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My hands grow clammy, start to shake as my heart thumps hard, racing to break. I want to be up here, in front of this mic, laying my soul bare for my futures sake.

I stepped up here to express myself, stress myself, grow myself.

My ears burn as if on fire, I lose myself in this feeling of terror, of which I never tire. This is my moment right here and now, to break away from my silence, to let my inner wolf howl, my totem, my spirit, broken and bound.

I stepped up here to express myself, stress myself, grow myself.

Do I stumble and fall, walk away from it all, or can I find my strength in the storm, can I truly be reborn? Torn and tattered, my mind is scattered, losing the words so carefully crafted.

I stepped up here to express myself, stress myself, grow myself.

I try to find my flow, my rhythm in time, I reach for it and discover that I suppressed it, oppressed it, threw it in a box to break it, because my life could not take it. It withered away to dust. How can I fake it? Can I remake it?

I stepped up here to express myself, stress myself, grow myself.

I am a broken man, afraid to tread where angels have been, I doubt my soul will ever have peace, I wonder if it is mine to even seek. I cry out to God but cannot speak, my throat is dry, my knees too weak. I stagger on into the darkness, away from the light, begging for my life.

I stepped up here to express myself, stress myself, grow myself.

Only to realize I lost myself so long ago that my words ring out hollow, in this expanse where my soul should go. What is left for me to follow, when all I feel is sorrow. Where do I find the strength to go on?

I stepped up here to express myself, stress myself, grow myself.

This is my first draft of a spoken word poem that I want to say in public. Part of my testing out the waters on a good mid life crisis. I know it breaks so many rules of poetry, the rhythm is all over the place but in my head I think it flows in a round about way so far., plus I am bipolar so why shouldn’t my poetry be up and down, round and round.

My hands grow clammy, start to shake as my heart thumps hard, racing to break.

I stepped up here to express myself, stress myself, grow myself. My ears burn as if on fire, I lose myself in this feeling of fear, of which I never tire. This is my moment right here and now, to break away from my silence, to let my inner wolf howl, my totem, my spirit, broken and bound.

Do I stumble and fall, walk away from it all, or can I find my strength in the storm, can I truly be reborn? Torn and tattered, my mind is scattered, losing the words so carefully crafted.

I try to find my flow, my rhythm in time, I reach for it and discover that I suppressed it, oppressed it, threw it in a box to break it, because my life could not take it. It withered away to dust. How can I fake it?

I am a broken man, afraid to tread where angels have been, I doubt my soul will ever have peace, I wonder if it is mine to even seek. I cry out to God but cannot speak, my throat is dry, my knees too weak. I stagger on into the darkness, away from the light, begging for tears to flow, knowing they won’t.

I stepped up here to express myself, stress myself, grow myself, only to realize I lost myself so long ago that my words ring out hollow in this expanse where my soul should go.

I think I started suppressing my feelings, well trying to, when I was in elementary school. When I would get embarrassed, I turned a dark shade of red that made everyone laugh, everyone except me. Inside I was screaming, how could my own body betray me so easily. I cried out to God but he did not answer, so at a young age I declared myself an athiest, angry at God and the whole world. I suppressed that anger, compartmentalized it, my first bag of many that I would tote with me everyday. Despite my poor memory or because of what I chose to remember, I can go through my baggage but not name a single person I went to elementary school with. Even after all of these years, I still can not prevent myself from blushing and I still get angry with myself when it happens. I feel like the same scared angry little boy who just wanted to be accepted, not laughed at, not provoked, not tormented by my class mates.

There was never a single person who bullied me, it was most of my class that bullied me. It did not help that I would sit in class and day dream, not paying a bit of attention, staring off into nothingness, forgetting my work and the world around me until my Teachers would call me out, then the vicious circle would begin, me blushing and children laughing. I just wanted to will myself away into nothing, to be gone out of this world, unnoticed, forgotten. Even today my chest tightens and feels like it wants to cave in just thinking about how I felt growing up. I never understood until much later in life that what I felt was despair and isolation. Much of the baggage I carry around revolves around these incidents and unfortunately these were not isolated incidents but weekly occurrences across many years.

Maybe by pouring it out I can begin to heal such old and painful memories and cast them aside, work on laying down my burdens.

Some days I feel this growing dread, all of the emotions I keep bottled up threatening to explode. I struggle with highs and lows and everything in between, depression, indifference, mania. Despite my seasons of depression I have never let the grief of losing my parents out, I keep it bottled up tight, afraid that if I let my grief take hold I may not come back. This is how I function, compartmentalizing as many of my emotions as I possibly can because I am afraid to give in and let everything out. Maybe that could be my mid life crisis, having an emotional breakdown and no longer being afraid of letting my emotions out. Maybe that is not such a great midlife crisis but it is probably a healthy step to take towards being a whole person.

I will just have to keep working on a list of possible mid life crisis until I come up with something monumental.

I sit down to write and my eyes struggle to stay open, my own body revolting against the desires of my heart. All I want is a few paragraphs, not too much to ask and yet the revolt continues on. As my eyes try to close my brain joins the struggle, protesting that we need a nap before we embark on such an arduous journey. Tossing words in the air my hands bang on the keyboard, not much comes out just jumbled up words mangled by autocreate. I put some music on to help distract the protesters but the Rasta man serenades my weary body, the smooth lyrics drawing me closer to sleep. Some where deep down in my soul a voice screams out let me go Babylon, through the distractions I see the chains on my soul tethering me in place. I realize that I was born into Babylon, a cog in the wheel that turns, suppressing and oppressing all in it’s path. I thought it was enough to declare my faith in God, repent and be baptized.
God just laughed. Micah 6:8 “He has shown you, O mortal, what is good. And what does the Lord require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God.” Matthew 16:24-26 24 “Then Jesus told his disciples, “If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me. 25 For whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it. 26 For what will it profit a man if he gains the whole world and forfeits his soul? Or what shall a man give in return for his soul?”
The chains that bind your soul are yours to cast off, the answers are there if you would seek them. Many have sought but few are the ones who find the truth. You must step out on faith, pick up your cross, feed the hungry, cloth the naked, help the widowed and orphaned, visit the imprisoned. Trust in the power of God. Do this everyday and the chains will fall away. Find freedom in the grace and mercy of God, shine the light upon your path so others may follow you and stay humble on your journey, one of those chains is pride and if you boast of your deeds that chain will grow stronger. Be cautious of the chain of arrogance that can quickly ensnare you, your deeds are between you and God, others will see you at your task and ask you why and what you are doing; be cautious in your answer as the words that come out of the mouths of men can quickly become unclean, even the words of God can be uttered uncleanly.
The pathway to Zion is long and twisted, be prepared to stumble along the way. Remember why you are on the path and call on the name of God in triumph and in failure, praise him in all things.

“Radical empathy, on the other hand, means putting in the work to educate oneself and to listen with a humble heart to understand another’s experience from their prospective, not as we imagine we would feel. Radical empathy is not about you and what you think you would do in a situation you have never been in and perhaps never will. It is the kindred connection from a place of deep knowing that opens your sprit to the pain of another as they perceive it.” Isabel Wilkerson Caste The Origins of Our Discontents P386 Random House 2020.

“With our current ruptures, it is not enough to not be racist or sexist. Our times call for being pro-African-American, pro-Woman, pro-Latino, pro-Asian, pro-Indigenous, pro-humanity in all its manifestations. In our era, it is not enough to be tolerant. You tolerate mosquitoes in the summer, a rattle in an engine, the gray slush that collects at the crosswalk in winter. You tolerate what you would rather not have to deal with and wish would go away. It is no honor to be tolerated. Every spiritual tradition says love your neighbor as yourself, not tolerate them.” Isabel Wilkerson Caste The Origins of Our Discontents P386 Random House 2020.

I pray thee, Heavenly Father, may I always be a radical empath and continue to learn each day to walk humbly in your footsteps, loving all of my neighbors.

We see through a lens,
shaded by our own mores.
Clinging to the shards
and pieces that prop up
what our hearts want.

We see through a lens,
colored by our own mores.
Flinging away the shards
that might make us
question who we are.

We see through a lens,
filtered by our own mores.
Turning away the truths
that do not support the
world in which we live.

We see through a lens,
blinded by our own mores.
Stumbling through life
tripping and knocking over
what we choose to ignore.

“Those in the dominant caste who found themselves lagging behind those seen as inherently inferior potentially faced an epic existential crisis. To stand on the same rung as those perceived to be of a lower caste is seen as lowering one’s status. In the zero-sum stakes of a caste system upheld by perceived scarcity, if a lower-caste person goes up a rung, an upper-caste person comes down. The elevation of others amounts to a demotion of oneself, thus equality feels like a demotion.” Isabel Wilkerson Caste The Origins of Our Discontents P183 Random House 2020.

There is no fluff in the book Caste, in fact it is an emotionally taxing read and I firmly believe many people need to read and understand the history of the racial caste system in the United States. I pulled out this particular quote though because it just feels so relevant in these days and times, social media seems to be full of angry people posting pictures of fast food restaurants offering 15-20 dollars an hour just trying to fill positions. I have never understood where this kind of anger comes from until I read the passage, then it clicked. It makes me sad that we, the human race, find ourselves chained to such ingrained mores. How do we escape the clutches of such thinking and embrace the egalitarian principals laid out in the Declaration of Independence and the Preamble of the Constitution.

Maybe it is just that I am an Idealist and a dreamer, but deep down I want everyone to be equal and afforded the opportunity to pursue their success. I know many of us will fall short and struggle to find our way and that is ok. I would rather stand and hold the ladder for others to climb higher than trying to knock anyone down. Or in the words of Damien Marley from So a child may follow “Dread shine your light, so a child may follow, many have been lost along the way.” If more of us are shining our lights, holding onto ladders, or reaching out our hands to help others up we could change the world.

Today is for many a happy occasion, a time to enjoy company and food, watch football and prepare for black friday sales. Unfortunately for many today is a struggle, it is a day filled with dread of the same family fights that play out year after year. For others today is filled with sorrow, memories of loved ones who have passed away and the pain of grief. Then there are those who through circumstances of life, find themselves out on the street. Many of those in such a prosperous nation are those who volunteered to fight in wars and came home broken; unable to adapt, filled with the pain of losing comrades in arms, living with PTSD and the effects of war on the mind and soul. Then there are those who are just broken physically or mentally, unable to hold down jobs; life has defeated them.

Sometimes it is difficult to remember to celebrate being thankful when seeing such pain in the world. It hurts to think “there but for the grace of God go I” when that feels in some way a curse, being unable to help those truly in need when my paycheck barely stretches to cover the medical bills that pile up. It is not cheap to have mental illness or physical illness, some people in this world believe that it is punishment from God and spread their false doctrine of prosperity gospel. They fail to see that every time Israel turned away from helping the sick, the poor, widows, children, the imprisoned that God punished them.

This Thanksgiving I am thankful for medication that works, for a job at an amazing company that positively impacts the lives of others, for a family to love that loves me back.

Just trying to think of what I want to write is excruciating. My mind feels adrift, just out of reach. I thought maybe writing my blog post with VI would help stimulate my thoughts. Instead they feel so far away. I am alone in my own darkness. Somedays I just want to give up on trying to write or doing anything creative. Most of the time it is easier to just escape into my work than it is to find balance between work and personal time. Work is so much easier, I know the tasks I need to accomplish and can throw myself into the work because I enjoy it. It is also much simpler knowing what needs to be accomplished than it is trying to create nothing from scratch. It isn’t like I don’t enjoy writing and drawing, I do enjoy them but my mind just escapes me.
I look back at some of my journals and I seem to be stuck in the same loop for decades now. It was so much easier in school to write when I had an assignment to accomplish. I guess I work best when I have a deadline to accomplish. Right now I only write for a reason I can not even articulate. Time escapes me and I find myself in the middle of a desert, running from mirage to mirage.
So I made the mistake of trying to write to a disk with out write permission, never a dull moment when it comes to computers, good thing I know how to fix a few things.