A Story of different kind...

 PREFACE:

For a long time, many friends and family had urged me to dedicate more time to writing.  If I had to answer a question of "why did they urge you", I suspect its not my overwhelming literary knowledge; nor my underwhelming knowledge of college level writing or english language skills.  So I'm left only with this assessment to the question as the answer anyone might seek I guess. 

That would be, I write from my perspective, I trying and relate my fives sense to any experience or topic such that you...  can find a way to relate to the topic on a human level of "any man/woman"....  essentially I write I guess from one humans perspective in a very raw often curse filled and exceedingly open..... and yeah way goddamned more honest than I think most are willing to allow themselves.

The Story...

So after a year that saw a near deadly motorcycle accident; last April and then followed by just an obliteration of my finances, ability to make money and the sale of everything from work trucks to priceless guitars just to pay rent and eat (sometimes, stay tuned).  The death of one of my dearest friends followed four days later with the death of my cousin, both from cancer and abruptly in the middle of a budding love relationship AND in the middle of a 12 step spiritual convention in West Virginia. 

As if this year wasn't bad enough having saved myself and my business from homelessness I avoided a distracted driver from a head-on collision and trashed my only vehicle in the processes.  My lawyer asked why didn't I just smash into him you were in the right!  Well because I couldn't think of just smashing into this fucking moron and killing him in my F-250 Super-Duty as I drove a brisk 28.2 mph overtop of his crumpling brand new baby Land Rover that was traveling at least 30mph.  The instant amount of physics I was able to calculate with my knowledge and speed....  Let's just say the math didn't look good for his tenure here on the the planet.  Instead, his 18yr old self acted like he played no part and I repair my truck with the last $2000 in my business bank account.  Essentially ending bankrupting my business....

Yeah so that's my shit show of a year until now...let's not even discuss the PTSD, let's not even get into how I'll never again have a career as a commercial driver or that I'll never ride a motorcycle.  Instead let's get down with this whole writing, journey bullshit and see what shakes of it.  Because I've got some shit to say now.  After having essentially, my whole world resurrected into this "new" version of whom Ray is... I have found a different level of courage, a little more freedom and entirely okay sense of who I am and what matters most to me.  In essence, after 54 years I'm okay inside my flawed, loved and worn human skin.  Late AF, but better than never.

I'm ready to follow the advice of a Mr. Bill Riley.  He was my Radio Broadcasting teacher at the prestigious Broadcasting Institute of Maryland.  He ripped open the door to the studio I was rehearsing;  he tore the cans off my head and pulled down on my shoulder to better leverage his tippy toe state and proclaim in my hear; "I know you, and I know your story, this may not be the medium or venue to tell that story, you are a writer Ray!  You are a story teller and telling your story is far more important than this field remember that".  I am here to follow the wishes of my sweet and so, so loving Aunt Linda.  She has read everything I've ever written I think and has always encouraged me to write on.  Just maybe next time find a way to write where you aren't using so much foul language.  With the caveat, "although I know what you are trying to evoke with that language, you can do better and still evoke the same emotion I think".  

So here I am, warts and all as they say.  Imma just sit right here with this bullseye of truth right on my back and spill it.  I had this story I was going to tell.  It really was a creative, crafty piece.  I was gonna tell one story with all this detail and guiding the audience to a path that would leave their jaws on the floor with how the story really unfolds and concludes.  That project was still in the "barely researched, mostly talking about it, defining purpose, flow and the mechanics of how to craft the story line"....  And then today happened.  

And then that happened...

So yeah, that really cool (yet overlty grandiose) story ain't happenin.  Instead, my almost virgin-esque debut or foray into the quasi literary world starts with explaining what I'm fielding at the moment.  More to say, having to close out a year that has been two years, re-fire, rebrand and rebound my business.  Yet personally navigating what seems to be my new life.  Since I burned the old me to the ground; so I could live a more honest, freeing, purpose filled life dedicated to love, honesty and service to my fellows. 

Losing sight of who I'd become, because it wasn't who I wanted to be; nor the man my shadow was proud to follow.  So my plate is full and I never saw this menu coming.  So if I'm to tell this story, you need to know.....   before I bore you to absolute death with my witty colloquialisms; in my present state and place in life I do not give my permissions for these things to happen.  But with nothing more than a desire to stay focused on love; I willingly accept all of it!  No matter how it comes, no matter what time of day or night, no matter who it brings me to or I to them.  I will try with grace, dignity, honesty and that same love to be the vessel I am supposed to be.  Because after all, the people of Narcotics Anonymous and Alcoholics Anonymous did not bring me this far to stop having my back.

So yeah, the plate and its contents.  Besides the normal stressors that one finds in the business of life, we add in recovery, focus on spirit, forward growth, relearning me.  I have a very close friend that is dear to me, his dad was dying.  I did my part, I showed up, called, sent texts.  Just overall made sure he knew I had his back no matter what and I am "right here".  I have a friend I've known since my teenage years, who climbed the ladder to fame and is now, not famous and just one of us.  But now with so, so much mental and emotional baggage and so much hurt and pain.  He's been living in Nashville since his "retirement" from the music business.  His roommate literally exploded in front of him and died, left him the house, the bills, the emptiness of not having anyone that loves him like I do.  So I brought him up from Nashville for the holidays.  Just because I had a few bucks and I wanted to make sure he was around love this holiday.  You know, while the US is on fire again with Covid-19.....  

Then let's add to this plate, another restaurant sized course, of my best friends, step-dad is on a hospital bed in his living room at the end stages of mesothelioma.  With that, comes my 5 year old niece that just absolutely effing adores her Pop-Pop and all that that encompasses.  That is all breaded with his being just a good good, fun loving, singing along to country music, hard working, whiskey drinking man with a heart bigger than the orb we live upon.  Then there is my "Other" mother.  Shelly.  Ugh, my heart is breaking for her even more today.

Yeah that plate is steaming hot and we still haven't gotten to the gravy or the goddamned stuffing.  Shit.....   Let's talk about how my ride or die, no question home boy that has been holding all that down for mom, and showing up for his dad, he's migrated from one career to another as a result of our business hitting a wall.  Let's pour that gravy over the stuffing made of being a stellar dad, fighting off covid, 55 hrs a week, and becoming the Patriarch of his pride.  I'd think that plate is as full as it's gonna get.  What I didn't disclose to this point?  Like life, things are fluid, constantly changing and in such a world it's not practical anymore to use the china.  So that plate we're all given, I got caught up thinking it was made of china.  Then I learned real fast last year, nope!!  

Life is really hard and the easier you pick up on these life lessons, the easier the path and the greater the enjoyment.  So yeah, rebuilding that china plate over and over with the crazy glue of bullshit we design to hold it together until we've gotta rebuild that same plate and dig another miracle from the bum of our life to hold it all together yet again.  Life lesson learned, work smart not hard.  How so?  It's okay to stack as much crap on that plate as you THINK it can handle.  Sooner or later after all that mess ends up on the floor, a few things will happen.  

First, one way or the next you're gonna find out just how much is too much.  Knowing where that line is at and staying just south of the point of collapse is gonna be your best bet for a journey worth working for.... and lastly if you're lucky enough to find out sooner that then later... you will as the big book of Alcoholics Anonymous says, "Intuitively" come to find out exactly how to "safely and effectively" manage when that plate isn't as strong as you thought and you gotta ask for help.

Because experience is such an awesome learning tool, I can tell you that all of my senses have become very learned in this last two years and as such; let's just say I'm kinda pissed off that I'm grateful for those lessons.  For the biggest reason as it has allowed such enormous growth beyond anything I could have written on paper.  Yeah, gratitudes I spose.  But besides that, I didn't sign up or give my stupid opinion on how I would like my storms to come, how much wind and chaos it is supposed to deliver and how intense and for how long.  Nope, didn't give my permission for all that, that was....  Found out real goddamned quick that life doesn't give a rat's ass.  I ain't the lunchroom of life, "take what ya need, leave the rest" oh f*ck no it IS not.  

I can say that, because the first storm to show up in my recovering life..... I DID NOT WEATHER!  I failed!  I failed miserably.  My wife, my bestest best friend ever and for always, the mother of my beautiful baby girl (now woman) and just the pretty much the goddamned best teacher I ever met....she was murdered.  She was shot under her left arm, and in a video that replays in my head since 1999; was her lifting her arm to deflect the gun as the bullet was already cast from its death vessel and smashing through shirt, then skin, flesh, tendon, lung and now before all of the velocity times mass has taken its toll, it destroys the aorta and superior vena cava as if a paper doll defending a flaming arrow.  

And that video still ends with me waking up feeling like I'm drowning, or occurs on a ladder or while talking to you, or driving and I have literally shake my head like a magic 8 ball to get it out of me.  Yeah that storm, I found out the hard way.  

No matter what you have, who you are or aren't yet, doesn't matter your status in work, life or what the hell ever.  If you are not spiritually fit, to say no to that first drink or that drug when that storm shows up in your doorway.....  Yeah, good luck to ya....ummm hold on tight, don't forget to call if ya make it.... um yeah.  We're talking about simple spiritual fitness being the difference to any addict or alcoholic of my variety in whether they do or do not survive the storm.  Fortunately, you can surmise to that extent; I survived the first storm.  Now what did I learn?

This isn't even the whole of today and what happened....  but I didn't start this process, this document or whatever gibberish this has as of yet manifested itself to be... until 8pm this evening and its' now 1:30am.  I really need to focus, which means I need sleep....  My night time medication is kicking in so I need to rest my aching back and my soul...... so I cannot continue to not fight with my story and accept it as it comes.....

Chapter 1a More to be revealed......

 

Yeah Sex is Cool...

You think sex is cool?

Ever wanted to die,

But you made it through...

and still wanted to die?

Who the F*%k is Sturgill Simpson

Look, I don't wanna sound like he's my buddy nor are the guys in the band. Because, that just isn't the case. But I did do a short run with Sturgill and his band a while back. I was still driving entertainer coaches at the time. The run was such that I had opportunity to see them perform a number of times. I'd not see a performer like this in a while and often I felt humbled personally and as a fan in his midst. An extremely humble fella, what I derived was the guy must have come from good stock. It certainly didn't hurt that the man served in the U.S. Navy as I had.

Watching performers I've toured with usually isn't without remark. Yeah, they play, sing or perform well. But hell, there are just so many performers out there....Not many stand out, above and over the din of others. Sure in my line of work I am privy and privileged to sit with, next to or across the table for a meal with these folks. Sure, I've got stories about this one or that one. So long as you know, they are for me and not for prying ears and or eyes that just wanna know something. After all, their human beings like you and I. Sure some are not, and I suppose that is as a result of their perceived level of importance, fame or cultural significance they feel they've earned.

I digress; there was an experience at Red Rocks Amphitheater that remains etched forever in my memory banks. No, it had nothing to do with this fella or the organ player or Little Joe his prodigious

guitar player or anyone at all in fact. It was that culmination of experiences. I didn't sit and have long or medium conversations with Sturgill, heck if anything I made the poor fella uncomfortable as I referred to him as "Boss." Who knew?

But I'd been that fly on the wall, discussions with he and members of the band about the construct of a particular part of a song. Or his conveyance of his emotion or point of that part to further craft the theater of the listeners mind. So with that fly on the wall stuff in my head, and trust me when I say that I'm eternally grateful to have had many of these experiences with artist since 1985 until now.

The soundcheck at Red Rocks was done, everyone had enjoyed the facility and all its visual grandeur, the walks in and through the catacombs to the delicious and well prepared catering were done. The sun had long since set. If you've never been to this place and even if you have; when that sun sets and the enormous almost out of this world boulders that form around the venue are lit up, there starts an almost unstoppable spiritual experience. That for me, is the transcendent description.

The lights lowered as the house music was drawn down, the band had found their places along the sprawling stage. Then with little to no fanfare Sturgill picked up his guitar, centered himself on his microphone. They counted off and watching what happened from the four count onward was singularly one of the greatest musical moments I've witnessed. When I say singular I mean to say only this. It seemed as if a smattering of folks knew who Sturgill was, they and I knew that those around us that hadn't a clue are in for a wake up as if they'd been in a four score slumber unlike any story told of a forlorn princess.

It was as if everyone in this one place, this ever so tiny spot on this big earth; were captured in a moment or a bubble and what was unfolding before their eyes was genius. The power behind those that were just awakening to their "Ahh Haa" moment was intoxicating if not potent! Keep in mind, Sturgill was on this show as an opener for a very popular group that had some very loyal followers. These weren't necessarily "his people." What followed during the allegro, crescendo and colossale would certainly and easily fix that.

I was soaking it in, I went from areas left and right of the stage, I traveled from the top of the venue to the first row. I observed those that whispered, nudged, and less reluctantly than before the first note began; to stomp the foot, move rhythmically as if the sounds, beat and emotions of the songs carried them down a fast moving stream of utopian musical bliss. I was watching them experience what I'd felt and experienced upon my inaugural Sturgill performance. It was as if the same, the veil of fogginess had been lifted from the eyes and clarity was within reach, the muffled noise by what seemed like cotton in the ears was gone and what I or better yet what they were seeing as if for the first time was purity, singularity and honesty.

For at this moment, it was as if watching thousands of individuals formed a spiritual union becoming as one. The "Ahh Haa" moment had passed and now onto the phase that the doubting jury of souls; without a spoken word or provocation between them agreed and consented. And me, here I was feeling exhilarated, knowing from the beginning that if they; like I, loved music would find themselves at this place before they knew what was to happen.

Alas, it came and went. It was absolutely undeniable what had just taken place. The stage was reset and readied for the headliner. There was this sense that they (the crowd), just had the single most isolated encounter with the most beautiful boy/girl in the world and then vanished into the air. Feelings as, "what just happened to me, will I ever see he/she again, wait come back, I need a shower but I don't wanna wash this away." Now I'm not sure if you (the reader) really get what I'm trying to say in this particular instance. I may never know and really that is just fine and dandy with me.

However, if your on Facebook, Twitter, Reddit or the litany of social media outlets or just reading internet news that no doubt is fueled by "trends." You are certainly going to click, read and figure out what and who the hell this Sturgill Simpson fella is and what the hell is going on? No doubt, you'll find words, reviews and videos of last evenings Saturday Night Live debut performance. Ready yourself as you prepare to watch first "Keep It Between the Lines," then move away the glass table, breakable objects and possibly the dog as you click on and watch "Call To Arms".

Keep in mind his songs and some would say his style is that of country music. Not the requisite radio ready, crossover pop tunes with commercial appeal and rhythmic almost rap like lyrics. The kind your momma and daddy grew up listening too and some before that era. The "Country & Western" music that was rooted in; for some in the hills of Tennessee & Kentucky or the plains of Texas or around the bluegrass fires in the woods. Where everyone would pick along and sing as well to a harmony and melody the likes of which big money radio and records have long since abandoned.

Yeah, so on that run I did with Sturgill. It was on this run he was formulating more of his genius. He was piecing together the parts for his next record. Ultimately which became "A Sailor's Guide to Earth." Some would think, "what the hell do sailors and earth have to do with country music." Well sweetheart you just set your pretty ass right over there and wait, he'll show you. Some have labeled this fella a rebel, an outsider or fringe guy. I argue, to the contrary. He's an insider.

Not the insider of big radio and records. More so an original, without a means or need for a mold that which does not exist. He an insider of America, this record for me had the flavor of home grown funk, big band, bluegrass and western waltz. Layered with timings of jazz and the harmony only the hills could produce. Its nothing conjured by a protools rig on music row by the ideals, motivations and standards that get spins on the hot clock that we're force fed by iheartcountry radio.

I found myself running behind last night. I'd had a gig 75 miles from home. I knew if I timed it just right, I'd get to dial up SNL and watch. During this past year, I narrowly missed opportunity to catch the boys perform live. I suppose our schedules opposed one another an it just wasn't meant to be. With great anticipation and excitement I heard "Ladies and Gentlemen, Sturgill Simpson." And at that moment I looked on and thought "America, if you don't know...well you're about too."

I wanna preface, by saying that since I first purchased "A Sailor's Guide to Earth" it has been almost constantly on and in every playlist I have on my phone, computer, iPad, Leapad or music playing device. If nothing more to hear EVERY song on this record. For me like many, I buy singles. But for everything that is provident and divine I'd certainly miss the mark if I'd not purchased the whole record. Of course we have all purchased records. There are songs on there that we'll skip over with the likes of dismissal of lint on a suit coat. Whoa no no no....not on this record and if you do... well your just not a goddamend music lover.

No doubt with the hashtags and trending of last nights "Fiery" performance of #CALLTOARMS or #STURGILLSIMPSON on SNL, you've gotten to see the same spectacle I witnessed. Let me say this, watching the looks on the faces of his band while performing, the fluid energy and movements of Sturgill we're as if visualizing what it would look like to see a spirit move. I'm shocked an amazed that I didn't bother to make the bed after watching this performance. There wasn't a sheet tucked in or a pillow in its original place after watching and feeling that kind of energy he exuded.

I'm still blown away, I still have some sense of pride in watching that performance. Its an odd sense of pride, one that you'd think a parent would have. Knowing your child was pure and good and honestly talented and now the world can see what you've been saying for so long. Yes every parent thinks their precious little womb raider is just the cat's meow. But we all know, there's nothing that special about "Little Linda Lou" and her tap and jazz recital. What I watched last night left the feelings of vindication. Those that just brushed off my insistence to buy the record or listen to this or that song; finally understood and had their epiphany, moment of grandeur and or Ahh Haa moment.

No, I have no connection to Sturgill, his band or crew. I don't have his phone number, email address nor his personal Facebook or Twitter. No affiliation whatsoever! What I do have are a few weeks of driving them from gig to gig, sharing meals, taco bell and some cigarettes with the band members. I've got the personal experience and good fortune to watch him perform from any angle of the venue without restriction. He an I shared the same commitment in serving our country in the U.S. Navy as regular men. I, a guy from Baltimore, MD and he a fella from Kentucky; that's it. What else I have are those fond memories of witnessing him build from a regular guy and putting this record together with the meticulousness of surgeon and without regard for anything more than what HE wanted to say. From the first note of this record to the last, I've just sat back and waited for what I knew was coming. That guitar being slammed to the floor, that was his mic drop. It was the "If ya don't know, now ya know" moment.

My patience paid off in spades last night. I awoke with no intention of doing anything more than using this laptop to guide me through emails, news and to see vacation happenings of close friends in Costa Rica. Little did I know, I'd be writing what is tantamount to a Gettysburg address of reviews on Sturgill Simpson. But here we are. I'm not sure who reads this and frankly it just doesn't matter. It was more for me to etch down the memories, the pride and the hope to see a really really good guy do well. So to that I say, fine job Shipmate! Damn fine job!

#DONTCALLHIMBOSS #ASAILORSGUIDETOEARTH #FLYONTHEWALL #PUREGENIUS #STURGILLSIMPSON #CALLTOARMS #BETWEENTHELINES

The Passing of a Steward

Very sad day indeed.

"Understanding these Traditions comes slowly over a period of time. We pick up information as we talk to members and visit various groups. It usually isn’t until we get involved with service that someone points out that “personal recovery depends on NA unity,” and that unity depends on how well we follow our Traditions. The Twelve Traditions of NA are not negotiable. They are the guidelines that keep our Fellowship alive and free."

This statement on the back of the Twelve Traditions always brought to mind John Pries and also my old friend Gary. John epitomized some things for me, dedication to service of the greater good, progress not perfection. Anyone that knew him, certainly knew he was by less than perfect. An addicts words can often teach a lot, but if you want to know the real story; then just watch us. Our actions tell the rest of the story. 


Just because we get clean doesn't mean we are perfect or to be placed upon a pedestal. It doesn't mean we read each piece of daily literature everyday and pray or meditate perfectly everyday to achieve our good addict gold star. We are a tight community and we see, we hear and we know what subtleties go on in each others lives. Lets face it, we all know what I'm trying to say. In life as in death we all have what seems a big bag of bullshit. But if we were to spread it out over our tenure of recovery; most of us will see its outweighed and over shadowed by the amount of time spent listening, sharing, being of service, keeping a meeting open, progressing and perpetuating the fellowship in its growth and as always showing a newcomer that with a minute and hour and a day clean the world is our oyster.

Our recovery is mirrored like everyday life, our circle of friends will change, some will come and some will go. Hopefully we can still see them and share a coffee and catch up and show genuine interest in one another. Perhaps we glance over a memory and share a laugh at our frailties or past shortcomings and part ways with a hug and say Thank God we're not there anymore. What's not said, is the "how" we're not there anymore.

We're not there anymore because we walked through the door shy, void of self and shell of a human being often not knowing a soul and feeling like we were an outcast in this big room of people that stared at us. We got a hug or several, we were introduced to members that some whose name we'll never remember. John was not one of those people. In the midst of what seemed like a living doom, surrounded by our shame, fear, guilt, degradation John seemed oddly excited and genuinely happy for us. For me I thought he a fucking crazy person, who is this happy to see me at my god awful worst with no sense of self and alone feeling its me against the world.

John wasn't crazy. He knew, he shared that in this vulnerable place there wasn't anywhere for the addict to go but up. Whichever higher power we choose, he/she had removed everything from our lives and cleaned our canvas so we could start a beautiful journey called recover and paint a lasting picture as evidence for those to come behind us. John was like many of us, he was a hustler. There are many of us that John hustled on the streets and even more that he hustled in NA. He hustled us in speaking at a meeting, giving a ride to a newcomer, I've even seen John hustle someone that relapsed and back into NA to go on and live a very successful life.

I was young in recovery and worked for Victor and John got word about my prowess for computers, the internet and websites. He hustled me into the Free State region as a consultant for what we now have as our regions website. I was still trying to figure out what the fuck I was doing in this life of recovery, barely had any self-confidence or worth. Yet this guy saw me as a valued asset. He showed me what those words on the back of the 12 Traditions meant. The service to the greater good of NA, ensures and solidifies that my ability to remain clean depends upon service. 


I've been to workshops, conventions and anniversaries all over MD, DC and PA. Through John, I'd meet knew people. Like many of you, John was more than willing to share the history and stories of the person you've just met. How he/she made it through this or that event, persevered and stayed clean. How he/she helped Jimmy K or other founders in our country create, develop and build a movement we all now know as Narcotics Anonymous. John will always be the most learned resource of people and history of Narcotics Anonymous.

I originally got clean in 1994 in Joliet, Illinois. NA wasn't as strong and not a lot of predecessors with so much as 2 years clean. Like many addicts in that area we migrated to the other fellowship for stability, structure and mostly to save our lives. John understood this move. A lot of people discounted the other fellowship as NA purist often do. I suppose that's their choice. My sponsorship family in Joliet was directly tied to the founders of that fellowship. We celebrated anniversaries with the wives and children of the founders and the history and value of service to our fellow man/woman was always very important to the success of the inverted pyramid. It takes a great many working collectively to ensure that one member can stay clean.

John and I would discuss how Jimmy K went to the other fellowship. How he (with a humble heart) asked if he could start NA and use the other fellowships steps, traditions and format to help serve those in Narcotics Anonymous. I was young in NA, and had this wealth of knowledge and I felt validated by John's excitement of our conversation. Many of you know that feeling. Our lives could be a solid shit storm, a total wreck, just getting clean and little to no self-esteem. Yet John would introduce us to another member as if we were royalty from another country, he would impart to this member a bit of our story through his introduction to ensure we were looked after, held up and welcomed into the process.

Let's face it, at that moment hearing John tell someone about your situation may have seemed a bit embarrassing. Then again, to that point most of what we had done to ourselves culminated in the only feelings we had left; embarrassment and shame. Little did I/we know, that one last shot of embarrassment across the bow of our unsteady and seemingly sinking ship; was ironically the same thing to right our vessel. In that sense of feeling like I/we were an exposed nerve, it needed that one last shot to sail us through the stormy seas of emotion, fear of the unknown and provide humility and grace to accept this new way of life.

My life is an open book, some of you have seen me through failed jobs, numerous relationships, lots of bad ideas and some rather good ones. Fortunately for me, I am not the sum of your thoughts of me. John is no goddamned different than you or I.

In the end that judgement cast upon us means so very very little. In recovery there is only one thing perfect we can do, just don't use. Through whatever any of us has been through, good, bad and ugly if we just stay clean; we can experience that promise of freedom. No matter if you've weathered the storm by sticking and staying, or you've relapsed one or ten thousand times; like many John shared the message. "Just keep coming back."

Many places in our text we read about death and or the death of an addict. I looked through today, upon hearing of John's passing. Hoping to find comfort and solace. Tucked in the middle of the book on page 201 I found what I was looking for, its the middle paragraph. "I chose a home group and committed myself to that group. I took a service commitment. I opened the meeting space, cleaned the floors there and got it ready for the meeting. Today, I am still a part of that same home group. It is a place where people can find me, and I know that I can find my friends there too. I have a sponsor, and I work steps. But most importantly, I KEEP COMING BACK NO MATTER WHAT."

No matter the amount of years clean I have, I still remain a rather deeply private person. It speaks to the core of who I am. I suppose we all possess this, some like me; maybe more than others. I could hardly have this conversation in public and learning to write has offered great relief in times of pain, illness and is as cathartic as is intended in our program to measure, see and grow in this new way of life. If you wanted to find John, you looked no further than Live and Let Live on Sunday nights. As in the literature, he was there like a fixture and so were his friends. There may always be another empty chair where John used to sit, but I doubt that any that know him will ever attend that meeting and cross the threshold without thinking about him. 

My job has me traveling through most of the year and I've always looked forward to coming home after a tour and seeing my friends. John would asked about my clients and what they were like, was I able to hit meetings on the road or if I contacted one of his many friends in this state or that state along my travels. I could care less about the notoriety of my clients, I wanted to talk about you and what's been going on in your world. I just got home and I knew John wasn't well. I'd hoped to see him for that brief encounter one last time, offer support, thanks and an awkward man hug for laughs.
John and I were not close friends and we only talked in chance meetings for a few moments. After a certain point I suppose we all see the newcomer and their continued tenure being clean and coming around. They get jobs, cars, houses and families and a life worth living. We understand we are all susceptible to relapse but there comes a point one feels relatively certain that someone will make it and or be "okay." This leads us to that cyclical friendship thing we go through. Rest assured, there will and has been that place in our hearts for that person. John will hold that place as will many of you in my heart.

As I said, John and I shared a fondness for the other fellowship and the reverent gratitude they bestowed upon Jimmy K. for allowing us a program of inclusiveness to save our lives. I'd like to think that reverent gratitude was honored by guys like John. I will close with this, its a passage that speaks volumes and epitomizes this path. You purist may get a wild hair in your ass and frankly I don't care. Its something that I shared with John. So call your sponsor and deal with it that way.
"We realize we know only a little. God will constantly disclose more to you and to us. Ask Him in your morning meditation what you can do each day for the man (or woman) who is still sick. The answers will come, if your own house is in order. But obviously you cannot transmit something you haven't got. See to it that your relationship with Him is right, and great events will come to pass for you and countless others. This is the Great Fact for us.

Abandon yourself to God as you understand God. Admit your faults to Him and to your fellows. Clear away the wreckage of your past. Give freely of what you find and join us. We shall be with you in the Fellowship of the Spirit, and you will surely meet some of us as you trudge the Road of Happy Destiny.

May God bless you and keep you - until then."

As with many of you, today there is a whole in my heart and looming sadness. In the balance there is peace for me in having met John Pries. Known as the Mayor to a lot of us.... No matter his trials, tribulations or his shortcomings he is a human being and goddmaned dedicated steward to Narcotics Anonymous.  

His legacy is service and for that I'm grateful.

Rest easy John. Yes sir, you have fought the good fight, you have finished your race and you have kept the faith. May your God bless and keep you until we meet again.

Thank you brother.

Paying our debt

Morning ya'll! There are, as with that morning fifteen years ago just so many words to say. As articulate and broad a vocabulary that I possess, I have felt the same now in this last few days as I did that morning on Greenspring Avenue. There are so many things to say, so many words of expression I could use to to write a pathway of emotions from 8:45am September 11, 2001 until this day fifteen years later. Billy Price and I sat in that kitchen drinking coffee in panic, disbelief and horrified. All I have is the same aching in my belly and my soul as I did that day. It hasn't gone away, I'm not sure I have such an expectation of this feeling ever leaving me until I pass. My friends, each of us has our story of that fateful day and it will carry with us until only God knows when. 
For fifteen years, we've read and watched television programs, movies and documentaries on this subject. Many of us like me, not directly involved with the Trade Center, Pentagon or Shanksville have learned the names of those that played important roles in saving lives at the towers the Pentagon and those aboard flight 93 that chose the valor of what it means to be an American to make the ultimate sacrifice and take back from these vermin what belongs to us as Americans. I cannot fathom, the range of emotion and then the grasp on the situation at hand an how important it was to take back control of that plane. I'd imagine that none of those passengers knew that "They" of themselves possessed such capability, or meaning for which their actions must mean until it was time to make that call. Just the thought of such a thing still stirs an ache in my gut that I don't think will ever leave me.

The names of those people that tried to get everyone out of the towers, they are etched in our collective brain as a country. Those that rushed in when so many were running out and lastly those of flight 93. I had no intention of writing on the subject this morning with my cigarettes and coffee. Hell at best, I only chose to change my profile picture in solidarity and remembrance of that day fifteen years ago. I suppose as individuals our singular stories may not mean much paled in comparison to those loved ones and families that lost friends and family on September 11th, 2001. But in purpose for the greater good, our singular and individual stories of what we were doing, where we were and with whom on that day make up a collective as a country; as a people of the United States of America. Tell your story, remind yourself, tell your friends, your family and those you love. In going through my memories and recalling my story, it becomes my realization that this awful aching in my gut not only won't go away, the horror of seeing people jump to their deaths is etched indelibly in my mind and soul. In writing this, its my realization that this aching in my gut isn't just mine. It has become in totality the aching heart of us, a nation that looked on in horror, disgust, grief and anger that someone hates us for our way of life enough to take our mothers, fathers, brothers, sister, sons and daughters and grandchildren. Innocent lives that on that day were used as pawns from someone with 7th century religious ideology to attempt to tear us apart.

It didn't work! We are a nation of individuals with freedoms and liberties in the design of the pursuit of happiness who seek that freedom and justice for all. But what they have done was not tear us apart in as much as they had hoped, they did not bring us to our knees as was their goal. Instead, we over those moments on the television screen, or radio speakers; began to oppose they're objective. We are Americans, we did not bow, we did not rest on our knees and certainly we did not come apart. If you don't think so, well okay. I'll just ask you to recall your pain, your horror and all of your emotions of that and subsequent days. I'll ask you to recall the moment you switched on your television or your radio and you saw or heard the President of the United States of America; jump up on that fire truck in New York City. When with a bullhorn he empathized and encouraged those on site to continue to do America's work and find our people. Most poignantly, I'll ask you to recall your feelings, thoughts and emotions as he told those there and us as Americans. "I can hear you, the rest of the world hears you, and the people who knocked these buildings down will hear all of us soon". 




Remember what it is you felt when you saw or heard that? I do, that was the feeling of being no longer individual but becoming part of a collective and for the greater good. That was the moment when their ideology failed them, when our civic pride emerged and we became again a people. We became what we had always been, barring those moments of horror. We are the United States of America and we are Americans. So amidst the recollection of your thoughts, your memories of this day fifteen years ago; along with the grass cutting, football watching and whatever the daily business of life has you doing on this day.... Take some time to breath, to put into effort the thought of that ache in your belly. Take that time to honor your duty as an American, that just of that virtue we are standing tall, we are proud and we are a collective of individuals known simply to some as Americans. Those names, those images and most importantly those lives lost on this day fifteen years ago come with a cost, a debt that we can never repay fully. It is after all, a continued balance of our collective soul and individualism that we must commit to honor; and that debtor is the aching in mine, yours and our belly.

It won't soon leave us, so no matter where you were, who you were with, how near or far from New York, Washington or Shanksville, tell your story, share your thoughts with one another, make good on your debt of honor and gratitude. Be the voice of those who leaped, rushed into the building when those were coming out, be the voice of those who for fifteen years have stood an eternal watch of our freedom, our liberty and our pursuit of happiness. We speak for them in our stories and thus WE NEVER FORGET. 

What the hell

Some days you are the bug and some days your the windshield......  What the hell does that really mean?  One way your day has really gone south or in fact ended....  The other you've got shit smeared all over you.  Where is the "Winner" in that scenario?  I don't know, what I do know is I'm not sure that I've met anyone that has "Gone for it" as much as me and still always ended up even more disappointed then when the blind luck motivation decision took place.  Its like I'm some Truman Show'esque fucking loser.  Somewhere, someone is watching this laughing their asses off. 

"Watch this dude, he actually thinks he's gonna get the girl/win the lottery."  Whatever it is, whether its in choosing the girl, making a business choice or giving someone a chance believing that humanity will pay off and his endeavor will have a good ending.  No matter what logic, simplicity or sure thing that may be in play; you can almost rest assured that if I've had anything to do with it, yeah its not gonna turn out well for me or it will ultimately be something really funny for someone else to watch.

Conversely, mirror the situation with ANYONE else, same set of circumstances and almost invariably....FUCKING HOOORAY!  Winner, Winner, Chicken fucking dinner.  Meanwhile I'm sitting here be-fucking-fuddled.  No matter the relative amount of knowledge, experience or intelligence its usually the same big fat fucking zero for this kid.  Hell, I've been thrown into the friends zone more times then a mall Santa.  I've had more "Don't worry dude, at least you tried" thrown my way then sterile cow at a sperm bank. 

Sure it sounds like a shit load of self-pity, well suck a dick.  Its a self-observation and I'm sticking with that choice.  Hell, I've got enough "friends" in my little "friends zone" to substantiate my claims.  I've often been the source of great humor, whereupon I have an idea.  Yup that's all it takes and the hilarity then ensues......

Then onto the grieving side of such profound little ideas as "taking a chance".  Yeah well hell there's a bowl full of cherries to pound down the gullet!  That moment when you realize that your vulnerability has been used against you, or better yet the feeling of an exposed nerve because your bright idea that vulnerability is what will show the world your truest nature in humility.  Yeah, well that and a nickel still won't get me a cup of coffee and a side of anger.  I'm beginning to learn that my grief and emptiness are similarly proportionate to the anger at self for allowing me to believe in the lie I told myself.

What lie you ask, that age old fucker.  This time it will be different.  Yeah that one....  Seems like its the toll that must be paid in order for my own caution and fear to be cast down the shit pipe so I can allow another to see the inside and know I'm a decent person.  Decent enough that I should allow their wreckage to consume me, you ask.  That answer as illogical as it may seem....yes.  I put myself out on a precipice of vulnerability only to have it devalued as if a pocket tissue. 

I really don't need the comparison of others to gauge myself, I suppose its the generality and litmus one regularly uses to feel better or worse about themselves.  I've grown to not count so much on that litmus, as a varying degree of these are without context, detail and full-on comparison.  Rather, I look at my own experience.  Using myself as the common denominator.  That's the moment shit becomes real, that story there can't be told by anyone but me.  In the truest form of honesty and without rose colored glasses I am allowed to see my own damaged, ruffled and tattered insides for what they are as a result of this situation.

The mitigating factor perhaps in any of this, is not the part I played as much as is it the players.  Self-discovery has if anything taught me this; quite simply honesty is not just a word or luxury that one uses to give others credence to my character.  Honesty is a state of being, that like a suit of clothes for the naked emperor must be sewn so each thread bears a responsibility in holding the fiber of it all together.  In the end I still walk the walk of that naked emperor but at least I know why.  Not because I trusted that suit of clothes would be sewn for me, nor that I trusted at all.  Only that I was allowed to express vulnerability that whom and what you say you are was the bill of goods upon which the suit you were to sew was made. 

So wherein does this pain come from you ask?  Where does the emptiness come into play.  I suppose after looking at mitigating factors, my part and all of the ingredients...  I'm left looking backward.  In order to discover, I should go inward, to go inward I must go back and uncover the genesis of that which allowed me to base what my vulnerabilities are, what my value in trust is, where my sense of honesty comes from.  I guess it comes down to the bill of good sold to me as a child from those in authority to guide, mold and teach me.  If I'm to be honest, its without hesitation that I give of the truth without regard repercussion because after all the truth needs no window dressing.  If I am to trust, I must do so with seeming reckless abandon that again the truth is what matters and that truth lies in faith. 

Well hold the fucking phone Miss Betty.  Faith, where did that shit come into play.  This whole looking backward and inward in order to move forward thing just took a fucking right turn on a one way street. 

The wrong goddamned way I might add.  Faith you say?  Faith is the belief (for me) that the information or the provider of said information is valued as a trusted source and in doing so with reckless abandon I should just trust and not analyze.  I suppose I'm jaded thusly, and have gotten the impression that others were to subscribe to this level playing field of sorts as if having the same belief the kool-aid is good for all that drink it.  So as with everything else and experience being my best teacher, I'm left with this.... 

As a result of what I know to be trust, as a result of what I know to be honesty; its very difficult to put my faith in other human beings as their sense of the two may be far different then mine.  No matter the depth, breadth or all encompassing amount of conversation on the two subjects.  Just when its safe to think there is clarity, fast forward to this moment in time.  Move past all the window dressing on that little shop of horrors you call a human being.  Get to this place where in so empty I can only hope the doctor walks into the room and tells me I have cancer, or I hope this pain in my chest is the massive aortic coronary that puts me out of my goddamned misery.

I trust because its the thing to do.  The thing you say, well the alternative is to be a cynical prick.  Always looking for someone, something to get over on me at every turn.  Never once bowing to trust that just this time it will be the time.  I suppose its like playing the human lottery.  I've never really hit the big game, but through out this life of mine I've seen that I've accumulated every winning number.  Well then, the question that begs to be asked and answered I suppose is "why then, haven't you cashed in".  That question is easy to answer.

I may choose to not be that cynical prick, instead I think it closer to the god I love; yes the very same one that in moments like these I ask to please let my life go, please let this space I hold be used for someone more deserving then I, yes that god.  It should be with that reverence that my faith some day, some where as a result of my blindness of trust, my honesty and vulnerability that maybe, just maybe all those numbers will come on the same ticket.  Yes, I've gotten all the winning numbers.  I never said I'd gotten them all at the same time, they have come at various moments of my life.  Just different tickets I suppose.

So as wounded and empty as I feel, as much as I'd hope that I could write at someone and even as much as I'd hope to expire in this very moment.  The despair, like a thin fog lifts with each moment as the day goes on.  I could go lower into the valley to sit in the fog or be just okay with where I sit.  Looking up to see the blueness of the sky while below still the rolling mist of fog that eventually no matter its level; will ultimately come to pass as with all the other fog.  Lessons learned I ask, well that seems to be a mixed bag.  I'm not sure I have that answer in total.  Easy to say you'd think, well not so.  I find in situations like this, wanting the answer, to be concrete or black and white in clarity.  I suppose that's where emptiness and pain exist, in my unwillingness of the moment to not accept that although trust and honesty are within us all, we all don't posses them with the same fortitude as each other.  Their value just the same, inherently means the world to each of us as individuals. 

My pain and despair exists in the fog of knowing I behaved as I should, I was vulnerable, I trusted, had faith and with all the honesty I could muster; it in comparison wasn't to the same level as someone else's no matter the effort or sincerity. 

And within that, I should feel better no?  Not really, feelings not being fact and my thoughts only a manifestation of what I perceive to be real, I still feel as if I got shafted, the short end of the stick.  Hell, I still feel like the fires of hell should reach up and torch the ass of those around me to motivate and inspire.  Yet, this is not my lot.  I'm left here with only me.  There are no bunk beds in coffins, no buddy discount at the funeral parlor.  So it is only me and my conscience.  If in fact I go with the kool-aid and I do, those winning numbers might come to pass but until then its the solace and satisfaction in knowing I'm okay with me.  My experience is learning what my integrity is, means and how it; not the suit of honesty are sewn and by whom.  Its knowing that I've sewn this suit, it fits well on me; on you maybe a different story but I look damn good in it and I shall wear it well through the rest of my days.

All-Access Pass

Yeah....  That moment, when reality sets in.  Its the final curtain, the show is over and its time to pack up the gear, say farewell.  The memories are countless.  Tomorrow is the final tour date for a long time friend, we'll all gather and say goodbye.  Obviously, with a personality like yours we'd all thought that you'd live forever.  Although we grew up on opposite sides of town and came from different backgrounds, I'd like to think there was a second part of that growing up.  One that came in November 1984.  All ten of us piled in a truck and a van, with a mountain of gear we took the show on the road.  We made zero dollars, but we were paying the dues.  Sure we all argued, fussed and fought.  Ten people in one hotel room will do that....  Dave W, calling out a creaking door "C#minor", Tommy playing a goddamned flam-a-diddle on your head, Mr. Big touting "we gotta get more", DJ always prepping and primping early only to end up late.  Then there was the crew...  Scott always shaking his head saying "I don't know", me with some female creature all jacked on whiskey or weed and who could forget Austin, TX at Cardi's after Rolf set the acoustic stand down, turned to walk off stage only for the guitar to swing over the front of the deck from the cord as if it were a pendulum and that precious look on Mr. Bigs face.  We all know some things as certainties....  Ricky was gonna steal a salt shaker and our lead singer really probably enjoyed being on the crew and still never knew shit about gear...but he tried.

One thing was certain, through any internal foibles we always brought the rock.  From the moment the intro was fired up until the final curtain, we ripped off faces and left people standing there wondering what in the hell they'd just witnessed.  I'll tell ya, you witness a great goddamned rock-n-roll band with a production and crew, the likes of which your town hasn't ever seen in a quite a long time and we just kicked you in your butt.  There have been many miles, cities, states and countries traveled since 1984.  You were around for all three incarnations of our hometown band, it was the last from which you moved the whole show to another level.  Its a long way from Thanksgiving 1984, hurricanes and my infamous flaming blue Jesus....  I remember after we'd opened up that first night for the headliner and you laughed.  Because they'd (headliner) been hoodwinked, some nobody bunch of pretty boys from Baltimore, just came into Texas, left everyone standing there with their jaws on the floor and the headliner knowing full well they couldn't tune our guitars, aim our lights or carry our PA let alone follow what we'd just done to the Lonestar state in 35 minutes.... And we'd done it on someone elses production.....

The miles, the stories and memories will live as your legacy and are written in the stone of our collective memories.  You meant different things to each of the 10 of us.  We were all part of that second childhood, growing up through the 80's as band and crew.  Not taking a second to know or understand that we'd all be life long friends.  Scattered as we may be across this great country, you'd find us, you'd look after some of us and even scold some of us from time to time.  That second childhood started as band and crew, but for some of us it became our second family.  All brothers....  I suppose in thinking that you'd live forever, none of us saw this coming.  You are the second to go home after Ricky last year.  Sure the band would take the stage each night, and sure there was Mr. Big.  But all of us, we really knew who the Mr. Big was and is.....  Its you pal.  So then, this reality thing.  Scott and I seem more like family now then anyone would've ever imagined.  We went to Florida and got the awful news of your passing.  Sure it bounced around in our heads and it still didn't seem real.  As each day has gotten closer to tomorrow, your good friend Tony D and Tommy bringing you back to us and now tomorrow upon the doorstep....  Its time...  the show is over, the crowd is in awe and the curtain will close one last time.  Its time to say goodbye to my childhood friend.  I personally know I didn't make it easy on you, but I'd like to think I made that up to you.  For that I'm grateful and you will live on in my memory.  Me, I like to think of you when I hear the following song...  So I'll close with it.  Tomorrow, the myriad of faces, memories, smiles and tears will flow as smooth as a bass line on a fret-less....  The common denominator will be you in our lives....  So long pal, until we meet again.  Please make sure St. Peter knows I get the All-Access pass when I get there....

Rest easy MOT......