazard and synchronistic at the same time. I’d miss the way life weaves chaos and catastrophe into majesty and miracle. It would be spoiled like when you watch a behind the scenes special on the making of your favorite movie and now all you see when you watch the movie is where the wires and the green screen and the cameras are. The illusion is lost because you got to peek inside. I’d start to become delusional if you showed me my future, Thinking I deserve exactly that one, and if it’s a bad one then I am bad, right?And if it’s a good one, but just one of many probables then I suddenly have something to measure up to, to be responsible for, to try and attain or achieve, but I’ve got nothing up my sleeve So I’d rather not know. I’d rather not see I’d rather live in the quicksand of uncertainty Because even if I’m sinking, or overthinking, or flinching and blinking I’m living here now in the present moment, where I can see the universe winking And suddenly I notice that vine to grab onto that had been there all the time, or mercifully fallen just when I let go of any idea that things could be any different. I surrender to the sinking feeling in the present moment Don’t run away from my dread, or my pounding head And feel the entire uncomfortable truth of every single one of my feelings and failings That I know leads me to healings and prevailings, But I don’t know what, or when or how, and I think I like it like that. Don’t let me peek at my unknown future, I like the unknown quality and don’t want that blown to smithereens by some glimpse at some version of what could possibly happen. I’d rather not live that way, so I can truly say I’d prefer to live wondering, and let come what may.
My Morning Inner Narrative
I’m too tired to chant today. But it makes you feel better Yea but you taught a night class, and sleep makes you feel better. Just chant Its fine if you don’t chant. Well either way you’re not going to feel guilty, that’s just a waste. You’ve evolved past guilt. Evolution doesn’t mean you don’t feel guilt. *knots rising in my stomach Aw fuck, I should just chant. But it’s five minuets past the time I’d normally chant. What if you just skipped it, and the calistenics, and the morning swim. The first thing you really HAVE to do is your client at 8:00. That’s a good three hour chunk of rest. Where’s my vape pen I have to pee. I don’t want to move I should just chant. I’m so dumb for not chanting. This could wreck my whole day.I’m not going to let this wreck my day. If I’m skipping then I need to deeply luxuriate in this restful repose. You’re a total waste with no discipline Harsh. Wow. I stilll really have to pee. What is my problem? Why don’t I want to get up today? I am a go getter. Get up Get the fuck up. *pees in a empty water bottle next to his bed. I wish I was the kind of person who chanted and had abs.I want to get off sugar.Be patient with yourself you just gave up caffeine *pulls cover over his head falls back to sleep
WRITING PROMPT: “Something Small that Leads to Positive Change”
Something small that lead to positive change is every single baby who ever did something worthwhile in their lives… Like, I don’t know, learning to walk, or laughing with joy Or holding their head up and keeping their food down. Something small that lead to positive change is every molecule that ever mattered or became matter Like the building blocks of life, nearly invisible, mostly empty space, And yet somehow they create everything, they are everything Something small that lead to positive change is every single lone voice that spoke up about something just because they knew they had to Like Rosa Parks, creating sparks Or Martin L. King with his big big dream Or that single girl that stood her ground and stopped a tank in its tracks Something small that lead to positive change is every single breath I take Because they never fail me, they just exhale me And with the grace of air, living surrounded by exactly what I need to survive I actually can thrive Something small that lead to positive change is every spider that ate a mosquito carrying malaria Or every hand that rubbed the back of somebody with hysteria Every calming word, especially those teeny tiny one syllable words Like, I don’t know, love, joy, peace, fuck, try, yes, no, hi, be, and give. Or every single small tear ever cried, or every time I little white lied when I thought I was embodying love even if it was a mistake Because my small mistakes create the ocean waves that somehow, miraculously, graciously, unconditionally, can end up smoothing the rough edges of somebody else’s suffering, Like sea glass made from a drunk man’s trash. Something small that lead to positive change is the minute before this one, and the second that comes after, because Every second I use to put my fulfillment first is a teeny tiny moment I can let my heart burst And shed of all of culture’s restrictions And drop all of my dogma and benedictions And I find myself waiting there in every minuscule moment The small things add up to big things and I don’t know how it happens Or why it happens But I know it’s orchestrated by a pervading conscious benevolent love that is made of oxygen and time and everything we see in this huge expansive wide world And that knowing, that revelation, for me, is truly no small thing at all.
WRITING PROMPT: “If I Knew It Would Turn Out Right I Would…”
If I knew it would turn our right I would tell more people about my Hollywood dreams. I would not second guess the value of making fictional TV stories. I would have more fun in the pursuit of the things I long to do more of. I might do community theatre. I’d spend more time querying book agents But really how would I spend my time if I knew it would turn out right? I’d write more stories. I’d write more screenplays and send them to more contests. I’d paint more often, just because I like to. And I think I’d practice the piano because I knew it would amount to something.I’d quit my job that has me administering other peoples plans And I’d rest in the foregone success of my own plans. I’d focus my attention into the thing I’m doing right now, because all the larger things, the dreams, the embarrassing, whimsical, almost childish dreams would take care of themselves. If I knew it would turn out right I’d surrender fully to life’s flow I’d drop preconceived notions and the search for magic potions And I’d take it all in, in slow motion, just rocked in the ocean of raw experience. Life would be taking care of me, supporting me. Requiring of me nothing but surrender. Nothing but the relaxed state of existence that all the other species enjoy until the few scattered moments when they are actually under attack, if ever at all. I’m not under any attacks, but there seems a capital crime in trying to relax How dare I take a deep breath When the world is blanketed in crisis and death But when I don’t breathe I’m really making an excuse Because I don’t know how to put my existence to good use So I sink in to the overwhelm, the quicksand of information A kind of starvation from any real truth as I gobble up the main stream media messages that feel like bandages keeping my free thinker all locked up tight under propaganda, stupidly distracted while watching a waving panda Scrolling is the new pocket watch and we’ve all been hypnotized. I guess if I knew it would turn out right I’d find a way to unplug every man, woman and child from the cultural propaganda machine that washes our minds but somehow makes us dirtier. I’d find a way to inoculate us from hook line and sinker I’d enshrine again the value of being a free thinker Or a mind in love with fun, and ideas with witch to tinker But since I’m not sure how it will all turn out, I guess I’ll stick to doing what I love. I’ll tell stories and make movies and allow people a place to escape from their struggle if only for a moment. I have to remember as I tell my stories That people can be hypnotized not only as a way to be controlled, but as a way to heal, as a way to liberate. It is that talisman I hope to wave over people’s willing eyes, softening minds and lingering addictions. But for now I’ll have to settle for poking fun at all the nightly news doomsday predictions. Because that’s good entertainment.
My Lack of Faith in Myself is Like Superhero Movies (The Metaphor Coaching Tool in Action)
I am currently finishing up my Wayfinder Life Coach training with Harvard trained sociologist and best selling author Martha Beck. One of the tools we learn to use is the metaphor tool. Using this tool we take something painful in our life (i.e. loneliness) and compare it to one of our favorite things (i.e. bowling). The idea is to re-wire your synapses in a way your brain never would do on its own. Can you think of any ways in which loneliness is like bowling? The essay below is my exploration into how my lack of faith in myself can be compared to super hero movies. Lack of faith being the pain point, and super hero movies being one of my absolute favorite things. Read the metaphorical essay and then take a stab at comparing something painful in your life to one of your favorite things. Don’t think too much, just write; and discover what hidden insights and wisdom are waiting for you on the other side of your metaphorical adventure. MY LEAST FAVORITE THING IS LIKE MY MOST FAVORITE THING: My lack of faith in myself is exhausting. Captain America was exhausted when fighting bad guys. My lack of faith is like the bad guy in super hero movies. So I’m the hero? That can’t be right. Well what am I then? I am the courage to be me. The courage to be me is like super hero movies because super heroes save the world and if I could just have the courage to be me I’d save myself. Being myself is hard, I grew up living the life of a double agent but I didn’t wait until after college to study spy craft. I went through LGBTQuantico when I was barely hitting puberty. Learning to exchange furtive glances and pretend girls were pretty. And have crushes that were a cover story for my secret identity. You know, like super hero movies. I was Superman. The entire world was Lois Lane. And I was in love with it. But it kept snooping and I was afraid it would be in danger if it found out my secret identity. Being gay was dangerous. Very dangerous for everyone involved. My lack of faith in myself is like superhero movies because it just keeps on going. It never gives up. It just continues to make me doubt myself, immobile, inept and indestructible. Like super heroes. It’s also like super hero movies because it spawns endless sequels. I’ve lost faith in myself II and I’ve lost faith in myself: The Origin Story. And The You’ll Never Amount To Anything franchise that spawns its own trilogy. Frozen in Fear. My lack of faith in myself is like superhero movies because it’s fun. It’s fun to watch myself tire of self doubt. To watch myself notice my thought storms and toxic forms of behavior, and my searching for a savior My lack of faith is like super hero movies because I get fully absorbed in it, lost in it. I have no sense of time going by but at the same time a dull anxiety about the movie’s run time ticking away back down to mundane everyday moment to moment living. My lack of faith in myself is like super hero movies because every time I do something hard, or something I never thought I could do, I’m reliving act three, battling it out to an epic crescendo and then, against all odds, something good comes my way. A victory. Or an opportunity. Or an even bigger threat. You know, like super hero movies. Super hero movies can let me down, just like my lack of faith. Sometimes the stories don’t ring true. Like the one I tell about my lack of faith in myself. Or that first long boring Hulk movie. Or Arnold Schwartzennager as Mr. Freeze. That definitely breaks trust. I know I deserve my trust, my own support, but like super hero movies sometimes I shy away from the gripping story of truth for the saccharine story of triumph. And it doesn’t always ring true. Like X-Men III: The Last Stand, which disappointed me as much as my own lack of faith in myself. Super hero movie are just copies of remakes of older stories from other places like comic books. Like my lack of faith in myself, passed down by my traumatized family to a traumatized little boy, I am just a remake, a reboot of a previous generation. I’m just hoping the writer’s go somewhere unexpected this time. A remake, but with a twist. My lack of faith is like super hero movies because it is a fantasy. It’s one that I watch constantly and it brings me a sort of perverse comfort. The time wasting of a super hero movie is replaced by the paralyzation of my lack of faith in myself. Trading wasting time for wasting potential. You know, like the villains in super hero movies. There is always something that’s hard to believe in super hero movies, just like it is hard to believe in myself. What do I deserve? Well, one hell of act three, you can bet your ass on that.
A Dream Come True
The prompt was “A Dream Come True” which had me suddenly grappling with my lofty dreams up close against my sometimes mundane realities day to day. I coach people through this, yet here I am, struggling to find my balance while I dare to tip toe ever forward toward my wildly improbable future. Dreaming almost sometimes seems to make it even harder to be in the present moment because it is utterly droll by comparison to our whimsical, detailed, dreams which hold all the promise of our perpetual and gratifying fulfillment. I’m still learning how to navigate the world while navigating with my heart instead of my head or my automatic programmed responses. We had three minutes on the clock and this is what came out. Thanks for reading. -Brian WRITING PROMPT: Dreams are real but the coming true is a cliche At least that’s what all the people say Are they the ones who never try And pile up regrets and cigarettes before they die? Or did they try and try and just utterly fail? And so dreams coming true makes their mind flail Or are they just on the verge of a dream coming true And stopping now would be crazy, like walking in glue Just one more step, keep lifting up that shoe Keep walking, keep dreaming, perhaps that’s the way through.
Sweet Bitterness
This poem was the product of a twelve minute writing session with the Stratford Arts Alliance Writers Group that meets every second Saturday. The writing prompt was “making the bitter sweeter.” Things that are bitter are better when sweet But just adding sugar is a bit of a cheat The question I ponder is how to sweeten the deal Without sprinkling toxic dust on every goddamn meal Is there a sweetness in life that we can no longer feel Because we’ve sugar-coated it all, like a milkshake made of veal Because I don’t know about you but that sounds disgusting And I’d rather not eat it, I’d rather drive in my mustang Does a nicer car add sweetness to a bitter man’s life Or is stuff a distraction that amplifies strife I dream of the house, and the 2.5 kids and the dog and the fences But that dream’s hit the skids. Mainly because I’m a homo so kids aren’t too likely Unless they belong to someone else, and are imported like Nike’s And I don’t have a dog or any white fences And I’ve dealt with my share of confused sideways glances Being myself is the sweetest thing I can do It’s hard, and it’s easy and it’s an ongoing thing But I’m marrying myself, and keeping the ring. Being wholly myself seems to make others bitter. But fuck that, I don’t care, I’ll just roast them on twitter.
Passing Understanding, Finding Peace
When asked to contemplate my special place My first reaction is to go external To pick my hammock or my reading corner Where I curl up with my leather bound journal But that first reaction is not my true instinct For that instinct has been covered by culture Re-programmed and repeated to, A media messaging kind of water torture My special place is some place internal A well-spring in my stormy center I can’t pick the spot where it lives in my body But I don’t care where it is, as long as I can re-enter This special spot feels peaceful, but mischievous, like an elf during an apocalypse because all he knows how to see are blessings Even in the murderous nuclear fireworks It is like a guarded secret you want everyone to know But it doesn’t matter who you tell or who you show Because it can’t be related through words and ideas It must be experienced like a burn on the hand The blister that forms is the roadmap back to my special place The throbbing, a reminder of my sobbing As I lay down in that energetic meadow and breathe in the grace And forgo the chase and slow my pace and learn how to taste The subtlety of inner peace having nothing to do with outer experience, but being a visceral experience all its own, And tasting like freedom, like magic and like flying If flying tasted like mozzarella frying I may lose track here as I try to tie this up with words To bind the experience of my inner place with rope sentences and glue, But a boundless place won’t be bound Won’t be captured Won’t be explained or mansplained So my metaphors have kind of hydroplaned Because trying to describe the indescribable is getting in the car knowing you’re headed for a crash. But you get in and go along for the ride because you know now of surrender And that a fender bender is not some ender because life is much more tender than I normally care to remember.
There Is Just No Comparison (A New Way Of Using the Power of Metaphor)
In my coaching practice I use the power of metaphor with my clients to help them unlock creativity by bringing together unusal ideas in unexpected ways. As taught in her coach training program by my mentor and sociologist Martha Beck, you can compare a pain point, or area of suffering in your life to anything that’s near you or dear to you. Don’t over think it. Just pick a sore spot and a random object and let your synapses fire and your brain re-wire. For an example of this check out my recent post My Lack of Faith In Myself is Like Superhero Movies. Below is a poem inspired by the idea of comparison and extended metaphor as a way to explore our interior worlds. There Is Just No Comparison My relationship to myself is like a metaphor Nothing has any meaning by itself Only one aspect in relationship to another A constant internal comparison My childhood weighed against the now moment Or against your childhood Or against a childhood from the TV My choices weighed against my innocent dreams Or against your choices Or against the choices they make on the TV My identity weighed against my actual impact My ego, slams like a meteor into my intentions and the resulting cataclysm is the end of all life on this planet. The planet is not earth but my old belief structures, as the impact causes ruptures Blinded by my possible futures, I end up needing sutures Distracted by all the features, forgetting we are natural creatures When I look in the mirror of reality is it like I’m staring back at myself, or am I there, staring back at myself? I extend this metaphor, like a thief extends his fortunes at a jewelry store, Stealing images to compare and contrast, like a meaning blast So that maybe you’ll ignore, if it turns out my life is a mixed metaphor? And not as glamorous as I what I thought before When I drop all metaphors And the making of meaning softens into the bliss of experiencing And life starts living me, dispelling my notions that I am ever living it And all becomes one There is suddenly nothing to compare anything to I am everything This resurgence of emergence with no urgency inside of me And the metaphor becomes, well, it’s like, it’s like, it is so, well…it is just…
