I’m the Main Character and I’m Comfortable with that.
WRITING PROMPT: Write about a moment the main character feels awkward, out of place or uncomfortable. You are the main character of your life. And I am the main character of mine. Even if you are a wounded people pleasing kiss ass like me who feels very comfortable in the sidekick role you are the main character nonetheless. It just happens to be in a show where the main character is a wounded people pleasing kiss ass, but he, she or they is still the lead. The starring role. Inside the world of a world-class sidekick. Now that we’ve established who the main character is. Yes we have established it, for you it’s you and for me it’s me, couldn’t be clearer. So it’s firmly established. You and/or me is the main character. Or whoever else too, from their perspective. So, now, as the main character I wrack my brain for an out of place, awkward and uncomfortable moment. The flood gates open and I find myself instead in a sea of out of place moments, bopped around by the awkwardness and overwhelmingly uncomfortable, searching around for a moment I felt in place, a buoy in the storm where I felt comfortable, and like a good fit. That’s the unicorn. The moments of belonging, like precious gems hidden in the rock cliffs of a life lived on the edge of comfort, sometimes over that edge, always edgy. The moments of belonging don’t seem to belong to me. Instead I belong to them, owned by them, covered, protected, nurtured by them. I don’t just belong, I am absorbed, enveloped by an energetic acceptance that comes only when I allow it, for it never stops pushing its way toward me except for my refusal to allow it. I am actually in a sea of belonging, but my emotions tell me I am out to sea, that I cannot see, that the only grade I’ll get is a C, or god forbid a C-, the polite nod of pathetic pity from a teacher who didn’t have the heart to fail you. Well, failure is just feedback in the land of those who accept themselves. And a C- is a badge of honor for those who eschew social status for self-exploration. And a moment of feeling out of place is the realization of a lifetime lived out of sync. And that, my good friends, ends right this very moment.
The Sweaty Warmth of Skin & Sun (A Sensory Piece)
WRITING PROMPT: Describe the most vivid texture you’ve ever touched or felt. I can’t decide between the thin sheet of warm sunshine on my sweaty skin post marathon or the warm sweaty skin of 35 year old male lover muscles after a hot shower. Both generate heat. Both knock me off my feet, but in different ways. One touches me during the daytime and one slides in at night. One of these textures comes from a million miles away And one snuggles right up and holds me tight. One of these sensations can cause a burning on my skin And the other one causes burning too, but that’s a fire deep within The sun that hits cold wet skin feels like an immersion, a comforting, an invisible electric blanket on a cool spring day when all you want to do is rest in the muscle-y arms of your lover and watch the sunset one last time as you trade one feeling of warmth for the other. The warmth on my skin giving way to warm skin.
Describe the Most Beautiful Smell I’ve Ever Smelled (A Sensory Piece)
Baking bread Or that first waft of sugary cold air when you go into a candy shop. Not the ones in the mall, but the ones in cute downtowns that have nothing but candy, and at least 100 different shades of chocolate. Or rain about to come. Or the neighborhood during the rainstorm. Or the pavement after the rain. The warm, dank, mysterious steam, a fragrance of childhood mixed with danger with a dash of nostalgia to round out the aromatic notes. Or Thanksgiving day just about 30 minutes before dinner is served, when the red wine gravy is being finished and the sides are being warmed up again. Pumpkin spice candles And the pipes of old men remembering stories of when they were young men. Can laughter have a smell? If it does it smells something like burning autumn leaves mixed with sugar and rosemary, yeah, rosemary. That’s what laughter smells like. With a raspberry aftertaste. If smell had an aftertaste the aftertaste of the smell of laughter would definitely be raspberries. Did you follow all of that? Well, try and keep up.Lasagne. Roasting garlic. Basil. Coffee. Ill concede it has a good smell, a great smell. But it tastes gross and anyone who says otherwise has been brain washed. They call it an acquired taste because you had to go through psychological programming of “being an adult” and addicting yourself to caffeine just to finally be like “yeah, coffee good.” If you have to go through mental acrobatics to learn to like something then that something is inherently not good. Or you would not have to be taught how to like it. Or fresh baked chocolate chip cookies. They smell awesome. Poison for the arteries though so there’s that. Wow, smells bring up a lot of conflict for me. Something fishy about that. Something else for my someday shrink to sink his chiseled jaw into I suppose. And yes he would have a chiseled jaw because that’s why I chose him. Anyway focus. Smells. Sweet cologne on freshly showered man skin. Honey suckle. Gasoline A crackling fire The smell of accomplishment, you know the one, a mix of sweaty gym socks and fresh spring air Or the smell of success, air conditioner mixed with expensive furniture polish.
Glancing At God (The Cat’s Meow)
Based on a writing prompt: “The Cat’s Meow” I look up, a mix of startled and befuddled, like a stunned cat. This cat looks up through glass the way I imagine myself looking up though my limits directly at God, if such a thing is dared. Almost like I looked up to defy but defiance withered under the crushing weight of awe, and dumbfounded, and wondering what I could possibly have ever had to complain about I stare, transfixed, frozen, Gazing at eternity, for an eternity, all in a momentary flash of insight. The energy, the abyss, unexpectedly stares back at me, simultaneously completing and terrifying me. Wholeness is an awesome power I don’t feel ready for. When you combine wholeness and awesome do you really get wholesome? Because I think that doesn’t quite capture it. Perhaps not wholesome, but holy. Or event better still just simply whole. To experience what it means to be whole. Missing nothing Lacking nothing Wanting for nothing To be aware of great force of creation and to be that force, to harness an understanding while wielding the energy of life itself. A couple a hundred years ago you’d be branded a witch and set on fire if you could harmonize with the energy of creation the way we must finally come to embrace in this newest evolution, an evolution of consciousness. Are senses are heightening, like a jungle cat every day, The reflexes of a jaguar where there used to be those of a junkie. Humanity is learning to see in the dark, land on our feet, and live many lives. 9 or so I believe. And when we do life will be better than utopia? What’s better than utopia you ask? Well, I tell you, that’s the Cat’s meow!
Don’t Get Pizza Wrong!
This piece was inspired by a writing prompt a fellow coach/writer gave in a group: “Write about something you are a snob about.” So here it goes. My thoughts on what makes really good pizza. DON’T GET PIZZA WRONG: The disc must be chewy, and the red drippings must be the perfect balance of tangy and sweet The melted rubber on top should be charred and not burned, like the chewy disc underneath I am generally of the idea that when it comes to the hard things in life you can’t do it wrong if you just show up and put yourself out there. But if I’m honest that doesn’t apply to everything. You can do pizza wrong, and in fact most do. It is not meant to have apples and walnuts for toppings Keep it simple stupid and don’t get so carried away with your shoppings A good classic thin crust cheese can reach the heights of sublimity While a deep with the works can be a blight if the reason you want it is just fast delivery There is more than one way to make really good pizza, But there are infinite ways to make one so terrible it can just demoralize entire civilizations. Don’t serve me flat bread with goat cheese and pass that off as my zaa Because that shit’s too fancy and usually tastes kinda blah Pizza doesn’t go on bagels, no matter what the freezer section of your local GMO factory passing itself as a grocery store tries to tell you. And it doesn’t come frozen period. If you have to defrost it, then you’ve totally lost it. And you might as well toss it. I don’t mean to sound cold, but if I can be so bold, If the pizza you’ve chosen starts out frozen Then I’m afraid a modern version of snake oil is what you’ve been sold This is a story that needs to be told Because pizza can be healing, and heaven When the dough is properly leavened And it can be the stuff of childhood memory and nostalgia But not if it gives you heartburn, or the shits or the tummy tum tums, So remember not all pie is created equal And calzones are not at all to be considered pizza’s sequel Pizza is a stand alone film, a box office smash And it has to be baked with love, not dropped off by door dash. So if I sound a little crusty, or perhaps a little saucy It’s because this is very important so I don’t mind being bossy I don’t normally like to make others wrong, but if you’re using BBQ sauce or buffalo chicken then you’re singing a tone deaf song. You think it goes in a microwave Oh behave Make your dough from scratch, and cook your organic sauce for 8 plus hours, Then bake at 500 degrees, while you finally take your showers. Then you serve your bounty, hot and tasty and divine And create your family memories knowing everything is fine. And that this is how you dine.
If I Were A Ghost…
IF I WERE A GHOST… Could I still be haunted? Could I still be daunted? And I would still get all jealous and sour when people flaunted their shiny objects and expensive trinkets? It’s hard to imagine, but I tend to think it’s quite possible that a ghostly existence comes with similar pitfalls and challenges and mental tournaments; because despite halloween with all it’s ornaments a ghost was once a person, in theory anyway. And the best part of being human is learning and yearning and feeling that ego death churning. We sometimes like to hide under sheets so we already have that in common with ghosts. Or get three sheets to the wind when things get too scary so we also have things in common with a whole family of ghosts. If the best part of being human is the depth of experience and the range of emotion then the best part of being ghostly might be a similar thing or quite another notion or even more depth and range, vaster than the ocean. If I were a ghost I’d glide through walls that as a human I seem to have to keep breaking down or pushing over. If I were a ghost I’d see right through to the heart of the matter and sometimes for fun make my humans jump with an unexpected clatter. I wonder if I’d be more all knowing, or more in the dark? I hope it’s the former and not the latter I’d like to think if I were a ghost I’d be a consummate host not so much haunting the joint as protecting it, guarding it, making it safe for those who live on after. I’d cozy up and watch from the highest rafter. If I were a ghost I’d never ghost you I’d be right by your side maybe causing shiver or chills or unexpected thrills but I’d always toast you. When the goblins or gouls came a knockin’ I’d tell ‘em this is my haunted house So keep on moving, keep on walkin’ there’s no room for any more stalkin’. So I’d be this invisible force slaying your demons and dragons, like a friendly Casper-y, hobbit-y Bilbo Baggins. Just dutifully following my new and glorious quest To look after my descendants So they can maybe taste transcendence And realize they have already passed the test And can finally and fully, in peace, rest. And I’d realize I’m not alone up here but supported by all my dead ancestors And we are all looking down, watching our cycle breakers Shake their money makers And shatter old mistakers Because though I’m a ghost I am with you and so are all the other ghosts that died long ago We are your sacred lineage And we watch you, support you, cheer for you Because we’ve been misunderstood, as you have. And we love Halloween because this thinning veil means we maybe, might just get to say hello again, and good bye, and in that haunting exchange realize that ‘hello’ and ‘good bye’ aren’t relevant anymore, because we are with each other always. Happy Halloween I love and trust you humanity. -Brian
Describing the Most Beautiful Sound I’ve Ever Heard (A Sensory Piece)
Is the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard a ringing? Is it a steady sound or a wavering sound? Could it be a dinging, or am I more in search of a pinging. Perhaps it sound like a clanging But definitely not like a clanking, that’s more an awful sound, I’d imagine oft used in pranking… Or spanking, if it were being done to a robot with a metal paddle. Is the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard a singing? Is it the musings of a human voice, or a hand on an instrument stringing? Does metal make this beautiful sound or is created out of wood Is the beautiful sound a whooshing, or a sloshing, would that even sound any good? Sometimes when I wax poetic I’d like to say its the sound of my own voice that’s so beautiful. That’s not at all true, it’s really the idea that contains the beauty, and ideas come from something much much smarter than us. The vibration of ideas comes from much much higher From the clouds it can transpire that an idea ignites in a way to inspire, and create an almost holy fire. Like freedom and equality. Electricity and running water. The mother fucking cronut. Perhaps the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard is a rumbling The kind that comes from a groundswell brought about by those same kinds of fiery ideas that caused institutions to start tumbling, and politicians to start bumbling. Maybe the most beautiful sound is destruction, because like a climatic, cathartic crechendo a the end of an impassioned orchestral plea, it hits every note, blazes a trail of glory impossible to follow again even right down to your cells, destroys your ego and leaves you humble and breathless in the face of such creativity. You know, like a forest fire does. But I actually think the most beautiful sound is the sound perfection makes when humans laugh at their monsters and their imperfect, even offensive jokes. When taking things seriously becomes seriously out of the question. Yeah, that sounds beautiful, I like the sound of that for sure.
The Perpetual Conversation That Never Really Was…
This fictional conversation was inspired by the writing prompt: “Imagine your inner lizard is a character in a fictional scene, write about a moment when something triggers its fear.“ Brian sits next to a crying teenager, comforting them. A parent approaches. PARENT: Why you tryin’ a tell people how to live their lives? Who died and made you God? ME: Well, actually, we’re all God, in a sense. You see the universe is a fractal and we are all just individual reflections of a greater reality. PARENT: Sounds like garbage. Some woo woo crap. ME: I assure you it’s not its… PARENT: Well, do you have all of your vices under control? ME:Well no, but I — PARENT:Exactly, so you come in here, a bag of dysfunctions yourself and you think you can tell me or my kid how to live? ME: I don’t think I’m a whole bag of dysfunct— PARENT: My God, such arrogance. Who do you think you are? ME:I’m sorry, I am definitely not trying to tell anyone how to live, or how to behave? Only what works for me to lessen my own suffering. PARENT:Well, la dee dah. Who asked you? ME: I didn’t have to be asked, it’s sort of my calling. *Parent rolls eyes ME: Well, like not a calling, but you know, like a purpose. It’s like, what gives meaning to my minutes. PARENT:Meaning to your minutes? Are you a poet now too? ME:Well, I’ve never been published if that’s what you mean, but otherwise, yeah, I guess I’m a poet too. PARENT: Listen. You are a dysfunctional poet who isn’t even sure if he has a god damn mother fucking calling or not, so while you figure it out, how about you stay the hell away from me and my kid. *I don’t look up, I can’t. I just nod. PARENT: Come on, Karen, we’re going to leave. This man-child can’t help you. Some degree from the Martha Beck school for energy specialists or whatever, forget it. I’d rather you get a nose job and have friends. KAREN: Um, thanks. I think. Parent and Karen walk off. Karen looks back and waves at me. I smile back, hoping she’ll remember the body compass techniques I taught her for when she’s picking her major. I take a few deep grounding breaths as the thought storms rage. The accusations, like gale force winds, knock my illusions and assumptions around like straw in a hurricane. Am I a fraud? Do I have a right to charge people for something I feel called to do? Am I dysfunctional? Am I really that dysfunctional? Do I have to be fully functional to help people? I’d like to think of myself like a fountain of healing. But like a soda fountain. So yeah, I’m not in tip top condition, the Sunkist is broken, the Diet is empty and if you try for Hawaiian Punch you get squirted in the eye. But all the other flavors work perfectly and no matter what you choose I can help quench your thirst every single time. The soda fountain analogy falls apart here because soda is toxic and poisonous and all the things are wrong with it, but besides all the foundational ways in which this analogy doesn’t work, it also does work. And that’s a lot like being a life coach while still trying to get your own shit together. *A new client calling on my cell. This time I answer with a new greeting: ME: Hot Mess Life Coaching, helping you keep your shit together while mine falls apart. How can I help you?
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
