A Clearer View

So that last post was fun to write but I'm not sure what reading it will be like. I think the disjointed nature of the text and jumpy line of thought shows how my brain has been dealing with all the issues lately. It's running high speed in some ways and slow in others, trying to deal with a deeply varied plethora of things and just come to a solid, sturdy point where I can start building a good life from again. Tonight was a big step forward for that, I felt like myself more going into joining the firehall. I was nervous, I had fun, I learned a bunch, and generally had a great time. It will be a good group of friends moving forward, a good stable routine to keep my feet on the ground, and in the future some very serious experiences I hope to learn a lot from. We are a notably remote fire hall, dealing with a large area and farther from a hospital than almost any other in our area. This means we will have more responsibility and direct action than a lot of fire halls. That's a solid responsibility but also an exciting one, because it means there is even more to learn.

It's interesting thinking about sharing myself and my situation and all that with the people of the fire hall. The chief knows, and so do some of the other members, but not everyone. I didn't do the social hour tonight, I was worried about getting home to keep an eye on Cora, or that was what I thought at the time, but I think I might also have been just a bit socially nervous. I'm still adjusting to never smoking and readjusting somehow to not drinking. Part of me feels like if I give up weed I should take back alcohol, or that I can trust myself in moderation. I don't really think that's right though. I've written down a set of strict rules I may try to follow some day, because I do indeed enjoy the taste of good beer with a good meal on occasion, but I don't think social drinks are really the right answer for me anymore. They just carry too much weight and temptation for me with my history and situation. It's weird to be clean living when I was such a binge partier then such a stoner in my past, it's a big adjustment, and one I'm somewhat still struggling with, but I think in the end I'm going to gain a lot from it. I need to find new passions and purpose to engage with and that will be satisfying. I hope to find ones that don't even just help me too, at least not all.

I'm so lucky being given the ability to deal with this situation slowly and carefully as I have, and in the state of luxury and care that has been provided for me by my family, and even on top of that my friends and the community around me. It's incredible thinking of the amount of help I've had in the past few years, the past 9 months or so in particular. I try to think of myself as not spoiled, and that the challenges and hardships I've faced in this time balance out with what I've been given, but I do hear an echo from my time in the hospital, seeing people dealing with at least a part of what I am without anywhere near the kind of support I've been getting. Many got great love and care from their family, one of my fellow patients had his mother in with him every day, but to have the financial support, and welcoming home community on top of the love I've received as I have is something special. I am sitting now in a beautifully comfortable home, writing on a nice computer, a fridge full of high quality food, and two happy dogs relaxing on the floor. I'm comfortably dressed, I have plenty of entertainment if I need it, and if I had a problem with anything I could call for help and not worry about whether or not I would get it. It's easy to understand why I can stay so positive minded when I just look around me.

That still doesn't clear the fear though. My big stress for the moment is overcoming my "disability". I feel a deep driving need to return to my freedom and I have a deep fear regarding that. In my self-confrontation that led to my time in the hospital I actually experimented with reducing my dose of Keppra. As a result I had a series of seizures observed under medical care. They were still the minor kind where I retain some physical control but most primarily lose control of speech. One of the most interesting parts was I found that some of my responses to my prior seizures had been neuroses rather than direct effects. I obsessively did the motions and actions which I'd needed to do to prove my consciousness during the surgery as soon as I felt the triggering symptoms of a seizure, which made me seem to be at a deeper level of lost consciousness than I was. I was able to establish and prove that at least to a degree in the hospital, and I hope that action will help me moving forward. Since that time I've been stable completely, and the episode of them ended very quickly. The terror I hold though is that mistake could be a postponing of my return to full freedom of movement. I've got an appointment in mid march and I will get more information then. I do feel confident, or want to feel confident, but I'm also very unsure. I know I'm on more medication now and probably more stable, but it's earning the trust of the medical system that is essential for me, and I can't help but wonder if I lost some of it by making those independent choices. It's a tough balance of trust too. I want them to trust me, they want me to trust them, and both of us have hurt each other some in the past. My time in the inpatient care at Abbey Lane, the feeling of overmedication was terrifying to the point I felt a loss of trust in the  medical support I was getting. I couldn't, can't, completely understand why my one doctor kept upping the dose after I showed the stability I did, or why she upped it right before sending me home for a weekend blindly. I'd opened myself to full blind trust of the medical authority prior to that to prove a point to the system and re-earn its trust, and then in my first experience following that I felt hurt by it. Even following, my inpatient care was hard to fully trust. The doctors were helpful but a challenge to deal with, and while my first appointment was great and thorough, towards the end I got a greater feeling of following paperwork than interpersonal care. There are huge challenges on the system though and I don't mean to talk smack about it or say it's absolutely bad. It just has points where I don't agree with method and such completely. I think that's largely because it is underfunded and undersupported, while the administrative services that sit in offices and plan it are excessive. I'd like to see more better paid nurses, more doctors, and less people who have meetings to talk about how things should go. The professional caregivers and physicians can discern for themselves how to do their jobs and they showed me that alot, especially the nurses. The best ones were the ones who did what was right by their knowledge and wisdom, not by the pure fine lines of the papers they were given to follow. I received above and beyond care and even advocacy from a few in particular, and if they ever choose to read this I'm confident they'll know who they are. One in particular, Debbie, is a bit of an angel in my heart now, and if she ever chooses to read this, (I hope she does) I need to remind her it's 4675 hwy 329 and you and your scooter are welcome any time for a visit, but there's no pressure to do so.

Returning to work is a source of anxiety too I suppose. I may have financial support, but it doesn't stop me from wanting to earn and produce for myself and return to a greater position of freedom and stability. I have a few ideas of what I'll do, hoping to produce as much as I can off my own land, likely spending some time on the ocean, bidding on and carrying out small forestry contracts, and then some private residential services with chainsaw and equipment. I need to further develop my skills and abilities a great deal to be ready for proper independence though, so it's pretty much time for me to return to work on my own lot. It's a challenge for me to find the energy and drive to do that now though. I don't know if it's the drugs, recovering from the stress, tiredness, or what it is, but I'm just drained and seemingly unable to get up and going. I hope I feel better tomorrow, I need to get out and run the saw and tractor for a while, I really do. I also desperately need a gym run I'd say. Lifting some heavy stuff is good for the body, mind, and soul if you're built like me. Meditation is another quest I need to return my focus to. I let myself feel so overloaded as to justify not really engaging in it for a while, and I need to rediscover it. Writing on here is helpful for everything too. It pours my mind out and lets it slow down within itself, focus on more important things. It also keeps me honest to myself. I'm more deeply unwilling to lie to the outside world than I am when I think to myself, so writing on here helps me clarify my thoughts and make sure I'm not letting any little bits sneak in on me and pull me in the wrong direction. It's funny that's the case I suppose, I feel as though the stereotype is the opposite, that people hide with their honest introspective views at home and create false exaggerated projections to share with the world, but this is just my way of doing things. I hate the idea of lying about myself to people I care about and trust, and I like to think of those who choose to read this as those kind of people. I can't say with certainty I never do by mistake, I don't really audit myself or even look back and edit, as I know I've said before this is just what flows out no real serious changes or retrospection, but I do my best to keep it on the straight and narrow.

That said, it's getting hilariously close to my bedtime. Especially considering I had a 5 hour nap today.

I suppose I must be still recovering somewhat.

Goodnight

Into Port, Moving Quickly

So the last month and then some has been a different kind of adventure. The battle went from the simple physical nature of the brain and crossed into the mind. I lost control of myself I suppose is one way to phrase it, the other would be the medical name "a manic episode". I spent most of that time in the hospital, Abbey Lane was the name of where I was, an involuntary patient of a psychiatric ward.

It was an adventure getting in. Out of worry and fear for my well being and from a period of incredible stress and lack of sleep due to my manic ramblings, actions, and obsessions, my mother and stepfather organized an event to justify calling the police against me to have me taken in there. Riding to the hospital in the back of a police car is another adventure. The cops were really cool though. That part is the clearest bit of memory I have of my time when I was really "manic" and out of control. I didn't get cuffed or beaten like many of my fellow patients. I had no record and didn't resist at all and it was really a strangely pleasant experience. Still pretty stressful though.

The time in the hospital was different than I'd imagined too. I don't know what I imagined though I guess. I never even considered ending up locked up in a mental ward of a hospital. I knew about it, I'd been in them before, visiting my mother when I was very young, and my grandmother a few years after. I understood, or thought I understood, what it meant to be "psychotic" or "borderline" or "manic" or whatever it was that got me in there. It turned out I was flying blind. I barely remember the early days. It seems like when I was in that state of mind it was almost like being drunk. One fact I do remember is that while I was up in the "manic" state I could actually tap into and piece together some of my old drunken blackout episode memories. I think somehow they were related. Looking into that part of my past was looking into the darkness, not so much in my actions but actions I allowed myself to ignore or fail to understand through those blurry eyes. I won't lose myself in the past though. Nor claim that I see blackout Dave as wholly innocent. Just mixed up, and more childlike than I'd really thought before. Back to the present though.

The most important part is that I'm done now. That's what gives me the courage to try and write about it. I think the disjointed nature of my writing shows how mixed up in the head I am about it all still however. I'm trying to hold myself together and just share the truth or what happened or me, but it's like trying to read primary wind direction off land hit by a tornado. It's a mess. I learned a ton, I grew a ton (womp womp, physically too, in the bad way), but in some ways I still feel like I lost a ton. More of my freedom, my independence is gone. I'm on more drugs now, more people watching me closely, less of the recreational stuff I enjoyed (cold cut off weed by necessity), it kind of hurts but it's necessary.

The hospital is a hard place. It's tough to deal with your issues there. The nurses were amazing though. The lack of freedom, the nature of the hallways, the long-termers, ranting, rambling, lost, helpless, struggling... it was a challenge. I chose to tap my strength there and keep my chin high as best I could. Most of the day I had a smile on my face, open, friendly, strong. I cried too though. Some times alone, some times calling home, some times in a room with a nurse, asking for help, feeling lost, feeling confused. It was good for me to cry, probably better for me than the times I tried to hold strong. I did receive some respect and appreciation for my approach, I made friends, I opened my world. Strange. Beautiful. Confusing.

Some of my fellow patients were in and out. Others I don't know how they'll ever be free. Pictures in my head of lost souls wandering the hallways, PTSD of different forms, confusion, manipulation, paranoia, all in their own ways pulling people down. Chemicals ran the waterlines. Everyone had their own cocktail of cures. All cures have their own cost. Mine were hard to deal with. I was at times possibly, probably, almost certainly overmedicated. One I dealt with, Olanzepine, was really fucking hard to deal with. I guess I needed it to bring my energy down, bring me back to control, but my dose was brought up high, and it wreaked havoc on me in some ways. Gained almost 30 lbs. High blood pressure, high heart beat, strange, self-destructive thoughts, frustration... I'm on my way off now though. That's why I can finally write. I went to a psychiatrist today and he is bringing me down, titrating me, trickling me off the poison that cured me, as far as the world is concerned. The real picture? Who knows.

This has been negative so far. I should bring up the positive. I have my puppy back. Cora is here and she's amazing. She is so smart, so energetic, such a positive light in my life. I need to find my strength back to look after her, and I will. It won't be easy. I don't feel like myself yet. I'm still dealing with these more sedative drugs, and recovering from this period of stress, anxiety, chemotherapy, cancer, death... but I'll figure my way. The big part that I'm surprised I haven't mentioned yet is I'm done with this cycle of chemo. I did 8 months instead of 12, and I could easily end up on it again in the future, but this round of the fight is over. It's time to rebuild. Time to grow.

One of my first goals in growth is to lose back at least most of the 30 lbs I gained in my hospital time from the drugs. I found and lost my self confidence in this time. I feel fat and lazy now and I know I can conquer that but it's not easy. I'd love to be out there chasing girls and dating but I'm insecure and that's kind of pathetic. I'd like to tell myself girls aren't superficial but we're all human and a belly is a belly, most people aren't Buddha. That's one of my big goals to sort out first, is to just get myself looking like a form of me I can feel confident in. I will be there by summer, come hell or high water, I'll do what it takes to get there. It'd be nice to be confident to get there sooner but it's not a small amount of weight and I don't get to stop taking fat pills right away. About a month before I'm done altogether. I'm going to try to diet and work out and fight the battle now but I have a feeling the weight will really start to move once I'm done with the drug. I will still have a bit of a handicap on me in the fight though as well. I'm sticking with another one, a "mood stabilizer" that will also reinforce my fight against epilepsy, called Divalproex. It also stimulates weight gain, but somehow I feel more confident in conquering it. Who knows. Hard work, good food, good gym, and long walks with the dog should add up in my favour eventually.

Writing is a challenge now
I grow, I break, I build.
What's next? Who knows.
Into the wind I row. Bow
forward. Eyes open. Nets filled.
Fish or stone, flesh or bone.
Push, pull, over, under.
Through. Always through.
Around the stone.
Over the waves.
Thunder. Lightning.
A new day. A new way.


Wish me luck. Or whatever works for you. I'll be back.

Moment of Clarity

So I think I figured out where this all came from, I'm pretty sure I've added together everything my brain has been throwing at me...

I've had this central focus of myself coming to peace via synchronizing and reintegrating communication between my conscious, subconscious, and body, software, firmware hardware... What I was trying to find in myself was an emotional memory hidden in my subconcious and affecting my firmware configuration to the point of disconnecting me from society and reality...

I think I found it.

My mom's nearly a year in the hospital, we only visited her once. In that time, I have a set of 5 memories. A picture of the front of the hospital . A picture of a moment visiting her. A picture of a teachers face. A feeling of confusion and anger in the schoolyard. And a young boy teaching me to not trust blindly by pulling a nasty little prank on me.

It all adds up. When my mom went to the hospital, I felt abandoned, alone, lost. I didn't realize or understand at first what was going on or why I lost so much support. My Dad was doing his best, but he's not two people, not a mom. I probably began to try to look to my teachers like my mother, which they rejected. The big moment though was visiting her. That was where I needed to reconcile my concious and my subconcious. What I remember processing in my head there is just the picture of my mother, unable to respond, eyes seeming blank, feeling just not there. In my subconcious though it accumulated that evidence and decided she was dead, and began to fight between sealing me up and reaching out for a new source of motherly love. I think when I got thrown into that locker is when I realized none of my teachers, none of the other women in the world, could do for me what my mother did. That's when I gave up my last hope at trust, and decided no matter what had happened, if she was dead or alive, I needed my mom back. That's when I did a deal with the devil. That's why I remember after that day making the physical effort to place a curse on that school raising my (what I thought was) the middle finger (I put up the 4th one, it was hard, that's why I thought it was a curse.)

I never remembered that though. Tried to hide it from myself. I projected my interpretation of what had happened onto the world and brought it to reality. I can only imagine what it felt like to have your son see you like you were returned from the dead, unable to fully trust you because he feels like you're alive thanks to a deal he made with the devil, fundamentally unable to trust, respect, listen because you are a terrifying representation of his loss of his soul in desperation.

That's fucked up.

Let it Go, Let it Flow

So I think I'm going to try to let myself get back in touch with a part of myself I found when I was younger. When I was in my teenage years for a while I discovered a love of, and ability in, writing poetry. I didn't really share what I wrote, and I didn't let the memories out since then. This is my first little release of that part of myself in a while. It's pretty shitty compared to what I feel like I remember evern from my childhood, AA-BB-CC etc just flowmode, but still. I think the problem back then was I thought it was too feminine to write poems and was too insecure to share them and let myself lose a piece of me. It's time to be ballsy enough to just let myself out

I am a mirror and a fire but I did not see the light
Held my eyes closed and found darkness, thus began the fight
Pushed forward blindly, rushing, eyes closed and chin held high
The fire though, it burned me,every time that I ran by.
Slowly over time, I came to open my eyes.
But instead of looking down, I turned up to the sky.
I felt the heat of fire, and I called myself a star.
I pushed my spirit outwards, felt lost it went so far.
My strength began to fade, and the fuel began to dwindle.
The fire was falling, my light was gone, its heart I had to kindle.
I could not see, I could not run, I could not open my eyes.
It seemed as though the fire went out, I could not see the sky.
I closed my eyes and reached out my hands, and again the world was there.
I started forward cautiously, and let her give her care.
I found my way without the fire, or so inside I thought.
But something deep inside of me, it still felt burning hot.
Embers may stop giving flame, but they haven't lost their heat.
There's something left inside of me, and it never felt defeat.
My eyes have opened wide again, and the world has been transformed.
The fire has burnt around its pit, but the ashes weren't just scorn.
Like in the bush the fire is mixed, it destroys and then regrows.
Inside myself that cycle spins, and yet today it slows.
I feel as though I learned something, that hid in me last night.
I think some part has changed inside, and maybe won the fight.
I'm open now, I'm growing, I'm letting it burn again.
This time though I feed it carefully, controlling it best I can.
The mirror sits behind the fire, sparling like a wall.
My eyes still need to see it, are beckoned by its call.
I look into the darkness, I call upon the fire.
I meet my eyes, and dark indeed, I've relearned to admire.
I see the light, I see its source, to burn means to burn life
I thank the world, I thank it all, and I hold onto my knife.
I walk into the darkness and find fuel for the fire.
I trust myself and nature now, understand my desire.
As long as my eyes are open, and I hold my chin up high
The world around will keep me down, not lost up in the sky.

Glow in the Dark

Embracing the darkest part of myself and doing the best I can to take responsibility for actions that manifest out of my subconcious was invigorating. I felt a distinct physical response. The trick with that is I did a series of physical preparatory factors which are easily part of the picture, and take away my ability to isolate the variable. As it should be I suppose. Anyway. My body seemed to feel a strong urge to cleanse itself, and something inside it triggered a bunch of endothermic reactions. My balls started to hurt, reminding me of some puberty cramps, then as I sat down to do business, I began to get the shakes and feel cold, which built up to pretty serious shakes, then I hopped into a hot shower. That felt amazing. I let myself enter the darkness in there. I gave myself a little therapeutic pain I could understand and know was helping with a gradual increase of hot water, and I let the beast out, just roaring at the top of my lungs, laughing like a maniac, letting this huge rush of energy and spirit and vigor rush out of me. I've got no idea what was going on inside my body but something definitely was. Part of me wants to believe it's my body finding a positive way to release the energy it was storing up and turning into seizures.

Letting myself embrace the beast also woke up another view of my past. A bit of a picture of me on my way down into the darkness, the how and the why. I was at a recently converted all girls religious school. I was also getting positive feedback at home which I chose to interpret as definite indications that I was exceptional/gifted. With that taken as a fact it was easy to feel elevated at school. Then I kind of made it happen, at least for grade primary hahaha. I won a book reading competition by an entertaining amount, and a few math test races, and was allowed to be myself and deal with myself as I needed to in the class. And I'm pretty sure they didn't get too deep into religion. The next year though is when things started to feel sour. I've got an interpretation of it which I think may carry some deeper value. I was in a class of almost all girls being taught by a teacher who had taught almost all girls. People learn by experience and form patterns, and this teacher had taught religion for an extended period. It's unavoidable that to one degree or another she specialized in her method of conveying the message to make it work for either her actual experience or her projected interpretation of her experience. Either way. She pushed her message out in a way that I felt was working better for the girls around me. But my brain was rejecting it. My brain was just trying to test it with the methods it saw on Bill Nye or whatever, using its imagination for experiments, and coming up with some of those annoyingly good answers pure atheists spam the internet with. Combining the feedback and evidence of my exceptional nature with this state of events in my classroom of feeling asynchronous with the wisdom being shared and unable to tap into what they were getting, I decided instead of embracing this mysterious connection/strength they had which I couldn't understand or gain from like I could feel them doing, I decided to reject it and elevate myself to the hero by telling the teacher I rejected her story because it didn't make sense. That's another moment when I took a step in the wrong direction. I chose a destructive answer instead of a creative answer. I saw this special connection/status in the girls around me, but couldn't let myself come up with my special strength like the one they had. We'd proved girls were equal in every way. I couldn't think of my special ability to spread seeds and positive energy, I didn't grant recognition as I should have to the male side of the act of creation. I think I was scared of how I was bigger and stronger than the people around me, started and reinforced by my premature sister, who I really do love an incredible amount, who I saw be nurtured and cared for to a level which drained my mother to the edge of her abilities, and I choose to believe no other woman could have done in her shoes (size is a point!). I think maybe that's another seed complex. I felt like I had to love her, but I saw how much my mom gave her. I chose though to interpret it as her taking it from my mom, and didn't let myself see my mom's desire to give and that she was choosing to do it.

The interesting thing about this big complicated thing is that I seem to be able to keep taking passes at it and coming up with answers, and I'm not even sure how well they all work together, but I seem to learn a great deal from all of them. Embracing the responsibility of my actions to their deepest nature was essential. But letting myself see what I understood of myself and what my intent was, and also taking a glance back at instinctual moments where I learned I had some courage and honour beyond and below my rational line. My memory has held onto less of those than negative ones, and it's probably reasonably correct, but I have a feeling part of it is me reinforcing my desire to avoid letting my confidence overgrow its boundaries once more. There is a balance and a contrast to almost everything, maybe everything.

My hope though is I have indeed broken this at its base. What I'm really hoping is true and what I read out of myself is I made a transfer in code structure sitting at the base of my operating system. I was going in binary before, all 1s and 0s, stacked and layered and made into a super complex system to the point where it looked like it was beyond just Y/N simplicity because of its sophistication and complication, but it took as an essential principle a law that simply ceased to work. What it feels like now looking at myself is that by opening myself fully to the subjectivity of my existence, and some deeper more complicated pieces of insight towards the essential structure of reality and my role in it, opening myself to a created idea of my nature and purpose that feels universal and fair and true. My theory is that our creation of the concept of mind-body-spirit will somehow be represented in the relation of energy-matter-dark matter. We've chosen through history to project ourselves onto reality and interpret it as representations of ourselves. This is not our essential nature however, but a tool of development naturally occurring as a step forward. The essential purpose of the nature of being time is a progress of sophistication. It takes massive steps forward and massive steps backward and renders it nearly impossible to climb high enough up the rabbit hair to look down and see the whole beast, but on the will and corpses of our predecessors, of the beings, energy, and matter we've used to fuel and build them, we may climb high enough to see ourselves and what we are a part of as one, and embrace our role. In the act of embracing our role we can recognize ourselves as not independent beings in a self-determined reality but contributing pieces of an incredibly complex system. We don't have to have a purpose that elevates us above the purpose of being and time, it is more than enough for us to be drops into an ocean. We need to learn to understand and trust each other to get there, but once we can really see each other we will see everything more clearly. I'm going to hold onto that belief for hope.

I think I finally let enough out that my body's going to let me go to bed.

Dark and Stormy Night

Hey Now,

Damn it feels good to be honest. I think I finally broke down to the bottom of everything tonight. I embraced the truth of what I said and the truth of what I saw, what I heard, and what I felt. I spoke to the last part I couldn't bring into final coordination with the destruction I needed to enable the creation I needed, and broke through the walls they held up to support me. It felt amazing.

The break moment was a walk into my past. I stepped into a moment. It was my last moment with my grandmother. Tears come to my eyes thinking of it. I thought of it deeply. I finally let myself recognize how much she gave me in that moment. The strength she showed me. I had gone to that home to visit my dying grandmother. She'd lived a hard life like most can't dream of, and died a hard way. She took the burden of so many around her out of a pure unconditional love like most dream of being able to give. At that point she was in a place of torture, physical and mental, and in my head I was god, going to go give her my love and energy to help. Even from that place of deep darkness though when I reached out and held her hands and looked into her eyes, I felt her giving herself to me. I'm going to choose that moment to believe in as the thing which either saved my life or my soul, whichever I reclaimed tonight. There are a lot of other pieces which contributed to it. There are bricks built into an incredibly strong wall. A wood tower atop it, letting me see more clearly. A moat around it, protecting me from the world outside. But the part I can't forget is the rock I sit on, the place it comes from. This strength I see in myself helping me battle, it's all a gift. I didn't say thanks nearly enough, but I fought, not always well, not always smart, not always looking good...but as hard as I could.

That gave me the strength to embrace the level of responsibility I needed to ready myself for. To truly look at this idea which I opened myself to I have to follow it through to its ultimate conclusion: my whole memory is a construct, it's not just subjective interpretation, it's repetitive regeneration. It is destroyed and recreated over and over. I felt myself reboot tonight, and I felt the change in it. Computers helped me see. Mind, soul, body. Software, firmware, hardware. Software and background processes. Viruses. Fragmented hard drives. These all serve as analogies which let us approximate ourselves and see more clearly. If we keep looking from different views, we eventually see the truth. When I opened myself to that responsibility, I entered a new world, and it feel like it's going to be a lot more fun.

It's scary to admit the level of responsibility I took though. What I had to accept was that the type of programming glitch I'd analysed in myself and recoded was likely a defining element of the perception of people around me more than they had admitted to themselves. When I opened myself to my past, and the way I saw the world, I saw a new side of a story that was pretty hard to come to terms with. The hard part was taking the responsibility it put on me. The liberating part was the clearer view it gave me of all the people around me, and the way the world just felt like it made more sense. Rather than explain in the details, I'll just say that I still continued to catch myself pushing blame away even after I felt like I hit complete victory. The truth is, I'm choosing to believe this interpretation of my recollection, because it gives me the greatest ability to open myself to a positive experience of my life from this point forward.

The most liberating part of tonight was I finally found a rational structure to liberate myself from this feeling of need to hold guilt against my mother. I had a series of memories of her having serious breakdown/trigger moments, as her own form of manifestation of my temper essentially. In these memories she went dark places that seemed hard to forgive her for and said things which seemed across some ethical line of comfort I saw. The problem was coming to terms with the real reason of those memories. I actually now believe I may have created myself in her and my Dad via manipulation as a self-defense method. When my mother spent the time in the hospital and I visited her, my memory I hold sees her as not seeming like herself, I don't even remember  her speaking. I think inside me that felt like she was dead, and scared me deep, deep into my spirit. I felt that, and it scared me to the depth, and I felt my fear of death, and I began to hide from it. Or at least took a step in that direction. I think the fact my mind held onto the flash of the front of the hospital, and the one picture of her in there means a lot. I don't think I remember much else from that year though..  In that time I felt very alone, at my school I had a teacher who was at minimum borderline abusive in mental tactics, trying very hard to brainwash the rebellious kid into belief of god (actually that is definitely an interpretation of an emotional memory. I can not crack into any of my grade 2 memory other than a feeling of fear when I picture her face, and the incident where the teacher I trusted threw me in the locker...what allows me to trust that event is my dad confirming it, but as I believe prior mentioned likely it was significantly triggered... I probably was going so crazy it seemed like the only safe thing to do.) while his mom lay in the hospital and was unable to reach out to him. At my home, I had a father who was torn up inside while his wife lay in hospital, and experiencing a demand that exponentially increased when she went in. I only know what happened in my head, and what I added to this world I was living in, so I will take responsibility for what I added to the chaos. Imagining the level of care it would take to hold two children together while their mother faced mental illness is impossible to me. I didn't give him nearly enough credit for that time in my memory, because most of it is gone.I think I edited my retained experience there to make her feel dead to me to protect myself from the feeling of her loss. When she came back, I'd lost my trust for her, and didn't know it. At a subconcious level I think I manipulated my parents and family into false understandings of each other to create the chaos I felt I deserved. I think I closed myself to my mom and just idolized my Dad, and then in doing so put the drain all on him which he felt, but unwilling to put the blame and responsibility at the source projected it onto his wife. I fed that response with my behavior, reinforcing his interpretation by making it seem easier for him to deal with me by being more cooperative. I even manipulated and controlled my sister. There was a part of me going very crazy. God damn looking back is scary shit now welcoming that idea. It casts a different light on one childhood event that stuck to me deeply... I think a moment when I showed I was going crazy, even to myself. I was very young, I don't remember how old, and in my memory I'm playing with my sister, pushing her around on a cat house. By my memory and I would say with deep confidence by my rational processing at the time I thought I was just pushing her around for fun. But I pushed her near the window, under the little hanging lines for the blinds. She got caught in them, and I remember they left red marks on her neck. The part of my memory that I know should have taught me something earlier is that I obviously kept pushing when she got caught. I know, with absolute certainty, I convinced myself I did not choose to do that. But when I look at things my body has done without even my concious control through my life, there is no way that could possibly be an accident. I think that was the trigger event that showed them I was going crazy. Somehow though I think I convinced them each that it was the other going crazy. Most likely part of that came from them being unable to put the responsibility and weight onto their first born child. They saw the shit that happened to me, they felt like it wasn't fair to blame me even if I did it, or maybe just didn't know how to address it. Or maybe I'm just guessing and reading it totally wrong... I remember getting a time out and feeling really confused. In my head, because it was a mistake, it wasn't my fault... I remember feeling scared of what I did though. I think that was me beginning to realize. I also hope that my interpretation is associating a bit too much power with me, and that it's not possible to take all responsibility from other factors or else I'm just going to return myself to that goddamn god complex. It's a very complicated picture. I'm just going to choose to come to peace with my past by taking responsibility for as much of what I consider hardship as possible, whether direct concious choices or actions taken and created by parts of myself I don't understand.

I began to let it out at school as a temper, and then slowly built up a system of control over this part of myself.  I felt like releasing it as a temper was the same thing as actually beating it. Turned out I was actually just training it inside of me. What I was doing when I thought I rejected God was just rejecting my real self, and trying to restrict a part of my being into nonexistence. I thought by choosing to remove God from reality I could choose to close down myself to the animal, lustful, destructive, indulgent, creative, artistic, driven, passionate part. I thought what I saw on Magic School Bus was enough to prove the Brain was running the whole show and that we understood everything completely and it was problem solved I can choose what I want in myself, control myself. I think somehow I felt like if I "understood" I could control everything.

That rejected memory and the feeling I remember in it... the erasing of that year, the way I know I went crazy in that school... I think I did a deal with the Devil to save my mom in some part of myself. Maybe that's where this all came from. That resonates with me... more deeply. I can't accept a picture of myself that looks like pure bad or actual destructive will... I remember the way I feel, I've wanted to love, I wrote poetry, I dreamed of writing children's books, I tried to help people, but I felt broken, I kept hurting, I couldn't trust myself. It was me trying to be a hero and turning myself into a villain. Even when I let the devil I was keeping chained and training in the darkness run the show, there was a part of me all along that knew I was good deep inside myself, that I wanted to be good, somehow I was essentially good. I wanted redemption. I thought I could find it in escapism. Then in work. Then martyrism. But what I needed to do was just look into myself and see myself as clearly as I can, and what I'd find was all that bad, that darkness, I built it. It was my choice. While that's a terrifying thing to admit to yourself, it carries weight and responsibility, it's necessary. For me, it's going to help that I'm publishing it. It's scary, but the thing is it lets it out of me. Everyone can read it, everyone can judge me, and no matter what they think I can find peace. I have come to terms with who I am, I take the responsibility, I learn from it, but I do not carry the weight. I can't go back and change those actions or interpretations. I can't redefine my past. What I can do is rebuild myself, reopen myself, and set a new future. Building the strength of the demon inside me, I think it helped train the other parts too. I believe now that I have looked that demon in the eyes and he looked down first. He has joined my pack. Tonight we howl.

A Reflection

An interesting thought while writing this is that almost certainly everything I'm saying, if it's right, someone else has already thought. It's just a matter of getting it out there right. I'm sure there are all kinds of things I've not worded perfectly so as to restrict their meaning to my intended interpretation. To try to use that kind of language to talk about it would be to specialize myself and separate myself from people and probably just feed into that same superiority complex/god syndrome/BPD/whatever that ridiculously complicated modernity complex I'm just climbing out of is/was/will be. That's the problem though, I'm pretty sure. Alot of people who strongly disagree actually just don't understand each other. If I seem wrong to you, I'd actually appreciate being called out on it. Even if it turns out you're wrong about me being wrong, I'd learn from your point. Or that's my goal anyway.

Another thought was reflecting on my drinking behavioural patterns. I really wonder who I turned into when I went blackout. It seems like I actually mostly made friends, rather than turning into some demonic figure I created in my imagination. I definitely also had some shitty inappropriate nights and stuff, but I have a feeling I may have been partly just trying to let out this big simple oaf a guy who just wanted to be what he thought he was: a man. Looking back it's pretty easy to remember my mental pattern of drinking. Drink hard, get fired up with the boys to start the night. Chug lots of beer or liquor, start the night at peak drunk, and then kind of taper. As soon as the alcohol would hit me I'd start to fill with lust. But I'd let it out really wrong usually. Only place I remember being good was at high school dances, and it was because I didn't even really have to talk there, just feel the music. But yeah. Usually what I'd do would be go into a mental state of chasing girls, but make no actual effort out of fear, not so much of rejection but I was scared of being accused of being too aggressive/scaring girls, I think with girls I saw myself as the demon I'd created inside me and had trouble trusting it, and always worried they'd see it and be scared off/not see who I really was. Sometimes I was actually up and on top of it, but it's easiest and most significant to look into the darkest nights. I'd go and tell myself I was trying with girls, but I'd look for the first thing I could call rejection, and then go into fight-wait mode. I'd hold to the rules I'd drawn for myself in the sand, but I'd be walking around, looking aggressive and grumpy, bumping shoulders and stuff, waiting for someone to cross that line I drew in the sand to get into it. That's me at my worst, but that's a little piece of the pattern that was in there all the time. There's another side too, a much happier nicer side, stories, hugs, friendship, and helping people, but this is the part I need to deal with. I can look at the happy part later. I know from memories and stories of me, when I'd get too drunk and my aggression would fire up, sometimes my friends would just find girls and get them to go be nice to me and nurture me to make me feel better. At some level I knew I wasn't just trying to get laid, I was looking for something girls have and I don't, trying to fill this hole. If I couldn't fill it, I'd want to let out the frustration with anger and violence, but honorable violence. I clung to that ideal. I think, looking deeper, it was just me finding a way to let out a part of myself I'm not completely in control of and don't understand all the way. It's like I just want to let myself out into the world, and I can do it through creation or destruction, sex or a fight were my most simple reductions of those much bigger concepts, and it was only when I turned off enough of my brain that the self constructed world I was living in fell apart and I reconnected to the reality around me that I was able to let them out, and I was doing so in a very poorly constructed fashion. From now on instead of fights and sex, work and making love, and not just the simple physical implications of those words, but the whole diaspora of being they can encompass with the openness to interpretation of the postmodern world.

Back To That One Point

Back to the whole homophobia part. I just had a little light bulb about it. I think my problem in finishing off the defeat of the homophobia inside myself was just another failure of my ability to recognize the inability of synthesis. I saw nature vs nurture, and I could reinforce either one, but the evidence I would present to come into accord would come into conflict with the other side. The nature part of me just wanted to like girls and clearly pointed at them when I asked it what it wanted. The brain part of me though actually I think kind of wanted to be gay. I think I thought girls seemed crazy, I'd projected onto my mom and analysed her as crazy and blamed her for all kinds of stuff, so I was scared of opening myself to them. They're different, essentially different at some deep level, but the same at a deeper level, and that's confusing too, and was hard to register and process and I think I tossed it out when I hit conflict, and my brain was actually trying to convince my body the other side wasn't so bad. The value of masculinity seems to be gone in the modern world, technology takes the value of strength, chivalry is sexist, considering the girl you love a princess like I always dreamed off has been transformed from elevatory to reductionary. My whole childhood one of my strongest dreams was I would climb to the top of a mountain to rescue a princess, in huge leaps and bounds, and I'd get to the top and together we could go off into the clouds. I've always been a boy who has been a pretty serious BOY. Things have been easy for me, I got a black and white experience of sexual identity growing up. As a child I even had a relatively big wiener according to my Dad, and then I got sent to an all girls school, at which point I actually got to be pretty cute. I have all kinds of these beautiful memories of holding hands, and there's a part of my heart that still has an incredible crush on this girl Stephanie from my days at sacred heart. I remember her blond wavy hair, she had it so long, and the colour of her eyes sparkles in my head even to this day. That's from when I was a little kid. One of my biggest problems with girls is I actually want to be a bit of an excessive romantic. I think this came from my welsh side. I wrote tons of poems and shit even as a teenager, and I think scared off one of my first girlfriends by going overboard on my display of affection (moment of insight in retrospect, obviously interpretive and subjective, but carries a lesson for me so I'ma leave it, the reason I don't want to appear to assume too much supposition is she's currently a lesbian and I don't want to take credit for choices she feels are more significant. I'm not identifying myself as a god in her world, merely a possible trigger event I suppose.). That scared me out of displaying affection. First girl I let myself fall for was one who was reputed and known for sexual liberty, but I decided to trust, and I opened myself to her. And then closed myself to her, and didn't notice, I theorize in retrospect. She felt that even though I didn't see it, and ended up cheating on me and breaking up with me. Then, a couple weeks later, she told me she was pregnant. My reaction was quick. I was going to fly to Alberta to earn enough money to look after the child I'd accidentally created. This wasn't what she wanted/needed to hear. I told her we weren't getting back together. I wasn't going to be able to accept that black line of transgression which had taken place, because I couldn't accept my responsibility as the cause. I thought I was embracing my responsibility in taking the financial responsibility, but in fact was leaving a girl alone and terrified with a prospect and challenge far beyond what I understood. If you read this, I'm sorry, I wish I could have seen more clearly. She told me later it was a false read, and her mono had come back stopping her period. I chose to believe her. She'd faced dark challenges before, and if I dropped that weight on her and didn't help her carry it, that's something I owe deeply and never knew. I don't think the right way for me to respond is to try and pay back directly though, unless she asks of me to do so. Pay it forward, I suppose. The truth is, I don't need to know, I can look at both sides of that coin and learn as much as I can from each side. I don't think I would change my actions in retrospect though. If I had created a child, I wasn't ready to be a father of the type that she would have needed. That's the answer I'm choosing for now anyway.

Since that experience though I've been scared to let all this inner romantic nature out of me. I felt like I'd hurt myself and hurt girls and all sorts of other shit. I think I'm also a bit spooked about the idea that all this evidence of testosterone might mean I'm kind of extra likely to accidentally make a baby. I also recognized, at some level, through that experience, and then the series of experiences I had to follow, that this insight I felt about girls having some kind of a different experience and openness to experience than I did seemed true. I choose to believe that taking upon themselves the responsibility to create and nurture new life within their bodies gives them an openness and power we men don't have or understand. I feel like, from the outside, feminism is actually not giving women enough credit. My grandmothers are two of the toughest people I know, and they lived by the old ways. Cora could beat the crap out of any girl I know today with a wooden spoon, and she had worked harder by age 12 than a lot of my peers who feel elevated and free in this modern age have now. Christine made the act of self sacrifice of giving up her career in science after being a freakin genius with a PHD at a ridiculously young age, and helped support a husband who was a piece of changing the world, and raised two doctors and an engineer. The value, power, and everything else that I can't even explain about nurture and women's superior ability to do it is something beyond. I know if we look close enough it gets grayscale, and girls can develop strengths like we can, and everything else, but I feel like there really is some underlying difference. I don't think it's all inherent, but I think like what I'm finding in myself rather than being one or the other it's a complex nature-nurture structure. (Mr. Ellis you rule). My belief of understanding, the way I've chosen to see it, is by being more inherently structured to receive and be conducive of energy/thought/etc, they tend to have a more intense, emotional, subjective experience of life than most guys. They feel things we do and don't know what we do, and see what it means when we don't notice. Communication runs deeper, more naturally, more easily for girls. Us guys are doing a bunch of this stuff but we don't notice. It ends up making us silly some times. Puffy chests, red faces, raised hands, loud voices. Alot of things we do mean much more than we notice in them. Even we feel them, we're just less self-aware on the emotional level. I think perhaps girls get a more natural whole self-awareness, or perhaps more frequently nurture one, because they have/know they have the ability to create new life inside themselves...

Thing is, I guess part of what I felt like, and where some of the picture in my head came from, was that even though this feminine ideal is in some ways destroyed in culture, I held onto it, so it was real in my world, but I didn't seem to be able to find evidence to support the masculine ideal anymore, so I felt like it was unfair. It seemed to me in my interpretation that a lot of my trouble, a lot of the shit I was dealing with, was because I just wanted to be a boy, it was natural, it was right. I was a bit more intense than your average kid perhaps on that end, but I think this is a common phenomenon. Because I idolized the opposite sex and not my own I felt like the world wasn't fair or something, even though in my conscious mind I felt like it wasn't fair in the opposite direction and girls were getting shitty deals, in my subconscious mind I was holding onto the idea that their elevation in society giving them an unfair deal with both good sides. The truth is like everything else that was just my interpretation. There may be some truth to it. Maybe the loss of gender is having some negative consequences against its gains. Maybe it's just we're having growing pains and the system is glitching as we go through the transition. I don't really know. I'm choosing a role in it though.

I am going to choose to just embody my own masculinity, at least for now (never close myself to growth, or else the bad shit grows). It comes very naturally through me, so I should just let it. That means it's time to chase princesses and rescue them. It's time to bring back out old chivalrous dreaming Dave from elementary school and stop being scared to like girls. I've had this idea where giving compliments is somehow wrong, but it's because I felt like I was giving them with expectation rather than just as a gift. Choosing to see that putting positive energy of my kind out there can be nice to girls the way their kindness and even just getting to look at them is nice to me, and as long as I'm honest about it and do it from the right place. At that point, if the girl chooses to take it negatively and be creeped out it might be an error of conduct by me but it's at least not an act of disrespect, and I can be comfortable with that. Girls give me all kinds of good energy, the way I understand it best is from their beauty and nurturing, but their social skills and methods are while at times confusing and challenging at other times inspiring and enlightening. I have a feeling we are kind of the same on that. If we open ourselves to learning from these differences though, we can grow together even better.

Going Going, Back Back, To Bali Bali

So out playing with Winston and reflecting on my writings from this morning I remembered another point of focus from the experiences I've decided to share I need to find the courage to let out there: Confessions of A Mask, Yukio Mishima. Shortly after I broke my ankle a young man on the beach offered me a trade of books. I'd just finished Jack Keruouac, On The Road Again, and he'd just finished his. When he handed me the book, I have an intense flash of a memory of my first look at its cover, and a more vivid and detailed memory of its story than almost any other book I read.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Confessions_of_a_Mask

As I read that, it terrified me. It resonated with me to a depth I didn't understand at the time but felt. I didn't understand what that meant. I knew it had hit some weak point deep inside me, but I couldn't figure out what it was. I think that was a huge contributing factor of me approaching the edge of breaking through this pattern inside myself. I wonder, in retrospect, if he saw that in me.. sitting on the beach, eating mushrooms in my breakfast sandwich, watching the waves.. Lost, confused.

To understand completely what this means you need to read it. The reason it was hard to talk about is I couldn't talk about it before I figured it out, and I hit a point in trying to figure it out where I was too much of a coward to face it fully until recently. I realized at some level I was deeply identifying with him. The problem was I identified the wrong level. His creation of a projected self as an act of escapism to deny himself the actualization of the desires within himself was what connected to me. What I seized onto instead was the idea he was scared of being gay. I thought somehow the world had seen that in me even though I hadn't seen it in myself, and had given me that book to tell me that. "That darkness in you? Yup, fear of gayness." I think I tried to confront myself about that down there. I definitely remember getting pretty lusty after a lot of babes on the beach. I didn't process this part of what was going on consciously, it was more like the book dropped a seed in me. I eventually seized to that as one central facet of my fear of myself though I think. The problem was I hit a breaking point. I had one friend who I used to compare wiener size with when I got excessively drunk at a young age and who had a few life passions if I edited heavily enough my perceptions of them I could try and posit him as "the gay love of my life I was hiding from". That immediately seemed ridiculous for me, but the problem was I didn't have the courage to bring it out into the world and test it. I tried to tell myself imagining gay guys and being grossed out was a test, but I knew that wasn't actually a test because my imagination can do what I want it to. I still though was NOT up for just trying some gay sex. My instinctual physical response to imagining it was strong enough I was pretty sure I would be really, really, really not cool with even messing around with that a bit, especially while still all fucked in the head. The way I chose to confront it in myself, and actually a huge step in me confronting myself altogether, was actually just telling my friend about the character I'd projected of him and events my imagination was actively trying to edit into our friendship and I was resisting, and his response was honest and shocked/confused enough I could trust it both on choosing to trust his words and there being some objective evidence that this shit was NOT right. I mean the guy has had a girlfriend pretty much 24/7. One of the things we bonded over was our love of girls.

Funny side story at one of the pieces of evidence I looked into myself  for to find the courage to actually bring this up with my friend. Even in the moment part of me believed in the world I'd created and was terrified he was going to tell me I was right. I wanted so bad to believe that dark part of me was wrong but until I saw the look on his face when I put it out into the world I couldn't really get all the way there. Anyways back to the side story. I told him this one too. This memory kept coming back to challenge me when I tried to posit this theory against myself. When I was about 15 I tried to give up makin' sweet love to myself. It turned out to be a bad choice. I was a little while in (hilariously short period of time... puberty, it is what it is), and I was at my Dad's house. He had middle age, overweight, philipino cleaning ladies coming in to clean the house. I was standing in a doorway watching them clean, and before I noticed what was happening to myself, I found myself humping the doorway. Nature/nurture? Some shit's nature.

There's deeper meaning to that too though. Once I found the courage to confront myself about it, I allowed myself to think about it openly. I have absolutely no problem with homosexuality. That's part of why I couldn't beat it too I think. So long as they are given the freedom and respect to live their lives to the fullest, it's beautiful that people are willing to give up the ability to biologically make children for the pursuit of love and the universal. If I step back to the big picture, if we allow it to blossom and flourish, homosexuality could be a great growth which helps us take our burden off the earth by letting us reduce our population without having to kill each other or starve to death or some other tragic ending. We need to nurture and let it bloom. I wouldn't be surprised if some of the religious opinions on it came from good intents back in the day. When we were only living to age 25 and struggling to survive as subdivided tribes in a harsh world, breeding was an essential facet of survival, and letting people chase the self-indulgence of lust in the pursuit of love was allowing them to put themselves before the good of the group, and we needed to at least encourage people to favour the interests of the whole. In the modern world though the relation has changed. Overpopulation is a huge growing problem. I am pretty sure unless we improve our efficiency DRASTICALLY even our current level is overtaxing the system we are in and putting it out of balance. People giving up reproduction for the pursuit of love aid us in abetting that growth, and even a lot of them, if we let them, may choose to adopt and aid the children of couples who were unable to nurture them as they need.

Another part that helped me was an amazing period of time hanging out in Alberta, with a very good friend of mine, even if I don't speak to him too much. Jim Cuthill taught me quite a few lessons. The one worth mentioning now though was he helped me see even more clearly this idea I was pushing onto myself wasn't gonna fit. He is a big part of an even bigger part of this story, and it's worth a few of its own posts, but I will say this now. I was in a dark, scared place thank to another one of my stupid mistakes, another one I haven't admitted openly enough. I'd actually fallen into my darkness in the place where I thought I'd found a cure. Tree planting had grown me more than anything before it in my life. My experiences turned and took a dark direction and I chose to take them in that direction without realizing though, and over time I built up that shit inside me to the point where I lost myself out there, and I actually ended up stashing trees. I was ridiculously bad at it, and in fact got caught because I was still wearing my planting bags and masturbated in the treeline after stashing. Perhaps I wanted to get caught? When I look back at myself honestly even from this state of mind, I'm pretty sure I ended up in a shitshow and just didn't have the balls to quit so I made the wrong choice of frustration and indulged it. The actual worst part though, is when I was caught, I still lied. I'd stashed, I'm pretty sure, two days prior, maybe 3? not more than 3 though. It wasn't some huge number either, few bundles here and there spread out, but it was me breaking and falling down into the darkness. Then, when I was caught, even when I knew I was fired, I didn't confess to my full actions. For some reason, I think I wanted to hold onto this dark act I'd done which no one knew about. I also definitely at some level tried to push blame off myself. I felt like I wasn't pushing blame, I just said it was because I was so frustrated, or so sore, or so what-the-fuck-ever, but the real truth is even if those were contributing parts, the choice lay in me, and to focus on the things pushing me towards it is the wrong part to look at. It felt shitty. I never got paid for any of it, and in fact never complained when I didn't get paid for a whole bunch of work I did there. I don't know how much I didn't get and I don't care, I didn't deserve it, I broke that company's honour and it was kind to me and strong and ethical in ways I wasn't even ready for.  I still think of them to this day, particular the owner. This one is Next Generation Reforestation, and they are great. Particularly the family that runs it, and the one holding the dearest place in my heart is the owner Cathy Newhook. She opened herself to me as I faced challenges medically and in work and took me under the wing of her company. I tucked in there, fed off the generosity, and then tore it apart. I ended up in camp with a supervisor who was facing challenges and instead of stepping up to the plate like I needed to I just let this bullshit take me over, failed, got frustrated, and then broke. Inside myself I was unable to seize responsibility. I think part of what was happening was I was working with a different set of tools and hadn't adapted to it. That happened to me in my last contract planting, lost my job as management, and rejecting responsibility for that is what ended up with me at NGR. I saw inside myself the fact my memory had recovered, I was smarter, and I expected everyone to just believe me. Thing is, not only can you not believe subjective reads from people on their own health normally, but I'd probably deceived them before as I deceived myself, and lost at least a bit of their trust. I didn't recognize that I deserved that though, so I felt rejected, and tried to get a fresh start. I wasn't ready for it though. I wasn't mentally ready for crew boss, and I wasn't physically ready for planting. My shoulders were fucked, my back was fucked, I had a ton of shit to work out, and I wasn't admitting how out there I was, how hurtin' I was, and that while I'd been ready, willing, and able before, I needed to rebuild myself to face that challenge.

 I went running off to his place for a place to make a plan and recover, we'd very briefly made friends prior to me heading off into the woods and he'd said I was welcome there, and I didn't know anyone else. Worst part is before leaving camp, for the first time in years, I actually bought a little bit of cocaine and did it a tiny bit a time as I thought about things. Ironically, the guy who sold it to me was a guy who showed up to our camp late, who'd been a bailer on my first contract ever. He looked like a coward then for walking out, but he looked more brave then me as I ran away after stashing.  Anyways, I got to Jim's place

So I'm sitting on the deck, we're shooting the shit, I have a puff, he has some dip. Pretty much right away though something comes up. I'm sitting there on the deck with what I figure is a manly man, cowboy hat, goatee, big homestead/ranch, tractor, quads, rig supervisor, spittin dip, drinkin beer, owns a chainsaw and everything else.. Thinkin I'm in my safe zone, not just like me, like the projected ideal of myself I've created. Then: surprise! He tells me he's got to be honest with me, and that I shouldn't be concerned about it, but he's gay. He felt like I would be uncomfortable and feel deceived if he hid it from me, and it would spur distrust in me. He was more right than he knew at the time based on what was going on inside me, but that honorable mode of conduct impressed me, and I recognized I could trust him.

I spent longer there than I expected. I got to know him better than I expected. I got to relax, and know myself better than I expected. It was a big step in the right direction for me. When I first visited him I worked a decent amount. This time, I just hung out. He was kind to me, extremely kind, but had no expectation in return. He made it clear he found me attractive and stuff, in a respectful, non-discomforting fashion, just to let his honesty out, and that was okay. I actually found it okay, because I could tell he really, really didn't think I was gay. Part of me then was trying to teach me to trust other people, and what I was choosing to see was his gaydar was not tossin' any beeps at him. I think that was part of helping me relax and get more in touch with what I'd really wanted to do.

I wrote a letter to Cathy apologizing for what I did, I researched other jobs, I tried to focus on the good I'd taken out of my experience, the compliments, the uplifting moments I had. It helped that I'd never stashed once without being directly told to by a superior previously in my career.  It worries me to say that because I feel like it could come off as an attempt to push responsibility off me or discredit PRT and blame them for my choice. While like everything else in the world it's probably not absolute black/white and there can be contributing factors, I made that choice myself and it's all my responsibility. I do think I took exceptional events coming out of exceptional circumstances and allowed myself to accept them as a precedent which established a new ethical line for me, but that's still all created by me and my choice...

 What I found inside myself when I looked more deeply was that where I'd told myself I'd found a gray zone, I'd crept over a black line. The part that terrified me was when I realized the essential nature of what I'd done was breaking a contract. (Although technically I never signed a contract as a planter perhaps? maybe coincidence has given me a technical escape in retrospect? still, that'd DEF be a technicality.) Breaking a contract is a promise. A promise to another is a promise to yourself. I realized I'd lost my own trust doing that, and that was where my self destruction came from and everything else. That was the part I couldn't accept. That was when I began to really need to re-earn my own trust. That was when I began to feel the calling to that other coast. To The Island.

I was looking at forestry jobs in Canada, and I was dreaming of the Pacific Coast. As a planter it seemed above my dreams, it was only for the supervets, the high elite. Choosing staff role meant if I wanted to go coastal I had years more of earning experience to open that world to me if I wanted to hold to this new position of power I was so addicted to (both for the good and the bad reasons). Now, freed from planting, it became an open idea again. I looked all over the web, applied to a ton of places, and for a while didn't get any replies. Then I got a call from a mill, who had been advertising for dev tech but asked me about thinning. Right around the same time though, I asked my uhh ex-step-uncle-in-law? Jeff Mosher for help/advice. I knew he was a forester on Vancouver Island, and at least a bit family, and that I needed some help. I felt like I saw potential in myself to be a good worker, this discovery within me of my need to hold to honour, to prove myself, was going to drive me, and I just needed a chance to let it out. He told me about two places to contact. There was a small company he recommended, and was surprised when he didn't respond, and then Strategic (then SFMI now SNRC). I'd actually already applied to Strategic, but on John's recommendation I emailed Jon Lok. Now, Jon Lok is listed on their website as a, I believe, management consultant? So I didn't quite know what I was doing at that point. I don't remember exactly what I said, but I think I showed a picture of enough of the good parts of me, and how much I wanted to go work hard and prove myself out there, that he opened the doors of his company to me. Fuckin rights dude thank you so much that was a huge game changer. After I emailed him we had a phone call, and I don't remember the details I just remember feeling really excited. He said he was surprised I hadn't received a reply, and that he'd tell his HR head to contact me. Tracey, who also is awesome, emailed me not too long after. I did a Skype interview with her and the head of the Engineering department, and I was hired. It was time to get on the move.

I was so excited, I couldn't wait to get to know the island. I knew though, I wanted to redeem myself, to prove myself, to re-earn my own trust. I'd been arrogant and self-deceptive about my preparedness for my previous job. This time I was going to get out there and do this shit right. I made sure to get there a couple weeks early. On my way up I stopped in Campbell River, and asked (in retrospect audaciously) to speak to the head of Engineering who I had had an interview with. He was unavailable, and I continued on my way up to Port McNeill where I was going to work. I was living in an Escape trailer at this point, their 19' model, and so I had picked out a trailer park/campground I was going to live in up there. I went up to town, got set up, and started to explore. My god it was beautiful. Mountains, the ocean, birds... the trees. It felt like a whole new world to me. It was amazing. I think it lit up two deep parts of me... That Murphy, the ocean explorer, the sailor, entering a new world, and then the natural vigor and intensity that grows in that province... I think there's another little part of me that connected to that very strongly.

One of the first things I did there though was walk up to Strategic's office, knock on the door, and ask to speak to Jon. Again, surprisingly in retrospect, I was welcomed into his office for a meeting. It was as I was getting into his office I realized I wasn't speaking with just a manager, but in fact was talking to an owner of the company. I think I managed to hold it together pretty well even after putting that math together. I opened myself up to that company, and it opened itself back. PRT, NGR, you guys are great, but Strategic was right for me on some next level shit. Immediately when I got there I felt like an important part of a big machine. I was learning so much, there were so many cool, interesting, relatable, honorable, fun people around. The feel was so good. I poured my heart and soul into my work out there. The work side was amazing... but getting out into that wilderness was a whole other part. As I went to the west, I had experiences which were just... amazing. I still look back on the alpha wolf that came out and stood there, the first day I stashed, looked me in the eye for a long time, and then ran away when Winston chased him. I am very confident that was a real event. I will ask my cousin who I remember as being there. Then, at Strategic.. as I poured myself into my work, rediscovered my honor when I learned that I was determined to accomplish as much as I could even when my pay was no longer directly related to it, and other people weren't depending on me, I just was addicted to the feeling of accomplishment, of contribution. It was after when I had a day where I found I knew enough to trust myself on the quality of my work so well I could let the energy out of me unabated and work as hard as I wanted to that the cougar walked past me so close, looking me in the eyes, calmly the whole way. I've tried to seize an explanation of that cougar that made sense with my scientific side. I told myself it was going to kill me. I didn't feel that in its eyes. I felt respect... and fear.

I learned a lot more at that company. A lot of different things from different people. I hesitate to give thanks or tell tales because I feel that everyone there deserves credit and more than I can explain, and if I tried to share that I wouldn't be able to. There are so many stories in that time it's incredible. If I had been ready to plant, and had been confident in the quality of the seed I had developed, I could and would have set my roots in there and flourished. But while that island taught me a huge amount, my body imposed its will upon me through seizures, took away my ability to work, and forced me to return to my home and deal more deeply with myself, the underlying cause, and unite me with a deeper feeling of purpose.  It's opened me to a deeper hope. The level of hope I could find there was only that I could die there honourably. Returning home has let me return to the actual hope of life beyond this battle, this war, this challenge. I've found a deeper purpose, a deeper meaning, and a deeper connection. I don't know if I can  want to give up my connection to that coast, that island, that working world, even that company, but I can choose to, for now, for the greater interest of the purpose I've discovered here. I'm Home. Wanderlust may return, the ocean runs through my blood, and the horizon calls me inside, I know, but for now it's time to look after the rest of me. It's time to grow my inner Acadian, to farm, to fish, to flourish. It's time to nurture that tiny seed of inner Native. To learn more about the history that has put that piece of me there, to understand myself more, to understand my world more. Time to hope the Irish luck keeps up, and count on the Welsh strength, determination, emotional intensity and musical connection to help me carry myelf through. There's so much more, and that might even be wrong, but it works, and it feels good, and I'm gonna go for it.

Funny Follow

Turns out those few years in Catholic school are still coming out: I'm using my blog as my confession priest, and hoping making it straight up public will somehow free me of judgement? Hilarious.

Life, me, universe, time, etc, you're quite a show. Keep it up.

Flash of Lightning

A flash of a memory...

A moment of clarity... It shows. Damn. I think I almost broke this thing in Bali... I have focused so deeply on my memory of that time... I haven't reread my account yet, I want to let my memory's instinctual selection of focuses carry me through. I remember the feeling of being in a new world, beyond my understanding. I remember hallucinogenic adventures. I remember the only whore I ever actually enjoyed. I remember learning things and looking into darkness which terrified me before.

One memory that just came back... the cave. I went to an old balinese temple Their mix of polytheism and buddhism... hmm.... And I looked at the opening, there was a stone carving of what I interpreted as a demonic skull, warning me to get out. I think at some level trying to prove to myself my rejection of fear and god I went to push into the cave, carrying a small flashlight. As I got beyond the carving, deeper in, and to the edge of true darkness, my flashlight battery died. I told myself to push deeper, but then in my head I remember this answer coming back "it's not safe, you can't see, you don't know what's there..." and I felt fear, and I turned back. The rest of that trip I had in me this wonder if I had angered that demon. As that trip went on I came to many bad events. While I was there I had the courage to believe I had cursed myself by rejecting that warning and disrespecting their belief and God. As I moved further from that island, I moved further from my self, and returned to my rejection of belief. It gave me a chance to escape. It tried desperately to help me I think... It burnt me, it broke my ankle, it made me miss my flight, it gave me books, and friends, people, experiences, times that showed me the world in its truth more clearly than anything I'd seen before, but I closed my ankle to it. I refused to accept my vulnerability, chose stoicism over true self-knowledge, and went to New Zealand on a broken ankle. I'm not sure though I fully regret that though. What I will choose to ask myself in introspection: did I in making that choice, face myself with greater challenges that at some levele steeled me further and gave me strength? Or did I just negate opportunity to actualize potential. The answer is a matter of choice. I seized negative to begin, it's time to turn to positive.

 In my early notes, where by my recollection, and brief glances of moments, I was an arrogant bugger, caught deep in the idea of being my own god at some level. I remember hitting the moment of conflict in Australia. I still carry the scars. I couldn't understand it, but one night when I was there I started heating a lighter and burning myself with it. Over and over, all night. I got drunk, down into the darkness, and I don't know what started me. I remember being in a bar and talking to two young irish men, and them telling me their accounts of the work they'd done to get there, they impressed me, I was jealous of their accomplishments, and I felt guilty over not having earned this trip, over my destructive youth, the ways I'd treated my mom and the world around me and my friends, and I began to try and clean it out of myself with punishment. I think that was the beginning of a journey. That was a step that somehow allowed me to open myself to making real friends down there. I don't think I ever got myself open fully, but people saw the bit of light I was beginning to be able to let out, and welcomed me in. I don't think I showed my appreciation for it at the time as well as I should. I wish I remembered names better, but all your faces are in my mind and deep in my heart, and I remember what you gave me and hold it dearly. I think I have a lot more to say about this trip, I have a few more confessions.

Actually fuck it, here's a fun one. I bought a hooker with my mom's credit card. I don't remember the name of the town, but it was on the tour. When I read my journal it might show up. Buying a hooker really sucked. Or well. Hah. Anyways. It was not anything like actually making love to a girl which was what I tried to tell myself it could be. Closed to belief, I was closed to love, and closed to meaning. I don't remember how I got there or why, but I remember getting into the front room of this whore house, being presented with I think 8 women to choose from, and picking what I figured was the best. She was "an import" to use a derogatory term to criticize the world she was in, not her. There was no happiness in here eyes. I got in there, and she played with herself, putting on a big obviously fake show, and then "welcomed me in" shall we say. It was so obvious though she wasn't enjoying herself, I struggled desperately to enjoy myself. It felt good, but it definitely didn't feel good. It's a memory that's bugged me to this day pretty badly and I really didn't think I'd ever have the balls to confess.

There's another side to that coin of confession though. I actually tried one more time in Bali. When I was in the Kama Sutra. I'm not sure if I told in my story that I got a massage before going out for the night, but I did. I didn't actually plan on getting a "massage complete" at the start, I don't think? I'm pretty sure. My memory holds it to getting a really nice massage, except she kept kind of sneakily playing with the banana, and offering a more complete service. Eventually she convinced me. I had a completely different experience that time... She, at some level, "enjoyed it". I think that just let me convince myself she at all levels enjoyed it, and was actually a gift from her, that helped me forgive myself for stuff I'd done before. I didn't see it as that then, but I also didn't see it as just some magnificent self-accomplishment. Somehow it was just relaxing, I don't know, the way her and her boss were actually very casually friendly to me after without acting in direct or financial self interest helped me feel good about this side of myself I was trying to deny. Probably if I'd had the balls and brains to get laid more on that trip I'd have sorted shit out sooner too. I've been a pretty big goof with girls my whole life I'd say.

That reminds me of another moment of memory the inner me held onto dearly from that trip. Speaking to a friend at the hostel, I'm remembering him as Graeme, but it's quite possible I'm wrong. We were sitting out back in the sun patio, talking about girls. I was asking him for advice,. He was probably as successful with girls as I've ever seen (Ryan Sparling?). When I asked him, he told me. He didn't completely understand it. He'd only recently figured it out. He'd had to open himself up. What he hadn't realized or admitted before was that even if it just felt like a flash of a moment to him or a meaningless touch, there's something bigger going on. Even in a kiss, there's a sharing, a contact. When you make love to someone, you take a piece of their heart whether they like it or not, and you give them a piece of yours. Whether or not you admit that to yourself, it happens. That's a belief not a knowledge. And it came from a guy who had had a one night stand the night before, it's not some black-white espousal of monogamy. It's just a matter of opening yourself to the deeper inner recognition of meaning, and not trying to rob yourself of the true happiness of the moment to let yourself indulge freely in sex.

I think that's something I was too scared to do. My interpretation of my parents'  divorce held it to me. I had them as a pair of gods and a pair of demons. Two innocent people, pursuing love, putting love first, so smart, so amazing, so perfect. No way I could let them take the responsibility for what they went through. I think I sought in response to that to close myself to the idea of the openness and interconnection of mutual recognition that love can be such a foundational building block for. Realizing that about myself makes my heart pour out to girls I've probably messed with a ton. On the surface I was probably able to project this ideal I constructed of myself which was in love with you, but I wasn't able to let you that deep into me, allow the vulnerability right into my heart, and if I was able to get into yours on the credit of that false projection, moment where that wall inside me showed must have been hard.

There's a part of me that wonders if I was protecting my inner child for a reason. I've gone through a long period of celibacy, not initially by choice, or consciously by choice actually might be the more correct answer. In retrospect, if my interpretation is correct, I probably had more chances to get laid than I noticed... heh.  Most guys do though I think. I think that was really good for me. I think I'd built up a very negative history with myself and my relationship to sex and love and all of that and I needed enough of a time out period to break the pattern.

I just had a flash back: the real lesson from me being a young horny spoiled asshole and buying hookers while travelling at 18 on (mostly, I may have earned some of the Balinese one's dough as a mover) my mom's card,  (well first is don't do that or you end up feeling bad for a while haha) is that it's not some black-white thing. My first one was really discomforting and wrong, and I judged it as some ethical black-white wrong. But it's just more complicated, like everything else. When it's wrong, it can be really, really wrong. There is a serious issue with it being a market which generates a slave trade, abuse, organized crime, and god knows how much else. And it's definitely not good for me. I think I have enough strength/happiness inside myself to hold for times where it can be a mutually beneficial experience of growth, where we exchange love for love, energy for energy, time for time, and all else that it means, rather than the twisted path of turning my time and energy into money and the exchange into a hollow falsity. I did draw that strength/happiness from other people though, friends, family, teachers, support of so many kinds. If that's something you know yourself well enough to know is really helping you and a boon to you as a person, I certainly won't judge you for the indulgence. Just not fo' me (anymore) (I don't think/intend/desire).

Hmm all kinds of fun thoughts about sex and trust and patterns and stuff showing up... I think too much of my family reads my blog to get into the details for now though. Admitting to buying hookers with their money is more than enough for one day. Dear mudder .

Old Notes - A Big Package Part 5

..Gotta write at least a BIT more.
So, after getting my banana and cheese jaffle and tea the next morning, going on the internet for a bit, and doing my basic shopping its time for me to go meet up with Rich and Claire to head out to Dreamland. They'd decided thyey wanted to go check it out, so we were going to split a cab to get out there. I got to their hotel, saw what was up, and was promptly asked about my burn. No, it doesn't seem to be getting better. Yeah, thats pus. Yeah pretty gross eh? No I don't know if I want to go to a doctor. Yeah the guys at my hotel said I should. Well I don't know maybe I should just clean it more. Well maybe.. Yeah you're probably right. I guess. Where'd you say it was? Just up and around the corner.. Ok..
And off I rode. At this point, it was bad enough that I could feel fluid flowing into my leg/foot when I took it down from being elevated and it was giving me trouble walking still. So off to the Tourist Doctor I went. Just nearby was a clinic where they could call the Doctor in, I got there and got chatted up by a Hairdresser from next door and they called him for me. Swiftly the hairdressing staff, girls and gayboys all, became a bit of a cheering section "Ohh Strong Dave! Strongg! Play rugby!" etc, it was cool, kind of motivating. Anyways the doctor arrived, to my relief looking professional and speaking decent english. In I go.
Once inside, I sit down on the examining table, and tell him whats wrong. I'm made to lie down, and he says he's going to clean it for 250 000 Rupiah. Soon after he tells me its badly infected, and so is my little cut on my knee. He cleans them both, pulling skin off, rubbing betadine on, and some other cream, warning me about how its going to hurt..but it didn't really, the skin pulling was a bit stingy but otherwise it was all sweet. Afterwards he put on some antibiotic drying powder and wrapped it up and proceeded to prescribe me nearly 2 million Rupiah worth of medicine. Antibiotics, Painkillers, Anti-Inflammatorys, the whole kit and kaboodle. I came out of there depressed by his announcement that I couldn't get in the water for at least 3 days, but glad I went...Don't like the idea of a Balinese infection.
So I met back up with Rich and Claire at their hotel, and they called their cab guy. Supposedly he said 100 000 to Dreamland, which was a pretty good price. So he got there, and even though he'd been warned we had 3 surfboards, 3 people, and 3 bags, he turned up with a small car. We tried to tell him it wouldn't fit, but he insisted it would, so off we went to my place to get my board and bag. The boys at the Ayu were looking after them for me, and when I got back they were glad I went to the doctor. But upon seeing my massive 7'6" coffin, the driver got a bit frazzled. I told him we'd said it wouldn't fit, and to get a bigger car..he wanted to rest it on the roof unstrapped. In the end we gave him a couple bucks for his trouble and sent him off. I got us a Van cab for only a couple dollars more, and off we went. I was following the van behind on my motorcycle, and even though I drank a ton of water was still feeling like shit. It was a rough drive out, but once we got there it was worth it. Dreamland is like something out of a movie. Beautiful white sand beach in front of a cliff, thatched huts everywhere, a good surfing wave, and beautiful girls all over. I was in heaven. Until we had to climb down the stairs. Rich had a spot of Bali Belly so Claire and I decided to go down to scout out accomodation. I was limping pretty badly with my leg, and the stairs were brutally uneven and oversized. Not, I admit, much fun at all. After checking out places varying from beautiful and overpriced to small and dingy, we settled on a place called Rambo's Cafe. I saw Kavi out surfing so I knew the crew was there ahead of me, and we went back up to get our bags. This time it was even worse with the stairs. My coffin is heavy as , and so is my backpack, and I was limping, so I struggled quite badly to get to Rambos. Once I got there I was stoked, took my bag up, got a drink, and chilled out. Rich, Claire and I had dinner there, and the food was pretty ridiculous. My beef burger was pretty much a piece of salami, and Rich's cheeseburger was a slice of ham. One. Slice. That was an ominous sign, followed up by the bathroom, which was a proper squat job. Just a hole to do your business in, no seat. These were signs of trouble to come, and proved to be too much for my British companions in the end. I made my way down and found the boys at Eric's, they were stoked, drinking Bintangs and hangin out on the deck, I chilled with the for a bit and went to bed. The next day I woke up and Claire and Rich were leaving, so I said bye to them, shook Rich's hand and off they went. I hope they enjoyed the rest of their trip out Balian, and they're doing good back in England now! Their new house should be unreal. (If you read this Rich, I hope you got that bike you wanted! Don't let the missus stop ya hahah and enjoy your house brother!) Anyways, from then on I was going to be hanging with the South Shlatvian crew, shitty balls and all. Bali Phase 2 has begun.

Bali 6

June 23, 2007 at 4:23am

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From here on the last 2 weeks of my time in Bali meld together in a way. More separated by events than dates, they were nonetheless some of the most enjoyable days of my travels. Due to my burn I was kept quite lazy, spending most of my time sititng on the deck down at Eric's, reading, eating and drinking. My foot swelled up, and I ended up having to keep it elevated all the time as well. I was in rough shape, but I was still feeling pretty wrapped with being in Bali, living on the beach. However, these sedentary days with too much food did nothing to help my fitness or get off my traveller's pouch as I'd become apt to call my developing belly. Sitting here today, much later in New Zealand I'm still working at getting rid of it here at Rugby Academy. Hopefully by the time I get home it will be at least mostly gone.. Gotta be ready for beach season! Anyways, back to the deck. Having finished On The Road I needed a new book. One of the guys at Rambo's had a book he gave to me, called Confessions of a Mask. It was by Yukio Mishima, a famous Japanese artist and author who ended his own life in middle age through ritual suicide at the height of a demonstration. Weird guy. Even weirder book. It was a series of highly lucid recollections of his childhood where he deals with his homosexuality, and beyond it some serious perversions. From a young age he fantasizes about killing and eating boys for his sexual desires. It gets weirder and weirder as he deals with deception, of himself and others, regarding his true nature. If I can't work out my body, might as well work out my brain I guess. Freaky though. While reading this I also got to know everyone better, Kruger, Mark, Drew, Casey, and Kavi formed the crew at first, then Sarah and Sam joined us, followed by Kruger's girlfriend Lisa, Kavi's girlfriend Amber, and her 2 friends Carlo and Brin. We made an interesting group, with a Canadian, 3 South Africans, an American/Mauritian, 3 Brits, and an Ozzy. Everyone was pretty cool, even though I argued with Sam alot about stupid stuff.
When Sam and Sarah first arrived we all went into Kuta, the main party town, for a night out on the town. We stayed at hotel Ayu, where they all usually stay when they're in town, a cheap and actually nice spot right on Poppies II in the middle of town, only a couple minutes from the clubs. We started out the night on the balcony in front of the room I shared with Kruger and Mark drinking cheap vodka red bull and mango juice, getting amped up to go out for the night. We spent a good part of the pre-game time chilling with some Norwegians and a Swede hanging out across from our room, singing and generally getting in a good state to go out. Next came Bounty, dancing on stage, generally going crazy, drinking Bintang and having a great time for what seemed like hours but was only minutes, or maybe it was the other way around. I think it varied. After this we headed to Mbargo, a hip-hop/R&B club with pumpin tunes. We pretty much danced the night away there, and I stumbled back to my room fairly late at night, to find Kruger already kipped on his bed. It was a solid night out, and the next morning we headed back out to Dreamland pretty early. It made for a pretty hungover mission on the bike but it was all good.
It wasn't many nights after this that I was sitting on the deck down at Eric's, having a Bintang with Kruger, Drew and Mark and one of the guys from Rambo's walks by and just sort of mutters "ok you leave tomorrow 7 am ok?"
I was taken aback, and just said Ok before I really thought about it, and he walked away silently. I was surprised, not entirely by that they were kicking me out, because I'd recently learned that you are expected to eat at the same place you stay and I hadn't been, but by the fact they gave me so little time. I told the boys, who hadn't really heard what happened, and they pretty much said to a man "What the fuck?!". I sat and finished my Bintang, talked to the guys at the place right next door to where everyone was staying, and went back to tell off the guys at Rambo's. Some words were thrown around along the levels of "your place is a shithole, your toilet is literally a shithole, it stinks and its dirty and you're a dick for giving me such short notice, you never even told me I couldn't eat there, what the fuck fuck you" and he said he'd supposedly told someone to tell me before. Whatever. I moved over to Jimmy's Brother's the next day.
Man, I feel like theres so much more that happened.. I mean there is, this is only early in, but this explanation of it seems somehow soulless? Its like only part of the meaning is there in the words, and theres another part I can't quite explain. Its like the difference in a place upon seeing it for the first time and having become used to it, individual details lose importance and its more of a general feel you notice towards the end, whereas at first its every little thing you focus upon. Its happened so many times in my trip, the fascinated first impression, some vague sense that a place could be really cool, and then that feeling when you've been there for a while, a sense of belonging and being a part of the place. Hanging out at Dreamland I had a really strong feeling of that, even though I was only there a couple weeks. Balian was the same, and Cronulla, and now even New Zealand. Each place in its own way and totally different from all the others, but all the same as well. Every time I came to one of those places I had a good feeling about it, one I didn't quite understand, and each one when I left I feel I'd grown somehow with having become a part of that place, as if it had become a part of me in turn.

New Zealand 1

June 23, 2007 at 4:44am

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For some reason I can't seem to write about my time in Dreamland quite right. Maybe unsurprisingly, accounting to the name, my memories there have something of the texture of a dream, with sharp flashes of moments and a sense of remembering it all, while being totally unable to fully string it together.
New Zealand is alot more solid however, having only been here almost 2 weeks now.
Wow, it doesn't feel that long...
I guess the New Zealand part of the story, the part I don't count as part of my time in Bali, starts in Australia...
After a day and night that were incredibly stressful, I managed to arrive in Sydney at about 7 40 in the morning on June 10th. I was lucky to have made it there even for then, but that was exactly 24 hours later than I should have arrived, and this presented some serious troubles. My ticket for my continuing flight was in a safe, at the Cronulla Beach YHA approximately one half hour's drive away from the Airport. This is a problem because by the time I got through customs, where for the first time in all my travels I seemed to be a person of interest..(must have been the beard), being asked tons of questions at the customs desk, and by 3 separate people inside the airport, before I could even go pick up my bags. Once I got my backpack I threw it on my back and went over to get my coffin. Previous experience in the airport in Indo told me carrying it by hand was not the way to go. 2 Surfboards, some shoes, and a bunch of clothes make for heavy work for a guy with a sprained ankle. So, I got a cart and picked up my coffin, balancing it standing up and getting into the huge customs line. Once I got there I declared the sharks tooth necklaces I'd picked up, got through customs, and headed straight back up to departures. By this time it was nearly 9 am, and my flight left at 11. At the very best I could hope to get back around 10 30 if I got a taxi to the hostel and back, and that would be too late to board, with it stopping at 10. More realistically I would get there around 11 missing it entirely. So, I decided to go to the San Chile airline desk and ask for help. After working my way upstairs, and finding the desk I found myself with a distinct lack of help. A fat woman with a spanish accent simply told me she couldn't and wouldn't do shit all to help me, and pretty much told me to leave her alone. It was crunch time, 9 am now. 1 hour and I'm fucked, no ticket, no flight, no airport transfer in New Zealand, no way to tell the people at Academy I'd miss it, and no idea what to do next. I ran over to the ticketing desk for Qantas where she recommended I ask, and they said they couldn't do anything except maybe sell me a new ticket. I figured I had one card left to play, so I got them to give me a phonebook.
I called the hostel, and on what I figure had to be the very last ring, a familiar voice picked up the phone. Danny! That old cunt. I was pretty stoked to get throguh to him, thats step 1 taken care of. I'm in touch with the ticket, now I just need it to get to me. 5 minutes later I've given him my credit card number and he's going to take some money from it and use it to send my ticket with a cab. Should be there in half hour-40 minutes! Woooo I'm gonna make it! I couldn't believe that I was seriously not going to have to buy a ticket. Thank. God. In the end Mark ended up bringing it instead of a taxi, I told him I'd come back to the hostel for a few days in July(I have 3 days in Sydney between my flight back from Auckland and my flight to Vancouver), and said I'd see him then. Then I rushed straight to check in! After that, customs, where again they scrutinized my passport, which wouldn't scan..thanks washing machine.. but sent me through anyway, and I made it to my plane with time to spare having grabbed a couple pizzas. On the plane, and back to sleep I go.
A few hours later I arrived in Auckland, stoked to be there. It was about 6 at night I think, I'm not sure, and I slowly worked my way through customs, making some jokes with a couple other Canucks I saw on the way, and generally feeling wrapped with myself for making it. Once I got out, I saw a MASSIVE Maori with face tats waiting with a sign with a D on it...I was wondering if this guy was going to be from the Academy. Fuck me he was scary. He wasn't thoguh, it was a normal van driving guy with bandages on his hands or something. We headed out to his van and begun the journey to my homestay place, stopping for Subway on the way. We talked about the Academy and Rugby and New Zealand, and all sorts of crap, and I slept for a while. When we finally got to Rotorua, I smelled and saw the famous hot springs which give the town alot of its tourism and also its distinct sulphurous odor. It wasn't too bad though.
After that it was off to my homestay. I met Steve and his wife and Kasey their son. Jordy the other son was already in bed, but Kase was pretty worked up for me to come. I hung out with them for a while, they're cool as, then headed down to bed. In a big. Nice. Double. Bed. With a Duvet. Mmmmmmmmmm.......
So began about 2 days of sleep.
And then, to Academy....

New Zealand 2

June 23, 2007 at 5:08am

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First Day:
First Impressions always make a big difference. When I arrived at the Academy I met Willow, Darryl and Ray straight away in the office. I was late because I had to wait for Steve to drive me and he didn't take me there til almost 9. It was alright though because I couldn't do that much anyway my ankle was still pretty fucked. I got some of my kit, a training shirt and a polar fleece, and then went in to meet the boys. I arrived about half way through the morning weights session, and I worked with them through the second part of Back+Bis, got a nice pump on and then headed up to the field for some skills with the other internationals. Greg, Josh, Julian, Rudy, Richard, Mark, Tainer(the only domestic guy that came out) and myself did some skills drills, and right away I learned a new method of passing. I'd been taught the flick pass before, but never the right way. The academy was off to a good start, even if I couldn't run or anything. I did the drills, and generally thoguht I picked up the flick pass pretty quick... not really as well as I thought though, as I showed in testing this week we just had. Oh well, learning learning.
That was pretty fun, then we had breakfast and I found out we had a ping pong table. And then found out I couldn't play ping pong anymore. I've gotten it back a bit now though. Not nearly where I was ...but still. Weetabix, toast, and some tuna(which I didn't realize I stole at the time..Oops, sorry bro!), and talking to some of the boys then came the afternoon. I couldn't do the drills so I worked on passing with some of the other injured guys, then I came back to my homestay for the night and met Jordy the other son. Jordy is a little ripper, cool as, and so is Kasey. I've spent alot of time playin with the boys since I've been here, they're both avowed members of my fan club, really into WWE wrestling, and hilarious. Jordy is a cheeky rough bastard and Kasey is a bit quieter, more organized/on the ball, but still cool as. The little bros eh.
That began a bit of a pattern for the week, lift weights and do core and then skills in the morning, breakfast, chilling and ping pong, then skills and stuff before lunch, then more skills and other drills after lunch. My attendance picked up, and I proceeded to tear each muscle group we worked quite nicely so as to be walking around unable to either straighten or bend my arms all the way, with mad pains in my chest whenever I move too fast, a tight back, and sore abs. It was a good feeling to be back in the gym, but every time after I finished a lift I freaked out at myself about how much strength I'd lost travelling. I have to admit, I loved my time on the road just doing my thing, but man I do wish I'd been able to keep up with my fitness the whole time. Fuck, I was so weak that first week, and so out of shape. Its brutal trying to get back on it after so much time off, and even worse knowing exactly how much strength I lost. I still have a lot of work ahead of me to get back to where I was...but hey I put in alot of work to get there before, I'll manage it.
All the while during the week I was learning stuff, getting stronger, my ankle was getting better, and I was getting to know the boys better. Some of them were pretty impressed with some of my stories, and the Kusabs boys ended up telling me to come up to their house and then head out for the night with the boys. Oh yeah! One thing before then..
I rented a scooter. This time, unlike in Bali where I managed to get a proper motorcycle for myself I ended up on a proper "Faggio" as GTA would say. This thing is a little 50cc piece of garbage, with about as much pick up as Jabba the Hutt. Its been carbed back from its original 50ccs of power to go slower, and its actually so slow its really scary being in normal traffic on it.Turning across roads is a feat of patience and courage and generally driving is an exercise in caution. Constantly dodging people who don't see you or pretend not to because you can't match the flow of traffic, while driving without gloves or a visor in rain and freezing cold makes for a bit of a test every time I go to get somewhere, and a sharp wakeup in the morning before Academy. Generally I arrive with my hands near numb and hurting, pretty wet, and having had one or 2 life or death experiences on the way... But its only 4.50$ for a full tank of gas!! And that lasts almost a week! Always a silver lining.
Anyways, so I headed up to chill with the boys, things get going, beers get flowing, Richie spotted everyone beers and the drinking games begun early and hard. There were a bunch of us up there, the owners of the house Willie Sean and Shannon, as well as myself Richard and I think a couple others. After a couple spots, some beers, etc, we headed over to some of the other boys' house and got even harder on the drinking games. Julian who is a bit of a whipping boy for everyone sucked at drinking games, but there were some really fun ones and we all left the house seriously pissed up and fired up. So began a great night out on the town, drinking vodka and red bulls. Sean and I were going Pulse for Pulse, starting off at the Grumpy Mole and then moving over to Lavabar. At Lavabar Richard started shouting shots and the night goes really blurry for a while. Not good, but fun. I had some Bali belly in the bathroom, much to the displeasure of the lineup, and other than that the night was solid with chilling with the boys trying to mack on girls and having a great, overly drunken time. After we headed out and back to the place, we lost Willy due to him picking up a MILF and Sean was already ahead of us...with company. The rest of us went back and were hanging out in the living room, when out stumbles Sean leading what at first glance I thought was a hippopotamus. Then I shook my head and realized it was too big, it must be an elephant. But it turned out to be the girl he picked up, who was basically the most disgusting piece I've seen in some long days. We had a bit of a fryfight, Richard having bought some 13 cheeseburgers and a massive amount of fries for everyone, and then everyone passed out. The next morning Sean had sent her home and everyone had left, the house was a mess and we were too. After cleaning up we did a mad mission for some stuff and my dvds with Willy's van, ran into him in a Taxi and heard his story...the girl he picked up had 2 kids, who while he had been in bed with her, had jumped in and proceeded to call him Daddy. He was not happy. After this we got my pirated dvds from bali and proceeded to hang out and watch a bunch of movies until night came, and I ended up crashing there again. The next day I went back to the Simpkins residence, played with the bros a bit more, had a mean dinner and got a really good sleep for Academy on monday...testing week had begun.

New Zealand 3

June 23, 2007 at 5:30am

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The testing started off with a 1.5k run. My ankle was feeling alot better, and I wasn't sure whether or not I was going to be able to do it. When everyone else ran the warmup lap I abstained, trying to feel out my ankle for jogging. In the end I decided at the last second that I could do it. I limped my way out of the gates, falling way behind everyone else right from the get go. I continued at a slow pace, which as the race went on had to do almost as much with my fitness as my limp, and trotted in through the gates slower than the leader by some 2 minutes 10 seconds, at 7 minutes 40 seconds. I reckon without the limp I could have done under 7..maybe..just. Yikes.
So began a week of generally poor testing results for me. In the gym the first thing we tested was chin ups and..man what was it we did before chin ups! Fuck I can't even remember. I didn't do great at it thoguh. Generally stronger than alot of the other people, around the same as the others at my weight, but still a LONG way from where I was. I only got 8 chinups, although with better form than I needed to, at normal grip with hands facing towards me. Bench I got 100 kilos easy..(thats only 225) but I didn't quite get 110, ended up getting rated at 105 kg. Which is shit. Then on shoulders I got about 35 kgs each hand, which is only about eighty pounds.. Dips I only got 3 with a plate around my waist due to my shoulder going wonky...(but I wouldn't have done more than 5 anyway! fuck.) Kneeled on the stability ball for a minute, couldn't do the sprint testing, didn't do great at passing(better than before I came though..) generally I pretty much learned I needed to train really really hard just to get back to where I was. How good is that! :D... On one good note when we were measuring dimensions for body fat percentage...my arms are still 17"! At least I've still got something...thank god. I don't know what my body fat percentage was yet...but its higher than it used to be thats for sure. 94.3 Kg, or about 208 lbs on the scales...but a shitty 208. Should be 190 probably. 195 maybe... But anyways enough ragging on myself about fitness..
Thursday however was different from the rest of the week. We were kicked out of the normal facilities for the game with Team Canada playing NZ U-21 that was on that night, so we went to a place just down the road. The day started off with a talk from a man named Lippi. Lippi was an ex rugby player who never made it too big with rugby, had alot of troubles in his youth even using heroin and getting into gangs, but in the end managed to get on staff for the All Blacks and travel the world with rugby. He did a great talk which was legitimately inspirational, and left us with one piece of advice which all the boys have been loving and finding hilarious. We're all supposed to look at ourselves in the mirror and go "You're awesome! I love you!" every morning. Its like homework for school. Cheesy I know, but he told it really good and didn't make it seem toooo gay, its a pretty funny thing to do I'm not gonna lie I tried it. But then I'm the man so I obviously love me.. hahaha err
but anyways, that was cool, alot more to the talk than that..it went on about 2 hours. Then we went outside and did some running on the stairs. I found I could sprint up them and go hard on them without hurting my ankle because I pushed off the flat of my foot, so after when everyone was running drills which I couldn't do some of I spent the rest of the training session running sprints on the stairs. I'd actually crashed back up at Kusab's the night before so after getting our tickets to the games we all piled into Willy's van and headed back there. I headed pretty much straght away back home to get ready, got a shower, went online for a bit, and chilled. Around 3 I was starting to wonder if they were coming and I headed their way on the scooter, only to pass them while driving. We met up and then with the scoot in the van headed to the grocery store then their place. We each got a twelve pack of Tui's beer and we finished alot of them before we even got to the game, playing in or out, a sweet drinking game. The game was pretty amazing. Canada won 8-5... it was an even match. Which is sad cause NZ was Under 21..but stilll I was lovvvinggg it. I was so fired up when we won, but it sucked because I didn't have anyone to share it with. Afterwards we headed back up Kusabs, had a little sesh, watched some movies and hit the hay. Thats thursday night. Friday we pretty much did nothing but chill out, make some food, watch movies, rent and play God of War II, have more sesh's and take it easy. I crashed there a 2nd night in a row without planning to, and then this morning Willy's parents came. We cleaned up and chilled out, and somehow the Luge came up. Theres a street luge around here, on a big mountain, and Willy was keen on going. Willy, his dad and I ended up going there this morning at about 11, we did 5 races down the hill and it was intense assss hahah. It was a friggin great time, mad races, I got run off the road by Willy's dad and nearly flipped my luge! It was sweet though, Willy was faster than me...which I'm unhappy about, but it was a close race! After that I just headed back to the homestay, and I've been hanging out here all day, wrestlin with the bros, babysittin em, havin some mad food, and chillin out. They're just here now with a friend of theirs thats sleepin over expecting me to go watch movies or play video games with em, so I figure I'll head over and do that now!
Man its good to be caught up, even if I haven't finished the Bali stuff yet.