A Handful of Forgiveness

I have been given SO very much since all of this happened, yet I have so little. I have also been given a gift that I have not shared, a new person in my life through all of this. I have spoken about her and my favorite beverage. Many guesses were thrown out there, and a few knew. I have been utterly destroyed, but there is opportunity to rebuild there. Better than before! Stronger than before! More real than before! I have been given a hand off of my knees, and I am forever grateful for that, but now I need a hand with something else. My journey continues and I have days of pure bliss, and days of pure confusion. I let my heart flow onto the keyboard, and thus into your worlds. I have received numerous emails about my “heart being on my sleeve”. I see the feedback and it lifts me, but there is a secret there. I continually see Peg bashed, trashed, and made to look like the bearer of the entire fault. Let’s look at “fault”:

fault
Show Spelled Pronunciation [fawlt] Show IPA
–noun
1. a defect or imperfection; flaw; failing: a fault in the brakes; a fault in one's character.
2. responsibility for failure or a wrongful act: It is my fault that we have not finished.
3. an error or mistake: a fault in addition.
4. a misdeed or transgression: to confess one's faults.


Now if you are free of this in your life, past or present, then please raise your hand – right now where you are, stop and look around you. What is perfect? What is without fault? Who of you are free from defect? I AM NOT AND I ADMIT IT FREELY. I messed up over the years and I am still trying to figure out how and why. I need her to help me with that but when she looks at this blog, which I had no idea she still did, it hurts her. What hurts her hurts me. You have to understand this and accept it if you call yourself my friend. Her pain is real and unimaginable. I AM her husband until the judge tells me otherwise. I am her friend as long as there is wind in the sky. I am hers in many ways as long as there is blood in my veins. What she feels about “me”? I care not. I care that she has friends and support out there. I care that I am one for whom she can lean on, laugh with, or lay her head on my shoulder and cry if that is what she needs.

I LOVE to write and have been encouraged to do so, but I have also been encouraged to not do so. I have chose option A. To continue to write means that I need the blank canvas before me to be one of FREEDOM. Freedom for my feelings to flow unabashed and judged by none. Now having a blog opens you up to that possibility, but I am asking all of you – my friends, to honor my wish and to look into your own hearts and imagine that someone you hold dear to you was being belittled assaulted. What would you do? Stand there and watch? Maybe you would, but not me. When I say that “she is all that I am”, you truly do not know the gravity of that statement. I am no fool. I realize what happened, but I forgive her. I have never felt a release so gratifying than the one I felt the day I was able to truly look into the sky and smile at the heavens..for I had forgiven! I cannot dictate to any of you, but I can tell you that the power of forgiveness is one of the most powerful that I have ever experienced. I ask that you walk away from this computer screen and you FORGIVE, not just Peg, but I ask that you show one act of forgiveness today to honor what, and who Peg and I are. We are both fighters. We have both suffered enough and we hope to walk forward to a better tomorrow. What does that mean? Who cares right now, but we will need the support of this community and our local community to keep going. I ask that you think long and hard about someone who has wronged you, who has dealt you with transgressions for which you have been unable to release. I need you to think of that person and forgive them right here, right now, and tell them.

Who is it? Your dad who was a “horrible father”? Your brother who was never there to defend you? The person who took something from you? If you truly wish to be free, then you will heed my advice and let it go. Free your soul by doing this one simple act of forgiveness today. So many of you have responded and offered a handful of hope, a handful of love, or a handful of kindness. Today I call in that favor – I ask you to do this one act of forgiveness today. Give that handful of forgiveness to someone for whom you thought it impossible. Once you have done that, I ask that you forgive the one I love. I ask that you forgive me for failing her and I ask that you hold us both up. Your hands are strong I know – and you have held up a man in his darkest hour, now I need you all to hold up the one I hold up. Help me if you love me the way you say you do. I cannot make any of you do anything, but I ask you to do this for me. Any negative comment that comes to your mind and passes to your keyboards, stop it right there. If you show anything on these pages, make it love for a family. For two souls who are hurting and need help. Say something nice and encouraging for once. There have been words uttered along these lines, but how about an entire blog posting with nothing but POSTITIVE feedback for two souls who have shared so much. She is me, and at one time in life, I was her. We were, at one time, two intertwined souls dancing in this world. Now we have fallen and need help. I write what I feel, and I know little of what that will be tomorrow, but I mentioned this person in the second and third sentences of this posting..scroll up.

That person is someone who has brought me joy like none I have ever known. I have spent a little time with her lately. Slowly getting to know her. Enamored in her smile and the simplicity of her movements. I was enraptured in her embrace for a brief time. She made me laugh the other night with her goofiness. We shared a few nights together on a mini vacation of sorts. Cooking dinner together and sharing that (now famous) cup of coffee. Sitting on the couch so close, yet so far. The incredible thing about her and I is that we shared a few evenings together and it was shear effortlessness. I felt guilty for getting to know someone other than my wife, yet her spirit drew me in and wouldn’t let go. Not like a “lusty” thing at all. In fact, it was purely on a level beyond physical. That thought never crossed my mind ( and yes I am still a man), but it was as if God dropped this woman into that brief period in my life ( 4 nights) just to show me what “could be”. I felt a sense of peace that was of a nature I have NEVER FELT. I thought I knew all these feelings in those 15 years, yet here I was experiencing them with a total stranger. I have no idea what she felt, but I can tell you that IF the ease with which we conversed, cooked, drank wine, and sipped our coffee, was any indication – she felt “something” along the lines of what I did. It’s hard to speculate what another human is feeling. That should be obvious after all this, but an easiness and tenderness, and respect that was present in that house that night, is not easily mistaken. It was there. When I awoke and looked over at her shoes that morning (after sleeping on the couch as she slept upstairs) I was astounded that it was not all a dream and that I had not scared her off. It is hard to explain to those around me who try “introducing me to the next Mrs. Meyer” that those things are not only hurtful to me, but something I will likely never do again. I am 36 years old and loved so deeply that I believe my soul drown in the deepness of that love. It will take years to revive. Yet I can also tell you that the “mystery girl” blew a small amount of life into a soul fallen from grace. It wasn’t like it sounds either! This hot lusty, passionate connection. It was a connection like one I have never experienced. It was real and peaceful. Unassuming and kind. Every moment of those 4 nights was a true gift. I would like to introduce her to all of you. She is amazing and has a kind and gentle heart. Soon!

All the while, I could only think of the girl I wrote about above. The pain she was feeling and “how could I take it from her. I’d still take every ounce of pain in her heart and soul. Physical or emotional, I’d gladly reach into her heart and take it for myself. You see, there was a time when she’d do the same for me. That is real and that doesn’t just go away for me. I knew NO love before her. I had never heard those three words before her. She taught me to laugh, love, dance, be free, and most of all to forgive. Now I need to rally my troops to do the same for her. She is half of the equation – half of me. We are both responsible for this mess.. fifty, fifty. She is the peas to my carrots and the light in my darkness. You are all light that has illuminated my soul, and now I need to direct some of that light elsewhere. If you are unable, I understand, I just ask you to email your comments instead of putting them where she can see them. I ask that you find a way to do that one act of forgiveness in our honor. To honor what we had and to honor who we are. I ask you to forgive her. As was said on a previous comment from the last post – To love me, is to love her.

To the ever expanding world out there who finds solace, laughter, enlightenment, and humor in this blog. You are a part of this world and I’d like you to meet the mystery girl. The girl who sparked a small fire in my heart. The woman who’s gentle spirit touched my heart ( if only momentarily) like a warm summers breeze. I’d like you to know her, and about her, and not hide behind that fact that too many it will seem inappropriate or “out of the ordinary”. It is what it is. She is who she is….and her name is Peg Meyer, and I ask you to forgive the person she was. I ask you to offer her a hand full of forgiveness.

In These Hands

In these hands I have held the world; my world. These hands are rough and calloused, but my heart is tender and real. I have held both of my children so close with these hands. Wiped away the tears filled with fear, again and again. Lifted their little hearts from the ground. I have worked these hands, and my heart, to the point where the indelible wounds are plain to see. I have planted seeds with these hands, and reaped the harvest of life. I have caressed the skin of an angel with these hands. I have also touched the face of the devil with those same hands. I have used these tired, worn hands to push back the pain, and when necessary, to dish out more pain than is necessary. I have bloodied these hands in battle, and washed them in a river of forgiveness. I have held these hands out for a feast of hope, only to receive a mere morsel. Can I sustain myself with such a mere morsel? Can I feed five thousand with that? I will serve others with that hope before I serve myself. Isn’t that what we are to do? These hands will lift up those fallen, when I have that ability, until I have fallen for the last time.

In these hands I have held those who are sick, scared, and in a fight for their lives. I have reached into a mangled car and held a crying child, bloodied and scared, then reached in and held the hand of her mother. I have fought fire with these hands, and fought fires in my soul with these hands. I have bandaged the bloody, and held the weary. These hands have scaled countless peaks and reached the summit of my dreams, time and again. I have used these hands to throw the ball back and forth between a father and son. I have held a crying daughter and rocked her to sleep. I have built a life with these hands. The foundation as solid as any out there. I have cherished with these hands and worshiped with these hands. I have built this life with these hands. I have crawled on these hands, and fallen on these hands.

I have held the love of my life in these hands, cherished each embrace. I have wiped away the tears of joy, hurt, and anger, running down her face. I have held her in these hands and cried with her, laughed with her, and held her just for the sake of doing so. I have reached across the tent on a cool moonlit night, and touched her soft hair. In these hands I have held the heart of an angel, and held it close to mine. In these hands I have moved far away and created a life of happiness and joy. A life of adventure and spirit. I have used these hands to both cause immense pain in my enemies, and immense joy in those I love. I have held onto the rock of life with these hands. Scaled walls which seemed insurmountable.

All the wear and weariness on these hands has lead me to where I am. To a place of “insurmountable walls” built around the heart of the one true love that God gave me. Incapable of tearing down the walls built by anger, hate, and unforgiveness, with bitterness as mortar. Incapable of pushing off, casting away when my strength wanes and I should be preserving who I am. These hands don’t know how to quit, nor does my soul. Yet I find these hands growing more and more weary. Tired from the fight. Bruised like my heart, bloodied knuckles. These hands are unable to hold what I love. Unable to embrace what was at one time magnificent and real. These hands are constantly held together in prayer, praying for peace. The pain pouring from my heart cannot be held back with these hands. Like a damn cracked and failing, bursting at the seams, unable to hold what is inside. These hands cannot hold the pain or keep it from pouring out. The hands that are used to fight the battles of my life are suddenly sunken and hanging by my side. Defeat is evident, yet my will to fight is still in there somewhere. The hands that have punched and delivered pain in the past, now strum the strings on an instrument that brings me peace..if only for a brief moment. These hands have worked a lifetime to build the world I envisioned. I have tried to hold it all together, plug the leaks, but the leaks are many and my fingers are few. The muscles in my hands, in my heart, and in my soul grow weak. I look to the sky and ask “why”? I beg for mercy, relief from the pain. This pain is inhumane and insurmountable, yet I cannot use these hands to push away. To turn and walk off into the sunrise of a better tomorrow. These hands know only how to hold on. I pray that God will give me the strength to push off and set sail into tomorrow. To let go of that which continually hurts me. To release me from that which does not want me. I clasp these hands together and ask that guidance be delivered. Use these hands to make someone out there better. To help! These are helping hands and that is all I know.

Power of the Press

French! The universal language of love. Universal in the sense that we all know it is “the language of love”, yet only 113 million, in a world with over 6 billion, speak it fluently. It is a beautiful language and a spirit of love emanates from their culture. I hope to one day experience that culture (again) first hand, both figuratively and literally. I hope that love will someday consume my heart like a raging wildfire as it has done for the last 15 years, growing and consuming more as time went on. I can only hope for such fire and fury of love in my heart. In the meantime, I try valiantly to extinguish that same fire with each passing day. It is a fight that I face daily and one in which I do not have the tools to suppress this raging inferno, yet I must find a way if I want to walk away with anything left. The tools to grow can often prove to be unexpected and odd. The language of love can speak to us in ways, and at times, that fully catches us off guard.

Through this experience I have felt utter devastation, as well as unconditional love from those who have lifted me back up from my knees. I have learned that God can, and will, knock you to your knees, prostrate, and crying out for help, then pick you back up to walk even taller than you ever have before. As you float drift less in a sea of anguish, despair, shock, and loneliness, the tide ebbs and flows. You crest one wave and feel a sense of being on “top of things”, only to descend the other side and into a valley so low that you feel like you are drowning. Such is the rhythm of life. You are “out there” in this sea of veritable loneliness. Left to navigate that which there is no map..no compass. Those close to you, some old friends, some new, act as lighthouses guiding you through the storm. Showing you the way and providing an ever present luminescence that guides you and gives you something to reach your hands out for. Something to keep you moving forward, enabling you to get your bearings. As you sail across this proverbial sea of change towards what you hope will lead to a new understanding, a new love, a new life, you can only survive the swell and storm around you.

This past weekend was no exception to the journey. Ups and downs, ebbs and flows. I did, however, find a new tool to add to my quiver. Something that gave me peace and comfort. Something that many of us partake in daily and rarely see it as little more than a satisfying way to appease our palate. Coffee! I have not always been a fan; in fact my wife can take credit for introducing me to the “Nectar of the Gods”. Never has the simple act of preparing coffee or consuming it, produced such enlightenment. I was having dinner with someone with whom I thought I knew, someone for whom I have shared many special moments, yet this person is/was a complete stranger. There across the kitchen stood someone so beautiful that her mere presence made the sound of angels trumpets emanate throughout my soul. As we ground the beans and prepared the water, we were just there. Few words, just enveloped in each other’s presence and the moment. There appeared“rightness” about her being there. A calmness that I have not known in a long time. An easiness. I felt as though my spirit was stepping with liveliness unbeknownst to me.

Now it is no secret that I have always been captivated, mesmerized if you will, with beautiful eyes. As a photographer I had always loved stunning eyes. Her eyes are the exception, in the sense that they are deeper than any I have known. I had looked into them before yet never as I did then. In them I could sense a kind of peace and tranquility. Deep and azure; not a cloud between us. She would walk across the hard wood floors with a gait of gentleness that I had not expected. Comforting was her presence, soothing were her eyes. Hair as golden as an early morning sunrise, with a fragrance reminiscent of spring flowers. Who was this woman? Where had she been? My life was in the midst of a “perfect storm” and here lies this person with whom I could be at ease with. We stood within feet of one another, yet miles apart. Smiling and talking as if the seas around me were calm and tranquil. The coffee steeping in the French press. Time drifting on and the ease only deepening. The steam rising from the pot, the aroma wafting the delicious fragrance about the room. I had a sense of peace unbeknownst to me. I had only just recently written in my blog about a peace that was overwhelming, yet this peace was different. I thought I had known no more substantial peace than before this, yet I was wrong.

I looked into her eyes often, always trying to avoid being caught like a bandit stealing a glance. We laughed and smiled and I was even fortunate enough to feel the tranquility of her embrace. The warmth of her arms wrapped around my shoulders, the softness of her skin. The feeling of weightlessness in her arms, like being lifted from the ground. Free of gravity and the weight that pulls us all down. The brevity of the moment was ever present. If only for a moment we could have eternity. Then it was time to press the grounds. Slowly! Too fast and you can ruin a good thing. Patiently is the way forward to an incredible cup of goodness. That warmth I felt in her arms was now what I felt in my hands as we raised our cups to our lips. The aroma so smooth, so soft, assuaging the grief surrounding me. It all flowed, it all fit perfectly. I dare not call it love, but it was all encompassing and all good. Peace, serenity, and a familiarity that was soothing.

In recent weeks I had prayed often for this type of peace and comfort. Little did I know that it could come “from” someone, much less through the shared experience as simple as a cup of coffee. Can God really be in a cup? I speak no French whatsoever, but the language of love was spoken on that morning. The subsequent morning I felt as if I was taken away to a place where I felt no pain. Nirvana, bliss, heaven, call it what you will, but I was there for almost a full day. That morning was surreal. I knew that I would have to step back into reality at some point, but to feel what I felt was something that I will not soon forget. To have felt that with someone for whom I thought I knew was something that will forever be ingrained in my soul. The following morning felt as though I had drank from the cup of life. Filled with peace and refreshed. Still facing the hardships ahead, but lifted higher than I have thus far, by a face that I thought I knew, in the eyes that were now full of grace and kindness. I thought I was dreaming, sat up, and right there by the door was the sign that let me know I hadn’t imagined that day…..her shoes, right where she left them. She was real. The moment, no matter how fleeting, was real. I’ll hold onto that day for many more to come.

Going Solo

Every journey begins with the realization that you don’t want to be where you are. Be it through suffering, be it through pain, be it through unhappiness, or discontentment, you feel the need to venture forth. Sometimes the choice is made for you and you are faced with a vast landscape unknown to you. The blank canvas before you can prove to be daunting, or exciting. Only you can define that which you walk into. Your feet as the brush are to the painter, an extension of what is inside. They take you to the final destination. The paints are all the variables around you, some of which can be mixed to create new variables, new opportunities. The journey begins with something right? That first step? Nah – too cliché’. Sometimes you care not to walk off into the new canvas but you suddenly realize you are left standing there alone. Standing solo with a vast uncharted world before you. Like the early explorers you know not what you face. Like an orphan you are left with emptiness so colossal that every thought seems abandoned in a fog that covers all the internal peaks in your heart. Like snow covering the colors of fall, you feel cold and lost. Before you lay a trial for which you have no defense. You simply walk forward onto this canvas, brush in hand, surrounded by colors, or possibilities, if you will.

The first step of any big climb is always full of anticipation, excitement, and fear. When you are abruptly faced with an unsuspected climb, you have to take a moment to regroup. Often times while I have been climbing, I see a ridge, a summit, or a bump that I suspect may be the top. The feeling of elation takes over and you suddenly are overwhelmed with hope. Hope that what you set out after is there, right in front of you. You speed up; your gait is lightened and quickened. Then you reach that ridge and realize it was a false summit. You still have a ways to go before reaching the peak. It is at this point when you think all is good, and it turns out that it is not, that you must reassess and look at the unplanned climb before you. You could give up and head back, as many do, but you are a fighter. You are wise enough to always have left a little in reserves. You are thirsty and drink in all around you. You sense the cool mountain air blowing up the ridge before you, the sound of the breeze whispering through the pine trees. You drink it all in. In utter awe that what could be seen as such a bad thing has now turned into such a beautiful thing. The future is yours. The canvas is your world, you are the artist. You have made the choice to push on and see the goodness before you and around you. Your false summit has now turned into an extension of the journey you set out on. You have more time to enjoy this life you have been gifted. God speaks to you up here, you listen intently.

When starting off on a solo climb, you tend to become more centered. You become more grounded, but only figuratively. You are free and there is only you and the world. The canvas is before you and you are the master of your own destiny. You have prepared as best you can, however you did not expect the false summits and new challenges you face. You push forward, not looking back. You put your head into the wind. The chilling breeze penetrates through the layers you have surrounded yourself with. These layers were there to protect you from such violations, yet they still find a way through, robbing you of the warmth within. Like demons in the night, the biting wind is ever present, ever merciless. You zip up tighter, bite your lip, and push on. As you gain altitude, closer to God, the air grows thinner yet richer. Richer with life and the abundant calmness that lets you know you are close. You are closer to heaven than most men dare to be. You are alone but you feel surrounded by so much. Like the orphan, you are full of life, full of opportunity, and still you are without direction, without support. No life compass- only your canvas before you and your brush to guide you. Your climb through these peaks and valleys has always been full of false summits, false hopes, shattered dreams, and disappointment. The optimist in you sees those things as simple challenges that you have overcome with grace. Here you are once again, the world before you, much of it below you, and it is yours! You continue higher and the summit is near. Unlike the false summits, this one is real, tangible, and within reach. You are above the clouds, walking on God’s doorstep.

You reach the top calmly and full of life. As you look around, you realize that this is just one of many summits. There are so many peaks and valleys before you. The journey will not be easy, but there is so much to see, so much to experience. You feel a peace for which only one who has made such a journey can understand. You are above the clouds and in the realm of those with wings. You are solo, but you are surrounded by so much that is good, so much love, and so much kindness. You are at peace and you are at home.

Rage and an Angel

The rage that lies deep within me is not something that I am a stranger to, nor something I talk much about or am proud of. It was a crutch in my youth to aid my walk through life with all the turmoil that surrounded me. It is a rage that has laid in waiting, suppressed, deep seated and unequivocal to any anger or rage that would be considered normal in this day and age. To help me through that rage, and to help me understand it, I began to get help (all in my youth) in the form of anger management, counseling, and by way of the justice system; in the form of kickboxing. Rage is something we all live with, be it road rage, parking lot rage, joggers rage, or rage at the pickle jar that we can’t get into. We all deal with that rage in different ways. My rage has remained dormant for so many years. Remember that I said it was something that I dealt with in my youth and had suppressed and moved away from. Through the process, I acquired new tools to deal with it. I learned that you could be productive in the way you used your fists. You could step into a ring and do it right! You could step into a ring where your opponent was willing and able to give you back what you dished out, ounce for ounce, blow for blow. I found peace through my fists, feet, elbows, and knees.

As the months turned to weeks, then years, I faced those demons less and less. I had all but forgotten they were there. When my life was turned upside down on April 15th of this year those demons still remained deep inside, replaced by an unexplainable sadness and sense of loss. I couldn’t put my gloves on and step into a ring to fight back. I could not slowly stock my enemy and wear him down, methodically taking away the steam that pushed him forward. Each kick, each punch, each elbow, slowly chipping away at the incoming rage from the opponent. Chin low, hands up, constantly moving to avoid the next onslaught of blows. A strange sense of calmness and familiarity washes over your body as you step into a fight in the ring. A grounded sensation touches your soul and you see the work that lies ahead as you assess who is standing there in front of you. All the sounds around you slowly fade away and you feel the rampage begin to surface from deep below. You know that the rage will slowly take control and that is the way it is to be. That is the way of the warrior. Hold the rage until you need it, then release it, but always remain in control of it. Know when to let it fly and know that you must reinforce it with critical thinking and decisiveness. All of this was absent on that night when my life changed. I had no tools, nothing to fight back with, what was taken was done behind closed doors…out of the ring, cowardly and callous. At that point there was no opponent that I knew of other than myself. I stood there defeated. Unable to face my opponent. Unable to take my life’s training and utilize it to my benefit. At that time, the only opponent I had was the truth. Like my aforementioned demons, this opponent would prove to be resilient, deceiving, and hiding in the shadows, yet I had to do what I knew best – fight!

Today, six weeks later I step from that ring with my head held high. My arms by my side, shoulders slumped from the tireless fight, but my heart risen in victory. Victory in knowing that the truth truly will set you free. The victory of TRULY forgiving and once again releasing that rage. The fight has not been an easy one. I was unfortunate enough to run into (recently) the enemy that hid in the shadows. I had since forgiven all, but that deep seated rage came to the surface like a volcano erupting, bursting with energy ready to surface and erupt into the world. Suddenly I was tossed back into a ring that I had stayed away from for so long. The real ring, the real thing! The one where people can be hurt and lives can be changed forever. Not unlike the ring I battled in for the past 6 weeks, yet more real, tangible, and dangerous. I snapped and the tunnel vision slowly drew closer. I fought the feelings, I paced to and fro, and I tried to shake it off. Nothing worked. I wanted this bout. I deserved this bout. Regardless of forgiveness, justification was evident. Those around me were seeing something, someone, they had never seen. Many were in tears, some were scared, some just wanted to leave, yet they all stayed. They stayed in my corner and they tried to hold those demons down. Like a drug coursing through my veins, the rampage was there, pulsating and working its way to the surface. I began to shut down and focus. Stare at my opponent, methodically plan, slow my breathing, clenched fists and feet tamping..ready to fly. Nothing was working. No one was stopping this. Words were being spoken, yet I did not hear, hugs being given, but I did not feel. All I felt was my world, my fight.

Then I walked out. I’m not sure if it was a momentary return to reason, something someone said, or if someone dragged me out, but I left. Did I feel release? No way. More anger! I wanted back in the ring. Back at it. I wanted the warriors way! I deserved this “chance”. So we continued on down the street, me in my rage, my friends in their daze. No street light, no siren, no rumbling Harley could take my focus from my intended task. Then it happened – I was carrying something for someone I had yet the privilege of getting to know, and when we got to her car, she just wrapped her arms around me and it all came crashing down. All my defenses, all the surging anger, all the weeks of turmoil and angst. The mountain of rage below me slowly came crashing down, cascading down like a sudden avalanche. My pulse slowed, my muscles relaxed, and my tachycardic heart returned to a place of balance. I HAVE NEVER felt such a release. Few words exchanged, just a gentle touch and an overwhelming sense of goodness. Through our tears, through the darkness of the night, I looked into the eyes of an angel. Blue as the sky after a storm. Gentle, caring, and overwhelmingly peaceful. My world was coming back. The tunnel was slowly pulling back. The heat radiating from within, through my skin, was gone; I could feel the cool night’s air. I felt uplifted, free of rage, free of anger. Lifted and comforted in the arms of a blue eyed angel. One in whom I will always feel indebted and comforted.

After any good fight a true and noble warrior will thank those who made the battle possible. I would not be here writing this had it not been for the following people, and so many more that I am sure I will forget to mention, instead I would likely be locked in a cage for quite some time: Julie who has been my comrade in arms through this journey and who continually encourages me: Neil and Linda who have opened their hearts and doors for me: Neil who stood there like a warrior in his own right to prevent, as best he could, what was to come: Erick and Molly who also have opened their hearts and home to me and who saw a little bit of El Diablo that night: Leah, you are just too darn easy to talk too. The Oakies: welcome to Durango huh?! Sean, your words on the walk back and on the deck were a true testament to your character: Ash, you came to the rescue when the rescue was needed and I will forever be grateful. To your friend you brought with you….you obviously understood where I was at and what I needed to do: To the Angel of Calmness and Peace: there just aren’t words. You know who you are and I won’t name you here for fear that you “won’t talk to me for a week”. You exude a sense of peace that draws people to you and brings comfort to those in turmoil. Our talks since have reassured me that I wasn’t imagining things that evening. When you wrapped your arms around me and cried with me…I knew I felt wings on your shoulders. Last but not least: to J & S – my forgiveness is genuine and utterly unabashed. I will not apologize for what happened. It is what it is. I am happy that you two have the chance to find happiness again and I truly wish you the best. I hope that we can one day walk by one another and smile and hold out a hand in mutual respect. All my best to you.

A heart without Wings

A heart without wings is like a wild animal caged and held in captivity, a living being waiting to reach its potential. Through it all, I have felt the quintessential need to sprout wings and let my heart take flight. Contrary to the way most people would interpret that statement, I don’t mean that my heart wants to fly away and find a new home, new horizons, or newness in general. What I mean is that your heart and soul can only take so much of a beating before they begin to fight back, to go into “self preservation” mode. Like a bird that has been injured and grounded, you will keep your senses on overdrive and continually watch out for danger and things that can hurt you. Like the caged animal, a grounded bird has lost its greatest ability. It has lost its ability to soar above and look down on what is below, like the caged animal it is held captive. Being grounded for so long, you can only look up and long to soar again. Through the clouds, through the rain, through the heart of everything. Crisp air is what you crave. The freshness of life flowing through your lungs, under your wings, and in your face. Those little flutters when you plunge earthbound, only for a moment, only to regain control. The adrenaline that courses through your veins when you know you are free is something that only the “free” can experience.
So does “free” mean “free to roam”? That depends on who you ask. I truly believe that we all cage our hearts and minds to a certain extent. Whether due to relationships, hardships, beliefs, or fear. Because you love, doesn’t mean your heart is not free. Free to fly. Free to explore who you are. When you love something – set it free…right? Well, dare to set your heart free, no matter your situation or circumstances. When you can do this, you can live exponentially more than you ever have. You can experience love and life like never before. In doing so you only enhance what is true in your heart. The love you have for others will blossom and reach new heights. Unfortunately that love that I had is gone. Gone to another and gone to a place of irreconcilement. What you felt was just Purgatory turns out to be hell.
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ir⋅rec⋅on⋅cil⋅a⋅ble
–adjective
1. incapable of being brought into harmony or adjustment; incompatible: irreconcilable differences.
2. incapable of being made to acquiesce or compromise; implacably opposed: irreconcilable enemies.
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When your heart reaches this point you must spread your wings and lift yourself up again. Out of the fire that surrounds you. You know you must leave the place you are and reach those heights that hold the key to understanding. All the while you feel the overwhelming absence of the ground below you. The grounded feeling of familiarity, of the nest that was home. You were once something to someone, and now you are nothing to them. They were your whole life and all that you were; now you must reach new heights and redefine your boundaries. All the while, you miss what once was. You ask why, but eventually you only ask what is next.
Like that bird leaving the nest you slowly spread your wings and stretch them out. You move to the edge and look around. You see a great unknown, a vast landscape of possibility. You know not what you do. Your heart races between those wings as you look back on your nest. You know that this is home and what feels right, yet you must fly. You are being bumped from your nest, ejected if you will. So you can either fall to the ground and spend your days looking out for what stalks you, or you can spread your wings and soar. Your heart will always belong to that place you called home, that one you loved. You know that your heart has been pure and true. You know that the love you felt was real, but all you feel is pain and the sudden shove over the edge. So you spread those wings and inhale – lean forward into the oncoming wind, and you fly. You let go and feel that pounding as you suddenly fall from grace. You hold your breath and close your eyes. Hold your wings rigid and firm. Looking straight ahead at all times. The ground rushes up, the blood moves to your head. Terminal velocity seems inevitable…but then it happens. Something reaches down, or maybe it is the rush of wind coming at you, but suddenly you feel weightless. Free. The pressure and pain subsides and you feel like you are floating. You exhale and take in a breath of new air. Pure air, much like the love you felt. Crisp, refreshing, and full of what you need to live. All you are is in that breath and the wind fluttering beneath your wings. Suddenly you are lifted and soaring high above all the world around you. Overcast skies give way to beaming light, staleness to freshness, gravity to uplifting joy, and turmoil to peace.
Could I have had these same experiences in my marriage? I did. Every day. I loved like there was no tomorrow. Did I make mistakes? You better believe it, but I always honored what we were and I always kept that heart with wings. So take it from one who cannot return to that nest; spread your wings with the one you love. Fly together and fly far.

Windows To My World

It is often said that “the eyes are the windows to our hearts”. I couldn’t have put it better myself. In my wife’s eyes I have always found comfort in looking through those windows. They presented themselves as big, stunning, huge, bay windows, with a view into a beautiful vista full of love, kindness, and compassion. When I have felt the pressure of life tugging at my heels, I have always found comfort in peering through those windows. Inside I could rest assured I'd always find peace, which would always calm my soul and lift me back up. Today I stand outside in a torrential downpour of freezing rain. Those windows are fogged; full of condensation on the inside, building up and ready to drip like a falling tear.
Being outside, looking in, you wonder what now lies beyond those windows. What lies beneath? Beneath the heart that you once knew and cherished. Deeper than that – down deep in her soul and yet deeper in her spirit. I will always wonder if what I thought had been true, or was I always looking through stained glass. Was I always peering through fogged up windows? The optimist in me says “you did good Jim – you honored what you had in the best way that you knew how”. The fighter in me is ever dominant, ever present, and is always willing to fight. The odds matter little, the critics matter less. When you believe in something you fight. When you have given your heart and soul, you fight. You fight with all that you are. You fight until you exhale your last breath. You know that to fight is to give it your all and you know that you have never thrown in the towel during a fight. Now you find yourself wondering if the time has come to do just that.

As you stand firm and weather the storm, you maintain your steadfast focus. Your unwavering ability to see things through. All the while your focus is on the windows to the world you once knew. The world you once loved. Peering through what was once familiar, into a vastly different world. One which you do not know. The pain is so intense that you can feel the blood beating its way through your veins. Every beat of your heart is like the rain beating down on those windows. The pain is incomprehensible, and at times downright unbearable, yet you know not how to walk away.

As the downpour dissipates, and the skies clear, a ray of light breaks through. You think you see more clearly, but then realize it is only you who sees more clearly. All you see now is your own reflection – all else is gone. You stare at those windows for one last look before slowly, reluctantly, turning away. As you begin to walk away, you slowly pull your head forward, releasing the gaze that once peered into the windows that lead to love. You walk away – you live to fight another day.