no rest for the weary

My predicament afforded no obvious escape. I felt that God dropped me into a labyrinth whose exits He had sealed.

 

 

I wanted to suppress it. I told myself that everything would be OK if I just kept muddling through the days. Exercise, be patient. Love. Be loved.  Care for others.  Do for others.  But none of that was enough.  Something didn’t feel right.  Something was missing.  I wasn’t sure if it was love, my sister, a child, or more fulfilling work.  I felt broken.  Not lonely.  Just incomplete.  

 
 

I considered changing jobs or moving to other cities. But I had already done both of those, and I still felt stuck.  Thinking back to the happiest times in my life they had been being in love, interpreting, and engaging in interesting business deals.  Opportunity once fell at my heels.  Lady luck had sang over me as I slept; her sweet, soulful tunes stayed with me the whole day long everywhere I went.  Without trying I attracted beautiful circumstances, and in the most unusual places I met people who impacted my life and ways of thinking.  This was all before I understood the laws of the universe.

 

 

In a wicked turn of events, once I understood the laws I began to have trouble commanding them. The irony of it all swept through me.  As happens normally in life a few failures sprung up in the road.  Instead of dusting myself off for the next round, I started to play it safe.  My romances went down in flames, so the next time love knocked on the door, I pretended not to hear.  My entrepreneurial efforts resulted in incarceration and humiliation, so I took a safe 9 to 5.  That lifestyle may have suited me if I was doing meaningful work, but I wasn’t. 

 

 

Time passed. New experiences and places offered temporary relief, but the nagging eventually re-surfaced no matter where I went.  Slowly it dawned on me that I was an extraordinary beam of light that had tried to seal itself inside a dark crate.  The crate was safe; shining bright was not.  Had I really been hypnotized in Las Vegas? Dunked in ice water? A rat race baptism designed to wake me the hell up so I could see how far I was from where I needed to be.  Not even my colorful, strong social circle could pull me out from the hole into which I had fallen. 

 

 

I wanted so many things… Excitement, answers, financial relief, a full life and to help other people. I wanted my courage back.  Most of all I wanted to crush the fear that was living inside of my throat, stopping me from breathing full gasps of air.  Not every day felt like that.  But the heavy days were enough to make me want to just take off running and never look back. I had no idea what the solution was.  But I clung to the belief that one could come.

 

 

I won’t call it depression.  Let’s term it a spiritual deficiency.  I don’t choose to discuss mine for sympathy.  Writing about it feels therapeutic.   A part of me feels like if I write it in the past maybe it will become the past more quickly.  Instinct tells me medication is not the answer, and that these feelings are a result of me not doing my spirit’s work.  Besides, science tells us what prescription drugs due to your ability to connect to the universe.  But it seems to be easier to attract a bottle of feel good than to connect with your purpose.  Some nights I think of taking one or two, but I don’t want to live like that.  This pain and discomfort lives inside of me for a reason.  It’s up to me to take action toward something greater.  If I mask it today it will only be staring at me tomorrow morning like a bedside gremlin that I fed after midnight.  Natural healing is slow and exhausting, but I fear any other method will extinguish my drive. 

 

 

I wish that my best friend Tommy’s wife had found some therapy before she put a pistol in her mouth.  I wish my old childhood friend had told me how sad she was before she launched herself from the balcony where we had once watched the Atlanta skyline and talked about our futures.  I don’t think I would ever take myself out, just because I care too much for the people around me.  I couldn’t make them suffer like that.  But I do ask myself (often) – when does my own suffering end?  All I really want is to feel important and be happy.

 

 

I didn’t realize when I was younger that the mountain would be this tough to climb.

Learning To Fly

A friend of mine recently sought out my advice concerning some romantic troubles. His situation inspired me to share this personal story, in hopes that it would help him make a decision. perhaps it will help someone else, too. Feedback is appreciated.

Learning To Fly

Many years ago when I was still young and foolish at heart I hurt a caring man that I was dating.  The relationship seemed doomed although I sincerely asked for forgiveness.  At that point most people would give up, but I, being heavily influenced by the Latino cultural value of "fight for what you want," decided I wasn't going down that easily.

Over the next few months, I pulled some stunts that many people would have considered nuts.  But as my good friend Alessia told me, "He will only think it's crazy if he doesn't like you."  By far the most memorial of my antics was the "surprise flight to Mexico."  I began by asking a lady friend of mine to teach me how to make a classic Hispanic dish, the Devil's Shrimp.  Claudia's "little diablos" were perfect: plump, fresh, swimming in homemade tomato and jalapeño sauce.  I paid close attention, and after much practice, I mastered the recipe. 

When the camarones were ready for their debut I decorated my kitchen like a traditional house in Puebla, Mexico, complete with cactus-printed wallpaper and clay-looking plastic doors.  That day Mr. Reluctant agreed to stop by, and when I pulled out a blindfold he was clearly hesitant.  Somehow I convinced him to play along.  Once inside I guided him inside to a chair, where I proceeded to play pre-recorded "airplane sounds" from my computer.  Then, in my best azafata voice, I began my "Prepare for Take-off" speech.  At the time my Spanish accent was very poor, and I must have sounded ridiculous.  But my desire to win him back was greater than my embarrassment, and I pressed on. To this day I remember how to say random things like "fasten your seatbelts" and "refrescos now being served".  As I spoke, I grabbed hold of his chair, leaned it backward for the take-off, and shook it hard to mimic turbulence.  After a few minutes of engine noise I sang out, "Now landing in Puebla, Mexico!" and slowly lowered his chair back on the ground.  Then, with all the drama of Marilyn Monroe I whipped off his blindfold and revealed a long, brightly-colored table filled with Devil's Shrimp, golden, steaming Spanish rice, and rows of pan dulce.  I held my breath and prepared for him to A.) Quickly flee or B.) Be absolutely touched and think, maybe this woman is worthy of forgiveness.  Yes, it was a goofy thing to orchestrate. But it's one of the best memories I have from a noviesgo (courtship.)

Rarely in life do we find instant results for our efforts.  My friend did not forgive me that day.  But, he didn't take flight, either.  Months later, with the help of time, respect, and more "kind, silly" acts, I saw an ugly, dead tree take on shades of green.  Then, unexpectedly, in the middle of that summer I was badly injured in a river accident.  Life dealt me the cruel lesson that only in rough times do you come to know those who really care for you.  In the months that followed my recovery, in a time when I could not walk and I was no longer the life of the party, ninety five percent of my friends disappeared. This gentleman was in the five percent that remained.  I will forever value the great company and support he gave me in that lonely, dismal period.  One year later, we decided we were not compatible for a long-term relationship, but left off on good terms.  To this day I consider him a friend.  I am without a doubt glad that I fought for that relationship. I would do it all over again, even knowing that this fellow was not "the one." 

I firmly believe that if someone loves you, they will fight to be with you, and they won't take no for an answer.  They will swallow their pride and exhaust themselves for a chance to be by your side. They may not blindfold you and "transport" you to your country of origin because they know you miss the food, but they will do something (anything). If they do nothing, then that's probably what you mean to them.

Without something to fight for, and without passion, we are living in black and white.  We won't come close to the bright, blinding, rich colors that only the truly passionate will experience. After all, we only get one journey.  One flight.  Sure, we may crash.  But the pain of the coming down won't be as bad as reaching the end of life and wondering. Over and over I've heard the saying, "At the end of life you don't regret the things you do. You regret the things you don't do." To me this is all the more reason to get in the plane and fly it.

where are the lions hungry like myself?

Excerpt from Conversations with Buddha:
Student: Master, what is real? 
Master: That which doesn't change.

What about you is changeless? Could that be your Northern Star, guiding you to understand who you were meant to become..

I find myself sitting here, asking myself, how much longer until I find “it”? I've been on this road for longer than I'd like to admit. I wonder if it's my own fault that I still haven't grasped it.

It.. That untouchable fulfillment that I am seeking. A mysterious, intangible thing that only lets me see it's shadow, but never it's real flesh and form. It whispers, taunting me, daring me to go out and find it. But it won't tell me how to do that. It dances in front of me in the quiet evenings as I meditate.. It reaches out its hand and invites me to dance with it, but the moment I leap forward to engage, it takes back its hand and asks me to dance alone. 

Where are you? You, the thing that will drive me- excite me- push me to my limits and beyond. The thing I will sweat for, work my ass off for, and inspire me to risk it all. My reason. My purpose.

I'm on the edge of a cliff, and “it” is the bottom, laughing at me, because I can't figure out how to climb down and claim it. It will not reveal the path to me. At other times I feel that I'm already at the bottom, and it's shadows are touching over my shoulder, and it's so damn close.. but I cannot put my finger on it.

And I find myself frustrated. Asking God when will the time be right? Have I not shown myself worthy of a mission greater than myself? What more must I do to come closer to you? You, this thing that lives inside me. This wolf preparing to howl. Am I walking the wrong roads? Have I lost the path? The clues run hot for weeks on end, then the trail goes cold.

All I can do is keep hunting. There's no doubt that the hunger will not subside. I have learned to be content with what I have, but to never stop searching. All I can do is look at the stars, and keep asking questions.

I sincerely want the opportunity to challenge myself. I am hungry for it, and I feel ready for it. I will continue to inspire myself until I find it. I thank God for all the elements in my life right now. My family, friends, health, a stable, fun job even if it isn't the most incredible occupation in the world.  But it's not enough. I demand more from this lifetime. I want to change this world. I will change this world. There is nothing more important than that to me. No relationship, no person, it's just me and my purpose. I've got to find it. 

God please come with me on this journey. Help me to hunt it more aggressively. Don't let me stop until I'm tired and exhausted. Purge me of excuses, substances, of the people who will distract me from this burning desire that I have to relieve suffering and see my visions fulfilled. This is up to me and only me.