Sunday Sermon [Moral Inventory]

Hola Everybody,
Today… Three for the price of one… 

If God lived on Earth, people would break his windows.
-- Yiddish saying

Hillary Clinton has had to have one of the greatest Fridays evah. On the day that WikiLeaks dumped thousands of emails, many highlighting her servile speeches to her corporate backers, the biggest story has been that Donald trump managed to say “pussy” about ten years. BTW, the major news media have not reported on the WikiLeaks dump. Only conservative outlets, desperately grabbing for anything in light of Trump’s incompetence, have given any ink or airtime to the WikiLeaks revelations. Still, here’s one item that bears repeating.

Apparently, Hillary Clinton believes that black people are “professional never-do-wells” incapable of success “irrespective” (sic) of the opportunities they’re given. Partial transcripts show that she made this racist and shameful statement to a group of Wall Street elitists who all share the same views, and she was paid hundreds of thousands of dollars to make it. There’s more, a lot more within the WikiLeaks dump. Read about it HERE.

That’s one…

File this under the “First as tragedy, then as comedy” files: The MSM, which has missed everything of any importance from the lead-up to Iraq war, to the disclosure of government files that shows we're actually run by a shadow government, is treating anything that Trump says as if it were the modern-day equivalent of Watergate. Considering we’re a surveillance state, drone bombing innocent women and children is the norm, and we’re completely under the thumb of the financial elites, this utterly ridiculous.

That’s two…

Recapitulation

 The secret of a warrior is that he believes without believing… to just believe would just exonerate him from examining his situation. A warrior, whenever he has to involve himself with believing, does it as a choice.
 -- Don Juan Matus (Carlos Castaneda)

I’m almost afraid to post this one, but I think some people will benefit. Others might use it to torture themselves, so caveat emptor (“buyer beware”).

Carlos Castaneda’s Yaqui teacher Don Juan illustrated an exercise that he called recapitulation. I’d read about it a long time ago, and had forgotten it. However, as part of my own inner work, I do a similar exercise at the end of my day. 

At the end of your day, place your chin on your right shoulder. Very slowly swing it until it’s resting on your left shoulder. As you do this, review the significant events of the day in chronological order. Don’t do this as a way to relive blame or justify your actions of the day. Perhaps before attempting to do this, you might some work in the area of self-acceptance. 

If you do this consistently with an open mind and heart, resisting the impulse to judge, eventually you will uncover habitual patterns, perhaps even see future developments, and confront your rigid belief systems (i.e., I’m always right, I am worthless). This exercise is meant as a conscious effort to transcend your defense mechanisms and perhaps obtain a glimpse of your genuine or higher self.

I would add that when you find you have acted wrongly or unwisely just admit it; don’t waste time defending it, or compounding it, simply admit it. Conversely, especially if you desire to stop the cycle of dysfunctional patterns, don’t beat yourself up about your transgressions. Punishing yourself will only embed the habitual patterns more deeply.

Alternatively, you can ignore all this until you grow old and realize it’s all been an elaborate sham -- this persona you mindlessly create and defend.

Either way, you’re gonna haveta confront this ma’fucca sooner or later.

That’s three... 

My name is Eddie and I’m in recovery from civilization…

Monday Madness [The Myth of Freedom]

Hola Everybody,
I have a few job interviews set for this week, one being a second interview. I don’t pray, but you should pray for me. LOL

The Myth of Freedom

Falling Water, house designed by Frank Lloyd Wright

A man is either free or he is not. There cannot be any apprenticeship for freedom.
 -- Imamu Amiri Baraka (1934 - 2014)

Many years ago I once became lost in a national park in Connecticut. I was in my late teens-early 20s and a busload of us city kids planned a trip, and we all trekked up to some park in Armpit, USA. I am a dyed-in-the-wool city boy. And when I say city, I mean city. Please, I’ve traveled around this country and some places that use the term are laughable. Yes, I am a NYC snob: for a long time I considered anything above 14^th street Hicksville. Anyway, I grew up in the city and the first time I saw a pig live, I thought it was a cow! When I thought of pigs, what came to mind was that pig Arnold from the 1960s TV sitcom, Green Acres.

Whatever… 

Anyway, as soon as we reached our camp site, always the adventurous one, I convinced another poor soul to go exploring with me. Long story short: we became lost for close to 48 hours. What happened was that we kept walking in circles. There was this lake not too far from the camp, you see, and I (being the Brainiac of the two) decided if we followed the lakeshore, we would eventually end up where we started. 

The thing was we kept walking in circles, not around the lake, but within a confined space. We realized this after hours of walking because we kept seeing a rock formation that looked eerily familiar. The reason for that was that it was the same rock formation! By this time, it had gotten dark and there was a pronounced early October chill. To compound matters, my poor friend had inadvertently fallen into a cascade that hid a cave and he was freezing. After a little deliberation, we came to the conclusion that the cave was the best place to stay for the night.

We had nothing -- no matches, flashlight, compass, food, nothing. Even if we had a compass I doubt we would know how to use it. Eventually, we had to stop because of that annoying country tendency towards complete darkness. I mean, you can’t even see your own hand in front of your face. Fuck! To make matters worse, I swore I heard a wolf’s howl. I’m serious! Now, I don’t know if wolves actually exist in some Connecticut state park, but to this day, I swear I heard a howl. In addition, I didn’t make things better by voicing my conviction that the cave we had taken refuge in was very likely some Grizzly bear’s home.

So, there were, hungry, cold, fearful, and lost.

the next day we somehow found our way to a road, and by then our people had a whole posse looking for us, which ruined the trip for everyone else. We walked down the road until we came upon some ranger in a car who then proceeded to ask us if we had seen two Puerto Rican kids walking around lost… DUH?!?! Hellloooo?! Fuckin’ hicks… 

Of course, being philosophically inclined, I found all sorts of metaphors and meaning behind our little adventure, while my companion, who was freezing to death, cursed me the whole time. Still, it fascinated me that left to our own devices, we kept walking around in circles. Shit, we tried to walk differently, making lefts, where we had previously made rights, and still we walked in circles. What does that say about our own habitual patterns, I asked my friend, as he conjured new swear words for my edification.

For the next fifteen years of my life, that incident was to become a metaphor for how I lived: doing what I wanted, how I wanted, when I wanted, and mistaking that for freedom. I think many people mistake “following their bliss” for freedom when in actuality walking around in circles without a compass is the ultimate prison. It’s the ultimate prison because though we can’t see the bars, they exist as surely as real prison bars. In a very real sense, we’re all “doing time,” in some way or another.

True freedom, for me anyway, takes practice. Actually, it takes a set of practices that serve as a guideline and map to freedom. Walk around rudderless without direction long enough and you’ll find you’re creating the same mess repeatedly.

Habitual Patterns

I like to say that I became free while I was incarcerated and this is very true. Many years after that incident in the woods, I was incarcerated at a maximum-security facility. I’m not proud of that, but I have to admit there’s some irony in this story -- at least for me there is -- so I find some humor in all this now. It was early spring, my favorite time of the year, and I was in a prison yard looking at some mountains and feeling really depressed about being locked up.

Then it hit me... I was actually free. Just like that! I realized that though the state could control and confine my body, only I could give the permission to imprison my mind. It may not sound like a lot to you, but for me it was transformative experience. The fact that I could choose to be free no matter where I found myself blew me away.

Looking back, I understand now that it didn’t happen all at once, that my epiphany that day wasn’t something spontaneous. I understand now, my realization came about because of the work I had put in, but it hit me that day like a bolt of lightning in the middle of a completely dark country night: I was free. Free, right then, at that very moment.

It was amazing. I could choose to be free! This couldn’t be true. Nevertheless, I felt it in the very fiber of my being, this freedom was real, alive, a part of me, a part of my heritage as a human being. When I went back to my cell later that day, I shared my revelation with my neighbors and they all started laughing at me. They were, like, “Eddie, you in prison, bro.”

And they were correct, of course, at the gross (vs. subtle) level of reality, I was incarcerated. However, my realization was that while I could be coerced into prison physically, only I could give another permission to incarcerate my heart and mind. What I saw clearly for the first time that day was that I was giving the prison authorities this permission to take my mind, to imprison my heart. From that day on, I became free and my life, even within the prison walls, changed dramatically. I no longer felt at the mercy of sadistic prison guards or all the other insanity that goes on in prison. From that day on, I was free -- really free -- and all my interactions reflected this realized freedom. What happened was that people began responding to me differently: guards, who previously were able to press my buttons, didn’t know how to deal with the newer, free me, for example, leaving them confused and anxious.

Other people incarcerated with me would ask why I looked different: was I exercising more, did I gain weight? Eventually, my freedom permeated my immediate surroundings and those in contact with me began doing their own inner work, in the process transforming our collective prison experience. The effect was so palpable that I was eventually transferred from that location because I was deemed too dangerous. But by then it was too late, even in solitary confinement, they couldn’t take my freedom away.

I became free that early spring day and though there are times I choose to give up my freedom -- especially when I come into contact with people with hate in their hearts -- I have chosen freedom more often than not these past 25 years. My personal liberation, I have found, is not individual, dedicated solely to me, but instead it comes with a responsibility and an awareness that it affects everything around me. That other prison we all share, the myth that we are separate from others, has also dissolved and as a result your personal liberation is also important to me.

Ultimately, I have learned that my freedom demands I choose happiness. I never even knew I had that choice. It is my responsibility as a human being, actually, this choice. This is why I always say that everything we ever need for our happiness exists right here, right now, this very moment… this very life. This is true whether your prison is made of concrete and bars or psychic defilements.

My name is Eddie and I’m in recovery from civilization…

The Friday Sex Blog [Sex with Your Ex]

Hola mi Gente,

If you can, please check my brother-from-another-mother Nathan Lee Nathan’s new sci-fi novel [click here for more info]. Let’s support independent authors.

Today is Friday and it’s all about sex here at the [un]Common Sense blog. A woman once sent me a question regarding doing the nasty with an ex…

* * *

Sex with Your Ex

Love has reasons which reason cannot understand.

 -- Blaise Pascal

Ahhhh… we’ve been there before: the last kiss, fling -- whatever the case may be -- and suddenly we find ourselves clinched and, more often than not, confused under the sheets with an ex-lover. I was famous for this since at one time emotional investment wasn’t one of my priorities. In some cases, it still isn’t. I’m just more honest about it. And yes, I can enjoy sex for sex’ sake. I’m no breeder.

Let me say right off the bat that the cliché that men fuck to fuck and women make love for intimacy is bullshit. People, if you have decided it’s not your preference or not within your morals to engage in sex outside a committed relationship, that’s a choice and not a biological imperative. And I’m not here to tell anybody what to do. If you want to lock it up till “The One” comes along? Hey, whatever creams your Twinkie. I personally find that I’m not compatible with such women because it’s my personal view that people who disengage from sex do so because there’s an anti-sex bias lurking underneath all that. And please don’t get your knickers all atwist: that’s my personal opinion gleaned from limited experience. I find breeder sex boring (though for a long time, I never turned it down).

Anyway, taking into consideration how we can oftentimes mistake “playing house” for real love, and feelings can get hurt -- especially if your values conflict -- perhaps having sex with your ex isn’t that good of an idea.

Besides, having a fling with an ex is different than with someone else, since there’s usually some measure of emotional baggage. After all, they are an ex for a reason, right?

Still, the fact remains that, whether through a chance encounter or an idea germinating in that committee inside that pretty little head of yours, sex with your ex can be an alluring possibility -- irresistible even. Even if he (o she) wasn’t the best lover, whatever spark you may have felt for your ex may seem compelling. This is especially if you’ve prematurely “retired” (or what is known as sexual anorexia) until “The One” arrives, or are on the rebound from another relationship. How many of us have actually considered sex with the psycho ex-boyfriend after a few cocktails, and in the heat of the moment?

Come on, now, don’t get all new on me, ladies (and gentlemen)… 

And if he was the best lover you ever had, one you still fantasize about when you’re attending to your neglected needs? Then you really should forget about it. The hard truth is that having sex with your ex can be playing with fire on too many levels for it to be the right thing. Strong feelings will surface. You might find that you long for him in ways that will throw you for a loop. You might have to fight an overpowering lust, especially if you don’t have sex as often. (And people? Having sex every leap year doesn’t count as often).

Powerful, sex-triggered hormones in your body can fool you, if you’re not attentive, into thinking you’re falling in love again and you will suddenly develop amnesia about the reasons why you kicked the ma’fucca to the curb in the first place. The fantasy of “happily ever after” always lurks in the background. You will be thinking of only the good times, and of course, there’s that tendency for thinking about what could’ve, should’ve, would’ve been, and what might still be…

::SMACK::

Stop that! Wake the fuck up!

There is a reason, possibly several, that this trifling ma’fucca is your ex, even if he broke up with you. And having sex with him will predispose you into forgetting about those reasons. Physical intimacy can have the effect of bringing back feelings you think you’ve buried, which can be confusing you and cause you to make decisions you will later regret. Even if you think you’re strong enough and enough time has passed to have some nice sex and leave it at that, the hurts, the longings -- all the baggage -- will replay in your mind long after the burst of passion has gone.

The important question is: will you be able to get on with your life if this little tussle in the sack turns out to be no more than a relationship’s final curtain? Can you truly close the door again after opening up the Pandora’s Box (pun intended)?

If you have the slightest notion that going back to bed with your ex is going to rekindle your relationship, heal all the wounds, right all the wrongs run (!), don’t walk. On the other hand, if you have genuinely resolved any issues, then there’s no downside, you’re enough of a warrior and intelligent enough to engage and keep it moving.

Still, I would encourage some focus, regardless of your gender. Sex with your ex, people, won’t bring that fantasy you had back. Unless he’s been doing some major work on himself and his issues, he’s likely the same trifflin’ ma’fucca he was when you guys broke up.

My name is Eddie and I’m in recovery from civilization… 

The Curse

I have written about physical punishment countless times before and I’m always horrified with the belief systems of a majority of the people I share this society with. Some people here are very creepy…

* * *

The Curse: Patterns and Spirals
“Forgiveness is another word for letting go.”
-- Matthew Fox

Learning forgiveness, both granting it to others and accepting for ourselves, is one of the primary tools for spiritual growth. For many us, if we are honest enough with ourselves, taking a look at our history is to be plagued with deep-rooted feelings of guilt. We may develop insight, or we finally open to the possibility of being accountable for some of this history, which opens us to a new perspective on life. As human beings, we may also yearn to undo our mistakes. However, many of us carry guilt for years as if we deserved to continue to be punished.

True growth means letting go.

My experience has shown me that it is not until we learn forgiveness that we can stop the patterns that have been handed down from generation to generation. I'll give you an example from my own personal history. I was blessed with two beautiful, intelligent, caring, and courageous parents. The fact that I’m living the way I am today is a testament to their legacy of courage and determination against sometimes great odds. I am very grateful for what they have given me. I honestly believe that if I were to carry my mother on my back for the rest of her life, I still would not be able to repay what she has given me.

However, both of my parents were abused as children. For example, it was a common practice to make children kneel on uncooked rice, or to be hit with a switch until they bled. That’s considered a form of abuse today, thankfully. My father was orphaned by the age of seven, having lost both his parents to disease and was subsequently raised by an older sister who was barely older than him.

I was raised in a home where the specter of violence was always just a moment away until my mother was able to escape that hell. I had seen too much violence before I was even five years old and It took me a long time to even begin to understand all any of it. I loved my parents dearly, as I know they loved me, but there was a lot of abuse and feelings of horror and abandonment in my childhood. I simultaneously adored -- worshipped -- and hated and feared my father, who could be loving and angry to the extreme. My mother, also a sweet and loving person, was quick with her hands, often smacking me in the face, eliciting within me feelings of hatred, which I then felt guilty for harboring.

People today are always amazed at my ability to size people up. I’m often right on point with my ability to analyze people, even if I choose to look at the better side of human nature. I’m no fool -- don't let the suit, tie, and smile fool you. LOL But the fact is that I first learned how to read people as a child. I had to for my own survival because I had to know if the most important person in my life was going to hug or hit me. So I learned to read the body, listen for tones in the voice, check the eyes. I had to become good at this.

Growing up and listening to my mother’s screams or being subjected to physical punishment myself, I would promise myself that I would never re-enact these abuses to others. At those times, I hated my parents and felt guilt about that hate because they were my parents and I was taught that it was wrong for me to feel what I felt.

Years passed and I found myself the primary caregiver to my own son seven years of age. Imagine having me as a father! LOL!!! Whatever! I like to thin that my son and I had a great relationship. I can be very entertaining, to say the least. I think early on my son had a huge crush on me and adored me and I tried my best to develop a relationship based on unconditional love and honesty. I guess only my son can adequately answer whether I was successful or not.

One day, he came home with a report card that I felt wasn’t reflective of his abilities. My son was a gifted child but, as with many brilliant children, he lived in his own world, the “real” world sometimes being very boring. I was the same way. As a child, my mother would send me to the store and I would disappear for hours, causing a family hunt and more often than not, I would be found sitting somewhere daydreaming, or staring at the intricate patterns cracks made on the sidewalk or cloud formations. Anyway, that day I was feeling a little drained and I was feeling very frustrated because here I am, I'm thinking, busting my butt, stressing the importance of education to this kid and he’s not getting it!

So the more I’m talking to him, the angrier I get, and the angrier I get, the more boundaries I trespass. Eventually, as I feed on my frustration and anger, I’m cursing at him, raising my voice, and talking to him in a way I never did before. Heck, in my mind, I want to take him over my knee and spank the shit out of the little fucker.

All the while, there’s a part of me that’s “watching” all of this -- a kind of inner witness -- but my body is in “fight or flight” mode, and I can't stop myself. By now, my son is crying and the more he cries the more frustrated I become and somewhere I know I'm losing control, that I’m going somewhere deep and dark and my son is terrified...

But all I want to do is kick this kid’s butt!

Just then, my son -- voice quavering and his body trembling -- my son pleads to me, “But Pops I don't understand, what do you want me to do? Please, tell me... ”

And my heart just melts right then and there because I look at my son’s face and see the tears welling in those beautiful blue eyes and at that moment I'm overwhelmed with love for my son. At that precise moment, I saw reflected in my son’s eyes, my own inner child and was vividly reminded of the horrors and trauma of my own childhood. It was as if his plea awakened me from an unconscious or deep-rooted rage and I became terrified myself.

Feeling as if I have awakened from a bad dream, all the fears, all the rage dissipates. I take my son in my arms and hold him tight, repeating over and over, “I’m so sorry... ”

You see? This is how patterns are repeated. I often say we're probably playing to scripts that were written generations ago.

That moment served as an awakening or epiphany for me because I realized that I had to find resolution with my own demons. If I didn’t, they would get passed down to my son and those that I love the most. Before I could be the father I wanted to be, I had to forgive my own parents, and let that rage go because that abuse was so powerful a force that it threatened everything that was important in my life.

I had to let go.

Fortunately, I was able to do that -- at least to a certain extent. I was also able to speak to my son about my own fears and how sometimes when he didn't do well in school, my fear was that he would eventually suffer as I did. It was an irrational fear, but that’s where my head went in those moments when I became most angry or fearful. I believe my son is a good man today, having gone to college and attempting to fulfill his dreams as a musician. I know now that I never had to hit my son for him to respect me, though sometimes I convinced myself that I had to. I am certain that he respected me, not because I terrified him, or beat him, but because he internalized the value of trust. One day, my brother called me from Florida where my son was staying for a couple of weeks during summer vacation. It was late, about 1 AM on a Friday and I asked if everything was okay. My brother told me that he was at a Blockbuster video rental with my son and that he had offered my son the chance to pick out a porn flick. He told my son that it would be their secret and that I didn’t have to know (grrrrrr… ). My son’s response was, “I can’t do that because my father and I respect each other and that would be wrong.”

You see, it wasn’t fear that stopped my son, but respect and love. Eventually, I learned that my anger stemmed from a deep-rooted fear – probably the fear I experienced as a child in an violent home and community.

Did I become the “model” father after that day? No!!! LOL!!! But that day I began to try understand to importance of forgiveness and the practice of letting go because letting go is not just something you do, it's something you become.

Forgiveness is not saying that what you or someone else did is OK. Rather, forgiveness is a state of being in which you allow yourself to get rid of the fear and rage through a long and slow, but necessary process. The price you pay for not letting go is pain, not just for yourself, but for those closest to you.

My name is Eddie and I’m in recovery from civilization…