Helpless

Vulnerability is something that I have never been comfortable with. Who is? Opening that door that leaves you virtually naked and exposed is something nightmares are made of. It’s horrifying to reveal yourself to the world about a feeling that can be construed as a weakness. And yet I still felt the desire to share what it means to me when I feel helpless.

There is one occurrence that perfectly exemplifies on where the feeling of helplessness always seems to guide me. On a recent cold December night, everything was as it normally is. My wife was busy cleaning the house preparing to host her family as we usually do on Christmas Eve. My oldest son was taking his bath and my youngest son lay curled up next to me on my bed while we watched the Bears lose another uncontested game.

Suddenly my five-year-old let out a shriek of pain as a piercing stabbing sensation tore through his stomach. Immediately, he looked to me for comfort and I responded like most parents do with reassuring words that he would be fine while rubbing his back to calm him. The usual sequence of events that come when a child falls ill quickly transpired. I’ll spare you the details. But even after all that, his cries of pain didn’t lessen, and his stomach was as hard as a plate of steel. He was in such agony that he couldn’t even walk which triggered me to bundle him up and rush to the hospital.

Those fifteen minutes felt like hours as his pleas for help were ones, I had no answer for. That’s when the dreadful sense of helplessness began to seep in. Yet I held onto the perspective that everything would be fine once we got medical assistance and that seemed to keep the horrid feeling at bay for the time being.

Trying to remain calm, I was thrown into a slight panic when no parking was available in the ER lot. Not wanting to waste another minute, I parked in an unauthorized space, so I could get my ill child in as quickly as I could. Given that I was uncertain on the severity of his condition, I felt time was of the essence. Upon check-in, as my son clung to me with his arms around my neck still in agonizing pain, I was promptly given a choice of taking him back into the car with me and finding a space in the garage or leave my five-year-old alone in the waiting area. I was dumbfounded that they would even put me in such a predicament especially since my vehicle was not obstructive to anything.

I was basically useless to my son. If his condition worsened, even within a short time, he would at least be near medical personnel, so I sat him down in the chair closest to the nurse registering patients and darted for my car. Although I knew it would perhaps only be five to seven minutes for me to park and race back, I felt like I abandoned him. I couldn’t shake that feeling despite knowing he was in better hands than mine. I don’t think my feet had ever moved as fast as they did that night. My primary responsibility in life is to protect my family and I felt like I was failing miserably. That monster of helplessness began to surge inside me with greater strength.

I wanted to burst through the revolving door like a runaway train, but I somehow remained composed. When I rushed up near the registration podium, my adoring little boy was sitting there waiting patiently for me trying as hard as he could to hold back his tears. His small soft voice let out that his stomach still hurt as he reached up and latched back onto me. He was urging me to do something. To fix it. Make him feel better. I could do nothing though but hold him close and wait.

Fortunately, the wait was not long. We were escorted to a room and told that the doctor would be in shortly. The definition of shortly to a parent that had already endured too much time of not being able to ease their child’s discomfort however is different than those that are not emotionally shackled. Help could not come soon enough. My son’s suffering intensified and his pleas to make the pain go away did not stop.

I kept telling myself that they would be able to remedy his situation quickly or at least set my mind at ease but the concerned look on the doctor’s face after evaluating him only escalated my fears. He ordered an ultrasound and we were whisked away to a part of the hospital that felt like it had been abandoned.

My son struggled to remain still causing the ultrasound tech to increasingly become frustrated. Time and time again, he had to start over attempting to get some insight into what was happening. After five grueling tries, he finally had enough images to evaluate. The tech exited the room without uttering a word and left us alone wondering if anyone was going to take his place in monitoring my child’s condition.

The setting of the ultrasound room was like a scene out of Stranger Things. The main lights remained off while only small soft white and blue lights illuminated the corners of the space. My son looked like a mere shadow as he turned towards me and pled once more for me to do anything to ease his suffering. Waiting for direction from the medical team, I felt trapped in this isolated wing of the hospital. At least in the ER, the medical team’s presence made me feel that I was not alone. But now, there was no one I could turn to. No one to share the burden and the guilt of not being able to cure my son of whatever was ailing him. Throughout the night, my trepidation that it may be something serious built to this moment and I was at the breaking point.

My son’s head fell slowly to the side weakened and exhausted. The pain he had endured finally had gotten the upper hand and I thought he was about to pass out. Just before he closed his eyes, his soft voice whispered, “I love you, daddy”, and that monster, that beast, that maniacal feeling of helplessness surged through me from head to toe and consumed every inch of my being.

It was as if his words were a pardon. In that moment, I felt worthless. All I could do was watch him whimper more. I turned to the only thing I could while stranded in that cold dark chamber. I sought aid from something you can’t see. Something that I’m not even sure is there. Something I personally refer to as the great spirit.

The creator, God, Allah, whatever one may choose to refer to that being outside of our concept of space and time. As always, I had turned to the spirit as a last resort. My last reach for a long shot. And it was in that moment as I held my son’s hand that I questioned why it was only in times like these that I tried to tap into whatever connection to a faith I have. The answer was on the tip of my tongue just as I finished the question in my mind. It was because I reached out whenever I felt this massive and all-consuming feeling of helplessness and all I was left with was hope.

Hope that there’s something out there that can make up for my ineptitude. But I carry a guilt each time I have cried out for this aid. I feel ashamed that I don’t stay connected to this relationship. Why should I be helped when I so often abandon it? Is that what I really deserve? I found myself once again conflicted between a philosophy and a blind belief. When reading Emerson when I was young, the idea of self-reliance resonated with me. Whatever I wanted to achieve in life I felt would always come down to my will and determination. I couldn’t rely on some unseen force in the universe to lead me to the end of the road I wished to travel.

Perhaps it was an overreaction, but here I found myself on that road feeling threatened that my son’s hand potentially would not stay within my grasp for the rest of the journey. Within that moment, my will and determination meant nothing. It was crippling to have this revelation that my self-reliance was not enough for him. Whatever ability or knowledge I have had no bearing on my child’s health. I had no choice but to accept that feeling of helplessness and rely on whatever hands could be impactful even if those hands perhaps are ones I cannot see.

After analyzing my son’s results along with additional tests, we were placed in isolation. They concluded that they would simply observe his condition because none of the tests indicated any significant problems. As the night crept steadily closer to the morning sun, his pain began to lessen, and his stomach was no longer a plate of steel. What was so frightening, and debilitating was finally subsiding and simply diagnosed as a severe stomach virus. My three hours of hell ended abruptly and without further worry.

As I stayed through the night and into the morning with him at the hospital, I could not shake off the contemplation that struck me so boldly in the ultrasound room. I walked away that day with a resolve that it was time for me to maintain that spiritual connection beyond only times of need.

When I look back, I wonder if perhaps that is all what faith is really about. I still don’t consider myself to be religious because I associate the term more with its’ institutions and their consistent hypocrisy. This experience though has somehow had a more lasting impact on my perspective. Maybe religion, faith or belief is just a product of what we all are – simple beings that are vulnerable and helpless. Maybe because of that we feel that there is nowhere else to turn and hope that we’re not alone. Hope that something truly is there to help and guide us down whatever road we have taken when we cannot control the obstacles that are thrown in our path along the way.

COLORS

It’s fall and the annual transformation of the trees is a sight to behold. A beautiful array of varying shades of red, yellow and orange spread across the landscape. As I drive down the road, cars are lined up and waiting in a line half a mile long outside a popular arboretum for the opportunity to catch just a glimpse of nature’s beauty and its’ many colors. And yet I wonder how many of those same people don’t appreciate the varying shades of us.

As children we are essentially color blind, so what is the trigger that develops misguided perspectives of each other. It’s something that has baffled many of us within our society for so long and it haunts me personally to an extent because of my own faults as I matured over the years. I definitely allowed stereotypical perceptions to cloud my own views in my late teens. It wasn’t until I hit a reset button within my mind and started anew that I began to hunger for and appreciate the many cultures that make up humankind. And it’s that last point that somehow gets lost in our society. We are all human and for all our differences, at our core we are the same.

This goes beyond race although I will return to that thought. In a desire to understand what had driven a wedge between us for centuries, I took on the endeavor of reading and studying the three major religious texts over the past decade. Being raised by Catholic parents, I began with the Bible. Not being a Christian myself, I still appreciated the perspective, its’ teachings and the historical stories it shared. Immediately after, I delved into the Quran. What amazed me afterwards is that most of what I had been fed by the American media in how the Quran preached so much violence couldn’t have been further from the truth. I felt like I was reading the Bible all over again as one story after another was told of Moses. Naively, I felt the Torah would provide a more significant difference to the old testament, but there I was again, reading the same stories. The same teachings. So how did these religions with such similar foundations grow to have such large factions that loathe their counterparts? Enough so that one’s religious beliefs provide somehow a justification to wage war against another. Are we such pack animals that we simply adhere to the rules of the pack and lack enough individualism to break the mold and seek inclusion and understanding of all beliefs?

To the day I die, I’ll remember when I commented on my observations to a Christian after reading the Quran. I simply summarized that when you took a step back, the only significant difference is one believing Jesus to be the son of God and one did not. Their abrupt and condescending retort was ‘that is a big difference, don’t you think? One you can’t overlook and why they need to hear and understand the truth’.  What truth? What makes one right and another wrong? They were so devoted and blindly faithful to the pack that they could not see beyond the narrow differences in beliefs. I understand that the faith in Jesus being the son of God is the essence of Christianity and I respect that. But why does that one piece close off so many from at least rejoicing in the similarities of their counterpart faiths? Why does that belief provide in their perspective some type of superiority that was driving a cause to send missionaries to Muslim countries in attempt to convert people to what they held onto as the only truth and salvation? Questions that have plagued others like me in the middle for centuries.

But let’s now return to race. The colors of our skin which are just that – colors – pigments. They do not define us. They are simply a way to describe how we look. Although nonsensical to me, I can somewhat wrap my mind around religious groups to have such divisions since those beliefs are so engrained in who they are and incorporate such passionate feelings. But why then would a Christian of one color despise and seek out to cause harm to another Christian simply because they were a different color? And I’m not talking about white hate versus black. Racism is and always will be a multi lane highway between all cultures. According to a study in 2015, fifty three percent of the world’s population identified themselves as either Christian or Muslim, so what I dissect from that is too many have no real comprehension then of their own religion to breed such a hateful society. The teachings of those two religions if read and studied properly and not influenced by someone else’s interpretation do not preach hate and violence despite what some politician or jihadist leader may want you to believe.

If you’re reading this and you are dismissing my perspective that this a problem that plagues humanity, then you have that right. Some may believe that I am exaggerating on my observations. That our society has come a long way since the civil rights era. That we are more accepting and understanding of others, but I do not see that at all. Although subtle, I believe we have taken multiple steps backwards. The things I heard said to people of Spanish origin after Donald Trump was elected was appalling. Children are locked in cages at our borders. African Americans continue to be targeted by our law enforcement agencies and are being incarcerated at an alarming rate versus other races. I hear the snide remarks and comments about the large Indian population that makes their home in my area. Native Americans are still castaways in this country with little to no representation. They are essentially considered second class citizens. The U.S. government continues to break treaties and ravage their land if it means lining the pockets of major corporations. Asian women are being exploited and trafficked at a rate that rivals the African slave trade days. And all of this driven by one simple difference. The color of our skin. People feel that they can do this to others because they are inferior in some way. Like they’re not really people because they’re not like us (insert whatever group you want for us). Again, this is not just white transgressions. A teacher friend of mine who is white and works in a predominantly black school mentioned to me once the struggle she went through daily in trying to change the perspective of her students that viewed white people as the cause to any of their problems. But somehow, she was different. According to her students, she didn’t get lumped in with other white people because they knew her, and she wasn’t like other whites. That’s just it. Too many people simply don’t realize and don’t care to see that those they are misperceiving, mistreating, enslaving or disrespecting are just like them because they don’t truly understand the individual within that race or care to try.

I am from an Irish Catholic family, born and raised in an area that is probably ninety nine percent white in the middle of Illinois farmland. I loved where I grew up. I fit the basic stereotypes of being an Irish American country boy (takes a sip of bourbon then goes back to typing). My wife was born in Manila, was an immigrant to the U.S. when she was very young and raised on the west side of Chicago. Her family is what you envision as a stereotypical Filipino Catholic family. It took me months to remember every cousin’s name and which Aunts and Uncles were actual blood relatives and not just part of the weekly prayer group. Other than being raised Catholic, we couldn’t have come from different worlds. But at the end of the day, our two packs both love to put a pig on a spit, drink and have a good time. Playing poker in a barn now turned into playing poker in a basement of a small bungalow. Our cultures really weren’t that different after all.

None of them are. Yes, we have our differences. Our communication, our food, our customs, but get out of the details and see the broad spectrum of each. Music, stories and art bind us all. Every one of our celebrations are accompanied with food, drink and dancing. What I have laid out here in these thoughts is simply a plea to everyone. Take the blinders off. Remove any preconceived notions of other cultures and religions. Seek to understand than to be understood. Thanksgiving is just around the corner and I am thankful that our kind – humanity - has such diversity. If we all looked and acted the same, how boring would that make life be? It is easy for people of different cultures to find common ground to understand one another and begin that exploration of each other. We can’t continue to allow these acts of hate and prejudices to meander unchecked in our society no matter how small they may be. It is festering just below our feet and it is boiling up to the surface threatening to splinter through and divide us even more. Be conscious of that threat and meet it head on. Discrimination and hate are not just somebody else’s problem. And the first step to mending that tear within our society is to approach each morning like a beautiful fall day. Encourage everyone around you to take a step back and gaze at the year-round beauty of our colors.

Vox Arboribus

     I want you to stop for a moment and think how you feel, not from an emotional perspective, but physically.  As most of you are, I assume, probably in good health, there is strength within, alertness, cognition and other qualities you would expect from someone or something that is alive and well.  Now imagine a sickness penetrating deep inside you.  Havoc and pain run wild within every crevice of your once healthy body and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.  Helpless and vulnerable, you wish you could cry out for help, but your voiceless and your dark inner fears of dying imprison and overwhelm you.  One might consider everything I just described as over dramatic after confessing this is how I imagine the earth feels today and the sickness is us.

      I don’t for a moment absolve myself as part of the problem.  For most of my life, I am as guilty as any in my over abundant consumption with little regard on the consequences of my actions.  Even as I write this now, I’m still not as discerning, as I should be, but the recognition of that failing behavior has catapulted me forward in changing even if it’s just a little each day.

      It’s difficult to admit you’re essentially a cancer until you view its’ definition – a disease caused by an uncontrolled division of abnormal cells in a part of the body.  The influence, manipulation or rather uncontrollable grip we have on this living, breathing earth is abnormal.  Instead of existing as one with it, we have stripped it of most it has to offer and discard haphazardly all of the filthy waste that’s left behind.

      This behavior of ours is something that we not only should change, but rather something we need to change.  Let me be clear that this plea I’m making is neither to debate climate change nor the various things that can be done from a political standpoint.  Answers and execution of solutions are rarely if ever from the hands of politicians.  Typically, when policy makers are involved, there’s a financial gain for them or their contributors disguised as an attempt that they are doing something good and in the best interest of all of us.  Research the American Wind Energy Association members and their taxpayer subsidies as an example.  I’m also not naive to think that restricting our growth and development for the perceived and potentially arguable interest of the planet doesn’t at the same time hinder economic growth and financial stability.

      The changes I wish to see are for us to simply be smarter about how we live and how we continue to develop.  It’s what we do as individuals in whatever positions we hold in society that can make a drastic impact on a large scale.  We shouldn’t rely on a change to happen because of a regulation or policy is instituted.  My whole point is for each of us to embrace the meaning and definition of conservation.

      The action of conserving something, in particular – preservation, protection or restoration of the natural environment, natural ecosystems, vegetation and wildlife.  In my opinion, it’s a point that I believe everyone can agree on since it is a matter of simple common sense that our resources that this earth provides are not infinite and without them we no longer exist.  Isn’t it just an intelligent logical approach to conserve what we have and use it sensibly?  There’s so much room for opportunity in almost everything we do whether it be from small things like the quantity of toys a child has that are typically discarded, as they grow older or are cheap inexpensive throwaways from a happy meal.  Roughly ninety percent of all toys are made of plastic and the majority of that from plastics that are not recyclable.  Or even on a bigger scale, you can turn to our unnecessary demand of large portioned meals and inevitable waste that produces a consistent strain on the farmer and rancher to deliver a more robust product ultimately potentially taking measures that could prove detrimental to our health in order to meet that demand.

      There are a variety of topics that I will address in future postings in greater detail, but today I want to provide perspective on what is most sacred to me.  Growing up in a small town, I was fortunate to be raised on five acres of land resting in the shadows of a mature forest.  The area around our home was dense enough that when most kids were out until past eight o’clock because they were told to be back in the house before dark on a summer day, we would be back by six.  I loved being surrounded and protected by the tall wooden giants that I knew from birth, so it causes me great pain to see them be under constant attack and completely disregarded of their importance.

      Protecting forests is one of the oldest conservation movements we have and yet so many within our society continue to ignore it.  Anybody with a basic elementary education understands that trees help produce oxygen.  Yes, oxygen, the life-supporting component of the air we breathe and need to exist.  As an added bonus, in order to produce oxygen, it absorbs carbon dioxide, which of course is harmful to the environment when it accounts for too much of our atmospheric gas.

      Today, there are roughly three trillion trees.  That sounds like a whole lot, but let me provide you with some perspective.  There are multiple ways that science can break down how much oxygen a tree can produce and every tree varies, but here are some ballpark statistics to consider.  Keep in mind that there are varying studies pertaining to this and there are an even greater variety of the results from those studies.  I spent hours researching multiple organizations and came up with the rough estimate that it takes forty trees to provide enough oxygen for one person in a year.  As of 2016, there were reportedly 7.4 billion people in the world.  With our roughly three trillion trees that means as of today there are basically four hundred and three trees for each of us.  That’s great news.  Three hundred and sixty three to spare, but of course population is rising at an astounding rate and so is our deforestation.

      At one point, nearly forty eight percent of our land was covered with trees.  Today, it is roughly thirty one percent.  Most of that deforestation is happening in Brazil to clear land for agriculture and livestock.  Remember me stating earlier our over consumption of food can improve?  I’ll get back to that at another time.  For now, I want to focus on a very simple solution that can aid in slowing this trend.

      Despite the clear problem that has been discussed for years, unfortunately our society still to a large degree ignores their responsibility.  In my own experience, I’ve had to literally dive into the garbage to remove sheets upon sheets of paper and transfer them to the recycling bin that sat right next to it.  My son’s elementary school, which I can only imagine how much usage of paper products are consumed within a school year, has no recycling program.  How does a well-funded school district residing in a community with single stream recycling not recycle?  How many hotels and restaurants have you been to without a hint or trace of a recycling program and just imagine the quantity of paper goods consumed at such establishments?  There’s no reason why this should be happening. There’s no reason why you can’t use both sides of a piece of paper or why businesses can’t take better advantage of technology to eliminate paper based processes.

      With every sheet carelessly tossed away, our demand for the product leads to downing another tree and yet there seems to be no outrage or defense in stopping this atrocity.  It’s as if “save the trees” is just an old fad and so it’s really not a problem anymore.  For those that are out there and think this way, you couldn’t be more wrong. Paper is one of the easiest and most accessible resources to recycle, so there is absolutely no reason why we cannot take this step forward in conservation.  If we don’t, just imagine our world without trees.  The image of that should be horrifying because to imagine a world without trees is to imagine a world without us.

Into The Depths

Shattered and vulnerable the watcher falls deep into the depths

The restraint of the light left behind and a road of fire ahead

Voices speak words that only he hears

While landscapes erupt from a strayed imagination

Strong and bold, the lion climbs deep into the depths

Throwing itself to the dark willingly

Forging his effigy from the fiery road

While the watcher grips the reins

Entwined yet detached two souls stand

Drums of passion pounding in each

The beast, wild as it is

Strangely submissive to the mind of the other side

Into their depths draws a war of souls

Grasping onto slivers from the hands of time

Only to breach the heart of the creator

Confused and weak, he steps onto the ledge

A genesis of energy emerges

The watcher and lion upon its' powerful wave

Allied and harmonious as they grip the roots of the heart

And from the depths, a soul once lost is found

Forever conscious that it is home

Open Eyes

It’s a title that haunts me.  This will be my third piece that has gone by the name of Open Eyes.  My first was a screenplay that frankly was poorly executed and never saw the light beyond a semi-final of a screenwriting competition.  My second attempt was a song that was meant to be featured in that film and yet between the two, I feel that I still have only captured a glimpse of what I’ve been trying to say.  How can I put into words that we need to change our perspective and appreciate life for the simple beauty and truth it reveals to us every day?  And how can we do that when not everything is as we would want it to be?

I place myself at the front of the line that fail in what I’m trying to basically preach.  Like a moth to a light, I’m lured to look at everything else that swirls around me.  I miss the days when I would sit at the base of a tree alongside the river and blankly stare at the water pouring gently over the rocks.  I’ve allowed everyday life and expectation to pull me from that serenity.  Why?  Why am I like this?  Why is our society like this?  Why do we crave to go beyond the simple necessities of life and refer to that as a pursuit of happiness?

And thus this title of Open Eyes and this ideal that it is to me brings me back to that question once again of what is happiness?  Do we settle for the answer that happiness is whatever it means to you or is there some consistency within the foundation for all of us?  Are we meant to be truly happy or is this life just a trial to earn our place somewhere else?  These questions bombard me especially around this same time every year as our society becomes deranged with the lust of materialism and expectation that love is expressed by the giving of an object.  I’ve grown to almost despise the holiday of Christmas because of it.  Is this an example of what we define as happiness, running around crazed to purchase things for others that already have their basic necessities met? 

What about those that don’t have food on their table or shelter over their heads?  They seem to always take a back seat in this “time of giving”.  If we were to ask them what is happiness what do you believe their answer would be?  If you wrap a blanket around a man who has no home in the cold of night, is he one step closer to his happiness?  I only assume those that for whatever reason cannot meet their basic needs have a very different perspective on what happiness is and why should their definition of happiness be different from those that are more fortunate?  I’m sure I’ll receive responses to this question of how do I know what happiness is for the more “fortunate”.  I’m relatively confident that in our culture today, I would not receive the answer of food, water and shelter from most people that earn a living wage.  I believe most to an extent take those things for granted.

That confidence comes from my daily interaction with our society.  Because of my viewpoints, I will never share publicly what it is I do to support my family, but it involves working with people and a lot of them at that.  I enjoy what I do and enjoy working with people, but I am not blind to the slow descent our society has taken into irrational outrage and hate that I witness day in and day out especially when most of the events that spark this behavior are trivial.  And that’s before I even turn on the news or see horrific videos through social media feeds.  I ponder so often after these moments as to why these people are so irate.  At the end of the day, I know their basic necessities have been met, so why the rage and indecency? Why is the communication so disrespectful and hateful?  Why does it seem that they are so unhappy?

My conclusion always leads me back to perspective.  Their eyes are not open to what I believe is the one consistency that is at the foundation of true happiness for all of us and it comes down to three simple words.  The little things.  I am an owner of plenty of nice material possessions, but before my body is given back to the earth and I reflect on the things that made me happiest in life, it’s the little things that will make the list.  That soft beautiful sound of a cello, the hysterical laughter of my children that echoes through my head even when they are not with me and nights that I shared with my closest loved ones that were filled with maybe nothing more than a nice glass of wine, good music and a fire.   Only a few examples of my little things among countless other moments in my life that accompany the fact that every day I have good food to eat and a roof to cover my head.  At the end of every day, my only struggle is to remember to open my eyes and really see those things in front of me.  The simple truth of what the little things of life are. Beautiful.  And that is happiness.  You just need to open your eyes.

Purpose

The reason for which something is done or created or for which something exists.  Many of us will advertise or have our stagnant statement of what our purpose is.  Others will claim that they are still pondering the thought when they can find brief moments of silence.  Whatever category one may fall into, I have found that ultimately most will return to the flock like lifestyle that many have chosen as how they will "exist". I don't mean to be judgmental for I have fallen many times myself into the drifting state many of us call life.  If only there were directional signs each time we felt like we had reached the end of a road.  I don't understand and I struggle with why so many breaths are taken in and pushed out alongside moments that are rather meaningless and insignificant.

Or are they insignificant?  Does every moment serve some purpose and we just choose to ignore it?  Is every action or thought that we have, no matter how trivial it appears to be, play a critical role in our grand scheme?  Piece by piece, shaping the puzzle that is put together which is us as individuals.  What is my purpose?  How have all of these moments in my life given me direction on why I was created is a question that runs through my mind as if it was a song on repeat.

For so long, I searched for the answer and didn't see that all of my moments, my lessons, my feelings and my dreams were being captured all along and pouring onto a page with the ink of a pen or a stroke of a keyboard key.  They were being shaped into stories, music, poems and random stream of consciousness statements to an audience of one; myself.  And what purpose did that really serve?

I move forward now to share those moments with whatever audience is willing to listen via my various media platforms including this blog.  I am taking the proverbial shot in the dark that perhaps one of my experiences, my mistakes, my thoughts may lead to inspire, provoke or bring meaning to someone else's purpose.  Do you have or feel one that is real and not forced upon you or expected by what you believe society wants? For without one that is real, you may be something that is created, but doesn't truly exist.  That is one of my greatest fears and it drives me to be who I am now, so that all of my moments are not meaningless and insignificant as I reflect upon them when that final breath is pushed out.