Daddy & Sabby, one of our pet ocelots

My dad died on Father’s Day 1987. This is only a sad story if we believe there is only one life and this is it. I KNOW IT IS NOT. This is not a sad story to me. This is a success story of someone who made a hard decision and chose his own way out, in his own time. Today marks 37 years since my dad committed suicide age 62. He could be psychologically abusive. He smacked us at times. He was what they now call bi-polar. He used to drink Canadian Club. As teens, none of us got along with him, the typical syndrome when you think you hate your father.

He was strict and controlling. He had a 6th grade education, worked construction. I know now that he did a long hard job and came home to kids who smart mouthed him. That couldn’t have been easy. He mellowed after my youngest brother, Bobby, committed suicide in 1976 at the age of 22.
Daddy took massive amounts — up to 80+ a day at the end (that’s like 3 an hour, he seldom slept) — of Tylenol 4 with codeine due to a back injury that left him partially disabled. Pain controlled his life. Years of drinking and Rx had taken its toll on his judgment and he could see no way out. In 1987, he shot himself, as my brother did 11 years earlier.

My father was a troubled soul, a shell shocked (PTSD) veteran, alcoholic, addicted to painkillers from an injury. After he shot himself, he was in a coma for almost 2 weeks before he dropped his body. The night nurse would tell me that he was “marching” in his sleep. Even in sleep he was working out his stuff. I left dad’s bedside at Baptist Hospital in Miami where I’d signed for him to be taken off life support and it was a cathartic 3 hours drive home north along highway AIA, the ocean drive. Mom held a lot of guilt that dad kept so many secrets and estranged his family, yet her choice was to stay or leave. She stayed as long as she could.

When loved ones are passing, know that our consciousness links up with theirs and we are able to send them love and comfort and have the final conversations we could never have in waking life. Know that nothing unsaid ever needs to remain unresolved.
He died on Father’s Day. Free at last, Daddy.

How to forgive and find closure if the other is unwilling, absent or dead
The End of Death As We Know It
If you could see where I have gone
Revisiting the childhood father energy

Laundry has never been an issue. No kids, I’ve always done my own and my mates do their own. I’ll wear something until I sweat in it. Lately I’ve been working in the yard a few times a day = more laundry. Working out every day = more laundry. Thus, Sunday morning has become laundry day. The past year I’ve been staying home Sunday mornings, taking a break from church to catch up on personal time. I like having nowhere I have to be and no one to answer to. I’ve found that doing the laundry is a valid spiritual path. Keeping my own home clean and cleared of unnecessary items has become a great metaphor for keeping my life clear and uncluttered. When I find things piling up, that reveals my state of mind.   Continue reading →

If one door, whether it be relationship or a stream of dollars, is beginning to close and momentum seems to be slowing down, that’s your signal to look around because another is staring you in the face, waiting to be discovered. Trust me, the Universe is waiting to delight you. You’ve just got to get into the vibe of allowing it. How do you get into the vibe? By looking for it.  Look for something to interest and excite you. By expecting it.  Expect that any moment you may have opportunity staring you in the face, possibly disguised as the most unimportant, mundane nothingness ever. Look at everything around you as though you expect it to whisper the answer to you, and it will begin to.  How do you allow it? You allow it by dropping all resistance; resistance to anything, since it’s all related.  You clear up the past and forgive anything you’ve left unforgiven. Then stand back and watch the floodgates open in ways you never thought possible.  Continue reading →

Spiritual brother Wayne Wirs writes: “Personally, I don’t want to live my life as a hypocrite—or worse, die as one—so I strive for transparency in my blog. I don’t want to preach A while living B. If you consider yourself a spiritual student or authority, even if you have no interest in becoming a teacher, I strongly urge you to start a blog, or if you have one, to intersperse your “teaching posts” with personal posts. You’ll be amazed at how humbling and eye opening the experience can be. Become transparent. Show the world you walk your talk—and when you don’t, what went wrong. Show the world your flaws. The most powerful aspect about blogging about your personal life is that it throws your actions right back in your face. Personal blogging makes you very conscious of the difference between your theories… and your actions. Personal blogging forces you to live true. And to live true—isn’t that what a spiritual life is all about?”

I put the June Horizons Magazine online today and re-read my June article about Father’s Day.   I didn’t always get along with my dad. He was bi-polar and very strict. He could be fun and charming. He could also be mean and hateful. Daddy didn’t know how to sort out his feelings, much less discuss them. We never knew how to talk to each other. None of us did back then. Now anyone watching tv can learn the process through shows like Couples Therapy, Marriage Boot Camp and Iyanla Vanzant Fix My Life. It took several encounter (sensitive training) groups in my 20s to give me a vocabulary for what I felt emotionally, and to gain the tools to express it. These groups met with the aim of shedding our social masks and expressing our real feelings. They emphasized verbal interaction and activities that encouraged open displays of approval, criticism, affection, dislike, anger and tears. The result was that we learn to interact with others honestly, by openly expressing what we feel. This is important not just for self discovery, but for resolution when there was conflict.  When an ex recently offered an exit interview, I asked him 4 questions: Continue reading →

Domino wrote about being granted “painful freedom” after being blocked by someone on Facebook.  Sometimes the kindest thing you can do is block. I spent years trying not to trigger drama queens before I exercised my power. Friends don’t make friends walk on eggshells, period. The blocking is a holy sacred act to give them privacy to work their stuff out.  Domino said “(Blocking) can be an act of emotional violence.” It can also be in defense of emotional violence.”  My criteria is usually if it’s repetitively unkind, untrue and with agenda to change public perception, or a public display that differs from what goes on behind the scenes. Count me out. Block me, please.

 A Dash is a Dash is a Dash – Or Is It?  Lions and tigers and bears–oh my! More like hyphens and dashes and–more dashes. Oh Lord! The dash, the en dash, and the em dash. The Three Musketeers of the writing world. The Holy Trinity of the literary apocalypse. The–okay, you get it. These simple lines on paper (or a computer screen) are enough to make the staunchest writer quiver if they don’t know when to use which. No, don’t run away. It’s okay. No need to panic. This is easy. Really. Check it out: Continue reading →

Benny the Cat

Up early Easter morning for a walk around the hood in the cool air.  We’ve been getting Benny the Cat slowly used to my house and yard and he’s been over here all day.  We kept him inside a few hours so he could know how everything smells, then we pushed him out the cat door and back in.  Then in and out the front door and side door. Soon enough, he began exploring and wandering the yard, then running in and out of the woods chasing lizards and jumping at butterflies.  Almost an acre, my home in the middle and woods on either side, we lost sight of him a few times yet knew if we just wandered around singing his theme song, he’d stay close.  A friend stopped by and as we stood on the front walk talking, Benny darted up the palm tree!  As he edged himself down, I grabbed him by his scruff and brought him inside.  We showed him where the food and water was and made sure he drank water, then let him meander on back out. YinYang will get used to him soon enough, I’m sure. You can get used to almost anything.

Bryan Tilford, so much more than friend and former partner, he was a spiritual brother on the Path

It’s been a challenging week. I’ve been busy with final layout of the May magazine and it’s been a week since a beloved friend passed.  brYan Tilford’s Memorial is today at 3pm at Unity of Melbourne. So much more than just a friend and former partner, brYan was a spiritual brother on the Path. He seemed to sleep as little as I do, so we had many late night conversations. There were worldly topics we had differing opinions about, but we were in accord about matters of the soul.  brYan had a deep faith and was very passionate about it. We’d take what was going on in our daily lives and dissect them for spiritual insights and lessons. Not everyone cares to do that. It gave us a deep connection.  brYan died of a big heart, Hypertrophic heart. Ironic, huh, but that’s how he made room for us all. I’ve been missing him this week, a week I needed to stay focused on articles and editing and ads and calls and deadlines.  I took many breaks. I did a lot of gardening. Like house cleaning, gardening always helps me sort my thoughts. It gives my physical body something to do: it engages my lower, concrete mind so that my higher, abstract mind can work out what I’m feeling. I’m feeling loss, although I know there is no loss. I’m feeling grateful that one day he and I will catch up and he’ll tell me the awesome stories of what he’s been doing since last week. Sadness? Ah, this too shall pass. I know to accept all things. It was a challenging week, but it gets better each day.  brYan’s memorial is today. It hurts me to be unable to go, but the “I” of me is there no matter where my body has to be. So for now, it’s back onto the Path, one foot in front of the other, hand to the plow, life goes on.

MORE ABOUT BRYAN:  Rest in Peace, brYan Tilford
What I got when I asked brYan Tilford for a Crossing Over Song
The end of death as we know it