Mystic flux

I see the apparitions before me, they live, they breath Do they have, as I am told, a Light I do not see Or are they, in fact, dark like me? Live, Love and stay WILD my friends

My fingers through her hair I ran Her passions wasted on my lost soul Aware and empty I searched for lies Still expecting it to fall in place Projecting what I do not feel Intention Love Hope

These are the trails I was hoping to groom for bike riders, life has been too interesting to make progress on the plan but I will continue to make an effort to get back there soon. Live, Love and stay Wild my friends

Faith, what did you think miracles were made of?

How many of you have had the dream where you find yourself in high school, say English class, and you suddenly realize you're not wearing pants? That's a pretty common trope for our collective insecurities, there are many such indicators that we share at least some collective unconscious, either on a cultural level or a metaphysical level. The question is, which? Live, Love and stay Wild my friends.

I could feel the catharsis slice through the haze of alcohol and wash away reality in a way that no drug can match, the sadness for me is knowing there's a better way and wanting to save everyone. It may sound crazy to play Atlas, but with the weight of the world on my heart. Live, Love and stay Wild my friends

Some hindsight for you... 1} 320lbs & suicidal 2} 250sqft of squalor, reality TV type filth 3} An encounter with Kat's titties 3.1} Faith that I was worth saving 4} Cogitation 5} Dissociation 6} Revelation 7} What would Karma do? {duh, help people of course} 8} Abandon direction This brings us to last September and the first incident that confirmed the existence of spirits from the other side who were able to show me signs that were for my eyes only. The Prime Directive of my Odyssey has been that whatever I need, I must help someone in order to get it, part of the Taoist influence coming through I tink. {sic} I was talking to Wayne on the phone, he was telling me that he had to go to Collingwood to take apart a wheelchair ramp for one of his mother's friends, the sadness in his voice was unmistakable. He's a passionate stoic like most of the men on both sides of his family so he was reticent to admit that he really didn't want to go. I

A Kid in a poor neighborhood's at the library where he finds a book on Buddhism that really appealed to him. As he starts to learn more he decides to set out to meet people who've met the Dalai Lama. He made his way to New York where Richard Branson was giving a lecture, as Sir Dick came out of the lecture hall the young man got his attention, excused himself politely before asking, "What's it like to meet the Dalai Lama?" Branson gushed about how he was such a warm, wise and humble old soul. The young man thanked Branson and wished him well. Next he made his way to Toronto where Bill Clinton was appearing, knowing that the secret service would not allow him to approach unannounced, he found an agent outside the gala. He explained what he was doing and the agent was able to pass the message up the line and Bill was only too happy to sit down with him for a minute. What's it like to meet the Dalai Lama? Clinton told the young man that he was funny

Ok, it's easy to say that you have a grand plan but, unless you show people how to connect the dots, nobody's going to listen long, are they? If you don't know my story, this is all part of a plan to get over a near fatal case of depression by living an interesting life, a life in fact so interesting that Seth Rogen will want to play me in the movie version of my memoir, Sweet Oblivion, Tomorrow Sweetwater's Odd Odyssey into Oblivion. Here's how it works... Step 1. Become happy, in my case this required what I call an intentional dissociative episode or what is known in mysticism/writer's craft as ego death, it's a rough process when you have to admit that everything you've been trying to accomplish hasn't meant anything, you're just not getting better. Basically I decided to become the corporeal form of Tom Sweetwater, Imagineer, this meant that I'd simply channel my inner artist and figure out what comes next using Tom's inspired

Alone in the woods with not much hope, I built a fire to warm myself and dry my gloves, fell asleep and burnt them to a crisp. Why I asked, why should I carry on? I got no answer that night for my heart was filled with doubt, I knew the safety of my car wasn't nearly as far as my imagination made it seem but the snow was deep and I was beat. This was not the first time I'd hit the advanced stages of Fuck It however, I'd seen enough madness to know that it would all work out. Somehow. The wanderer understands the side that remains hidden, has humbly walked a noble path and been rewarded with a glimpse of what's to come. We may not understand, we definitely can't explain but, "as is true of all is true of some" {and vice versa in an unorthodox, relatively Taoist fractal manner of speaking but I digress}. Zany Janey tells me we're drawn to those who act like us, they become our peers, our social circle, our friends. The mystic wanderer is no differe