Thank you for visiting. I am a First Nations, US Marine, Father, Survivor, trying to be the best citizen I can be on the giant rock hurling through space. I hope to encourage others as I have been encouraged.
When I go out into the world I bring with me a heart in the form of a torch.
By nature, for whatever reason I feel the need to “play” the role of an illuminator perhaps a people pleaser.
Optimistically, I set up a stand and giveaway pieces of my torch like a food sample representative in a grocery store., some people are not interested, and throw it in the trash. Trapped in this hyper mode, I can often find myself with nothing left, but an ember.
With a dwindling torch I humbly return to those within my circle/my orbit who selflessly breathe the oxygen of love and understanding upon the ember of my soul, with each breath making it glow, once again igniting my hearts flame.
Dylan’s face had turned a pale shade of an old sock.
3 hours earlier as the aircraft door opened in Yuma Az, Dylan thought he had steppedinto an oven. He was blinded by the reflection off the tarmac and could feel his eyes dry out as if they were being blasted by a hair dryer. “It’s a dry heat alright,” he thought “but son uva bitch! It’s one hot Mutha! Thoughts wandered to his favorite movie “Cool Hand Luke” “Wiping it off here boss., Yeah wipe it off there Dragline”.
Cool Hand Luke:1967
Exiting baggage claim he caught sight of an overweight balding man holding a sign reading “Mr. Dylan.”
Dylan gave an assuring nod. “Mr. Dylan?” the man said.
Dylan said “That’s me! “I am Arturo your driver. Welcome to Arizona. “Arturo replied.
Dylan said “Glad to know you Arturo, Vamos! “
One hour later passing through the compound gates, the trailing cloud of dust blanketed the car as it came to a halt. Dylan stepped out. “Fine day to make a cool 20 grand,” he thought to himself.
As the dust cleared what appeared to be a 60 ft tall triangle-shaped spaceship stood gleaming in the desert sun. In shock, under his breath, Dylan whispered “What the holy hell?”
A galvanized ramp dropped from the spacecraft. Dylan hesitated for a moment thinking “Let’s get nuts” and walked up.
Seinfeld: Costanza mode
“Welcome aboard Mr. Dylan” a message over the PA system announced. We’ve been waiting for you”. “Hold on there Klingon-boy or whatever you are. Marrying an illegal alien for citizenship is one thing but holy sheep dip”! said Dylan. “I am Kubrick, the matchmaker “the voice replied.
“Well, Captain Kirk, the price of poker just went up to 100k.”. “No need to be patronizing. The name is Kubrick, and agreed Mr. Dylan, consider it done. “
Present day:
“Dylan, are you alright”? the Pastor asked. Standing at the altar with his knees locked had reduced the blood flow to his now clammy brow. “Never better padreeeeayyy”! Dylan squeamishly said. And down he went.
Dylan felt a cool rag on his forehead. The cocktail of cheap cologne and hair product mitigated the need for smelling salts as he came to. “Easy son, just take it easy for a minute”.. the pastor reassured. “Man, what a nightmare, I dreamt I was getting marriedto a space creature, you were there padre, and oh shit!” Locking eyes with his shotgun wedding bride-to-be for two seconds his gaze was interrupted by the blur of her clenched “The Hulk”-sized fist… and down he went.
Dylan felt a cool rag on his forehead and smelt the familiar cocktail of cheap cologne and hair products. Licking his swollen lip, he could taste the iron of his blood… “Hey Padre, what are you doing here? Man, I had such a nightmare… “
-Goroyboy
Had some fun with this one. Thank you to my WordPress mentor and muse Carol, for suggesting participation in this short story competition..
Looking out the window today , a crisp fall wind released a flurry of burgundy leaves, contrasting with the blue gray sky,, for a moment they emulated a small flock of finches dancing through the air on their seasonal journey to warmer spaces..
I have written about my amazing Mum in two posts, the first was Cherry Pie when I came to live with her full time at 9 years old. Feeling the cool fabric against my cheek in that cold bus station,she held me close, both of us unsure of what the future held. A second post Mum holds so many memories built from the time Mum showed up until this day.
Recently I gained the privilege of residing six decades in the form of animated stardust on this blue marble hurling through space. I have often referenced the legacies of my two dads Gerald and Tony. In Life Lessons (Sins of the Father), I highlighted the obstacles they overcame and becoming keenly aware that the torch had been passed, and the next generation would be watching ME. In another Legacy post, I shared that in my late twenties I had a nightmare of having to choose between my Dad and my kids.
The 1000 Yard Stare
“A dream that my father was still alive and had reverted back to substance abuse. He was reaching out to my boys with a somewhat crazed look in his eyes. It was a nightmare! I had to choose between the man who I had learned unconditional love from, and the precious beings in the world to me, my kids”
But First……
Those familiar with the premise of the book Subtle Art Of Not Giving a F*ck , might appreciate as I do, the ultimate challenge we face as humans is our own mortality. Our primitive instinct to survive conflicts with the thought of no longer existing. Simply put, We Fear Death.
For centuries and still today, millions of humans innate fear of death is pacified by organized religion with hope and the promise of an afterlife.
Paraphrasing Manson’s proposition: As we age we have to deal with the inevitable. Beyond getting right with the holiest of holies, another way of managing the stress of this “inconvenient truth”(apologies to Al Gore) is by finding a way to “live on, or “keep your spirit alive” long after you return to being stardust.
For the privileged few such as oil barons and captains of industry, some who (without batting an eye) built their wealth on the sweat and toil of the blue collar demographic, suddenly find themselves in their twilight years and just like that!, metaphorically transform into philanthropic pillars of society. Carnegie Hall., Rockefeller center, Medical center wings, and Science foundations cannot be developed fast enough.
Namesake buildings prominently forever carry their names, etched in in stone.. perhaps their names on the side of buildings is cheap insurance in case the promise of an afterlife didn’t “pan out” or in keeping with church doctrine, St. Peter sends them to “the other place “.
In Mansons sequel “A Book about Hope”, we have have three stages in life, childhood, adolescence and adulthood . As a child our instinct for survival is strong and selfish and totally dependent on others and the fear of death is instinctual. Adolescents feel immortal and are transactional in nature. Selfish but ambitious motives rooted in “what’s in it for them”? Always at the ready to trade up for something better. “Adult”motives for the most part aren’t transactional by rather based on a given set of values.
As now a Sexagenarian, and the dad of five, I see each of my kids move from one stage to the next. As Manson so aptly describes, my children were fully dependent, adolescents only did what served their interests but one thing Manson left out was the transition from adolescence into adulthood. Just as I did in my late twenties, with my dads, my “kids” have questioned some of my parenting decisions during their upbringing. Thinking of my dads, their response would have been a 1000 yard stare and that would have ended the conversation. Personally, at first my emotional brain prods the ego to act out until my adult logical brain recognizes this as a rite of passage. Personally I have not the means for philanthropic endeavors but take solace in the fact that as I pass the torch to eventually return to stardust, I have no regrets.
Low on the horizon, the sleepy fall equinox sun ploddingly awakens, bearing a gift before it’s winter nap.
Yawning and stretching, the celestial being prepares it’s brush with thick morning fog before dipping it into it’s spectral palette.
Blinking stubborn sleep from its eyes, our sleepy star warmly breathes fall colors into the cool morning breeze. The rolling mist carries splashes of crimson, orange and yellow on awaiting leaves.
Dripping wet leaves are heavy laden with hue. Prominent veins appear, telegraphing to Cardinals that winter, soon will be here.
“Whether in sport or life we have a choice whether to participate in either a finite game, or infinite game.” This is according to James Carse, author of Finite and Infinite Games,
The Finite Game: Within a given set of rules , there is a beginning and an end to the game where there is a winner and a loser.
When the finite game ends, there is a point in time where “The winner” claims a “title” of sorts.
“The titled are powerful. Those around them are expected to yield, to withdraw their opposition, and to conform to their will—in the arena in which the title was won.”
Carse points out that our society is a sort of Finite Game. Those who have money and property tend to feel “entitled”, which historically comes from a time where lords of the land held a “title”.
“Some titles are inherited, though only when the bloodline or some other tangible connection where the original winner had been established, suggesting that the winners have continued to exist in their descendants. The heirs to titles are therefore obliged to display the appropriate emblems: a coat of arms, identifiable styles of speech, clothing, or a certain lifestyle and behavior.
The entitled tend not to ask about philosophy or religion, but rather feel it’s their god given right to tellyou about philosophy and religion.
Carse continues that whether intentional or not, the entitled due their utmost to propagate the idea that the principal function of society is to validate their titles which assures their perpetual recognition as “winners”. The cultural refrain comes to mind, “don’t hate the player, hate the game.”
When you play a finite game you always have to prove something rather than relishing and enjoying the play. Carse cites 18 time grand slam champion Martina Navratilova’s reason for leaving tennis was not from the pressure of having to win but from the pressure of possibly losing.
Imagine taking away the end of the game.. this is what Carse defines as an infinite game. Suddenly with no end, there is no winner, loser, or title.
The Duke Brothers in Trading Places. A snobbish investor and a wily street con artist find their positions reversed as part of a bet by two callous millionaires. To Randolph Duke, losing his title was unthinkable.
Infinite game theory removes all titles. In the infinite mindset, all players are equal. An interesting thing happens when you remove titles, judgement no longer exists. In order for someone to judge you, you must first give them a title. If your finite game mindset bestows titles, putting other players on the “winners” podium, you have only yourself to blame.
I love the recent reincarnation of the Walt Whitman quote, “Be Curious, not judgmental” which inspired a line in the Ted Lasso series, “Only two reasons someone asks you a question. One is that they are curious, the other is to judge.”
“Barbecue Sauce!” -Ted Lasso
In the Infinite game, the end of the game transforms into a horizon, with life milestones along the way. Infinite game play is an open invitation for all to participate as long as mutual respect is shown and the willingness to engage with other players…one step closer to a harmonious society…
2am. The headlights of a dark sedan illuminated the honeysuckle hedge by the front walkway. Looking through the side window, the porch light reflected off the Marine officers silver insignia. Oh God NO!
We laid him to rest at Arlington.
6 months before he deployed, we laid the foundation of a cabin by the water. “This will be our family’s legacy cabin Pops”! “For generations”!
It’s been a year. I eased up to the shore on my paddle board. Whoosh Whoosh, a bald eagle landed on a log right in front of me. Overwhelmed, I began to weep.
Word count -100
Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle Wiscoff Write a complete story in 100 words or less based on the photo prompt. Click here for additional takes on the prompt.
The hunted winced as he tried to remove the blood crusted brick red gauze from his gunshot foot. Easing his foot into the cool creek water, the current softened the dried blood, allowing the removal of the bandage. Some of the pain subsided. Minnows darted at the suspended cotton fibers and coagulated blood particles in the water.
“I’m gunna get you Wabbit”!!!
“This guy is serious” thought Bugs as he hunkered down.
Word Count-70
Written for Rochelle Wisoff Fields Friday Fictonners challenge to write a 100-word story in response to a photo prompt thanks . You can find other storieshere.
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