RUNNER

I have always been a runner. Running serves multiple purposes in my life; a coping mechanism, my favorite form of exercise, a personal test, a release, a sanctuary where I retreat when I need to feel something real in a world of illusions, and so on. At some point in life my running changed. I stopped running away from the things that scarred me and started running towards the things I wanted. I can not say for certain when that exact moment was. I have a feeling this transition occurred around 2000 A.D. on the rainy island of Okinawa. I distinctly remember being out late one night running, 10pm or later. As I was heading out on my run, I stopped at the pull ups bars. The Battalion Chaplin happened to be there. Our conversation went a little something like this:

Chaplin: “Marine, I always see you out running. I just gotta know, what are you running from?”

Me: “I am not running from anything, Sir. I’m running towards something.”

Chaplin: “Interesting, but I find that hard to believe, out here in the dark running alone.”

Me: “Maybe I’m running from the same thing that has you out here doing pull ups in the middle of the night, Sir.”

I can not say for certain that night my running changed, but it was definitely the first time I verbalized this change of purpose. Since that humid Okinawan night I have run hundreds, probably thousands of miles. Each mile ran, I learn something about myself; Sometimes good, sometimes bad, but always something.

I can not imagine that there will ever by a day when I won’t run. Maybe, but it is highly unlikely. I am sure as I evolve, so will my running, and vice versa. Below is a poem I wrote a few years ago about “running”. I hope you enjoy it.

RUNNER

When you met me

You knew I was a runner

You knew I sought refuge in these shoes

That when shit hits the fan

I hit the streets

176 steps per minute = 6:08 pace

Sweat running down my face

Adrenaline running through my veins

And Honey… I can do this all-night-long…

Run that is

You see I had a good teacher

"Jackie"

She taught me well

Taught me that if I ran hard enough and long enough

The burning in my thighs could replace this pain in my chest

That responsibility was only temporary

That there was nothing we couldn’t run from

Rent's due – RUN

Another bad check – RUN

No more hand outs – RUN

Unconditional love, bullshit…

There is no such thing, so you better – RUN

And that’s what we did

Mama took my by my hand and we ran

But she failed to realize that boy would develop into this man

So here I am

Standing here

In this constant state

Straddling this door way

With one foot out

Always ready to –RUN

And I know I deserve better

I know I could be so much more

IF I could just shake this urge to run

Genetically predisposed to navigate these asphalt seas

Physically weakened by the sting of honey bees

Seeking out off ramps and escape routes

Covering my tracks

Backtracking

Mapping out new routes to old destinations

Sprinting out the back doors of places I never should have been

Mischievous grins, thoughts, mistakes

All fuel my next 10K

Feet keep turning, leading me away from my ability at being great

Always just a step away…

Always just a step away

This false sense of freedom

Is it fear?

Is it a fucking lie?

Or just weakness disguised as independence?

But I don’t wanna be alone, impendent of you

What is the point of running a race if there is no one there to cheer you on?

What is the point of taking another step if it is not leading me closer..

To greatness... to completeness… to LOVE…

All things working together for the greater good

Ideally this is great

But I’m doing it again…

Sprinting out the back door of a thought

Where I never should have been

I’m running towards a quickly setting son of a woman

Who only taught her baby boy how to – RUN

REVOLUTION

I received an interesting Facebook message this week. The author of the message was reaching out to me, I believe, because he/she was or is concerned about me. This individual wanted to know if I was "OK".
Initially, I found humor in the question based off the character of the enquirer.I even giggled out loud. Once I allowed the irony to subside I found myself reflecting on the question: what it means to be "OK", the fact they felt concerned enough to ask, etc.

To answer the question, I am better than OK. I am awake. I feel connected to the world around me in a way that I always knew was possible but was never ready to accept as possible for me. I am sure this apparent "change" in my life approach has become obvious to both those close to me and those acquainted with me. For those who love me and who have always seen what I am now becoming (or what I am capable of being), this change is welcomed. I think it is only concerning for those who are not ready for me to grow, to evolve. Not because of how this change effects me, but because how it effects them. I think popular culture or Hip Hop culture refer to this as "haters gonna hate". Yeah... something like that, just a little deeper.

The reality is this change is not new, it has been building inside of me for years (below is a poem that I wrote in 2010 - it woke me from my sleep, literally). It was the fear that comes with self growth that has held me back, the burden of responsibility stopped me from shedding layers of dead skin and revealing what was lay beneath. Being "Chameleon like" is easy. Taking on this identity allows you to live like an agnostic who never professes anything, just instigating that all things could be or could not be. The reality  is rolling in and out of beliefs is draining.

In contrast, "Being" is liberating.

Revolution

I am seeking a revolution

But not of the physical world

One that will start in my mind

Expand past time and space

Logic will not be able to confine

Or limit the amount of growth that is due

It is overdue

Like a library book that was checked out

But never returned or read

Its contents were too intense for a feeble mind to comprehend

And I knew it

Soon as began scanning those first few sentences

Found myself overwhelmed

Frightened by words

Pieced together so perfectly

They spoke to me

They spoke at me

They screamed my name

So they were bound

Stored away

Not returned to the shelf where I found them

But stored alone

Like me

Those words possessed power

They locked themselves into my memory banks

Where they transformed into matter

Because thoughts do become things

I always considered myself lucky

Never admitting it was me

Because with admittance comes responsibility

The burden of awareness was all I could see

When I needed it

It was there

Fear of greatness

Leads to mediocracy

A place where I govern myself free of expectation

A place where the mean rule supreme

Where average is the only language the locals speak

But so-so was a concept I could never quit grasp

 It was unnatural and awkward

It made me anxious inside my own skin

So I shed it

I bled myself out

Replacing blood that was devoid of life with oxygen rich plasma

Full of energy

That runs to the tips of these hands

Hands that clinch into fist

Pumping into the air

Trembling with an impulse to create

No longer bound by self inflicted cuffs

That serves as bracelets

That defines limitations as

“One’s inability to accomplish said mentioned things” i.e. greatness

Open myself up to becoming prodigious

No longer resist

Entertain all ideas…

You see

I find myself seeking a revolution

But not one of the physical world. 

STRESS

I have had a simple question rolling around my big brain for about a week now; "How much does stress weigh?"

I will regress from this question to introduce where this thought comes from, escort you through my mental process. Tis the season to be jolly. Turns out that not only is it the season to be jolly, but also the season to gain weight. Studies for years have suggested that the average American gains about 5-10lbs during the holiday season. This is only partially true. The reality is Americans tend to gain only about 1-2lbs during the holidays. Which is not really that big of deal until you continue reading the research and find out that Americans, as they age, gain about 1-2 lbs a year. (This is weight gain that keeps adding to itself.) So one could reason that this annual weight gain can be directly linked to the 6 weeks between Thanksgiving and New Years Eve. Sad, but when we take an even closer look at the research, you discover that the Americans who fall into this 1-2lbs holiday weight gain category are considered to be from the "healthy" population. The Average American is not healthy. The average American is about 25lbs overweight. So they do not fall into this 1-2lbs of weight during the holiday season category. No, these individuals who are already overweight or obese have their own category; they belong to the "5-10lbs  weight gain during the holiday season" club. (A sign of hopelessness?) Weight, according to studies, they will carry to the next holiday season... and the one after that. Tragic. It doesn't take a M.I.T. graduate to do the quick math.

These finding outs get to me. They bother me. I carry them with me. I pass strangers who are obese and say a mediation for them. I have begun including the general population in my meditations. Obesity is an epidemic that used to anger me. Outrage me. I am slowly, steadily finding it in my heart to release this anger. Trade in in my feelings of rage for understanding, which MUST NOT be confused with sympathy. Sympathy equals pity, it breeds victims and shifts the burden of responsibility off of the individual. Understanding on the other hand, opens the door for conversation and allows a healing process to begin, allows for one to see that we all chose our paths; good, bad, lean, or obese. These are conscious decisions.

With this thought we arrive back to question, "how much does stress weigh?"

Tis the season to be Jolly. Is this true? Is there anything jolly about "Black Friday"? A time when our families leave our sides at Thanksgiving to go stand in line for hours to buy "reduced" material stuff. Items that if they waited till the day/week after Christmas to buy they could get even cheaper. Where is the Jolly in Starbucks and other companies being opened on Christmas day? How much holiday cheer do the employees of these companies get driving themselves to work to serve others on a day that is supposed to be about joy, family, and peace on Earth.What is Jolly about individuals allowing themselves (again, their choice) to spend money/credit on gifts during such tough economic times? Why do we even buy gifts? Obligation? Tradition?

My goal is simply to point out that our festive season has evolved into a season of stress. I believe, that there is a direct correlation between stress and weight gain during the holiday season. To reduce the connection between holiday stress levels and holiday weight gain to a coincidence is similar to closing one's eyes in the middle of the day and stating it is dark out, irrational. Our physical selves are not only represented by the fuel we consume. We, more than anything, are a physical product of our self perceptions: our thoughts and emotions. Both externally and internally.

I can name dozens, literally, of hard working people. Individuals who, through vigorous exercise and physical training, 'kill' themselves. They eat well, maybe not perfect, but make a conscious effort to hold themselves accountable to some sort of food standard. Yet, they don't change. Or when they do, it is minimal. The effort doesn't seem worth the result. They become frustrated and search for answers, only to reason, they must work harder! Run another mile, increase their intensity, cut out carbs... determined to do more, they fail to recognize that their weight gain or maintain is more a result of what they believe. Believe about themselves, the world around them, or the relationships/friendships they keep. Literally, their thoughts weigh them down.

We live in a society of chaos. A matrix of faux ideas and gimmicks. We are confronted with stress the moment we are brought out of our slumber by a screaming electronic device. We keep strict schedules and demanding lifestyles. We believe that "bigger, faster, stronger" is the way to righteousness. "No pain, no gain". I find this to be an ironic philosophy for a culture so desperately in need of healing. 

So this holiday season, slow down. Breathe. Take a moment to confront your feelings and emotions. Forgive yourself and forgive others. Give yourself permission to relax. When feelings of frustration, anger, resentment, and fear arise, take a moment to transfer that energy into a positive thought. Release those feelings, free yourself of the toxic effects these thoughts and emotions have on you. Just be, you already are.

The next time you are starring in the mirror, tell yourself you love yourself, AND MEAN IT! Strip down to your bare body and stand in front of the mirror and be OK with that person. Allow that person to move forward, to grow. Give that person permission to be OK. Learn to meditate. Try it. It works. What do you got to lose, besides probably a few pounds and a lot of built up negativity.

I am not sure how much stress weighs... but I know I am not letting it weigh me down any longer. My prayer for you is that you choose the same. Life is nothing more than a series of choices. Choose wisely.

DREAMS

I have been having very vivid dreams lately. A few nights my dreams have caused me to sit up in sheer panic. Not b/c I was having nightmares, but b/c I was confused as to what reality was, as if I was on the border line of becoming completely lost inside my own mind. Your mind can travel to interesting places and convince itself of interesting realities at 3am in a dark room. In at least one of my dreams I have been completely aware that I was dreaming. In this instance, I was not only aware that I was dreaming but also that the content of my current dream was from others dreams; dream combining if you will. In another I was capable of levitating (flying) and trying to teach others how to levitate as well. Gripping stuff.

While I am certainly not an educated scholar of the mind, I do believe in the power of dreams, be it while I am awake or while I am sleep. I do prescribe to the idea that "thoughts become things". 

"I believe in everything until it's disproved. So I believe in fairies, the myths, dragons. It all exists, even if it's in your mind. Who's to say that dreams and nightmares aren't as real as the here and now?"
~John Lennon

Dream - Verb. /drem/

contemplate the possibility of doing something; something might be the case 

Last night, I dreamed I was in Lagos

Free, living inside the city dump

Living inside a shack with scrap metal and wood walls, a tarp and rusted Yugo hood ceiling

A floor made of Earth

A bed made of Earth

Had swapped out my 1000ct thread sheets for mosquito netting

Traded my ergonomic pillow for arms crossed behind head

Exchanged my CD of sleepy time sound-scapes for... sound-scapes. 

I was one of 16million souls with a collective purpose. 

I awoke this morning wanting to live... 

Live in a village not in a neighborhood

Wanting to live with people who stomp their feet and clap their hands simply b/c it is Thursday

Celebrate daily b/c it the only logical thing to do with the limitless energy that vibrates through our flesh

Inhabit a space where card board and copper are the only currency needed

where the exchange of goods and services trump a complicated and selfish financial system that leaves everyone wanting more and appreciating less

A place where the phrase "your moneys no good here" really means your money is no good here

Live In a place where time doesn't stand still but doesn't dictate the pace

I awoke this morning ready to start living and stop dying.

SCARS

I recently read an interview where the Minnesota Vikings running back, Adrian Peterson, discussed his healing process post ACL surgery. A potentially career ending injury that occurred during a football game last Christmas Eve (2011). In that interview "AP" made an interesting comment. The interviewer asked Adrian when he knew he was back to his old self, which obviously he is based off his league leading stats, and "AP" responded with a story about how he made an instinctive cut and plant at full speed. He went on to say that during this cat like action he felt the area around his ACL "tear" or "release". Initially this sounds gruesome. Maybe even like it would be the last thing you would want to feel, but he said his physical therapist told him this would happen when he "broke through the scar tissue". In that moment, at full speed, AP heard his P.T.'s words... and he knew he was healed. This must of been an empowering revelation.

I find this bit of information amazing. Yesterday, while I did my eight mile run, it was all I could think about. I have scars, we all have scars. Scars aren't an issue. While I propelled myself along the coast one foot at a time, I asked myself, "Do I do enough to break through them? Do I put myself back onto the field of play at full speed? Or do I allow my scars to hold me back, only go as far as they allow me to go, allow them to control my range of motion?" The real issue isn't the scar, but rather the effect I allow my scars to have over me.  

Trauma happens. It is just a part of life. Scars form. I (we) can allow these scars, either physical or mental, to hold me (us) back or I (we) can tear through them, choose to release myself (ourselves). 

Release. It is really my only option. 

Abuse – Noun. /a-byus/

: A corrupt practice or custom

I always felt my mother’s biggest flaw was that she lacked a method to her madness. She relied heavily on her emotions when making decisions. She never adhered to any sort of code. Her philosophy was more of a non philosophy, “feel it, do it”.  It was this irrational mind set that landed her in Greenville. After her and my step-dad divorced she decided to leave Charlotte and go home to Atlanta. Two hours into her four hour drive it occurred to her that black sheep can’t go home. So she exited the freeway half way between home and Hell.

Marie and I arrived in Greenville by plane. We had spent that summer in Indiana with our father, Lee. When Marie and I walked off the plane Mama was there waiting for us. She hugged Marie first and then grabbed me up into her arms. Her tight caress was too much. She realized it and released me.

“Are you Ok?” She asked me.

I just nodded yes: an obvious lie. 

“Come with me to the bathroom” she insisted as she reached out her hand. She lead Marie and me into the ladies room.

I was embarrassed. I didn't want to go into the bathroom. I was sure there were women in there. I knew what Mama wanted and didn't want others to see.

“Take your pants off”, Mama ordered.

I stood there staring at her. There were no women in sight but I could hear a woman who was using one of the stalls.

“Ray, honey, now. Show Mama” she pleaded with me.

I slowly unbuttoned and unzipped my blue jeans. My hands were shaking. I was unsure what my mother’s reaction would be. I was afraid the lady might leave the stall just I bared myself. As I slowly took my pants down Mama asked me to turn around.

As I did Marie spoke up, “it’s bad, huh Mama?”

I stood there, pants down around my knees, my ass exposed to my family. I tried to lose myself in the yellow wall tile in front of me. I thought about floating in the bowl of banana pudding on the Nilla wafers box. My visualization couldn't take me away from this moment. Mama slowly came towards me and lifted up my shirt. As she rolled up my pin striped tank, goose bumps ran up my  spine. She used her free hand to pull the band of my underwear away from my body. As she did I cringed. The release of the tight elastic band from my bruised and swollen flesh sent pain up my back.

“I’m sorry baby. Mama didn't mean to hurt you.” she assured me.

The woman in the stall flushed the toilet. Mama gently released the elastic band of my underwear and let my tank top fall freely. “You can take your pants up now Ray” said Mama. 

The stall door clicked as the lady inside unlocked it. I quickly reached down and pulled my blue jeans up and fastened them around my waist. As I worked the zipper up, Mama asked the lady what the fuck she was looking at. The lady didn't speak. She just turned the water on and proceeded to wash her hands.I don't blame her for not speaking. I was embarrassed. There was no reason for Mama to curse at her. 

The three of us exited the restroom and headed for baggage claim. We walked in silence. I wanted my mother to say something. She didn't  We arrived at the baggage claim and stood along the other passengers and watched the bags go around. Mama sent me up close to the conveyor belt so I could grab the bags when they came out. I stood there waiting. I was confused as to why Mama hadn't said anything. Was she upset at me? I felt like I let her down. I wanted to tell her I fought back. I was overwhelmed with the urge to apologize. Did she think I was an ungrateful little asshole, too? 

“Ray, my bag!” Marie yelled as she pointed. 

Marie's bag lined itself up with me, I reached down for it. It was heavier than I expected. As I grabbed the shoulder strap the weight pulled me forward and caused her bag to fall off the conveyor belt. I lost my balance and fell forward, my shirt came up. My lower back was exposed. I quickly jumped up. I was certain another passenger saw my bruises. A flush of embarrassment came over me. I looked around. No one seemed to notice me. Sweat beaded on my forehead. I could feel my heart pulse through my wounds. I set Marie’s bag on the ground next to my feet. I was relieved to see my bag when I looked down the line of bags moving towards me. I braced myself and removed it from the conveyor belt.

With both bags in hand I awkwardly walked back to my family. Mama grabbed Marie’s bag out of my hand. Our trio exited baggage claim and headed toward the parking lot.

Marie and I were surprised to discover Mama had replaced our station wagon with a new car. I didn't like it. Our new family vehicle only had two doors and no rear facing seat. The sun reflected off of it and made it difficult for me to tell if it was gold or some sort of rusty orange color. Either way it was ugly to me. Mama popped open the trunk. I lifted my bag and placed it inside next to Marie’s. Mama closed the trunk and walked around to the passenger’s door and unlocked it.

“Shotgun” yelled Marie. 

Self worth has been an idea that has been rolling around my brain for the last few weeks. Defining how much I am "worth" seems to be quite challenging for me. Worth is an idea that has been beaten so-far-past being cliche by 'self help specialists' that it continues to lose its value among the pop culture morals it is up against. In my experience, understanding my worth has been a roller coaster ride of self realization and self sabotage. A fast paced ride full of bright flashes of enlightenment followed by lulls of near suicidal downturns. As the train of carts races around the rails I am both the elated wide-eyed kid who takes the down hills with my hands up and the rational motion sick adult who understands every up is followed by a nightmarish downward plunge.
My mania goes professionally undiagnosed, but my search for self worth, self actualization, continues.

Junk – Noun. /jonke/

: Something of little meaning, worth, or significance.  

Some treasures are not bright and shiny. They are not majestic wooden chest full of rare jewels at the bottom of salty seas or over sized black pots of gold located at the end of rainbows.  Some treasures are nothing more than a surprise find at a shitty neighbor's garage sale or at one of those ginormous parking lot sales. A wonderful thing with no price tag lost among a pile of junk. A find you didn't know you needed until you saw it. Until you picked it up and felt it in your hands. 

"So how much for this?" you might ask the junk’s owner.

"What's it worth to you? A couple bucks?" he'd reply back.

"Sure" you would confirm while trying to hide the excitement of knowing you just ripped this dude off. 

You'd walk back to your car and with precision and caution you’d set it in the passenger seat.  Ecstatically you’d drive home. Occasionally gazing over at it feeling satisfied. Then all at once it hits you. How did it end up there among the junk? Who over looked its amazement and allowed it to slip away? 

You'd pull of the road, maybe into an empty store parking lot, and turn the car off. Silence would fill the car. Sadness would overtake your mind. As the tears breach your eye lids it occurs to you that maybe all your new precious has ever known was junk. You'd do the simple math, junk attracts junk. Even non junk that has always been surrounded by junk attracts junk. Your precious thinks it’s junk. Your tears would fall. 

You'd pick it up. "You're not junk. You do know that don't you?" 

Blank stares, it doesn't know.

Cha-me-leon – Noun. /ka-mel-yen/

Often attributive

: A person given to often expedient change or facile change in ideas or character.

"What type of animal do you see yourself as?" asks the interviewer. 

Like all questions there are two basic ways to answer: A. tell the truth or B. give the response you assume the enquirer wants to hear. I chose B. 

"A Panther." A large predatory animal is always the best answer, most choose the stereotypical Lion, Tiger, or Great White. I choose Panther because as it rolls off the tongue it supplies the correct answer and resonates nicely to the listener as it strikes their auditory nerve. 

I like Panther's a lot. They are stealthy, deceivingly powerful, and travel alone. Those characteristics suite me. As much as feel like I could easily fall into this genre of feline, I know I am more reptilian. I am a Chameleon. Chameleon's are survivors. Four legged fighters who have overcome fifty-eight million years of change. 

They are nature's original liars. Their lies are not of the complicated multipurpose variety. No, they do not use their deception for evil. They use it to survive, to last another day in a cruel world. The jungle is full of predators. Exposing one's true self, especially weakness, results in only negative outcomes. The sides are clearly divided inside the triple canopy of chaos; Predator or Prey, Carnivore or Herbivore, Nocturnal or Diurnal. Yet, the Chameleon chooses only to blend; claiming  no side, citing no loyalties, placing only survival on a pedestal. 

Even when answering questions the Chameleon replies with the answer that allows him to most fit in. A master of not only disguise but also reflection. A prefect trait for a survivor who inhabits a narcissistic world.