Friday Night at Danyang Valley

My tent is pitched between two retaining walls and next to a rock to sit on. It is a full moon on this Friday night with a hint of clouds in the sky to add to the feeling of Truth I sense here in Danyang Valley. Although not really Truth since the campground is pretty well tended to and has that air of resort. I am twenty feet from a man-made waterfall with a wooden wheel turning and spilling into a lively and vocal brook that flows down from Mt. Seobeksan. This is where I will sleep tonight.

The solitude is both comforting and disconcerting. My life in the cemented city of Cheonan does not provide this kind of solitude; even my mountain. The quiet is loud as the water cascades in all directions like my mind.

It is cool enough for me to put on a long-sleeved shirt at thirty past midnight but the night air in the mountains is nourishing my skin and pores. My first yawn of the night. A good one that inserts its message loud and clear. I will obey.

Tomorrow is the Second Annual South Korea Couchsurfing Gathering. There should be between 40-50 people coming from all over the country to attend and participate in hiking, climbing, paragliding, eating and enjoying our weekend together. I wanted to camp the night before to get my whole Self present. And I love camping this time of year.

It is working; water, mountains, green and fresh air what can rarely be achieved in city life, even for a recluse-wannabee like me.

Surprised as I may be, these days it is when I do Qi Gong at night. Surprising because I have never made a full commitment to Qi Gong as I have to my other spiritual practices like Reiki, Meditation and Breathing.  It has been ‘the other’ thing I do when I need something extra or want a special feeling when on a mountaintop or beach.

I have appreciated the feeling of being full with energy and connection that I feel during and after the session. I feel alive and strong!

Although I would have to say that the 15-30 minute nap/Reiki/meditation I have daily between 5-7 at night is right up there. I adopted this practice about half dozen years ago and it is precious to me and I work real hard to make certain it makes it way into my day. Initially this was to support the changes in my vision and its strain. It has become a time of quite, peace, relaxation, refreshment and a transition from day to night and the energetic differences between the two.

This is a wiritng assignment from the Diving Deeper Workshop. teh assigment was to pick a random piece of music and listen to while letting it soak you into it. The wirte for 20 minutes without editing.



Music Muse: John Coltrane- Naima

It is a beautiful beach, white sand with litter scattered about. A windy day in early spring before the weather changes and makes being on the beach an experience of removing clothes and feeling the sun drench the skin with love, healing and cleansing. No, it is early march and it is still quite chilly. I am wearing a windbreaker; it is blue with blue and a rip on the right sleeve near the top and a zipper that slides by a large safety pin.  I am glad I brought my hat with me to help with the temperature and sand blowing about from the wind gusts. Some gets in my eyes but it is Ok.  Everything is perfect, just perfect. Who could ask for more right?  Then why do I feel so sad and all alone?

I feel like I have everything I could possibly want out of this day and this beach and my life but I am still sad, very sad. Maybe even desperate enough to give up for good this time. Why keep fighting? What is the point and purpose any more?

I always end up alone just like right now at this moment here on the beach staring somewhat at the waves crashing in the sand and the rich smell of salt water and dead crabs on the shore.  Alone. Does it ever change?

Why is loneliness so relentless like the waves and the sand? Don’t I ever get a break from me and my thoughts and my fears and this sense of dread? Just one moment, that is all ask, for just one moment of feeling satisfied, really grateful. Not the words I use to trick myself and con you, but actually feel genuinely, wholly grateful as if I have received enough.

Enough. I remember we were at a retreat one time and after dinner we would make some fresh guacamole and eat them with blue tortilla chips from the Mexican grocery store down the street near the border of New Mexico and Mexico.  Those chips and gauc were so good. We made more every night and no matter how much we made, it was always enough. So, we decided to change the name of guacamole to ‘enough’.  We still call it ‘enough’ today. I miss those days and nights together in those intense and gut-wrenching retreats. The sense of being a part of something and part of a group nourished me the way I have not felt in years since. I wish I had the courage to go back there and dive back in again. I am not that man any more. I watch TV, stare at young girls, play on the Internet and complain about not having enough time. Enough. Nothing is ever enough. Same song keeps playing and playing in my head. No matter what I have or do not have, it is never enough. Maybe I should write a book titled Enough by Ivan Neverenuf. I could write the whole thing just sitting here with the wind blowing sand in my face and shoes and letting it all rip the truth out of me like it is a secret that I am lonely and sad or something.

Note to self: Everybody already knows! The only one you are fooling is yourself!

Tonight I was dropping down in class and I convinced myself that watching My Name is Earl was a good and positive idea. I have seen parts of the show before and although somewhat funny, it is annoyingly offensive in so many ways.  So, I watched it while enjoying some tofu, potatoes, cabbage and carrots with cumin and Cajun spices followed by an ice fresh vegetable salad like my mom used to make. It all tasted good.

The show was kind of entertaining but there was a line that that stood out to me and felt, well, incredibly accurate and insightful for my life.

“Just because I met a pretty girl doesn’t mean I deserve her yet. I’m Karma’s bitch right now.”

I wish I could take credit for that line but totally feel Ok with making it the foundation of what I want to write about tonight.

I have always had trouble explaining to others why I am not married and why 'a guy like me’ is single, whatever a guy like me means.  I meet attractive interesting and intelligent women. I assume some of them are interested in me; at least that is what others tell me. I have never been good at that sort of thing. I must have been snapping some girl’s bra in science class when the lecture on how to know when someone is attracted to you was been given.  Like Earl, I am a guy with an extensive past to clean up. Most of the bigger stuff I have dealt with directly. It is the indirect stuff that still lingers and kicks me around as ‘Karma’s Bitch’. I do not question Karma anymore. Those of us who have been pick up on the side of the road like the other dregs of the earth know that Both Karma is real and stings deeply without concern of pain or suffering.  We also know that when we do cross something or somebody off our list it feels better than whatever else I am chasing that I think is more important.  Karma is also an incredible Teacher of truth, since there is nowhere to hide for our own karma. Trust me on this one, I have tried, hard.

I remember when I first started dating again after my first steps of beginning life as a human being in the early 90’s. I went on a mediocre date with what appeared to be a nice and normal woman, but my barometer on nice and normal, were skewed at best. At the end of the our date that consisted of some nice Mexican food and a long and slow drive through about six inched of snow; I brought her back to her car. While sitting in mine through the awkward what is going to happen next moments, she leaned over, touched my right arm gently but firmly and without hesitation looked me in the yes and said, “Thank you for not raping me”.

To say that is not what expected would be a colossal understatement. I was floored and stared blankly without knowing what to say or do.  Tongue I would have known what to do with, a soft kiss I could hang with, even a peck on the lips and a “can we do this again sometime” would have been fine, disappointing but fine. But, “Thank you for not raping me” I was not prepared for. I must have missed that lecture in high school as well. We said good night and that was that.  And no, I didn’t get any!

What I did get was my first practical insight into life as a woman who has been raped.  Till then it was all knowledge firm books and sharing of stories but not once did I have to deal face-to-face with the ripples that sexual assault leaves behind. I have never even come close to acting in such a matter since. Karma made me her bitch that night and has never lost her grip to this day.

An interesting chain of events followed that date and her comment. I started volunteering as a public speaker on date and acquaintance rape at schools, colleges, community centers and corporations. That lead me to an amazing man named Jeff Fleischer who inspired me into the social work field and counseling, which changed my life as I knew it. Karma?

Last year I was staying at the home of a female couchsurfer who invited me to spend of few nights at her place on the couch, a bold move as you will see. I was grateful after being in the road for a bit at that point and she was nice.  The second night I was there we were up late drinking tea and talking about this and that- our sharing our life experiences on many levels. At a little past midnight she casually with her voice cracking barely said, “Last year during Christmas break I was raped by a guy I barely knew in Europe.”  Without dragging this story our forever, we both needed each other at that minute to heal our pasts in reverse/parallel fashion.  Over the next few days we continued this process and many tears, hugs and walks around her college campus allowed the healing process to take shape.  Karma gave me front and center what I had been avoiding from ‘my list’ since I made one, but instead of an uncomfortable interaction in the front seat of my sports car in the snow, it was soft, gentle and forceful.  But most importantly, Karma had her bitch right where she needed him again and the gifts have poured in from that moment in both our lives.

Being karma’s bitch is not such a bad thing really. It just sounds bad to those of us who think we are in control of our lives and can get away with what we don’t talk about or admit to ourselves.  But when I stop and think about it, what could be better than knowing that doing good is good for me ad those around me. Even if that means I am not ready for the pretty girl who is the professor at a college yet.  When I am ready, she and any other treats that life has in store for me will come my way when I am can properly accept and respect them for t=what they are.  Again, what could be better than that?

So, I will semi-willingly continue on as Karma’s bitch for now, not that I have a choice.  Maybe I will actually learn something for a change, stranger things have happened. I once thought that Reiki Training was so I could get things that I wanted for myself. The possibilities are endless, as are the consequences for not doing what I need to. Karma’s bitch and gift.

 Writers Block Crock
Writers Crock

I have been avoiding writing for weeks now. I have thought about writing a piece about my first battle with writers block but have not done so since I know it is a crock, a total crock. I have no doubt if I sit in front of the computer and open Word, I will write and plenty. Not just small whispers about what I did in my day and my thoughts about swine flu, my recent challenges with my first cold in summer since childhood, my back pains or my intimate friend who just left Korea and how I am torn apart about this. No, I have lots to say. In fact that is why I do not write these days. I do not want anyone to hear what is in my head, especially me!

There is no blockage of any kind, just good old-fashioned resistance and avoidance.  I do not understand how any artist could ever be ‘blocked’.  My head is always active and full if I am willing to sift through the layers of resistance, denial, avoidance, need for stimulation, fear and lack of willingness to go deeper. I am not saying that artists that claim to be experiencing blocks are lying, I am saying that this artist can not imagine any point when I do not have enough going on in my head to fill a page with words, brush strokes or ink. I have no doubt if I was kept in a square white room with nothing on the walls, nothing to do, see or hear except what is in my head, at the end of the day if I was willing I could write fifty pages. If I include a day filled with teaching Korean children English, several emails from friends, an episode of Criminal Minds, three meals, a walk on the mountain, hundreds of women within my visual proximity and meditation- the amount of words that can fill a page must be endless. But, I have written next to nothing this past month.

Therefore, writers crock. I do not want either of us to know what I am experiencing. If I let us know, I might have to either actually feel it or do something about it. I am not prepared to do either at the moment, so why torture myself with the reality of Truth?  Why admit how crushed I am at the feelings of rejection I have experienced in the last month? What good will reflecting on the mental list of things to achieve while in Korea for a year that I have ducked and dodged for eleven months?  How will accepting that my spiritual focus and commitment are a far cry from when I landed here, forget what I have signed up to do, make this change?  Where is the courage needed for the next series of great leaps in my life magically going to come from if I let those always present but hidden fears rise to the surface so I can see and fell them directly?  Who can I blame for my lack of success if I take the time to let the words fill a page with the genuine thoughts that fill this mind and heart?  When will I allow myself to move forward and stop playing games with myself and all those that come in contact with me if I allow me to really let go, really, no I mean really?

Crock #2: the old adage; “If nothing changes, nothing changes”
If nothing changes, everything changes! Opportunity after opportunity slip by while casually watching TV, eating junk food, not asking that woman on a date, accepting mediocrity instead of greatness and fooling ourselves into believing we are doing the best we can. Everything changes and not for the better. I am not doing the best I can, not even close. Yes, I know I am ruthlessly self-critical. Agreed, no argument here.  That does not mean that telling myself that I am doing the best that I can is the Truth! I can do better, much better. You all deserve better from me. I deserve better from and for me.
PSST! Secret: We deserve better from you too.

If I have learned anything from the significant number of deaths in my family is this; we rarely know when our time is done- GET BUSY DOING WHAT WE NEED TO BE DOING! We do not get to replay this round.  Fear is not an adequate reason to not be great. Numbness is not the solution.  Blockage is a crock.  And love is always worth the effort.