The Ride

“Life ain’t always beautiful

Sometimes it’s just plain hard

Life can knock you down

It can break your heart”

            It is difficult to embrace beauty when life is so ugly. It can be a challenge just to face each moment, even without all the pressure we place upon ourselves to seize the day and appreciate one’s lot in life. Gratitude is a conscious choice. I am not sure I would feel the same way I do about living if I had not been encouraged by experience to do just that. Life is dark, volatile and very unattractive at times. Life is also rich, and wondrous and good for the soul. I guess you get what you pay for. Still, I find myself refreshed and able to go on better after witnessing great beauty. Something moves within me and I wish to linger in that place. My entire life, I have had little reason to embrace the world around me so any reasons I do have tend to make it all worthwhile. There are times when the grandness of nature and the creativity of mankind leave me breathless. When I come face to face with something inspirational, I am reminded that there is more to this life than we know. All you have to do is look around you and you can see it. You can feel it. It is often quite a powerful thing. Sometimes you have to let life flow over you, stopping only to see what is before you rather than beyond or behind you. I now wish for those moments of awe. I search out the view, whether in the city or on a country road or sitting beneath all those stars. This world sometimes takes me away. It is a beautiful otherland.

            I had to wait almost 3 years before I was allowed to take the plunge. I had been permitted on the 5-metre board but the 10-metre board would have to wait until I grew. I am a swimmer. I always have been, and continue to be very strong and able when it comes to the water. I completed my instructor’s certificate and could have been a lifeguard had I chosen to be. Swimming has little to do with diving. Although I had no real training, I wanted to climb up to that 10-metre platform so bad I could taste it. The Donald D. Summerville Olympic Pool offered multiple swimming areas but the monolith in question garnered all my attention. Located along the shoreline of Lake Ontario, this Toronto recreational centre sits only a few seconds away from the sand. I started my ascension like any prepubescent boy would. I had trepidation but it only made me want it more. Up I went, stair after stair. I walked out on the diving platform, right to the edge so I could jump. I was fearless. In a heartbeat, I was overtaken. The view of the lake and miles of beachfront mingled with the Toronto Islands in the background. The panorama stretched off into the distance. I had never seen anything so beautiful, so lovely. It moved me despite my youth. I just stood there as the lineup behind me started to back up down the staircase. All of a sudden, someone shouted, “Hey kid, are you gonna jump or what?” So I did.

“Life ain’t always beautiful

You think you’re on your way

And it’s just a dead end road

At the end of the day”

            My family lived in the Greater Toronto Area in the 1960s and 1970s. At the time, you could not see the downtown core of the actual city from where we were located in the suburbs. From our vantage point in North York, the horizon was rather empty. In the summer of 1973, the city of Toronto began building the CN Tower. For years, one could look out on the distance and witness the rising. Bit by bit, little by little, it turned from invisible to unavoidable. They finally finished on April 2^nd, 1975, although the Tower did not open to the public until June 1976. For almost two years, I watched in wonder as the obelisk-like column arose from what appeared to be nothing. I could hardly wait to see it in person. We moved from Toronto to Strathroy in August of 1976 and I was unable to experience the Tower up close and personal. I did not get the chance to return to my hometown until spring of 1981. The English department from my high school organized a trip to Toronto and we set off to the city to watch Macbeth at the then O’Keefe Centre. The play starred Glenda Jackson and Christopher Plummer and remains the most cherished work I have seen in live theatre. It was stunning and kept me captive the entire time. When the drama was done, we all headed a few blocks away to stand at the base of the CN Tower. I was almost tearful that the moment had arrived. Finally, my ever evolving friend would rest before me. I was not disappointed. I stood with my head tilted up for as long as they would let me. I even reached out and touched the thing. It may have been made of concrete and steel but it was beautiful just the same. I have stood beneath that structure 1000 times since then. Every time, I am amazed at the magnificence yet seeming simplicity of such a construction. I am bewildered, not so much by the idea of it rather by the actual physical structure itself. It confirms my faith that men can do anything if we set our minds to it. We can even reach for the stars.

“The struggles make you stronger

And the changes make you wise

And happiness has its own way

Of taking its sweet time”

            Algonquin Provincial Park is approximately 280 kilometres north of Toronto.  Located in southeastern Ontario, Canada, the playground covers 7,653 km² and was established as a Provincial Park in 1893. Named a National Historic Site of Canada in 1992, the designation recognized the area as the oldest Provincial Park in Canada. The vastness of the park’s interior holds escarpment, thousands of lakes and a wildness not known in the city. With over 2400 bodies of water, the area attracts day-trippers and campers alike. We signed in to the cottage. With 5 children, my parents had piled into that old red Volkswagen van and we rode from Strathroy, past the big city and arrived at our new home away from home. It was a quaint motel disguised as an outpost. It was surrounded on all sides by the tremendous forest that is the park. On the next day, we hiked. Beaver Trail is but one of the multiple hiking paths you can adventure on. The group of us headed into the dense to discover the view. We trudged, not an easy feat, considering. My youngest brother was disabled at birth but my father managed to carry him on the entire journey. At the top, there was great beauty. One might have imagined that this panorama would be the highlight of this trip for me, but it was not. If nothing else, nature is unpredictable and consistently surprising. With the intent of beating the morning rush, we got up at 5 AM and were ready to leave around 6 AM. As we finished packing the car, it roared. Just down the way stood this enormous beast. I had not encountered such a large animal in the wild before. It was as big as my childhood ego. We all stood in wonder. The silence was encompassing and the moose started to move. It was this moment that I remember the most. There was a magnificence to the creature I had not witnessed with the deer and livestock I had seen. It took my breath away, it really did. Such literal beauty I have rarely encountered again. This experience was pure childhood joy. It took me and it took me well. The entire time, as the moose moved about, I kept looking for that damn squirrel.

“No, life ain’t always beautiful

Tears will fall sometimes

Life ain’t always beautiful

But it’s a beautiful ride”

            The first time I saw an ocean was in August of 1976. The trip to get there was almost as significant. From Toronto to Rexton, New Brunswick runs around 1450 kilometres. We travelled right up the St. Lawrence seaway. I spied, with my childhood eyes, whales swimming along beside us. Several very white beluga whales bobbed in and out of the stream. Later, schools of Atlantic white-sided dolphins approached the sea as we did. They dodged and weaved and skimmed across the water. I just sat in the van as it sped along and I gazed at all that wonder. The day after our arrival in Rexton, we headed down to the beach at last. My toes dipped in and I was thrilled. Not even the hundreds of dead jellyfish down the shore could sully my indoctrination. Actually, I walked alone through that sea of jellyfish. It was humbling to witness such death, such randomness and such capriciousness. To go from having witnessed the glory of those whales of August, to the graveyard before me, was a little overwhelming. Sometimes such adult notions are not always comfortable for a growing boy. I just kept walking until the carcasses ran out. I had no idea how far I had travelled on my quest. I turned around and headed back from whence I had come. The sight of it all stopped me. In this southern direction, the skyline completely changed. The bluffs in the distance seemed mere reflection of the sand below. The entire sight line was filled by it. It seemed to stretch on forever and ever. I have never forgotten that moment and I pray I never do. Apparently, in life there is beauty and there is even a sad beauty to death, although they are not exclusive to each other.

            While the east coast granted my first dip into the ocean, it was the west coast that cemented my love of the sea. From the Gulf of Mexico to Hudson Bay, I have rarely been more enchanted than while watching the waves. Only a starry sky could ever compete. More often than not, I would swim in each just to say that I had. I had already done the whole “beach thing” while vacationing in Los Angeles. I had some idea just what lied in waiting. With Hollywood out of the way, I could focus on my true direction. There is a scene from the movie Foul Play (1978), starring Goldie Hawn and Chevy Chase, that always captivated me. The song, Ready to Take the Chance Again (Barry Manilow), plays over the opening credits as Goldie and her yellow Volkswagen Bug head down the California coastline.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cLYL-pYpxGI

          I remember watching that intro over and over again on the VCR. It left me longing. I also noticed the backdrop to several scenes from the original Planet of the Apes franchise. Hard cliffs and secluded beaches simply made me want it all the more. We got to Big Sur and we checked in at my friend James’ place. It was on loan thanks to his friends and we settled in for a few days of rest and relaxation. The noise of city living did not follow me here. The abundant forests covered almost every square inch of land. Roads dissected one area from another. We sat on the beach and we admired the scene. For  hours, we danced with the afternoon sun. As darkness approached, the moon shone brighter and the depth of shadow fell across the water. Suddenly, as if by magic, the moon reflected and the sand turned into the color purple. It was so beautiful and so moving that I cried a little, sitting on the beach watching the landscape become like a lavender blanket. I have seen a lot of things on my travels. I have witnessed such beauty, such majesty but nothing has even come close to the experience I had that evening. I just sat there, my jaw dropped almost to my rib cage. The encounter moved me. A storm started to move in and the moon disappeared from over the Northern California sky. I cannot remember the last time I was witness to something so beautiful, so fulfilling. Even the fading of it left me speechless, sitting there breathing, watching the dimming of the day.

            I have been through New York City several times over the years. I never stayed for long as I was usually travelling though Manhattan by train or Greyhound bus. My first memory of the place is grand and spectacular and energizing. The George Washington Bridge ferried me into this unknown. Heading across the Hudson River made me feel like I was sojourning into someplace surreal, someplace where the mythos ruled the reality. As we approached the crossing, I felt like I was dropping by roller coaster. My heart beat loud in my head, and for a moment I lost my breath. I couldn’t absorb what was before me. I had always dreamed of this place, and how it would feel to go there and be part of a New York State of Mind. The city laid out just beyond the bridge. The view seemed to be all encompassing and I felt like a 10 year old discovering a stash of money. I could not believe my eyes. It was beautiful, and almost everything about it was intact. In the distance still stood the Twin Towers, nestled by sight to the Empire State Building. I noticed these icons right away. They floated in a sea of metal and glass and time. The entire skyline looked overcrowded and stuffed together. I have never forgotten my welcome to that city. I am convinced that I felt the same sense of wonder, every time I went to hang out in Gotham. I was driven to see this site but it was experiencing it that really made all the difference. Not even Toronto, with the CN Tower, SkyDome and 200 years of progress can match the awe-inspiring quality of the New York City skyline. My bucket list has only a few remaining tasks I need to complete before death takes me to a new set. Christmas in New York would be a dream come true for me and my partner. Unfortunately, any trip to the United States will have to wait until President Trump has been demoted or impeached. It’s a matter of principle regardless of how one might feel about the view. It will have to wait like I do.

“Life ain’t always beautiful

Some days I miss your smile

I get tired of walking

All these lonely miles”

            The most comforting part of my parents’ home has always been the night sky. The town of Strathroy is located 40 kilometres west of London,  Canada. It rests in the heart of southwestern Ontario and lies approximately 70 kilometres from the United States border. There is little city glow out in the country. Despite development over the last decade, the evening sky still darkens and the stars still come out to play. The backyard of my youth introduced me to the wonders of this universe. I remember spending warm summer nights lying on a sleeping bag with my siblings staring at the vastness of space. While the stars changed with the season, the view of them never did. It was deep, clear and glorious and remains always surprising. Come August (the 11th through the 13th) and the Perseid meteor shower was revealed in predawn splendour. Perhaps the most inviting part of that backyard is the depth of the scenery. You could see glimpses of our galaxy mixed with distant stars and all those asteroids. Every night, weather permitting, the sky was filled with them. In 1997, the Hail Bopp comet stood so clear against the galaxy that you could see the tail burning away. My admiration is cumulative. I have been sent into wonder so many times out back that I often think there is nothing more beautiful than the view from Scott Street. Not even the ocean can measure up to the sheer magnificence of the ether. Anytime I have taken the time, I am spellbound and rather lost in it. Yes, the sky at night varies from place to place. What someone in Sydney, Australia sees in the heavens we never will, not by our own device at any rate. I have laid out under the stars all over North America. I have seen pieces of this universe most people will never get the chance to. The stars at night really do shine bright, deep in the heart of Texas. In the city, not so much. My friend James, who moved back to Ontario from San Francisco, had not seen the North Star or Big Dipper in over a decade. He claimed to have been clouded to their beauty due to all the city glow. I rarely make it to my folks’ place during the evening hours. My visits usually consist of a day trip. I miss that sky. I have my very own now. Life in Paris, Ontario is rich and so is the view. It may well have been dimmed by the stupid streetlight at the end of our driveway but out in the yard, you still get the full gamut. Once again, I am lucky to be taken away. I am still overcome by the beauty of it all. Each glimmer still takes my breath away. This world holds great beauty and home is were the start is.

“And I wish for just one minute

I could see your pretty face

Guess I can dream

But life don’t work that way”

            It’s about 60 kilometres from our home in Paris to Selkirk, Ontario. Near the defunct Nanticoke coal plant, Selkirk, a small country village, is not a destination so much as a point along the way. Located just north of Lake Erie, it is here that you head south towards the water. One last turn and then the tour begins. Stretching out for more than 30 kilometres, Lakeshore Road is an enchanting and quaint thoroughfare. It is a cottager’s wet dream. Kilometre after kilometre, rows of little cottages blend in with enormous million dollar homes and the lake itself. Unlike Grand Bend or Port Burwell, one does not travel here with the intention of swimming. You couldn’t if you wanted to. Everything here is private, private, private. All the way down you would be hard pressed to even find a spot to pull over. Apparently, it’s an exclusive club with thousands of members. This jaunt is all about the scenery and the amalgamation of man and nature. This stretch of road is littered with visitors of all shapes and sizes. The background sometimes roars and sometimes lies quiet, but it is always there, waiting for recognition. The rest is overcrowding. It would be difficult to find one green space that didn’t belong to someone. It can seem quite cluttered but it is a lovely mess. Many an abode stands against the great lake behind them. Little nooks act like refuge that some stranger will never know. The road runs until the road runs out. Along the way, the unification of man and nature is clear. Some of this and some of that makes the experience a beautiful thing every time my partner and I visit. It sort of calls to us. We revisit this area at least twice a year. It makes for a great day trip and a much better memoir.

“The struggles make me stronger

And the changes make me wise

And happiness has its own way

Of taking its sweet time”

          Life is a beautiful ride. I hold it to that standard. Quite often, it can feel like all that bounty is mine alone to behold. I have never been one not to notice. I was always just a little more aware than a regular Joe would be. I have had many more moments with this type of beauty than I can recollect. There have been so many that my mind could not possibly remember them all. It is the greatest effect that holds the greatest recall. It has always been this way for me. It is not so much what I see but rather how it makes me feel. I spent the latter part of my youth trying to capture the wonders of North America. I travelled across the United States and Canada in an attempt to entertain myself. I even managed to drop into Mexico for an afternoon. I am home now. It is quiet and peaceful and it is there that I am well with my soul. It is familiar, this feeling I get. Whether sipping coffee on my front porch or sitting around the pit with Ben and a bag of marshmallows, each moment has its own beauty. If it wasn’t for this beauty, both natural and man-made, I do not believe I would have made it through. They are my gasoline. They energize me. Without them, there would be little to hold my breath for. Such exposure always lifted me up, each and every time. It restored my faith in something more. Each glimpse is now a mere reaction to where I have been and what I have seen. It has all been so beautiful and it has all been mine. You do not need some otherland to appreciate your life. Look around, there lies the exquisite in all our misery. There is more to this world than we know. The view can bring you to life. It reminds me that the one sure way to survive almost anything is by noticing everything.

“Life ain’t always beautiful

But I know I’ll be fine

Life ain’t always beautiful

But it’s a beautiful ride

What a beautiful ride”

(Life Ain’t Always Beautiful, Gary Allen 2006)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0VDNMtn0t2A

Photos

https://www.troylowellmd.com/when-walking-a-block-feels-like-a-mile/

http://rintjethesweet.blogspot.com/2010/07/life-aint-perfect-but-life-is-beautiful.html

https://theworkingsinglemom.com/life-aint-always-beautiful/

Millstone

“It would be better for them to be thrown into the sea with a millstone tied around their neck than to cause one of these little ones to stumble.” (Luke 17:2, NIV)

            The older I get, the more I appreciate the life I have lived. It has been a fun ride, despite the speed. I have seen some scary shit. I have experienced great joy and known great heartache. Quite often, they all tend to blend together. From the time I was a boy, I seemed to notice the world around me. I took inventory as I moved forward. I remember much of it, as clear as if it was yesterday. I thought I was happy. I do not know of many people who can claim a happy childhood. Although my childhood was not perfect, it would seem it was far better than most. I can go back in my mind and I can see just how lovely things were for me. Despite outside forces, I had a good relationship with God, Jesus and even the devil. I had many friends, my family was intact and my social game was rather successful. I miss my Mom but she was with me at this time. Regardless, I could usually be found sitting by myself, playing with my action figures or reading my comic books. I really just wanted to be left alone. Even then, I could not always handle all the noise. I had to escape to find peace. It is from here that my Otherland began to form. Usually, it was at the expense of others. I couldn’t have cared less. I still prefer to be alone. It was not so much about having people around me so much as it was having people be quiet and letting me breathe. I have always preferred the silence, even when playing with others. I have always liked myself and preferred my own company to most others. I have always said that you can discover yourself in your history. My childhood apparently built me strong. It made me who I am and how I feel about most things from my life. I can re-examine it all like it was a nightmare but I much prefer to view things from a more productive place. I have much to be grateful for. I have so much more than most people will ever have. In spite of this growing older crap, I can still go back and pluck specific memories of just how content I was back then. I can draw upon all the darkness and how I escaped from its clutches. These are not random episodes, mere seconds in a lineup of minutes, mere minutes in a cascade of hours. I can flip through most of them, day by day. They are self-contained and honest. They prove that I am right in my thinking and somehow I always have been.

I really have had a wonderful life.

            Fenside Public School rests in the heart of North York, a suburb of greater Toronto, Canada. In the 1970s, I covered Kindergarten though grade 5 at this elementary station. It was an easy life. I was intelligent, good in school, healthy as a horse and, I have been told, a delight (at least to my mother). I loved her just as much then as I do now. I remember, even as a child, that there was always this sadness within me. It made me walk home from school alone some days. I was melancholy when it overtook me. It seemed liked there was something missing from within me, an empty I could not ignore. I have often wondered if my relationship with God didn’t somehow make me even sadder. Both Him and Jesus seemed far worse than the fallen angels I was supposed to fear. Perhaps, it was more chemical than anything else. I often wonder if my emotional state has not constantly been bombarded by my Bipolar disorder. I always assumed, and was told, this imbalance began in my mid-teens but I imagine it has always been there. I wasn’t just sad, I was stolen. I sank into a sea of what the fuck is happening. It has always been there, deep inside. I led a happy life in spite of this void. Fenside Public School was around 6 blocks from our home. You could walk to and fro in a quick minute or two. It remains a very middle class neighbourhood. It looks the same despite my 40 years of absence. I thought it was safe and comforting and it guided me along the road. Every weekday, I walked to the school in the morning, home for lunch and back around noon, and finally ended up where I had earlier began. It really wasn’t that much of a feat, unless there was heavy snow. I was in one of those moods as I journeyed home at the end of my day. I was about halfway down Roywood Drive, walking on the sidewalk than runs all the way down to the corner near our house. The car pulled up to just past me and I could see him unrolling his front passenger window. When I got beside the vehicle, he asked pretty standard fare for a child mutilator. He stretched over and he opened his door. Unfortunately for him, I paid attention to the news and was well aware that this type of situation happens all the time. My parents conditioned me to run as fast as I possibly could, so I did. Still, I almost pissed my pants. I am grateful I did not look at his face or connect with his eyes. This event was horror enough for any child. It was even worse that I was aware of what might have happened. When I think of what could have been, it reminds me of how fortunate I have always been, regardless of any circumstance from my life. I have had bumps and rough patches on this road but all in all, I have done pretty good. I don’t play with action figures anymore but I most certainly collect comic books. I also do not dwell on those things from the past that are counterproductive to my mental health. Like in my youth, I have a real problem dealing with so much noise.

When I was eight years old,

I asked Jim Duncan to show me his member.

            I wanted to see it so I asked. I failed to recognize the consequence since I didn’t know there would be one. I didn’t think there was anything wrong in my asking but apparently I had much to learn. It’s not that I was a stupid child. Not once, up to this point, had I been exposed to such complex ideas and biases. I had never been bullied before and I would have kicked the crap out of him but for the secret he held. This was not the last time I would be blackmailed because of my sexuality. I didn’t even know what sex was at this point but my curiosity revealed my tendency. Under threat, I was forced to deliver as much cash as possible to him once a week. It was really only a dollar here and a few quarters there but it was a lot for a child to part with. My comic book collection suffered for weeks. If payment was not made, he would tell my parents, my schoolmates and anyone who would listen. This was not something that I took lightly. I started to condition, just the way religion likes us to. I started thinking how wrong I had been, how bad I had been. I looked it up in my Bible and read all about how God feels on the entire matter. This information was good to know. My favourite verse from the Holy Scriptures is, “If a man has sexual relations with a man as one does with a woman, both of them have done what is detestable. They are to be put to death; their blood will be on their own heads.” (Leviticus 20:13, NIV). Of course, God is love. Years later, when I finally realized I was a homosexual, my relationship with God changed in light of the previous scripture. I am sorry but anything that wants me dead is not my friend or my Saviour. Being gay in the 1970s was a matter of extremes. The word fag became a powerful weapon in the hands of all the haters. Homosexuality was still viewed as a mental illness and treated so. The stigma was reserved for anyone who lived out their life by choosing to be an abomination. I didn’t even know what gay meant, not really, so this threat was of little concern, at first. When I asked my brothers what being gay meant, they reinforced the cultural norms which demanded that this love dare not speak its name. I researched it and my eyes were opened. Encyclopaedia Britannica, the hard copy, was my Google when I was a boy. I really had no idea, after all, I had not even turned nine years old yet. The rest of 1974 was brutal. Any money I actually made, or stole from others, went into the coffer of that dink. He was the proverbial bully. After a few months, my Mom started to notice change disappearing from around the house. She also noticed I had not been collecting any comic books, as of late. When she asked me why I had been so detached and sad all the time, I broke down and told her most of the truth. In those days, 9-1-1 was not an option so she had to look up the number in the Toronto phone book, then she called the police. I told them everything, except the part about asking Jim to show me the goods. Instead, I accused him of pure bullying. He did what he did because he could. I was a hapless victim at the whims of a madman. They bought it hook, line and sinker. I learned early on what shame is. Any innocence I had left, left. I think I had my very first panic attack when the police called to say he had been detained. I understand, right there and then, that a millstone became his best friend. It matched my own. There would be no more blackmail. I never saw him again. A few weeks later and life went pretty much back to normal. I was not normal, not anymore. If I close my eyes, I can watch my innocence fade away. It was never to return. When I see myself at this time, in that place, it’s like watching my childhood end.

It was not quick and it was not painless.

            Housing five children, our 3-bedroom abode lacked much free space throughout my childhood. My sister Tracey, for obvious reasons, got a room of her own. So did my folks. The 4 boys got bunk beds and several years of no privacy. I claimed the top bunk, just inside the door and over my oldest brother Alan. Phillip matched up to me on the other side of the room with my brother Chris underneath him. It was a crowded house. Regardless, I cannot locate, in my memory, any real conflict we shared while we lived like an army base. There are, of course, moments of tension I can recall but nothing significant or long-lasting. My view of the top of the stairs and down the hallway was a prime location for spying on almost everyone. I had a vantage point and often watched my parents go to and fro. I lost a part of my innocence laying in that bed. One Christmas Eve, I witnessed my mother carrying toys down to the tree below. At one point, she held a giant doll, which I assumed was for my sister. The next morning and that doll sat pretty underneath our real tree. When it was revealed to be from Santa, things changed for me. Realizing Santa Claus was not real did not take away my love of all things superhero. As a matter of fact, I seemed to go deep into myth at this time. Every action figure I owned was assigned a superpower. Every comic I collected was just full of them. I saw it in the gumball machine right away. I thought it would only cost me a dime to get it. It turned out to be an expensive venture. I had to go into my comic book money to keep playing. At $1.60, it fell down the chute and into my clutches. My precious. In spite of my loyalty to Marvel Comics, my hard earned prize came from the DC universe. I always thought the Green Lantern was cool, despite his association. Now, like Hal Jordan, I possessed the powerful totem. It was emerald green and both smooth and silky in appearance. The Green Lantern Corp insignia was prominent and I shook a little as I took it out of the plastic egg it came in. In the car, on the way home, I first donned my mighty force. For months, I was caught up in a different place. Everything was about that damn ring and the world that came with it. I have always supposed that during this episode I was annoying, to say the least. I even suppose the reason someone took my ring was valid at the time. It disappeared, never to be seen again. I had only left it on the window ledge to dry after I washed it. By the time I got back to it, it was gone. I was heartbroken and still remember how I felt. I spent the next few weeks hunting for it, just like candy. In all my days since then, in every antique market, consignment store and thrift shop, I have never managed to recapture that glorious ring or the way it made me come alive inside. It’s strange how something so small, or insignificant at the time, can steal you away into another place. More than 40 years have gone since that ring went into infamy. I have to admit that I still watch for one as I am strolling from booth to booth and table to table. I would love to recapture that part of my innocence, that part of my youth. I fear it would be fleeting. I fear that this otherland is closed for business.

I have to admit that, at times, I was a little shit growing up.

            I suppose I still am, to some degree. As I mentioned earlier, it seems to me now that I was greatly affected by my non-diagnosis back then. I often could not control my emotional state and that usually affected my social state. I was often mean just to piss people off. I was often nasty so they would just leave me alone. Sometimes, I was just plain grumpy. No otherland could tend to my sense of isolation even though it was easier to hide than face another day. I used to get so sad, so alienated by my gloom and doom scenarios. There was no real reason (in my mind) for being that way. Although I no longer experience this state, only my medication has seen to that. Without it, I am sorrow and distance and miserable. I have carried the sadness with me throughout my entire life. When that dog bit me at 7 years old, I had been wallowing in my own emptiness and swimming in a world turned to blue. When he came to me, I thought it was safe to pet the puppy but I was wrong. He took most of my right hand into his trap and he slammed it shut. For decades, I feared dogs even more than spiders. This experience really taught me to be careful. Even the most friendly monster will still chew your face off if given half the chance. Sometimes, I was that monster. We used to walk to Graydon Hall by passing under the Don Valley Parkway. From one side to the other was a brief journey and we made it often. A large wooded area, an abandoned riverbed and tons of hills and valleys met one’s arrival. It was a refuge among all the city dwelling. We use to build forts. We claimed our ground. We even made booby traps to keep people away. Having established our territory, we whittled a large branch down to a point and latched it against a neighbouring stump. Anyone caught entering that fort would be greeted with blunt force. I loved the idea and encouraged setting the trap. My brother Phillip refused help while doing so and he pissed me right off. I have always been a powder keg. Once the trap was set, we stood back to witness the magnificence. My brother got all proud and cocky. With one quick tap, the weapon sprung out of its place and slashed him right across the face. Blood poured. My sister stayed with him as I ran ahead to inform our mother. When I got away from them, I laughed a little. These days, you can find Graydon Hall but it is not the same. Most of the woods have long ago been removed and the dried up river got up and went away. There are several large condo towers sitting right in the spot where we used to play. I have tried, on one occasion, to see if I could find our fort, or at least what is left of it. Over forty years later and it’s as long gone as my behavioural imbalance. The condition may remain underneath it all, sometimes it calls out to me in the middle of the night. I can hear it but at least I am no longer prone to being a monster. 

I take an awful lot of medication to control my Bipolar disorder.

            The darkness that hung over me as I aged has found an otherland of its own. I rarely pay a visit. I am under control. I just wish I had been treated from day one. Regardless, I am aware of the monster inside me. I am convinced that God dwells within me just as much, if not more. I still believe, no matter, that He is somehow near me, watching over me, even if I can’t see Him. I have finally come to a place in my life where I can handle all the noise. I suppose I don’t need to be untreated to be unhappy but comparatively, there is nothing to compare. I have learned  how to swim in that river without trying to drown. Despite the constant chaos that comes from living, I have managed to find a happy place. The millstone I placed around my own neck still hangs but I am used to it. My demeanour may be gruff but that just comes with the territory. I embrace the simple things, the random moments of this life that normally pass us all by. In a sense, a light bulb went off when my current medication kicked in. I actually have a normal life. I strangely find myself repeating. I am drawn to my defining moments, moments I can look back on with clarity and assurance. I finally see the truth more than the lies. I even mimic my childhood in the most friendly of ways. There is something sweet and familiar about doing things that you once did as a kid.

I cannot relive my life.

            I can’t undo what’s been done. I can re-examine, even visit, but the past is locked in stone. The best I can do is learn from my history with the hope of being better now. I have another noose hanging around my neck. It is God that has put it there. Some people carry their millstone up until the day they die. Some embrace it and some do not even know it is there. We are bound by the weight we carry. I have felt it dangling, like Marley’s, every time I am reminded just how much God hates me. He told me so Himself. No matter the amount of peace I find, no matter how well my life is going, I am constantly reminded just how much the Judeo-Christian God abhors me. It is God that stole my innocence and It has punished me for it ever since. I pay a price for simply being who I am. When I was a boy, I came to understand that, according to the infallible Bible, God would rather I be dead. It is very difficult to pursue a relationship with something that gives people permission to slaughter you. Literally. Some would even argue that God, in all His wisdom, is nothing but a homophobe. No shit.  

Being a happy person does not guarantee you a happy life.

Photo

source unknown

Steps

“He who learns must suffer, and, even in our sleep, pain that cannot forget falls drop by drop upon the heart, and in our own despair, against our will, comes wisdom to us by the awful grace of God.” (Aeschylus c. 525 - 456 BCE)

            As far back as I can remember, I have sensed something outside of myself. As a child, I believed I could hear it in the wind and see it in the rain. I have never been sure exactly what it is but I have always sensed I was never alone. As I grew up, religion instructed me as to its substance and character and I was told the dimensions by which it existed. No matter how much doctrine and theocracy was placed before me, I could not imagine that my comforting and invisible friend was merely a wise old man, very human and very unpredictable, glaring from a distance at my life in judgment.

            I believe that life is much more than a mere journey we are forced to take towards death. I believe that life is an unending path that continues to shape us all, even when we have died and passed on to that otherland. We are, after all, spiritual beings in a human experience, not just human beings searching for spiritual directives. We can discover purpose as we walk along but only if we allow ourselves to awaken to a better God and a better way. The experiences we have, the people we meet on our journey, the knowledge we accumulate from external sources all act as tools, forging us into that something better, if we allow them. We are here to learn.

            Whether we recognize a greater reason, or cast our salvation at the feet of a deity, is beside the point. No matter what you do, no manner with which you hide, can evade the hard cold lessons life stacks upon us. Most days, it's all one can do to survive God, let alone live up to impossible standards that come built into humanity through religion. We spend so much time worrying about whether we are doing what is right, saying the prescribed words and feeling acceptable things, that we don't notice how much more to this world there is. Most people can’t afford the time. They keep walking, step by step,  and miss all the scenery. Sometimes, it is hard to notice anything, especially when it appears (for all intensive purposes) that there is not much for us to notice. So, we just make it up in our heads, just for good measure.

            When I look back on my life, often with much resolved sadness, I can see clearly why the things I know and the road I have travelled appear meant for me and me alone. When I see my life, in flashes, I understand fully why I had to face my experiences and how, like a whisper, the Spirit I knew was there all along. Who I am is therefore defined not only by my experiences but my reaction to them. In a sense, how I feel becomes who I am. My reasoning does not always master my emotions but my emotions usually master my reasoning. We are cumulative. We are the sum of all these things. It is not, however, that we are only made up of where we have been. We are much more than snapshots from the side of the road. Each motion we take, each purpose we find, seems to fit. It is exactly how we are supposed to see. I still believe that our life is not predestined but the lessons we are supposed to learn most certainly are.

            Everything I am as a person, every good thing and every bad thing, is the reason I was put here. The journey is that which will carry me and create me. If I allow myself to be moulded by the Presence we call God, life becomes a step forward, not just some mission. It matters little your faith, but you must have some if you are going to try and understand. We are all but particles of energy and matter, spun together in harmony with the searching soul inside us. Every scene from our lives lifting us, making us into the person we were meant to be. When we become more aware, in touch with the unknown, and pay attention to the reasons behind the way our life has unfolded, we then can recognize the motion of something from beyond this mortal coil. In the end, the anatomy of our being and the accumulation of our experiences are the way that leads to light.

            We can only trust that despite what others say, and what we have been taught to believe, the unknown current that creates everything, including the road we follow, will lead us to where we are supposed to go. When we examine that path, and all it entails, it does nothing if not promote the same ideals we started out with. Every person on this planet is a child of God, whether we care to recognize that or not. We must realize that the way that leads us home (to whatever being lies waiting), is the very thing that will determine what we do when we get there. Each moment, each scene from a life is a revelation of the true nature of the force which guides us and calls us on.

            Life is hard and cold and painful but it is also tender and beautiful and rewarding. It really is all in how one looks at it. When you take the time to notice, your life can change from a burden to freedom. It is our scars which heal us strong, on this journey that we take. The things we know and the experiences we have may be heavy but they build strength and fortitude in the face of sheer misery. It is all we can do to survive the gods men have created when that which we believe should heal us often makes much deeper wounds. It is harsh reality that all must suffer. Life is suffering.

            As time passes on and the ways of childhood drift behind us like snow on a Canadian highway, a life so lived becomes a labyrinth, a puzzle put together by time and consequence. Each piece is unique unto itself. If you want to witness who you are supposed to be, stop and see where you have been. Pay attention to this life and all that comes with it and you will see, without reservation, the secret that religious dogma fails to reveal. Each one of us, from the heretic to the holy, already has the answers but we fail to give them substance. If the unexamined life is not worth living, then it’s time to examine it. Take notice. There is a road inside of you and inside me there is one too. All you are required to do is to put one foot in front of the other.

“Put one foot in front of the other

And soon you’ll be walking ‘cross the floor

Put one foot in front of the other

And soon you’ll be walking out the door

You never will get where you’re going

If you never get up on your feet

Come on, there’s a good tail wind blowing

A fast walking man is hard to beat”

(Santa Claus is Coming to Town, Rankin/Bass Productions, 1970)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OORsz2d1H7s

Photo

Iron Horse Trail

Brantford Ontario Canada

Fall 2011

Silent Road

“What will it be like when my pain is gone

And all the worries of this world just fade away?

What will it be like when You call my name

And that moment when I see You face to face?

Been waiting my whole life to hear You say

Well done”

(Well Done, The Afters 2018)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fNcTIVnHPLU

            It’s a peculiar thing believing in god while not believing in God. On one hand, my experience has taught me there may be nothing to believe in. On the other, I cannot escape my instinct, nor my intuition, and both tell me that there is something more. I am pulled in both directions and often feel like I am about to rip open. I no longer have faith in the religion of my birth. I was Christian for as long as I could stand it. I no longer follow the “Way and the Truth and the Life” (John 14:6). If I ever was born again, I have died all over again. I cannot remember the last time I prayed or the last time I thanked something out there greater than I am. It has been a silent road for awhile now, not that it makes any difference to a deity once removed.

            I still might talk to Him. Perhaps this is some agnostic form of prayer but I reserve the right to question. When I hear a song that moves me, or an effective scripture and/or quote, I remember. I remember what it felt like to once have a loving archetype who cared for my well-being. After all, it was better for me to have reward at the end of all this suffering. There was comfort in having a safe place to go. God itself can be an Otherland. People go someplace else all the time, so why not go where god is? Still, I find myself standing on the side of faith only to experience what I have all along. There is little difference between having an entity you follow and not having one. Both act exactly the same way. There is a deadening emptiness to the question of any existence. All we have is the experience of others in the past to guide us. They did not see the world as we do. They worked in oral tradition, using mythos to enact a moral and spiritual map we are commanded to follow, even to this day. I do not believe the stories. I do not believe that God has ever come down and spoke to even one man, woman or child. It’s just not his style. The record of any Holy interaction is distorted, as far as I am concerned. There is a huge difference between a “Son of Man” and the “Son of God.” My God does not involve itself with such matters and it never has. It cannot interfere or this reality would come crashing down around us. God is not able to intervene. I see Him sitting, watching, waiting for one more soul, then on to another. We don’t get the answers while we are here. There is no voice to pronounce them and drive them home. There is nothing at all but a nothingness in which we are to function. No matter how we wander, we follow a silent road, even if we refuse to admit it.

           

            When I was a boy, I was given a book called God’s Early Heroes. My maternal grandmother bestowed it upon me at the same time she gave my sister The Story of Jesus. I still have both copies, stored away for safekeeping. Both are oversized hardcover editions, with large colourful pictures accompanying the tales told within them. Initially, my grandmother made a good choice. Giving me a book chock full of super powerful human beings was one way to ensure I would read it. Read it I did. Over and over I explored the likes of Samson and Daniel. The volume became one giant comic book as far as I was concerned. I thought of it that way and I read it that way. The characters contained within it became like Spider-Man or the X-Men. While the message of each tale and figure was not lost on me, it was a mistake to try to combine the two. I knew that superheroes were not true so I just concluded the same regarding the stories found in the book. This part of my indoctrination failed. Perhaps this is why I became such a heathen. Recognizing that not everything you read is true was an early roadblock to my long-term salvation. Over the years, this revelation interfered with my Christian evolution. I had to ask myself, time and again, if the heroes of the Bible are created then perhaps the rest of the stories were less than accurate. What was meant to inspire and drive me onward to glory ended up pushing me in a totally different direction. At first, I questioned quietly. The silent road I travelled could be confusing and often lonely but I had no choice, not really. The people I spent my time with growing up all practiced Christianity. Some practiced it to the extreme. I was surrounded by high myth, and metaphors and characters draped over by the power of God. Eventually, anything supernatural, anything superhuman, gave me great pause. If the stories were true then Jesus was the very first mutant. Samson gained superpowers like Spider-Man and Daniel and the Prophets were all in touch with their psychic potential. By the time I reached adulthood, I felt drawn and quartered. A part of me would cling to didactics while the other side of me grew more uncertain of the deities I was supposed to believe in. Through it all, my Faith stood its ground. Even though I had reason not to follow, I did anyway. Whether it was because of my doubt, my homosexuality and moral decay, there was always something missing from the entire religion thing for me. I was always left empty, especially after prayer and contemplation. God never showed up when I needed him. If there is something bestowing power upon us, it is ignoring me. I am no superhero and I never could be. Sometimes I feel like God’s greatest failure.  

“I can do my best

And pray to the Father

But the one thing I ought to know by now is

When it all comes down

When it all comes down

If there’s anything good that happens in life

It’s from Jesus”

(Hope Set High, Amy Grant 1991)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KhK-J6K9S6I

            For most spiritual creatures, believing in God is the default position. It is because It is. We all question, we all ask why, but for those who consistently maintain their trust in greater things, there is this assurance lesser men do not get to know or understand. The weight of our convictions lies in our Faith. I have concluded that religious Faith, definitively, manifests through reason and emotion. If  these two factors do not work together, there is doubt and struggle and quite often much chaos. Reason is our ability to think and understand. Using logic, it allows us to form judgments utilizing rational thought or inference or discrimination. Emotions by definition are base but they are so much more than just a strong feeling. Whether instinctive or intuitive, emotion is separate from knowledge or forms of reasoning. This natural state of mind comes as a reaction to one’s circumstances and mood and other outside forces. As we grow, our reasoning increases, or so it should. The things we understood as a child fade away as we learn, comprehend and apply experience. When it comes to God, or spiritual matters, we tend to forego reason and cling, primarily, to the emotional side of our experience. For the most part, we are conditioned to that emotional response. Our primary and significant others, throughout our indoctrination, reinforce that God, for that matter, is a tangible and well thought out entity. We are trained to have that emotional response, in spite of our education or age. Religion manipulates us to not see clearly, even if we do not wish to react so, throughout our lives we will have to battle this Pavlovian factor. For those who rest easy in their worship, emotions become a justifier and deliberate validation. If I can feel God, then there must be One. For those who question, any moment of connection, any swell in the spirit, is somewhat alien, particularly when there is little to respond to. With one hand we reason, telling ourselves that knowledge grants insight into the truth. We end up not believing because we see there is little to believe in. We travel a silent road, recognizing there is nothing in spite of what everyone has been telling us for years and years. With the other hand, when it comes to God, we are engulfed by emotional chaos. We react out of conditioning, our reply more control than nothing but the blood of Jesus. It matters little how precious the flow. Intellectually, I would just assume that reason would win any battle for our soul but I would be wrong. People don’t accept what they believe to be truth based on what they think, they base their salvation on what they feel. It doesn’t matter if all the answers are before you for the whole world to see. God is not a logical concept. We cannot rationalize because any evidence to support our theory is lost in our feelings regarding it all. We have greatly evolved in our thinking, particularly when it comes to unseen forces. When you add a little dinner bell, all rational thinking is tossed aside for a lovely surge in possession.

            A long battle raged within me as I tried to move past the tragedy. The moment they buried him, I could feel that war for my soul brewing within me. It was not my regular duality. This engagement was new and I had little idea how to handle it. I had doubted before. I had questioned just as often. I had never experienced such blasphemous thinking. I was no longer simply asking about the nature of the Christian God, rather the very existence of such a creature became forefront in my mind. I slowly began to recognize that I had been swimming in denial. I studied hard, making a daily trek in hopes of finding a reason to continue to have Faith. I didn’t just want to place myself at the “feet” of this entity or that deity, I wanted proof positive that the God I had been following was the one true God, just like they all said. I wanted it to be real, for it to be true. I often felt like it was, but not this time. My apostasy was more about abandoning ship than defection to another team. My entire life I waged a defence against the very God I was supposed to have blessed assurance in. As I look back on my evolution, I can see that my current way of thinking began early on. I always wanted to understand things but I demanded the answers rather than waiting for them to be clear. I was a hardcore Christian. It was a difficult thing to let go. Logically, I recognized that I was enlightening but emotionally I was overcome with guilt and hesitation and fear. It is strange to believe that God is going to get you for being an apostate when you do not know whether that God even exists. The dichotomy has always made me feel tarred and feathered. Stranger still that I have continued down this silent road, unencumbered by the very ideas that religion tends to manifest and then circulate. I am sorry, Grandma and Mom and Dad, but I just don’t buy it. I refuse to see my life, and God, through how I feel. I no longer allow my emotions to lead me. Regardless of whether I am dealing with a family crisis, a medical condition or questioning the Lord, I let my brain lead and my feelings, if they are lucky, may get to follow. I am a rock and I am an island. I am a man of reason, not silly emotional responses. I go where my head guides me, not my heart. I will admit there are occasions when how I feel dominates what I think. The death of my Mother is a good example. Initially, I lost it and I lost it good. My grief controlled me. Eventually, I regained my composure and resumed my life as an ice cube. For a short period of time I was directed, not by reason but by feelings, my emotional state. I just assume these moments are experienced by everyone throughout their life. For me, they are a foreign invader, unwanted, unasked for and unwelcomed.

“I don’t wanna talk about it right now

Just hold me while I cry my eyes out

I’m not Joan of Arc, not yet

But I’m in the dark, yeah

I can’t be your superhero right now

Even hearts made out of steel can break down

I’m not Joan of Arc, not yet

I’m only human”

(Joan of Arc, Madonna 2015)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Uv40WdbfVw8

            Despite any intellectual and spiritual revelations I have encountered throughout my adult life, I have always maintained that I believe in God. No matter my experience, I have never once stopped believing that there is more to this world than we know. Like everyone else, I am left to question just what that more could be. When asked to define my relationship with this being, I usually answer ambiguously. If pushed by their version of the truth, my standard reply is usually that “I believe in God, just not your god.” I most certainly do not view Christianity as anything more valid or divine than the rest of the world religions. The only thing it really has to offer me is the very idea behind monotheism. It may contain valid points, and give us an insight into what might be the character of God, but so do many of the other spiritual theories on this planet. For me, my silent road simply led me to a place where the character of God is more hidden than part of some hypothesis. It appears to me, in spite of all my rational thinking, that if I followed the direction religion pointed me, I would be an emotional wreck. People tend to make God very complicated. After years of internal conflict and theological debate with myself, I have come to the conclusion that the way I have travelled throughout this life is exactly as it is supposed to be (silent or not). I followed Christianity and I trusted providence and a Saviour who loved me. For years, I knocked on the proverbial door but it was not until I left Christianity that it swung wide open. A silent road means much less noise. It is not a rational exercise to believe in God. I recognize I have no proof, no evidence to establish my Faith. I believe regardless of logic and any evidence to the contrary. I have walked the way I felt, and hoped in God’s direction, and I, apparently, ended up right here. The door has been opened for me, I can go where I need to go. Apparently, Jesus is like some gateway drug.

Photos

https://www.zedge.net/find/wallpapers/silent%20road

God’s Early Heroes

Scripture Press 

1971

https://www.shutterstock.com/video/clip-13021208-man-ringing-hotel-reception-bell-male-hand