Tag: change

He Called Them Duraznos

August 17, 2022 / Tom

He wasn’t born there, but there he was. He sat anonymously among the trees and plants and people who spoke some other language, wondering what the fuck had happened to bring him to this place. We was raised poor but surrounded by a wealth of friendship. One day, out of nowhere it seemed, he had been forced to leave all he knew to exist in a place with nothing but trees and plants and people he could not understand.

No one asked him his opinion about moving from his urban-ish freedom to the confines of a farm. He felt alive riding his bike with his friends, free to roam the streets of his small neighborhood, playing games and plotting pranks. His mother would give him money to ride his bike to the local deli to get small groceries. At times he would be allowed a small treat for his effort. The only instructions were, “Bring me the change!”

Then his mother remarried, and everything for him had changed. Now we was confined to the vastness of this new place, with nothing to plot and noone to plot it with. He just sat there, contemplating each of the 8 years of his life, wondering what he had done to deserve this purgatory. It wasn’t bad, mind you, but it was different and as he was to discover later in life, change was hard for him.

Later he found he hadn’t moved a great distance, but through 8 year old eyes it seemed as if he had moved a galaxy away. When he’d ask to go see his friends, he was told that it was too far and to forget them as though they had never existed. The phone would not be able to call those left behind. The mail would not deliver his letters. Nothing, it seemed existed before this new place where nothing but trees and plants and people who spoke a different language could be found.

The Peach Tree

In his loneliness he wandered about, trying to figure out what all of this new shit was. What became his new “family” didn’t seem to want to know him. He felt an outsider, and they didn’t seem to care. Everywhere he went he felt alone and misunderstood, like a foreigner in his own skin, alive in a place minus all he had ever known.

“This sucks,” he said as he kicked the trunk of a peach tree. He sat under it’s shade, playing with the hard and rotting fruit that had been stripped to the ground below.

A man, darker and larger than most the boy had seen, walked up and smiled. The boy sat, staring at the man, unsure of what to do or how to do it.

“Duraznos,” the man said, his smile beaming with excitement.

“Huh?” the boy replied.

The man reached up and pulled a peach from the tree, and sat beside the boy.

“Duraznos”

“Dur-azz-nose,” the boy repeated, the best he could.

The man laughed. “Si! Yes! Muy bien!”

The boy just shrugged his shoulders with a look that said “I have no idea what you are saying.” The man understood and repeated, “duraznos.”

The boy understood that. “A peach,” he said. The man laughed and said, “Si, a peeeech.”

The boy and the man laughed. It was the first time the boy had laughed in days.

The man pointed at the peach and then at the boy’s mouth. He handed the peach to the boy, and the boy took a bite. The peach was delicious, and the boy took another bite. He then handed the peach back to the man, who also took a bite.

“Mmmmmmm,” the man said. Now that the boy understood.

Someone yelled for the man in that language the boy did not understand. The man got up, swatted the grass from his pants, and smiled.

“Duraznos,” the boy said.

The man smiled, and replied, “peeeech”. He then gave the boy two thumbs up and went back to work.

A Lesson

The boy walked home, not feeling as sad as he had. Later, as a man, he never forgot the soul who spoke a different language nor the kindness he had offered. The man didn’t care that the boy didn’t look like him or speak his language. He just saw a boy who looked sad and decided to brighten his day. The boy decided to return the favor the best he could. The man shared a durazno, and the boy shared a peach.

The remarkable thing is that kindness, no matter what it is called, means the same thing to everyone. It also tastes sweet, and gives those who need it most just a little taste of something wonderful. And that was the lesson. The boy didn’t need to understand someone to know kindness, and the man didn’t seek anything but some kindness in return. They both just needed to show up, and change the world.

““Your acts of kindness are iridescent wings of divine love, which linger and continue to uplift others long after your sharing.” ~Rumi.

The Twenty Tens, A Decade of Wild Change

December 31, 2019 / Tom

The Twenty Tens were a decade of wild change, wild discovery and wild growth. The old normal turned into the new normal, and what seemed certainty was replaced by a certainty that nothing ever is. I’ve learned a lot over the last ten years and for that I am grateful.

A disclaimer. Although I will post this before year officially ends, be certain that I’m not counting my chickens before they hatch. If the Twenty Tens have taught me anything, it is to never count on what is not yet real and to never believe something has happened before it does.

Although a little faith has never hurt anyone. A valuable lesson learned.

The decade started out normally enough. I was married with children, living in a nice home in Southern New Jersey. I can remember ringing in the New Year with the banging of pots and pans, a few kisses and hugs and the normal amount of forgetting to write “2010” on my checks instead of “2009”.

Everything seemed wonderful. As so it was.

There Must be a Fire for the Phoenix to Rise from the Ashes

As I’ve said, the Twenty Tens were a decade of wild change.

Within a couple of years the company I worked for would declare bankruptcy and I would be getting a divorce. My life crumbled around me and I wanted out. My walk to end it all didn’t end as planned, but that is a story for another day.

I would rise and survive, learning to peel away the layers of shit I’d wrapped around me. I threw away the stench of my childhood and the behaviors that went with them as I created a new code to live by.

A couple of years later I would have two near-death experiences. The first was heart related, the second brain related. That was a remarkable metaphor for what needed to change in my life. My heart needed to heal and to open; my brain needed to stop dwelling in the past and future. There was so much to enjoy right now.

In the moments that culminated in what has been termed a “miraculous recovery” I fell in a deep love affair with me. For the first time in my life I loved myself. It was a gift of love that spawned from loss and a lesson in life born from nearly dying.

There must be a devastating fire if the Phoenix is to rise from the ashes.

Wild Change – A Big Move

Less that a year later I would be fulfilling a deep desire to live in Colorado. Miracles all fell into place to see that happen but the long and short of it is that my ex and my youngest kids moved here too. I was working 4 jobs in New Jersey at the time and had no idea what I would be doing once I moved to Colorado. All I knew was that I needed to be here.

With some sadness, I turned in my firefighting gear and said goodbye to a 25-year passion. With joy, I sold most of my possessions, loaded up a moving truck, and left my home State of over 40 years. I left the beach, friends, family and all I knew to venture into an area I had only visited, where I knew no one and had no history. All I knew for certain was that I heard a voice inside me that told me this had to happen and that it would be all good. I trusted that voice.

Within a couple of weeks I had a job in insurance, obtained the required licensing, and had made a few acquaintances. Mostly, though, I began to challenge my body on the trails and began to really know myself in the mountains. The voice had been right, and I’ve trusted it ever since.

The realization of the desire to live here has given rise to a blossoming I only once dreamed of, and a continuation of the recovery I have seen my entire life.

A Great Love

That blossoming has led me to a great love. I’ve been blessed to watch my children grow to wonderful teenagers. I’ve been blessed to see my oldest find herself in her 20’s. All three are wonderfully powerful presents who teach me daily about life. Their smiles raise me, their challenges pain me, but mostly their individuality inspires me.

I am truly a blessed man even in my imperfections. Check that. Especially in my imperfections.

The blossoming also led me to my heart’s mate who, ironically, lived back where I moved from. I believe I was destined to move here and I believe she was too, for we as kindred souls move well among the wildflowers and the breathtaking views. The words we translate from our souls speak the same language, and we compliment each other quite well.

What a great space we now share.

I’ve seen the power of a wild moose, walked paths with elk, hiked alongside chipmunks, told stories to mountain goats above the treeline and felt the energy of native peoples course through my soul. I’ve share an embrace where I once walked alone and shared visions with the unseen that walk beside me. In those rare moments when I pause to look behind me I cannot fathom from where it was I came.

A lost child is a securely found adult and a wounded heart beats strongly. This once-tired soul has found its second wind. What once seemed impossible is now a daily experience, and what once bore wounds into my heart are now-forgiven memories.

What a great love it is.

Beyond Today – More Wild Change?

I honestly have no idea what is to come but I am excited to find out. The Twenty Tens certainly proved to be a decade of wild change. I can’t wait to see what this new decade brings.

I know what I hope to accomplish and I know what I’d like to see. Yet, for all my wants I realize that

A New Religion (Somewhat Mature)

October 27, 2016 / Tom

Memories often fade as lonely raindrops on a desert’s sands. There are moments, though, that survive the brutal nature of our journey, and give rise to something new. Something we remember in every vision, in every touch, and in every way mere mortals can be reminded of their infinity.

I remember this. There, in the twilight shadows of a life that has found harmony within itself, I remember. I have felt it, and I feel it now as something courses through my Being, onto the canvas that now shares these words in a way that will never be erased.

I have felt you, my love.

I remember the first time I touched you. You were standing there, that smile, that body, that aura. We hugged, and you held me for a while, allowing those things we share but rarely talk about to have a communion of their own. I could feel your breasts against my chest, your hands pressing hard against my back. Soon, our hips were touching, as your head fit nicely on my shoulder. We rested there, forever in a moment.

It was there I first held the form of God, and it was there I had found a new religion.

I remember the first time I felt you. Really felt you. We were making love, you on top. I had lost the sense of where I was. No compass worked within me, and the room around us had blurred in the moment. I could see only you as I enjoyed your pleasure as your face contorted and your lips moaned with each endless movement. I reached up and pulled your head closer to my own, and we kissed. Our breath mixed, our bodies meshed, and as our lips parted I held your face in my hand. Our eyes met, and it was like some magical circuit had been completed.

Our bodies had joined below, our souls met in the union of our eyes. It was there I touched the face of God for the very first time, and it was there I practiced my new religion.

No person would ever need meet my demands again. You were free, completely. I would love you without question, but I would never own you. I would hold you firmly in my arms, but never seek to place you in a box. It was through you I found that love could not be focused like a laser without destroying everything it touched. Instead, love must be like a star shining brightly in all directions. What it touches, it reveals.

When my ego’s fears would shout ill-advised words into my mind, I would refocus my attention on the soft whispers of love spoken directly to my heart. When fear would raise its ugly head to bite this wounded man, I would calmly seek the soft attention of a man who’s healed himself. I would not cater again to the fallacies I had been taught. Instead, I would stand upon new ground, on a new earth, that I, myself, had formed.

Upon that ground I built a sturdy altar, one that looks like nothing ever built before. In its many forms we lay, we sit, we stand tall, our lips embraced as our bodies tell a sacred tale. Upon that altar our sweat becomes a nectar of the gods, and that music from our lungs a sweet song that caresses every corner of the heavens that we share.

I have felt you, my god have I felt you! In the massive quakes and sultry rattles in my entirety, I have felt you. Shaken to dust are the ornate fixtures of my life, and torn to bits are the crimson, silky fabric on which I once would lay my head. Arisen from the rubble stands a naked man, bloodied and caked with mud yet clean and strong to his very core. It is that man who kneels upon your sacred space, uttering not a promise save the one, forever truth.

I love you.

Such a wonderful place to worship, such a beautiful place to kneel! There, amongst the weathered trees and misty clouds bearing the wicked winds of impermanence, I have found my truest faith. There, amongst the piles of the charred bridges I have burnt away and the rusty remains of ideas I have since all but thrown asunder, you stand as a testament to what was always meant to be.

Such sweet songs we sing.

The Truth of Me

March 7, 2015 / Tom

I’ve been quite a few things in the short time I’ve experienced this life. I’ve been a sensitive boy, an abused child, a raging lunatic with a violent streak. I’ve been in trouble with the law, an altar boy drinking wine in the sacristy, a cheater, a liar, and a man afraid of who he was. Mostly, I’ve been an unhappy soul left foundering in a sea of his own despair, blaming everyone else for the suffering in my life.

I have memories of little bits of truth that came out through the bullshit. Like the time I secretly cried after a fight where I had knocked someone out. The time when my daughter was born and I felt love for what seemed like the very first time.

There were many instances of truth, but they scared me into grasping at the lies. I truly loathed who I was, and in that self-immolation I would try to be whomever you wanted me to be. I was, of course, doomed to failure.

A liar isn’t, in my experience, someone who gets off by lying. I just hated who I was when I was telling the truth. There is no moment of peace for the liar. In my case I relieved the voices of my youth always telling me I was not good enough, strong enough, handsome enough, fit enough, or tough enough to exist. I needed to be everything I was taught I wasn’t, so I lied.

One of my best friends reminds me often of my lying self. He tells a story of when we first met, and how much he hated me. I had created a shell of toughness, one that often instilled fear in those around me, one that often created the space I needed to exist in. I put out an energy that said, “fuck with me and I’ll hurt you”, with the size and swagger to back up that energy if you challenged me.

So, this man disliked me. Or rather he disliked the liar. Then, as he puts it, he talked to me. Somehow, some of my truth must have leaked through the cracks in the shell I had created. As a result I gained a friend, someone who’s been a trusted, beautiful person in my life for well over half of it.

Someone who I love dearly.

Someone I will always cherish.

A cheater isn’t always someone who gets off on cheating. In my case it made me sad beyond words. Yet, there was always that horrible fear I had in trusting someone else with my chastity, my faithfulness. I had seen people I trusted, those who were supposed to teach me things like love, chastity, faithfulness, and honesty do some of the most horrific things. I wasn’t going to be anyone’s victim, so I’d act out in ways I thought would give me control. Instead, I became an asshole, not to be trusted, and ruined some of the most beautiful experiences of my life.

And, yes, I played the victim. I was not, I was the victimizer who had grown a false strength through playing the victim. I thought I had an excuse when, in fact, all I really had was a choice.

It’s hard for me to write about these things given my current state of being. My life has changed so dramatically from then until now. I look back on the casual and not-so-casual debris that litters the fields on which I’ve walked and feel a tinge of sadness. Such sadness is only tempered by the realization that nothing in this life is permanent, especially when a man realizes his own power of choice, and the power of his own agreements.

A coward is not always a coward. Sometimes he just needs to find something to fight for. Similarly, misdirected people are not always misdirected. Sometimes we can finally take the compass out of our pocket and find our true direction. At some point and time the voices that send us off on wild goose chases can be replaced by our own strong, steady voice and our choices reflect the power in our purpose, the strength in our hearts, and the truth of our being.

All of us are, after all, liars. We hide feelings that make us vulnerable, or temper our opinions in the fear of offending others. We choose to wear suits when all we want is to put on sweats, or heels when all we want is a good pair of slippers. We stay in relationships that no longer serve us, often catering to voices not our own, trying desperately to make them happy.

Which begs a question. Do we even trust ourselves? Are we so busy wondering if we can trust the other person that we’ve lost sight of the fact that we no longer trust ourselves? Have we become so accustomed to hearing the voices of others in our head that we no longer hear our own?

How many of us have caved to a fear later proven unjustified? How many of us have fallen in love and never told the object of our affection? How many of us never even board a plane to jump out of, even though free-falling through the air is all we can think about? How many of us tell ourselves that we have no choice but to work for the bastard who refuses to pay us what we are worth, or that women deserve less money than men, or that all blacks must be doing something wrong to be harassed by the police?

I know, I am getting off on a tangent. I guess my point in doing so is to show us all that not one of us can truly throw a stone at an accused, and that not one of us lives in a house completely devoid of glass.

That’s not to say we must keep liars and cheaters in our lives, or maintain an abusive relationship with a liar and cheater because we, too, are liars. Instead, we must do what is best for us out of pure love for ourselves and, yes, for the person lying and cheating. They may, like me, have to lose everything in order to gain the truth of who they are. Suffering is a wonderful springboard to great things if we simply choose to focus less on the suffering, and more on the lessons that suffering is there to provide.

There is hope. If I can transform from a lying cheater into a man of principle and honesty anyone can. It’s about self-love. I love myself so much that I see nothing wrong with my truth. In fact, I see each example of fear that predated this transformation as something that was completely necessary, something I needed to experience for some purpose yet to be uncovered. I can’t change anything I’ve ever done. All I can do is understand what purpose the experience brought into my life, and what I should do with the lessons I have learned.

Remember, all of us are transformed from perfect, loving, honest babies into something else. If this is true, we can transform those parts of us that make us unhappy simply by choosing to and then practicing something different.

Today, when I am told I’m an asshole, it’s for a far different reason than in the past. I’m usually too honest, and people often don’t want to hear the truth or the way I offer it. I have not yet learned the subtle art of telling the truth without giving someone a blade to cut themselves, but I am trying. I don’t mean for my words, my thoughts, or my truth to hurt you, and I realize I can’t. All I can do is be me, what you decided to do with that is your business.

I am, yours, in complete honesty and truth. I’m mastering my own voice, not yours, so the process is a bit new to most, especially the easily offended. Still, I trust in the journey, and realize all I ever need do is tell the truth of me in the moment. There is great power there.