“What do you do?”

What I say when I’m asked, “What do you do?”

I work at mind altering heights dangling from a gigantic mechanized fishing rod, or even closer to space hanging from thousands of teeny hairs twisted together, or as a target under multiple sky workers cutting thousands of pounds of debris near me on towering, water-filled conductive plants near power lines with enough electricity to kill me 10,000 times over.

I work with razor sharp cutting implements that could cut of any of my limbs off in an instant. I drag tree body parts over muscle tearing, joint popping terrain, day in and day out. I feed the tree bodies into enormous people-shredding machines on roads packed with clueless zombies and wheeled steel coffins driven at break-necking speeds by oblivious distracted people that cannot see me.

I do not need to do this work. I choose to do this work. I want to do this work. I love to do this work.

This is not work.

This is life.

My mouth drools in anticipation of the challenges this life offers. I look forward to pushing myself past the limit of my abilities to finish what I start. I savor the obstacles fate puts in my path and use them to sharpen my skills and strengthen myself.

What do I do? I challenge myself to take this life to dare greatly and to pursue the triumph of high achievement. What will I do? In the end, I will lay peacefully, knowing I’ve spent myself in a worthy cause.

You’re God

Stop searching

looking up to the sky

looking to others

Stop and look in.

And realize the truth.

You’re God.

It is the truth, You know it in Your soul.

Big and scary and suffocating and exhilarating and beautiful.

Everything in Your life has brought You to this moment.

You’ve followed the plan You’ve laid out for Yourself perfectly

and landed right here.

So, for God’s sake,

for Your sake,

do something about it.

The world,

Your world,

needs fixing.

So fix it.

Do it for You

or do it for us

it doesn’t matter,

just do it.

And take Your gift and teach it to Us

Together We can all make Our world

Heaven.

Gold River

The things that happen.

I zipped the top of my head off

like a box of sardines.

A small man jumped out

that man was me.

The blank page was like a sheet of ice

I skated around

swooping

jumping

spinning

free

My feet, it was amazing,

I couldn’t control my feet.

They were possessed.

Something had taken control of my feet.

It wasn’t me.

The Big Me

top off my head

I just watched it all

And then looked at my hand

which was gripping a clock

gripping so hard that the tips of my fingers

broke the face

jammed the arms

so they stopped.

The sharp arms of the clock

cut into me

and the blood turned black

when it hit the sheet.

Then Little Me

I got the blood on my feet

And danced around

in full out of control

I realized

the marks I was leaving were letters

then words

then lines of this prose

the source of which I did not know.

Little Me tired

and the blood ran dry

so I jumped in my head and

zipped it back closed.

My grip on the clock loosened

a bit

And the hands started moving.

The face healed itself.

I licked my lips and hung it back on the wall

where it watched me

eat a Larabar.

Carrot juice

I changed today

but nobody saw it.

One of those “AH-HA” type moments

vibrating along the wires.

You might have kids, but you’re not a father.

You might have a wife, but you’re not a husband.

Not until you act like one.

So, how do you act?

Do you stay at work, consumed with opportunity?

Do you get angry and yell, or give time and teach?

These things, these things that you do, you do it to yourself

you do.

Don’t you?

A teammate quits.

Can you blame him?

No.

It’s your own damn fault. Too busy measuring, planning, scheming.

You think it’s all fine, as long as the bus is travelling down the road

Forget the fact that the wheels came off awhile ago

and you can’t stop

and there are babies in the road ahead.

“WHO LEAVES THEIR BABIES IN THE ROAD?” you scream.

You did.

Too focused on that carrot

you chase

every day.

You’re going to run the babies over. And lose them all.

Don’t change for the better.

Change for the present.

It’s all rented

your couch

your expensive dogs

your white fireplace

your library of books

your fast car

your jacked up truck

your big clean house

your shiny watch

your trendy shoes

your spotless driveway

your holy underwear

your wedding ring

your fucking job

your stress sweat

your scars

your itchy crotch

your stubby fingers

your perfect finger nails

your frizzy hair

your slanted smile

your slightly crossed eyes

your friends

your feelings

your diagnoses

your disease

your sickness

your wellness

your health

your notebook

your money

your name

your time

your things

these

these things

these things are

these things are all

these things are all rented

you

you own

you own nothing

you own nothing except

you own nothing except

you own nothing except

 

you

Love you do

Your feelings? Stuff them.

Love isn’t something you feel. Love is something you do.

Show up. Stay the course. Persist.

“I love you,” means:

Food

Shelter

Water

Protection

“I am here.”

Love

Love takes effort. Effort requires work. Love is work.

“What about feelings?”

What about them. Other people’s feelings for you are a consequence of your actions.

When you act like you love someone

they will love you.

So don’t be surprised that when you stop doing love

that they stop loving you.

You’re standing there with your arms full of wood

demanding that the sticks piled on the ground give you heat

before you’ll give them a spark.

Love and you’ll be loved.

You make the choice.

Hurt or injured

There’s a question I ask

when I see him fall

Something that separates

me from them all.

“Is he hurt or injured?”

I ask myself

and the answer I give

is a guide to my help.

 

If he’s hurt, he’s ok, though a little bruised up

Some tears and a Band-Aid

And he cheers right up

So I won’t jump in

and make a show of it all

I hang right back

and let him make the call.

His life’s not in danger,

so some space he will get

To think his things over

and choose his upset.

 

If he’s injured, he’s down and out for the count

And I’ll come a running, and probably shout,

“HOLY SHIT, WHAT DID YOU DO THAT FOR?”

Then roar to the truck and throw open the door.

The hospital knows when they see us there,

to jump us to the front of line up in chairs.

And call for a doctor and at least one nurse

And to start making arrangements for some kind of hearse.

 

Life is tough and you’re going to lose

if you get hurt and need to stop for a bruise.

And you’ll also lose out on life if you wait

when you’re injured and pounding on Heaven’s gate.