The first thing we all need to do is to let go of this idea of winning and losing, especially when it regards people we know and have to deal with on a day to day basis. Let’s face it, we have all been in the situation where we won the argument but lost the friendship. So who’s the winner there? We have to think of what our goal is. And what is our goal? We want to try and get what we want, that’s what the goal is. We want someone to treat us with respect. Or we want someone to do his or her fair share of the chores. Or we want someone to apologize for hurting our feelings. Perhaps we want someone to quit talking about us with others behind our backs. Maybe we want someone to tell us where the weapons of mass destruction are, little things like that. If we play our cards right, both parties involved can be winners. How? Easy.

Both parties are winners when both sides get what they want, or at least part of what they want. Ánd there is only one way to find out what the other party wants. You have to listen. That is one of the biggest pitfalls to resolving conflicts. You have to listen. Most of us don’t listen. Most of us, at best, stand around politely while the other party speaks, all the while trying to figure out what brilliant things we are going to say so that we can say we’ve won the argument. So you have to quiet your mind and really listen to what the other person has to say, WITHOUT INTERRUPTING! Just keep your yap shut until the other person is quite finished. Then be sure they are finished, by asking them if that is all. Then, just to prove you are listening, you repeat back what they said to show them how well you listened. “So what you’re saying is that you don’t like it when my friends come over to watch football and leave a big mess for you to clean up, is that right?”

At that point the person will either correct you to make sure you understand, and if they do, then you have to shut up and listen again. If they say that you understood correctly, then you are ready to continue. You’re not ready to offer your side yet, by the way. Now you have to ask how whatever it was that made them angry made them feel, or validate their feelings in some way by saying something like, “that must make you feel pretty unappreciated, huh?” But it’s important that you get them to discuss their feelings. It’s their feelings that count. Not the rightness or wrongness of the situation. It doesn’t matter if you are in the right if somebody you care about is hurt. Then you have to do something very difficult. Ask them what it is they want, because everybody wants something. They might say, “I want you guys to clean up after yourselves.” Or they may say, “I want you guys to watch football somewhere else.” But at least you know what they want now. And, more importantly, you have shown that you care enough to listen and take their feelings into consideration.

Then you can give your side of the situation. And when you do, there are some things you must avoid. First of all, DON’T USE THE WORD “YOU”!!!!!!!! As soon as we hear that word our hackles go up and we become defensive. You feel attacked. They will too. So keep your comments to what we call “I statements.” Don’t say, “You guys left a big mess for me to clean up, you fucking selfish bastards!” What you say is, “I felt really angry when I saw that big mess I had to clean up.”

The other advantage to a statement like this is that you will notice the words, “I felt”. Nobody can argue with how you feel. I mean, what are they going to say—no, you weren’t angry? So when you argue, you talk in terms of your feelings. Nobody can argue about how you feel about something. Now this can be tricky. It’s not always easy to say things in that roundabout sort of way. That’s why it is usually a good idea never to have an argument when you are angry. In the martial arts we know that as soon as you are angry, you have lost the fight. You have to let go of feelings when you try to resolve conflict. You can talk about them, just don’t feel them. The old 24-hour rule is a good idea, usually. I always make kids wait a day before we talk about whatever is bugging them. Usually, by the next day, they’ve forgotten the whole thing.

In the end, everybody just wants what they want. And you have to tell that person who’s upset what it is you want too. “Well, I only left a mess because I felt like my guests were unwelcome when we came over to watch the game.” This can lead to other statements and if it does that is good. Get everything out in the open. Eventually this all leads to a deal wherein you offer, “We’ll clean up after the game if you make everyone feel welcome and wanted in our home.” And then everybody gets some of what they want.

So let’s repeat what we’ve learned so far:

1. LISTEN

2. Don’t say YOU. Try to use I statements. Don’t make accusations. Talk about yourself.

3. Talk about how you feel. Avoid direct accusations. (“I felt angry when I saw another guy in bed with you, sweetheart.”)

4. Don’t argue while you’re angry.

5. Be clear and specific and say exactly what it is you want, and respect the wants of the other person.

Okay, got it so far? Good. Now for the really difficult part: This is the part that nearly kills children, and we’re all children under than adult exterior. Don’t be afraid to say you’re sorry. Saying you’re sorry doesn’t mean you’re wrong. I said I was sorry in a blog just tonight. That doesn’t mean I was wrong. It means that I’m sorry that someone’s feelings were hurt by something I wrote. And I AM sorry someone’s feelings were hurt by something I wrote. I don’t want to hurt anybody. It’s okay to be sorry. It doesn’t make me weak. It doesn’t mean I wouldn’t write the same thing again if I felt the same way. It means I was sorry someone was hurt.

I generally find that once you validate someone’s feelings and actually listen to that person’s complaints, it defuses the anger. Once they let it all out, they are receptive to hearing your side of things. And your side of things is usually that you never meant to hurt them. I mean your answer to the messy room problem would probably be (after some considerate thought), “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you angry. We’ll clean up next time.” And for those times when you didn’t do anything at all to warrant anger and abuse, you say, “I’m sorry if anything I did offended you. It wasn’t my intention. I’ll try to be more considerate in the future.” In that little apology you are not admitting to any wrongdoing. You are saying you’re sorry that someone was offended. And after you’ve done that, there’s nothing else you can do.

Most of the time, with the kids, I find that some very nice people do some very annoying things sometimes without any conscious idea that they are doing them. It’s amazing what drives people nuts. And I also notice that a lot of people choose to interpret innocent gestures and actions as malicious. And as I said yesterday, we all need to remember that we’re just not that important. Most people have way too much on their minds to spend any time at all trying to find ways to make me unhappy, or even attack me. And if anyone were going out of his or her way to be mean to me, I would have to laugh it off and suggest that person go and get a life. There are better ways to spend your time.

And of course, it should go without saying, but we all need to remember that as wonderful as we all are, not everybody is going to like us. You’re just bound to get on somebody’s nerves, that is if you’re living right at all. The only people who don’t bother anyone are those luke warm people that aren’t really worth knowing. And you have to accept that somebody is going to find you obnoxious because you’re too smart (obviously, if you’re on Reverb), too confident, too rich, too poor, too something. It is better to be a mirror than a sponge. Sponges just absorb everything and soak it up. Spongy people absorb hate, love, abuse, praise, whatever, and give little of it back. It’s better to be a mirror. Just reflect everything. The love you receive, give back. The abuse you allow to bounce off.

Just remember, there is no winning or losing. Winning an argument is just another word for getting even. You want to hurt that person the same way they hurt you. And as Gandhi said, and eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind. There was a reason Jesus spoke about turning the other cheek. That is that revenge just doesn’t work. It just makes a circle of abuse and pain that never ends. Really winning an argument is about solving problems. And when someone is upset with you, there is a problem. You may not be the cause of it, but a problem there is. And fighting fair is the best way to solve it. Any questions? I’ll be happy to answer them.

One of the biggest lies that most of us tell (including me, by the way. I don’t leave myself out of this) is that we don’t care what other people think about us. That is nothing but pure unadulterated bullshit, although I have no clue what adulterated bullshit is like. But this bullshit is Unadulterated, that is for sure (dude). Of course we care what people think about us. That’s why we look in the mirror before we go out of the house. It’s one of the reasons why we drive the cars we drive and why we posted most of the crap that’s up on our profiles. And that’s why we get so upset when we think that people are telling lies about us. It’s a miserable feeling. I know. I’ve been there. And so has everybody else at one time or another. And I think we get so upset about the “lies” because we don’t want other people believing those things are true about us.

First, I’d like to attempt to tackle this concept of “truth”. Everybody has truths. My truths are not your truths. And yet both of our truths are equally valid and invalid at the same time. For example, when Brittany Spears performed not long ago many people complained that she was fat. I read those comments and thought those people must be nuts. Brittany isn’t fat. I’M fat. I can tell the difference. True enough, she has put on some extra pounds since her “Ooooops! I Did it Again” days, but fat? Please! Linda Rondstadt became fat (sorry Linda, I love you, but it’s true). And some could even argue with that, I suppose. Marilyn Monroe was considered the sexiest woman alive and she weighed over 160 pounds and was a size 16! So I would say that fat is in the eye of the beholder. To some people Brittany is fat. To others, she still looks pretty damn sexy, in a young, poor white trash sort of way. Of course, we can all still agree that she’s nuts. I am a liberal (most would say). Some of my feminist treehugging whale saving communist leaning friends would say I’m still pretty conservative.

Some of us might look with compassion on a guy who steals food for his hungry kids. Others would simply see him as a thief. That he stole food may be a fact. But whether or not the guy is a thief may be open to debate. John Lennon left his wife and kid to be with a woman with whom he fell madly in love. I guess that makes him a pretty crappy husband and father. But then, how many people have the good fortune to bump into a soul mate? There can be no doubt that the story of John and Yoko is one of great love stories of our time. They were devoted to each other. Was John wrong to walk away from his family to follow the woman of his dreams?

As far as truth goes, the perception of truth is truth enough. You said something that makes me feel as though you were calling me an idiot. Maybe you were; maybe you weren’t. But the fact that I think you did makes it truth enough to me. I felt the same hurt either way. Whether it was your intention to smash into my car or whether it was an accident doesn’t matter as far as the condition of my car enters into things. It continues to be crumpled. If someone was slighted, the slight is real, whether intended or not. Yes, you say, but people shouldn’t be so easily offended. I would love to erase the word should from our language. There is no should. There only is what is. Whether or not my arm SHOULD bruise when you hit it is of no importance. The fact remains that it is bruised. And the fact that the blow was unintentional, or meant for someone else doesn’t make the bruise go away either. So when anybody is talking about truth, it seems to me to be a good idea to step back and try to see ALL the possible truths associated with a particular situation.

And most of all the hurts we suffer have to do with someone, whether deliberately or not, attacking our self-perception. We have this idea of ourselves and when someone contradicts it, it pisses us off. The sad thing, is that often as not, nobody is saying anything. I remember seeing a kid get really upset on the playground once, so I walked up to the kid and asked what was wrong.

“Those kids are talking about me!” He said through his tears.

“Which kids?” I asked.

The kid just pointed toward the fence about 200 yards away and said, “Those kids, Jose and Mario.”

“You mean those two boys on the other side of the playground? How do you know? Did you hear them? What did they say?”

“No, but they’re looking at me!”

“How do you know they’re looking at YOU?”

And the kid looked dumbfounded, as though he were talking to someone somewhat intellectually challenged (to be politically correct about it). If a person’s head was pointed in his direction, it just seemed obvious that they were looking at him, in spite of the myriad other things that might occupy his or her gaze. And if they were talking at the same time, they had to be talking about him. And so this comes as the biggest shock to a lot of people, adults included.

I’m sorry, but you’re just not that important. I mean, you are to me, and to yourself, and to the people who love you. But, most people are not spending their time trying to figure out ways to make you miserable. They have other things to do, other things on their mind. In fact, they may have so many things on their mind that they might even actually say something to you without thinking about how that statement may affect you. That is because they are thinking about themselves and NOT thinking about you. The woman who cut you off on the freeway would have cut off ANYBODY in your lane, not just you. I know that every year I have to explain to some child (and his or her parents) who has gotten it into his or her head that I don’t like them that I don’t spend my evenings trying to think up ways to slight him or her or make him or her miserable. I have too many other worries. It’s true. There are some kids I don’t particularly like. They are not all likable. But I don’t have time to find ways to be unfair. In fact, being unfair just makes my life more miserable as a teacher, because then I have to deal with stupid complaints.

There might be a kid who is always disrupting the class, never doing the assignments, and always getting into fights. So I might not always be Mr. Sweetness and Light with that kid. And there might be another kid who always listens in class, always does the work, and is kind and helpful to other children. I might tend to be more receptive to that kid. But it has nothing to do with the kid. It has to do with the things they do. The first kid isn’t going to get a lot of privileges like being sent on errands or allowed to help around the classroom. But that isn’t because I don’t like the kid, it’s because the kid has proven himself or herself to be irresponsible and undependable. Still, the truth is the truth as far as the kid is concerned. Because people don’t tend to see themselves as irresponsible and undependable. So it must be because I don’t like them.

Children always assume that when someone bumps into them it’s on purpose. When people hit them with the ball, it was deliberate. This is because children always think that the universe revolves around them. But it doesn’t. Not by a long shot. And there are a lot of adults who think the universe revolves around them (myself included, from time to time). And so, since most people’s slights towards us are unintended, I think it would be good to cut them a little slack and be a little more forgiving. And most of the time, when people do hurt us on purpose, it’s because they have perceived some injury from us. This may have been intended or unintended, or even totally imagined, but it is an injury nonetheless.

I have yet to find a conflict amongst children where both parties weren’t partly to blame in some way, even if the slight was unintended. That is why I have found that most conflict is caused by a failure to communicate (to quote a line from “Cool Hand Luke”). Often as not, we don’t tell people when they are bothering us until we explode. I guess we figured that they were supposed to read our minds or something. We figured that everybody was thinking about us, when the dirty bastards were thinking about themselves. People should spend their time thinking about ME, dammit, just as I do. And then when we DO talk, we just say all the wrong things and make matters worse.

There are simple rules to follow when trying to resolve a conflict. I have been trained in those rules. And I will pass them on to you in another blog, because this one is getting too damn long. So my next blog will be all about those simple rules about how to argue in a positive way. We face conflicts every single day and those conflicts just add to our stress level. If we could just resolve those conflicts in a positive way, then perhaps we could have happier lives. This first thing we have to do is let go of the idea of one person winning and the other person losing. There is a way that everybody can come out winning. You’ll see what I mean.

Of course there are a lot of historical problems with the story. And this all stems from the simple fact that the only sources we have for this story come from two of the gospels, Luke and Matthew. Mark and John both pick up the story of Jesus when he is baptized by John the Baptist. Matthew and Luke were never trying to be history books. They were simple stories for the true believers written by followers of Luke and Matthew because it didn’t look like Jesus was coming back as soon as everybody thought he was and they thought it would be a good idea to pass the story along. Moreover, they never meant to be factual accounts of his life. In fact, to be fair, it should be pointed out that it is quite possible that much of the story may have been reverse engineered, as it were. There were a great many prophecies about the coming of the messiah, the one who was to save his people. One is from the book of Micah.

“But you, Bethlehem-Ephrathah too small to be among the clans of Judah, From you shall come forth for me one who is to be ruler in Israel; Whose origin is from of old, from ancient times.” Bethlehem was the town from which the great king, David, came. The messiah, according to all prophecies, was to be of the lineage of David. Isaiah says, “But a shoot shall sprout from the stump of Jesse, and from his roots a bud shall blossom.” Matthew goes into great detail showing the genealogy of Jesus back all the way to Adam in order to prove his ancestry. So does Luke. One goes though Joseph, which, according to the official story, shouldn’t really make any difference if you know what I mean, and I think you do. The other goes through Mary, which would make more sense, if you consider the manner in which Jesus was supposed to have been conceived.

That prophecy goes back to Isaiah. “Behold, the virgin shall be with child and bear a son, and they shall name him Emmanuel,” which means “God is with us.” Of course, the word translated as virgin, actually more correctly is translated as maiden, a young unmarried woman, whom would be assumed to be a virgin, but then, things are not always as you assume. At any rate, a number of these attributes to the story may have been added to the Gospel According to Matthew in order to match the prophecies. This is because Matthew was written for the Jews, who would have cared. Luke, on the other hand, was written for the gentiles, who wouldn’t have given a fiddler’s fart about the prophecies, not being raised in the traditions of the Jewish people, nor would they feel this intense need for salvation.

So it’s up to us to decide whether or not the story is a true one. To me, the inaccuracies actually give the story more credibility. For example, the prophecy says he will be named Emmanuel, god is with us. But they didn’t name him Emmanuel, did they? They didn’t name him Jesus either. They named him Yeshua, which means deliverer (and not the pizza sort). So if they were trying to match the prophecy, they screwed up there. And if they thought anybody was going to check, they would have done a better job on checking their history. Luke opens with Caesar Augustus being in power in Rome and when Quirinius was governor of Syria. Unfortunately, there was no census taken in Judea during that time, at least not at the time when Jesus was supposed to have been born. So what would have brought Joseph to Bethlehem, along with Mary, his wife? And I would have to say, who knows? Perhaps they lived there. Perhaps they were just passing though. I have no doubt that whoever wrote down that information had some vague memory of there being a census sometime around that time, and thinking the birth of Jesus may have been tied to it. Matthew would have been written a good forty years at least after the death of Jesus and Luke was written much later than that. It is likely that both books borrowed heavily from another gospel which has not, as yet, come to light, called the “Q” document. After forty to fifty years, facts get sort of mixed up and distorted. Shit, I can’t even remember what happened a few years ago, let alone forty.

Of course, my first thought is why would we think it not true? I mean, miracles aside (although, I have no problem with miracles), why would we doubt it? If I ask you what you did last week, you would tell me, and I would have no reason to think you were not telling the truth. If you think about it, for most of us it’s pretty hard to prove what we did at any given time. So what if Augustus wasn’t the emperor, or if no census was taken. That doesn’t mean that Jesus wasn’t born in Bethlehem, or that his parents weren’t Joseph and Mary. Many parts of the story we have created from our traditions, not from scriptural references. The Bible never says three kings came to see Jesus. It simply says wise men from the east. That could have been any number of people. It most likely was a group of astrologers who had read the stars and had foreseen the arrival of somebody important.

And there is no doubt that Jesus was important. He may not have seemed that way as an infant. But certainly, if there is any truth at all in the accounts of his life and of his words, he was different from other people calling for a return to faith. In many ways, he stood in direct opposition to all that was traditional. As we look back over our human history, we can see a lot of people who were different. Consider Gautauma, the Buddha, consider Lao Tzu, consider Gandhi, and Martin Luther King, Jr., and Mother Theresa. No, they weren’t perfect, but then I doubt Jesus was either. He got angry. He battled with his faith. But all of these people, Jesus included, were touched by the divine, however you want to consider it.

No, I have every reason to believe that the story happened pretty much the way they say it did. And I have no doubt that Mary knew that the child she was carrying was someone special, although I doubt she new just how special he would end up being. The message he would bring would be different from any other message the world had yet received. It was not a message of war, or a prophecy of doom. It was not a condemnation of mankind, but an affirmation. Jesus told us that we were all the children of God, and that we were co-inheritors of all that God had created. He preached a message of compassion, charity, and peace. Just as Isaiah as said, “For a child is born to us, a son is given us; upon his shoulder dominion rests. They name him Wonder-Counselor, God-Hero, Father-Forever, Prince of Peace.”

So today I will light a candle to welcome the Christ child. He reminds me that God is not some big scary being up in the sky, but that God, or whatever you want to call that creative spirit, is here among us. And so what the angels said was true. “…behold, I proclaim to you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. For today in the city of David a savior has been born for you who is Messiah. And suddenly there was a multitude of the heavenly host with the angel, praising God and saying: Glory to God in the highest and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests.” I don’t know if any shepherds really heard all that or not, but I hope they did. It doesn’t change my faith one way or the other. Indeed, it has nothing to do with the truth of the message. But ain’t it a beautiful story? Happy Christmas to all. Peace be with you, and God bless.

My sifu, Richard Cunningham, satisfied all those aspects of the sifu.  I can remember back those twenty-seven years ago when I first started.  I tried my best to understand all he tried to teach me, but sometimes it seemed as though he spoke in riddles.  There was a day, many years ago, when I had been complaining that I did not seem to be making very much progress, to which he looked me straight in the eye with a fiery glance and said, “First there is a mountain; then there is no mountain.  Then there is.”  To which I answered, “Yes, Sifu.  Right, Sifu.”  That being the only adequate and appropriate answer there was to give.  I had no idea what he was talking about.  I wouldn’t for another ten years.

I was the only one working out in the club one night with him.  After ten years, I had come to learn many techniques, but it seemed to me, I told him, that I was just beginning to learn the art.  And then he said, “First there is a mountain…etc.” –you know.  And it suddenly became clear and I understood.  There is no doubt that my sifu taught me a great many things– about kung fu, and about life.

One day, after a visit to Arizona, where I had met another kung fu teacher in the Hung Gar system, I remarked to Sifu what a nice guy the teacher was.  Sifu said, “How do you know?”  I answered that he had seemed nice enough to me.  Sifu said, “Don’t trust anyone you haven’t known for ten years!” Everything Sifu said seemed to end with an exclamation point.  I wasn’t going to argue with him, but that seemed a little harsh to me.  Of course, at the time, there weren’t that many people I had known for ten years, other than a couple of friends and family.  As I gained in years, I learned he was right.  Time has taught me that the hard way.

Probably the most important thing that my sifu taught me was that there were only three things in life that really matter, just three words, and to this day, I keep them in my wallet—love, humility, and moderation.  And those three words mean more than all the stances, all the martial techniques he ever taught me.

Sifu taught me the ten rules of kung fu, among those to honor our parents and teachers, and to always protect the weak.  I will remember those rules as long as I live.  Another rule is to always remember from where and from whom you learned the art.  I will remember that as well.

My Sifu passed away last night.  He had a good life.  He had a strong life.  He brought a tradition to us  over a thousand years old in an unbroken line.  Now he rests with the masters.  According to our club’s brochure, written by my sifu, in words his sifu gave him, “Not only a teacher of martial arts, the Sifu is also responsible for providing guidance and acting as a prime example to students. A common saying in kung-fu is that the student ‘starts in a dark room while the master stands in the sunlight.’”   The sifu stands in the light, as it is given him, guiding his students to join him.  I shall always walk in the light of my Sifu, Richard Cunningham  

The film was about a woman, an actress, recruited by the north during the civil war, to spy on the confederates. It must have been a particularly difficult role for Marion Davies to play the part of an actress. She had no experience. In order not to call attention to herself, she decided to disguise herself as a slave, so she went about the first third of the film in black face. Of course, no southern soldier would be able to see through that disguise.

Well, of course the film was awful, but that got me started thinking about likes and dislikes. I’m sure some people somewhere must have liked that movie, at least when it was first released. Of course, this film is an extreme example. It’s easy to see why people might not like it. But what about other things?

There seems to be no rhyme or reason to why we like the things we like and why we don’t like the things we don’t. Take onions, for example. I don’t like onions. Well, that’s not totally true. I like the flavor of onions. I just don’t like the actual onion. Now I tell myself that this is because of the texture of the onions. But I don’t really know. I didn’t like onions long before I had a reason for not liking onions. People asked me why I didn’t like onions, so I thought about it and decided it was the texture. But I like other foods that have a similar texture to onions.

It’s not really an intellectual thing, why we like and dislike things. Sometimes, there are things I want to like. I know I should like them, because they’re good for me, but I don’t. I try. Take opera—please. Seriously, I don’t like opera. I want to like opera. I have tried to like opera. I have listened to a great deal of opera. But it always leaves me cold. I could say that it’s because I can’t understand what they’re saying, but there are shitloads of rock songs I can’t understand. I love “Louie Louie.” And sometimes, even when you can understand rock lyrics, they make no sense. “I Am the Walrus” is one of my favorite songs. I just don’t like opera. There is no logic to it.

There are foods I know I should like, foods like yogurt. They’re good for me. I have tried to like yogurt. I have gone to the grocery and purchased quite a bit of yogurt in my time. When the standard fruit flavors fail, I try the banana cream pie and chocolate flavors, all to no avail.

There are films that everybody likes, everybody except me. There are enormously popular films that people love, but I don’t. I never liked “Thelma and Louise”. I didn’t like “American Pie”. Quite honestly, the entire “Matrix” series left me flat. The same is true for television. I am probably one of three people in the country that dislike “The Simpsons.” And recently, I watched six whole episodes of “30 Rock”. Now I know this series won several Emmys, and I can’t really say I hated it, but I don’t see what the big deal is. If this is what we call great, then I think our standards have fallen significantly.

We can grow to tolerate things, even like some aspects of them. I used to dislike mariachi music. Then I married Becky. Becky loves mariachi music. Needless to say, over the past twenty-one years, I have heard a great deal of mariachi music. And I have learned to like some of it. But when I saw “like”, I mean that I won’t turn it off should it show up on my random music mix. But I won’t go out of my way to turn it on, either. The same is true for foods, movies, anything, even people. You can learn to tolerate just about anything.

What I have noticed about likes and dislikes with myself and with others is that we seem to like something, or not like something, and then we find justifications for our tastes. But, to be honest, it seems to me that the like or dislike is just about immediate. We just seem to need to find reasons for our likes and dislikes. There are plenty of things we don’t seem to need reasons to like or dislike. Nobody makes you justify your taste in colors. All this leaves me curious.

What makes us like the things we like? Why do some people like blue and others yellow? Why do some people think Johnny Cash was the greatest singer ever, and others prefer Annie DiFranco? Why do I like tomato sauce, but dislike tomatoes? Why did everybody love leisure suits and then, just as quickly, not? Certainly some of our likes are programmed in by our culture, but not all of them. Even infants have their likes and dislikes. I guess it’s just a mystery. I love mysteries.

Still, the fact that a great many people believed the rapture was coming shows that we recognize the world is seriously fucked up, and we long for someone to come and fix it for us.  One look at the greed, the hatred, the mean spirit that seems to pervade our world tells us that this is not the way things ought to be.  We all want someone to step in and rescue us.

Wall Street bankers asked for the government, AKA the taxpayers, to bail out their sorry asses.  Those of us with mortgages we can no longer afford are hopeful that the government (or the banks) will come up with some program to save us from financial disaster.  During the last presidential election, millions of us put our hope in Obama.  Others, later, voted in the GOP to congress in hopes THEY would have some solution to our problems.

Millions of people of different faith traditions around the world are hoping that God will come along sometime soon and press some sort of cosmic “reset” button and let us all start over.  But as I understand the holy books, that is not the way things work.

According to the bible story, which you can believe or not, (whether or not the stories are fact does not change the truth contained in the stories) when the students of Jesus came to him hoping he would provide food for the thousands of people gathered in the wilderness to hear his teachings, he said, “You feed them.”    Jesus told us to take care of one another.  Jesus told us to love one another and serve one another.  The world has plenty of everything we need to make this place a paradise.  It’s all up to us.  Jesus told us to serve one another.  Moreover, he showed us how to do it by becoming the servant himself.   We are the hands of God on earth.

One thing is certain: there will be an end of the world for each one of us.  When my father died, the world ended for him.  The world could end for any one of us at any time.  We need to live our lives that way.  We do not need to look for some particular date so we can get as much craziness in as we can before it comes around.  It would seem to me that it would have been much more Christian for Family Radio, instead of spending millions on advertising, to have spent the millions feeding the hungry and taking care of those who are suffering.

The message of Christ was love, pure and simple.  Love will save the world.  Faith is believing in the power of love, even love for our enemies, even love for people who make silly mistakes from time to time, such as believing the end of the world was coming on Saturday.  If I can be a more loving person, then I have followed the teachings of Christ.  And if I can do that, then, when the world does end, whether for me individually or all of us collectively, I can meet my maker and not be ashamed.

You’ve probably heard about that famous Méxican general Santa Ana. He was the one responsible for the massacre at the Alamo which besides giving new life to the rebellion in Texas which eventually led to George Bush becoming president, also gave rise to a number of American myths and grandiose Hollywood movies. Santa Ana was an aristocrat who looked down upon the common Méxican people. He believed in wealth and power, so it is appropriate somehow that his name graces the city in Southern California’s staunch Republican Orange County, where the same attitudes prevail. At any rate, this Santa Ana fellow was dictator of Mexico back in 1853. This was after the war, which he prosecuted so poorly, with the United States that ended in 1848 that gave the United States most of the west and southwest of the country.

And in 1853, a coalition of Méxican liberals led by Benito Juarez (being somewhat more successful than John Kerry) overthrew the Santa Ana regime to establish a new republic. In 1857, disputes of the new constitution led to civil war and the establishment of rival governments. In 1859, the United States, under the leadership of James Buchanan, America’s first gay president, officially recognized the liberal regime of Juarez and sent military supplies and allowed for the participation of American mercenaries in the Republican cause. European powers, such as Spain, England, and France, however, favored the conservative cause. The liberal forces were able to defeat the conservatives and Juarez reclaimed México City in 1861, the same year that civil war broke out in the United States.

Méxican conservatives, otherwise known as Aristocratic Fucking Rich Asswipes (AFRA), then allied themselves to French emperor Napolean III. He wanted to incorporate Mediterranean states, along with former Spanish and Portuguese colonies into a French led alliance, giving rise to the concept of Latin America. The outbreak of the civil war in the United States gave the perfect opportunity for an expeditionary force of English, Spanish, and French forces to intervene in México and demand repayment of foreign loans after Juarez had suspended loan repayments. Soon after invading, however, Spain and England saw that the French intent was far greater than debt collection. They took the repayment warrants the Méxican government gave them and split for home in 1862. Napoleon III reinforced French troops and dispatched 7,000 of them to Mexico City 225 miles inland in early April. The French were led to believe there would be little resistance. The only way to Mexico City was through the key crossroads City of Puebla. In order to carry out this plan Napoleon III assigned General Lorencez in charge of taking Puebla. Overconfidence was encouraged by both his advisors and the Mexicans who knew better as the French troops advanced inland.

Presidente Juárez commanded General Ignacio Zaragoza to block the advance of the French Army at Puebla. Méxican forces were made up almost entirely of indigenous soldiers who were under equipped and facing the most powerful military in the world. Porfirio Diaz led a charge against the French infantry in front of Fort Guadalupe. After a battle of two hours, the French were forced to retreat. The French expected a further attack that did not come, and instead the French spent the night nervously listening to the Mexicans cheering and celebrating their victory. Ironically this included singing ‘Marseillaise,’ which to the French was ‘our Marseillaise,’ an anthem of liberal revolutionaries everywhere. Four days after the victory on May 9th, 1862, President Juarez officially made the “Batalla de Puebla” (the Battle of Puebla) Battle of Puebla a holiday to remember when the civilian army defeated the great army of Napoleon III.

Of course, winning the battle is not the same thing as winning the war. In June 1863, the French took México City and then proceeded to occupy almost all the central region of the country and forced Juarez’s forces back to the United States border. In early 1864, Napoleon III established a regime in Mexico under Maximilian, the archduke of Austria. Juarez went to the United States for help and in 1865, General Sheridan, who had just finished stomping the crap out of the confederacy went down south of the border and after getting drunk in Tijuana and watching a donkey show, took 50,000 of his closest friends to face down the French Troops, basically saying, leave these people alone, they are ours to fuck with. In 1866, the Napoleon III finally got the idea and gave up on México, although Maximilian refused to give up and go home. He believed his people loved him. His people showed their undying affection by having him shot. His last words were, “I die in a just cause. I forgive all, and pray that all may forgive me. May my blood flow for the good of this land. Long live Mexico! Long Live Independence!” In 1867, Juarez reclaimed his presidency.

And so we celebrate cinco de mayo. And all it really celebrates is winning one battle in a war that was eventually lost. But it really celebrates much more than that. It celebrates the right of people to govern themselves. It celebrates the right for Americans (meaning all the people of North and South America) to govern themselves without European interference. It is also the celebration of “Si se puede” (yes, it can be done) a hundred years before its time when a northern neighbor helped México defend its right to self- determination. And so in a way, it is a holiday of the United States as well. For it was with our help that the French left México alone and decided to go back home and invent impressionism. And now we can celebrate or own self-determination by our determination to drink as much tequila and lime as the body will allow and get royally crocked. And it also allows some people, who are a long way from home, and who are much maligned at the moment, to take a little pride in being who they are. Viva la independencia! Viva la libertad! Que viva México! Que viva!

There are a lot of misconceptions about lent. The word lent comes from the Germanic roots and originally just meant the spring season. However, ever since Anglo-Saxon times it has meant that 40 day period leading up to Easter. In Latin, the only really true and good church language, (tongue placed firmly in cheek) the word is Quadragesima, which means-you guessed it, 40 days. Since all the early church fathers spoke and wrote in Greek originally, it is taken from the Greek word tessarakoste (fortieth), which was formed in the same way as the Greek word, Pentekoste, or as we spell it Pentecost, which means fiftieth day. And those fifty days were supposed to denote the entire period from Ash Wednesday up until Pentecost Sunday-which is a holiday, or Holy Day, that celebrates the bestowing of the Holy Spirit on the early church. One of these days, I’ll have to write a brief history of the ministry of Jesus and his posse.

But you don’t really care about from which source we get the word, do you? You want to know what all this misery is about. Well, the tradition goes way back. The early, early church, as in the people who were believers in Jesus just after the whole crucifixion and resurrection schtick, used to celebrate Jesus’ death and resurrection on a weekly basis. They fasted every Friday to honor his Passion (what Christians call that whole bad scene with the suffering and dying part) and celebrated every Sunday his resurrection from the dead. Don’t get me started on that one, at least not yet. I have a good one for that, but I’m saving it for Easter. Anyway, these early church people, back before there was a word “church”, didn’t have lent as a season, per se. But then, these are the same people who celebrated mass by having a nice dinner over at somebody’s house with a lot of singing and dancing and praying going on. These early, early Christians were a pretty happy lot. After all, they were going to live forever, weren’t they? What’s not to be happy about?

But as early as 331 CE, that’s three hundred and twenty-seven years after the fact, St. Athanasius (patron saint of lousy names) enjoined on his flock a period of forty days of fasting preliminary to, but not inclusive of Holy Week which begins on Palm Sunday and ends on Easter Sunday. This number forty comes from many biblical sources and looking back on an earlier article you will see that four, in Hebrew symbiology, is the number of completion, and ten magnifies that number to the maximum. Therefore, forty is the period of maximum completion. For that reason a lot of shit happens in time increments of forty. Moses and the Hebrews wander in the wilderness for forty years. God makes it rain for forty days and forty nights when S/He makes the great flood of Noah fame. And after Jesus was baptized by John the Baptist, he went out into the desert to be tempted for forty days and forty nights. It is certain that the forty days of lent really come from this background, especially the temptation of Christ.

However, it was not always forty days of pure fasting. Various groups have fasted in different ways and in different amounts. For some, the fasting was only for three weeks. For others, there was fasting, but not every day. For others the fasting was for six weeks. And it should be remembered that here fasting, does not mean fasting, at least, not in the Gandhi sense. To many of us, a fast is a fast and that means no eating at all. Here, when we talk about fasting, we are talking about either a reduction in the amount you eat, or simply abstinence from certain types of foods. Some early church fathers enjoined their congregations to give up meat. Some asked them to give up cheese and eggs. Others requested they only give up certain types of meat. Some abstained of only fruit covered by a hard shell. And yet others limited themselves to eating only dry bread.

But regardless of what people ate or didn’t eat, the period was supposed to be a time of introspection. Lent was supposed to be a time in which the faithful inspected their own souls to find those ways that they failed to connect to the godhead (I love that term-it’s a theological term meaning god-creator-atman-tao-whateverthehellyouwantitto). It is an imitation of the forty days that Jesus went into the wilderness to be tempted by Satan. In the story of Jesus, after he is baptized by John, his cousin, Jesus goes into the desert and fasts for forty days. Satan comes to him when Jesus is hungry and says if you’re hungry why not turn these stones to bread? Jesus answers that man does not live by bread alone. Meaning there is more to living than simply staying alive. And then Satan suggests that if he really is the Son of God, he should throw himself down from the tower and see if the Angels really will protect him. And Jesus answers that you shouldn’t tempt God. This would have been a sign of a lack of faith on Jesus’ part. And then finally Satan shows Jesus all the wealth and kingdoms of the world and offers them to him if he will only renounce his mission. And Jesus refuses. I always note that Satan could not have made that offer if he couldn’t have delivered it, which is a story for another day, as well.

Anyway, Lent is about that temptation for yourself. It is about finding out who you are. And you don’t find out who you are when things are easy. Trust me. I’ve been there. Do you want to really find out who you are? Try running a marathon. That will show you exactly who the hell you are. It easy to say things. It’s harder to do them. So, many people fast in some way to bring temptation to themselves deliberately, to test their character, their strength of will. Others believe that in some way, through suffering, they are sharing in the suffering of Christ. Right. You tell Jesus that. Tell Jesus that giving up Krispy Kreme donuts for forty days is like having eight- inch nails driven through your wrists and feet, see what he says. I bet he disagrees.

Today, in the modern 16th century Catholic Church ( I keep waiting for them to make it to the 17th), lent has been watered down to not eating meat (that would include red meat, pork, or fowl) on Fridays. And on Good Friday-the day Jesus died, and on Ash Wednesday, you are supposed to fast, a catholic fast. And a Catholic fast means that you can have three meals, but two of the meals have to be smaller put together than the third meal. This means, hey, just eat a shitload for dinner and your lunch and breakfast can be pretty much normal. There’s not really much of a fast in a catholic fast unless the catholic wants there to be.

Many people choose to give something up, abstain, or fast, from something they like. As I say, any thought that this compares with the flogging, crown of thorns and crucifixion of Christ, is reaching a little in my humble estimation, but if it floats your boat, go for it. I kind of think the whole idea was that Jesus went through that crap so that you and I wouldn’t have to go through it. At least that is the message of Christianity, as I understand it. I don’t think lent is about suffering. I do think it is about taking stock of where you are in your own spiritual journey. I think a lot of people don’t really even know exactly what they believe. I don’t think they’ve given it much thought. The most important thing to remember about lent, is that God didn’t make it up. People made it up. And it can be a useful tool, but only if you make it so. God isn’t about imposing a lot of rules on us. We impose our own rules on us based on our inner divinity.

Jesus said there are only two rules-to love God (or again, whatever you feel comfortable calling that divine force) and to love each other. All the rules of all the religions boil down to that. Everything else is superfluous. Eat pork; don’t eat pork. Fast; don’t fast. Jesus said if your right eye offends you pluck it out. And what he meant by that, I think, is that if it stands in your way to knowing the absolute joy of that connection to everything, get rid of it. So if pork is keeping you from knowing God, don’t eat it. And if eating a Snickers bar keeps you from knowing God, don’t eat that either. Because in the end, we really don’t live by bread alone. I think the need to feel that connection to that something that is out there is so strong in us that it has to be filled. And sometimes we try to fill it with stuff, but that doesn’t work, because we only want more stuff. And sometimes we try to fill it with liquor, or drugs, or food, or sex, or exercise or any number of things, but in the end, we still feel empty, like something is missing. But we only feel that feeling of emptiness when we slow down and stop and listen to our own hearts talking to us.

So lent is about slowing down and listening. Lent is about trying to reconnect to that power that is underlying everything. And there are many ways to honor it. Try meditation, or learn Tai Chi. Try learning something really new and taking yourself out of that comfort zone for a change. Or really stretch yourself by going to visit in a nursing home. Those people love visits, even if they don’t know you. Hell, half the time they don’t even know their own families. Or you could go out for a walk. Or you could paint that room you’ve been meaning to paint for the past three years. Lent is all about cleaning house. There’s a reason that spring cleaning is in the spring.

Lent isn’t about condemning yourself for being sinful. Lent is about forgiving yourself for not always being who you want to be. In the end, God is about love, and lent is about loving yourself. It is about loving yourself enough to help yourself be what you want. It is about loving yourself enough to fill that emptiness you might feel inside. Lent is about allowing yourself to heal from all the hurts you’ve suffered during the year. The early Christians considered the pentakoste to be a period of rejoicing and they prayed standing up for those fifty days. They must have had good shoes. Lent is what you make it.

After more than twenty years in homicide, it was surprising that Detective Peter Stone would be unprepared for what he was about to encounter.  He had seen many, many tableaus of death and destruction before.  He had seen plenty of carnage, blood and gore and the remnants of terror.  There was none of that here.  Here, the victims sat, looking almost peaceful, around the kitchen table, almost as if they had all fallen asleep at dinner, except there were no table settings, no food, no clues to what exactly had happened, each bound with duct tape to the chair where the final moments of life played out.

He looked at the adult male.  His head was shaved.  Behind his right ear, there was a rough hand-done tattoo consisting of three letters, E S P. He was wearing a white athletic T-shirt and baggy, khaki shorts, with tall athletic socks and Nikes.  He had a gold crucifix around his neck and a gold bracelet around his left wrist.  There was a large tattoo of the Virgin of Guadalupe on his left forearm.

Stone’s eyes turned toward the woman.  The adult female had long brown hair with streaks of blonde highlights.  It was pulled back from her face and graced her shoulders and back.  She was wearing a brown short sleeve top that clung a little too tightly to her curves.  She was wearing blue denim Capri’s that struggled against their seams.  She was barefoot.  With her eyes closed, you could see the heavy blue eye shadow and fake lashes.  She was wearing gold hoop earrings.  Around her neck, she wore a small scapular medal.  He looked closer, Our Lady of Mount Carmel.  He stood up and felt his own medal beneath his shirt.  His was a cheap pewter medal to Saint Jude.

He walked to the other side of the table and examined the children.  They were two boys.  One looked to be about ten or eleven.  The other was no more than seven or eight.  They had short hair.  They were wearing baggy shorts and t-shirts.  The older boy’s shirt was brown and had the words, “Here Comes Trouble” silk-screened on the front.  The other wore a blue T-shirt with a picture of Spiderman on the front. Stone always liked Spiderman.  He could relate to him.  Both the boys were wearing Vans.  They both looked like they were sleeping.  What the hell happened here?

The forensic guys were there, taking photographs and measurements, getting in his way.  The afternoon light bled in through the curtains, and bathed the victims in an almost holy light.  Stone walked around the table and looked into the face of each victim.  There was no hint of fear or anger, no hint of what may have led to this end.  What made this crime different were the children.  Why did they kill the two boys?

He walked through the rest of the small house.  He looked around the living room. There was some kind of video game console on the floor in front of the flat screen television.  There was a dingy blue couch and a ratty burnt orange chair, both of which looked like refugees from some thrift shop.  There was old Formica coffee table adorned with two empty coke cans, a dirty ashtray, a pack of Marlboros, and an orange ipod.  A skateboard was leaning against the wall.  The place looked small, and cluttered, but there was no sign of struggle, no hint of what may have happened.

He went down the short hall and poked his head in the bathroom.  The walls wanted painting.  The shower curtain was pulled back.  On the counter he saw a half-used tube of toothpaste, a glass full of toothbrushes, a bottle of Old Spice, a can of Aquanet hair spray, and a blood test meter. The window was open. Nothing looked out of the ordinary.

There was only one bedroom.  “Where did the kids sleep?” He thought to himself as he looked around.  The bed had not been made and the covers were crumpled on top of the bed.  In the corner, there was a cheap build it yourself computer desk with a computer and printer.  There were some clothes on the floor.  Everything seemed in order.  There were no signs of a robbery. He looked in the closet.  He picked up the pump action shotgun leaning against the wall just inside the door and examined it.  It was loaded.  He set it down on the bed.  He picked up a large backpack and looked inside.  It appeared to contain what had to be at least a pound of marijuana.  He looked in the nightstand.  There was a bag of weed, a small scale, and a Jimenez Arms .380 semi-automatic pistol.  Okay, these weren’t the Cleavers.

He went back in the kitchen, past the family, and through the back door to look around.  There was no yard.  There was another house right behind theirs.  He lifted the cover off the barbecue grill right next to the door.  There were still some old charcoal briquettes in it.  The grill looked as if it had never been cleaned.  On the cement next to the grill, was a can of charcoal lighter fluid.  On the other side of the back stoop was a concrete block on end upon which someone sat, no doubt.  Next to that was a green and yellow web lawn chair, rusty around the rivets.  In the midst of the little box houses was a communal clothes line adorned with t-shirts and underwear, shorts, pants, and housedresses.

He turned around and inspected the door.  There were no signs of forced entry around the door.  This wasn’t going to be an easy one he could see.  This was going to take some work.  The duct tape would be dusted for prints, but Stone was already fairly certain no prints would be found.  No, whoever did this wouldn’t leave prints.  And this wasn’t the work of a professional.  A professional would have just shot them, or bombed the house, or burned it.  We won’t know what killed this family until the autopsies.  Besides, why would a professional want to kill a young family of four in a poor urban neighborhood like this one?  Why would anybody want these people dead?  What motive could anybody have?  Revenge?  For what?  And revenge killings weren’t usually this tidy.

But the killer, whoever it was, did make one mistake.  They made it weird.  Stone knew he would not rest until he untangled this knot.  He had to know what happened here, and why.  If there had been a lot of blood, if there had been things stolen, they might have chalked it up to a robbery, or a gang hit.  This killer called attention to himself by not calling attention to himself.  Whoever killed this family was someone these people knew, someone they trusted.  And if they made one mistake, they made others.  It was just a matter of time.

Stone approached one of the uniformed officers.  “Who found them?”

“The mother,” the officer responded, “When her daughter didn’t show up to drop off the kids that night, she tried to call.  When she couldn’t reach ‘em, she came over to the house and knocked on the door.  She saw the car out front…”

“What car?”

“That white Honda Civic over there.”  Stone turned to look.  “When she saw the car, she knew they were home.  When nobody answered, she walked around and looked in the kitchen window.  She saw them at the table and tried to call to them, but when they didn’t answer, she called 911.”

“Were you the one that found them like this?”

“No, that was my partner, Garcia.  You want to talk to him?”

“Yeah, later.  Did you notice anything you think might be of some help here?”

“Nope.  If the dude wasn’t taped up too, I’d think it was some murder suicide thing, y‘know?  I’ll tell you one thing, this wasn’t no nice guy or anything.  People around here called him Lil Loco.  He was bad news.  We all knew him.  He was a Pilotero, long time.”

“Not a nice guy.”

“You could say that.  We won’t miss him, that’s for sure.”

“I want your reports as soon as possible, officer, yours and your partner’s.”  Stone said, coolly and professionally.  He turned and walked back inside, back past the crime scene into the kitchen.  He looked in the fridge—some Coors, a two-liter bottle of plain wrap cola, some milk, some eggs, some butter, not much else.  He looked at the freezer door.  He spent a moment looking at a picture in crayon of a house and lollypop trees, green circles on top of brown sticks, with a big old yellow sun in the corner.  Across the top of the picture was a name in poor childish script, “Francisco”.   Must be one of the kids’.  Stuck to the freezer door, along with a magnet for a local pizza delivery restaurant, was a green plastic magnetic letter “F”.  He waked back into the living room.

“Rocky!”

Stone turned around.  It was his captain.

“Well, Rocky, what do you make of it?”

“I don’t know, captain.  It looks like there were a lot of people who might have wanted this guy dead, but not the kind of people who would do this.  I’ll know more once we get the autopsy reports.  It doesn’t look like anything’s been stolen.  I saw a bag full of marijuana in the closet.  The man was dealing, I’m fairly sure.  But this doesn’t look like any drug hit I’ve ever seen.”

“Well let me know what you find out as soon as you can.  The press is gonna be all over this one.”

Stone looked outside.  A news van from the local Mexican station was pulling up to the curb even as they were speaking.  “I’ll do my best, captain.”

“I’m gonna team you up with Fernandez on this one.”

“Dick will be back from vacation next week, Captain.”

“Yeah, but Fernandez speaks Spanish.  You don’t.  And I want someone on this that’ll make the community happy.  A lot of people are going to be scared when this gets out.  We gotta be careful.”

“Okay, Cap.  We’ll get the bad guys.”

“See that you do. A lot of people are watching.”

Stone turned and headed back to his car.  He opened the door and sat down.  The damn seat belt was jammed again.  Fuck it.  He put the key in the ignition and turned it.  He didn’t like working with Fernandez.  They didn’t agree on anything.  Every conversation they had eventually turned into an argument.  If he said green, Fernandez said red.  This antipathy started the day they met, when Fernandez came to homicide.  “This is going to be fun,” he thought to himself as he headed back to the station.

I have seen fifty-six times the promise of light
I have seen the rise of the Titan rocket and the fall of the Challenger
I have seen the rise of Camelot and the fall of a president
I have seen the rise of Dylan and the fall of Cobain
I have heard the voice of a prophet crying in darkness

I saw them kill Martin, kill Malcolm, kill Bobby, kill Jack
I saw the rise of our consciousness and the fall of our aspirations
I saw burning banks, burning draft cards, burning bras, burning desires
I saw Watts burning, Detroit burning, Saigon burning, burning, burning

I saw burning Vietnamese napalm girl crying to the camera lens

I saw Cambodia Khymer Rouge killing fields skulls and tibias

I saw Afghanistan rising Iraq rising and falling, Iran, I ran

I saw North Korea calling
I saw Pink Floyd walk the moon long before Apollo ever took the sky

I have seen world war three nuclear holocaust in my lunchbox
I have seen Bikini atoll burning death roasting pig flesh screaming
I have seen baton back breaking Chicago pigs beating the innocents
I have seen four dead Kent State students blood on the grass
I have seen Lennon, better than Jesus, tell us love is all we need so we killed him

I heard George longing for Krishna, and so God killed him.
I stood in the Sea of Tranquility and looked back at the earth
I followed Cesar brown beret Lady of Guadalupe no grapes for ten years que viva la raza
El cabrón murió por nuestros pecados.
I have seen the constitution torn to shreds by patriots.
I heard everything my teachers told me about the land of opportunity
I stood in the unemployment line, my back broken from apathy
I followed the preachers of prosperity until I learned you cannot serve two masters
The bastards never kept their promises

I fell in love with mythological visions of Liz and Dick
I fell in love with garage band dreams but Jerry died in rehab and took the dead with him
I fell in love with the sound of my own words but now we’re just good friends
One foot in the Great Depression and One foot in the Great Society

I have learned not to believe everything I hear.
I have learned not to believe my eyes
I have learned to develop a sense of the absurd, a strange metamorphosis
Kafka could write for Hollywood and create a sureality program.

I have lived fifty-six years
I have seen my boys to men

Between depression and hope
There are fewer years ahead than behind
I am over halfway home
I can see it just ahead
Almost there
Almost
there

Wilson/revised 2011