hope less hope full

Hope is never lost.

Hope is willfully abandoned. It is cast aside in a last desperate attempt to free the soul of the relentless stiletto stabs of the unrealized unfulfilled, of continued disappointment from hopes dashed drowned destroyed. Once the soul is free from the burden of raising and nourishing hope it can find dark rest. No more hope no more pain no more time wasted dreaming.

Now the soul can peel the shimmering gossamer shiny blinders of maybe might be from its eyes and face the shocking stark reality of what truly is. No false hope to distort the real. What is, is. Face the facts suck it up life's a bitch.

Hope less.

This new unburdened hope less life seems easier, less painful. The relentless daily deaths from disappointed hopes are traded for a singular monolithic sadness of never will be. You are unpenetrateable. Desires light good free peace all repelled. Hope less you are self-embalmed into a dusty flakey hope less emotion less husk.

A soul can hibernate in a darkened hope less cocoon for years. All you know. Hope less.

Then one day, a single shocking drop of hope is deliberately desperately flung your way and in a flash moment where walls are down you allow it to penetrate because you just don't have the energy to resist. It hurts. It stings. It isn't what you're used to. It sings of maybe. Of life and yes and more. Hope full.

up up up

I was lying naked and scared on a narrow plastic shelf-like table that was protruding from the open CT scan machine. A thin white hospital sheet had been draped over me starting at my upper thighs and was tucked in all the way down my legs. To my right was a beige tray table on wheels. And on it was the biggest needle I had ever seen in my life.

up up up

The bad news and the reason for me lying there was I had a diverticulitis abscess the size of an orange on my colon. The even worse news was that it needed drained for a few days then surgically removed. And the absolute most awful news of that day was the spear-like needle the size of one of my Mother's knitting needles was going to be stuck in my lower abdomen while I was wide awake.

to a higher place

The two doctors, two nurses and three CT technicians were standing over me, glancing back and forth at x-rays and making marks on my abdomen with a blue marker. They were noting the exact spot they wanted to image with the CT scan. An IV was started with a mild sedative of Fentanyl. What? That's it? You mean I'm going to be awake during this procedure and all you're giving me is a mild sedative? Oh crap.

up up up

Everyone stepped out of the room as I was slid into the CT scanner while it hummed louder and louder. A small window into the machine was directly over my face and several red laser lights were sparkling and crisscrossing each other. A little sign next to the window warned "Do Not Look in Window During Scan". Great. Too late.

far beyond this time and space

A tinny voice over the loudspeaker ordered me to take a deep breath and hold it. Release it said. Now once more.....okay you can breathe now. The beige tray full of Mark slid out of the CT machine and everyone came back into the room. I didn't tell them I had been breathing the whole time.

up up up

The doctors were looking at the marks they had placed on my abdomen then looking at the CT scan pictures. Glance at my abdomen, point, muted discussion, make another mark, look back at the CT pictures. The shortest green masked person picked up the needle and held it over my face and began to explain the procedure that was going to take place. I have no fear of needles. But this was a 20-guage sheath needle. That meant it was hollow so a tube could be fed through it down to the abscess then out to a drainage catheter. That meant it was BIG. It meant that it looked like a javelin to me and everything the doctor was saying from that point on became garbled as I immediately began to flop sweat. I felt cold and nauseous as the beads of sweat went racing down my forehead. Another masked person pulled a chair up, took my left hand into both of their hands, bent down and began speaking softly into my left ear.

to a higher place

A soft, concerned voice that sounded like my cousin Lynn told me to imagine myself in a happy place. I was squeezing her fingers tight as my mind raced...happy place happy place omigod where's my happy place? Then it hit me. Right as she asked if I was ready I closed my eyes and went to the happiest place I could think of. A place that felt like home. A place where I felt loved and accepted. Calm, soothing piano music began playing and dozens of gentle voices starting to sing softly, slowly...a little louder...a little louder...and then I felt the doctor plunge the needle deep into my abdomen.

I feel my soul rising

I opened my eyes and I was standing in the third row of my church. The pews in front of me were filled with people. Reverend Michele was standing on the platform with two singers, they were flanked by enormous flower arrangements. Hazy warm light shone through the stained glass high above the back of the platform. I turned and looked to my left, then looked behind me. Surrounding me, beside me and behind me were people that I had grown to love in my short time at Creative Living Fellowship. There was Reverend Michele, Kimberley and Anthony, Dr. Peggy, Jean, Tammy, and Lonnie. They were smiling at me as they sang. We were singing "Up Up Up" by Daniel Nahmod. The music, their voices, their love wrapped around me like a warm blanket fresh from the dryer. We're all done. You did great Mark.

to a higher place

I didn't want to leave my happy place but when I opened my eyes I sighed in joyful calm as I realized I had a perfect place to go when it hurts.

RIP Gideon 1990 - 2009

I smuggled you up to my 12th floor apartment in a shoe box. You were tiny, just weaned from your mother, and so scared.

My psychiatrist recommended I get something to take care of because I was despondent and wanted to hurt myself. Something that would be dependent on me being around. I was living in dark days. I had left my position as Singles Pastor at my church and had come out as a gay man. Everyone in the entire church ostracized me except one person. One true friend who stayed by my side as fierce a protector as I've ever known.

So that's how you came into my life Gideon. You were named after Gideon from the Old Testament. "God is with you, you mighty man of valor."

I had the bathroom all prepared with food, water and a bed for you to sleep in.

I had never had an animal companion indoors before. Growing up all our cats and dogs lived in the barns.

You had other ideas that very first night and cried LOUDLY until I brought you to bed with me. You curled up on my upper chest and with your head on my neck you purred and purred until you went to sleep. I didn't sleep a wink that first night, so afraid I would roll over in my sleep and hurt you.

You grew and we bonded. You were with me through several apartments, 2 long-term relationships, and 4 jobs.

You kept all my secrets. Were always there for me to talk to. You gave such amazing unconditional love to not only me but to your little sister Lena. You were so gentle and loving to her. She was a broken, sick little girl and you were an incredible big brother to her.

19 years. You and I were together for 19 years until you got sick. It happened so quickly. We tried a desperate attempt to treat you but it didn't work. It was your time.

I held you in my arms that morning at Larkspur Cat Clinic as they gave you a sedative to calm you before the shot to put you to sleep. You lay in my arms and looked at me with your big green eyes. The same eyes that had looked at me for 19 years with such love and compassion. It only took seconds for your eyes to close and your heart to stop beating.

I love and miss you very much Gideon.

gourdhead

Gourdhead.

That's what my Dad would call anyone who did something stupid. Gourdhead.

We grew gourds in our garden. Once they were mature we would cut them off the vines and hang them up to dry. After several months they would be completely dry. You could shake them and hear the seeds rattling around inside like a maraca.

Gourdhead. Sometimes I feel like a gourdhead. My brains rattling around inside my head. Like when I do the same thing over and over but expect a different outcome each time. Or when I allow myself to be treated poorly by someone under the guise of friendship or family. Gourdhead.

Once the gourds were dry my father would then take a dime and a pencil and place the dime in the center of the widest part of the gourd and draw around it with the pencil. He would then take his pocketknife and cut the hole out. He would shake the seeds out into a brown paper sack and then place the sack in the seed cabinet in the garage to be planted next year. The gourd would be hung with twine on a tree limb near one of our kitchen windows and wrens would come and build their nests in them. With the hole being so small no other birds could nest in them. The same wrens would come year after year to build their nests and raise their young in the gourds.

When I do something good or healthy for myself I no longer feel like a gourdhead. Like when I go to church, or spend time in prayer, read an uplifting book, eat a healthy meal, or try a new and different approach to an issue or problem. Then I feel not like a gourdhead but more like one of those tiny young wrens peeking out the small hole in that gourd, ready to take their first flying leap into the world to freely soar as the universe intended it. And then one by one the young wrens strike out...doing something new...something bold and daring...taking that giant leap of faith, spreading their wings and flying up and away into the bright blue sky.

fishing in the river of life

My Grandpa and I were going fishing one Sunday afternoon. We were walking towards a small pond about a 1/2 mile from the gravel road we had pulled to the side of. It was about 10 miles from anywhere substantial. We plodded over several hills through the neatly clipped cow pasture . It was on Logan Hodge's farm, he was a friend of the family and the Deputy Sheriff for the county.

When we got to the small murky brown pond, no more than 30 feet across, I asked Grandpa what he had brought for bait. He reached into a big paper sack that he had been carrying and pulled out a huge package wrapped tight in white butcher paper.

He was unwrapping the paper very slowly and I leaned in closely in eager anticipation to see what mystery he was slowly uncovering.

With a quick flourish he simultaneously unwrapped and unleashed a giant pinkish red blur and slapped me upside the face with a rough, foot-long cow tongue. He slid the tongue over my face as he laughed uproarilously and I fell backward down the bank, almost into the pond before I caught myself in startled surprise.

A cow tongue! Grandpa had brought an enormous cow tongue as bait. He proceeded to take out his pocket knife and hack small bits of it off for us to use as bait. Gross.

...to be continued....

when life is craptacular

So how do you make it through a crappy day?

My day started out with me finding out the guy I had been dating is a lying manwhore. It really couldn't get much worse from that point on.

So what do you do when your day, your week….maybe the last several months have sucked? And sucked HARD?

Well, I can tell you what I do. No stupid platitudes…no "buck up little camper"….

I connect with friends. That connection…that conversation…can always be an important touchstone that grounds me in hope. So I make that call, send that IM chat message. It works.

I spend some time with my 2 cats. Two innocent, sweet, loving creatures that depend on me for everything they have. That innocence, that simplicity of needs, that unconditional love…it reminds me that I have responsibilities to stay focused on the now and stay grounded in my responsibilities to them and everyone else. I all need to do is pick one of them up and hold them to my chest, listen to their deep purring and feel their rapid heartbeat. That moment is priceless.

I take a hot bath with a good, mindless book. Nothing too mentally strenuous, but a good fictional story that takes me out of my current situation and lets me escape for a moment. Relaxing in a hot tub with a good book. It works every time. I have a library of books that I turn to in hard times. "In Tune with the Infinite" by Ralph Waldo Trine, anything by Ernest Holmes or Neale Donald Walsch.

I also have some songs on my iPod that are my happy songs. "Stoned Love' by the Supremes, "Love Grows" by Edison Lighthouse, "Justified and Ancient" by KLF, "Downtown" by Petula Clark,….I love my music therapy and happy tunes can definitely help my attitude.


I also have some other DVDs that are guaranteed to lift my spirits…."Three Coins in the Fountain", multiple Laurel and Hardy DVDs, "Hellboy" (okay, I LOVE the line "Sometimes all we freaks have is each other."), "Before Sunrise", "Drop Dead Gorgeous", the anime series "Cowboy Bebop"…. to just name a few. I would strongly recommend having a library of films that make you feel good. It doesn’t matter what kind of film they are. All that matters is that they make you smile, laugh, or feel good about life or yourself.

And lastly, "The List". It is a list of reasons to live. A list of goals, things I want to achieve, friends I have, dreams I want to come true….learning to ride a motorcycle, swimming on a beach in Costa Rica, living in San Francisco, having a loving and devoted partner, having 2 cats who love and adore me….you get the idea.

So when I have a particularly shitty day, week, month…or year (like this one)… I turn to these life preservers. Sometimes they only keep my head above water. But having my head just above water is much better than slowly sinking to the depths of darkness.

Depressed? Jesus can help.

Depressed? Jesus can help.

That's what the electronic billboard in front of the church by the freeway said. In twenty foot high sparkling letters.

Depressed? Jesus can help.

I didn't find comfort in the sign. I just felt angry after reading it. I've tried the Jesus remedy for depression and I can tell you that he didn't help me with my depression. I'm not talking about a sad feeling every now and then. I'm talking about wearing a thick, heavy, sopping wet coat of depression that you wake up wearing every morning and you go to bed with every night. I have been wearing the same coat now for over 30 years. I am so damned tired of wearing that coat.

I tried praying. And fasting. Sometimes for several days straight. And memorizing passages from the Bible. And having people lay hands on me in supplication to Jesus. I begged, cried and pleaded on my knees, for years, asking Jesus to take the depression away. The depression that I have battled every day of my life since I was a kid. The depression that runs in my family and drove my grandmother to "take to her bed", as people would politely say, for the last 20 years of her life. The same depression that causes my mother to isolate herself from everyone and everything, just a slow motion suicide as she withers into a gnarled and bitter old woman.

So, my question is, if Jesus has the power to take the depression away, but for some reason hasn't, doesn't that just make him a sadistic jerk?

What kind of God would choose to not answer my prayers and supplications? Is it just sport for him? Does he get off on withholding the answer to my prayers? Or do I need to do something…do I have to perform some additional act of faith? Were the years of prayers and fasting and going to church three times a week and memorizing scripture and going door to door witnessing and going down on the inner city streets talking to homeless people and prostitutes about the wonder working power of God…was that not enough? Do I need to do even more? Would it be more entertaining to him and perhaps catch his favor if I jumped through flaming hoops like a circus poodle?

How about simple faith? Just believing and trusting in him…not trying to do any good works…will that do it? I have sat in quiet prayer and thanked him for taking it away and getting up and walking away in faith believing. But it still comes back. Same as ever.

Depressed? Jesus can help.

What a condescending, irresponsible Hallmark greeting card platitude. Am I angry? Yes I am. I have been lied to. For over 30 years I was lied to. I was told that once I asked Jesus into my heart that he would heal all my hurts and pains. I was told that he loves me unconditionally and all I had to do was pray to the Father in the name of Jesus and God would hear my prayers and because he loved me God would answer them. I've not been praying for a Ferrari and a house in Bel Air. All I've asked for is that God would take away the depression that has decimated my family and has eaten at me all these years.

After being told "no" for over 30 years I have stopped looking to Jesus for the answers. Giving myself the freedom to look elsewhere and freeing myself from a belief system that held me in bondage are the first steps to finding the help I need. I am no longer going to look outside of myself for the help I need. The road to my healing leads within.

Depressed? I can help myself.