Making Peace with Tallac
As I sat in the car heading east towards the Sierra Nevada and Lake Tahoe, my mind was awash in the emotions of what this hike was going to mean to me. How I cursed the memory of the whole thing when I said to myself on the summit in 2015 I would never set foot on this mountain again because of the madness which was enveloping my life that year. I thought about the promise I made to the Spirits and Guardians of the mountain on my descent just as the trailhead came into view and the day of hell was ending. I promise you that if my father survives the five-year mark, I will be back and I will pay you the proper homage due. I will not curse you for my own bad decisions and my ill preparedness. I will not brag about concurring you, as no man will ever conquer a mountain. He simply is able to summit that day. I will bring love, light and healing peace if I am ever to come back here.
Those thoughts echoed through my head. The fact that my passenger seat was empty was unnerving. None of my hiking family were there. No Jesse, no Suny, no JB, no Aaron. This wasn’t about enjoying the wonder of a group hike and the memories we were to create. This was about me facing personal demons. This was about me and this mountain. “The last word always belongs to the mountain.” Yes Anatoli, yes it does.
The memories of sleep were gone as my Subaru sped towards the Mt. Tallac trailhead before the light of dawn tamed the eastern sky. As I made my way down the grade from Echo Summit into the Tahoe Basin, I could barely make out the towering peak of Mt. Tallac to the west. Stars hung in the sky and I opened my sunroof to feel the cool and calm Sierra Nevada night. Turning onto the Emerald Bay Highway (which is only a two lane road) I began to feel the emotions within me that so often haunt me.
Mike, you do remember the last time you were here, don’t you? Do you need a reminder? The darkness that sunk in as you climbed the Cathedral Bowl. The conversation on the saddle about your Dad not wanting to live and go through chemo? You screaming into the face of the wind and embarrassing yourself as you vomited after it? Failure. Nothing. Remember?
I reached up and stuck my arm out of the sunroof and felt the night air. Not today. Today will be different. I thought to myself with a grin. Today, the narrative changes. Today I heal. Today is about me and this mountain coming to terms. Passing by familiar landmarks as my car made the left turn toward the road leading to the trailhead. Tai Shan by Rush came onto my speakers in the car and my mood shifted. I began singing softly. High on the sacred mountain, up the seven thousand steps, in the golden light of autumn, there was magic in the air, clouds surrounded the summit, the wind blew strong and cold, among the silent temples, and the writings carved in gold… Yes. This mountain is like all others to me. A silent temple. Sacred. Shrouded in healing energy. A monument of millions of years and eons of energy. A place I come to heal at and not one to fear.
The parking lot at the trailhead is eerily silent. Nothing is moving, nothing is active. I put my pack together and pull the fleece over my head and switch on my headlamp. Trekking poles get adjusted as I begin to make my way to the trailhead. The sandy soil under foot feels comfortable. The beam of light from my headlamp scans around the forest as the trail begins its steady ascent. No bears. No nothing. I sigh with a little disappointment. I am here today to honor this mountain and to humbly ask the Spirits and Guardians who protect it to allow safe passage to me and to all other hikers out here today. Bless us all with love, light and safety as we ascend and descend. Om Mani Padme Hum. My hiking prayer I have been saying for quite some time now is spoken aloud for anything around to hear. I normally whisper this to myself but today, I avow it to whatever is within earshot.
The trail levels out as Fallen Leaf lake begins to be subtly illuminated by the faint traces of dawn. I pause and snap a few photos of the warm and inviting light and energy to the east. I smile and feel the solace and happiness associated with this light. I feel so good this morning. So good in fact, that I am not listening to music yet, but rather, just enjoying the sound of my boots on the ground and to the sound of the forest beginning to stir. The views of Fallen Leaf Lake are spectacular in the early morning. I can’t help but continue looking all around and smile.
As the views of Fallen Leaf Lake begin to fade away, the trail begins to gradually ascend once again and my legs are feeling as strong as they have been in years. The hours on the stairclimber are really paying off! I think to myself as I round a corner and am greeted by the surprised shriek of two young ladies having a trailside rest and snack. I apologize for startling them and they laugh at the stealthy nature and speed at which I came upon them. I stopped and wished them a safe climb and return and then continued on. Shortly after passing them, I came upon Floating Island Lake. I took a small spur trail to the lakes edge to snap a few more photos. The reflection on the water of the trees surrounding the water was almost mirror like. Again, more smiles. I continue back on the trail as I hear the two young ladies approaching from behind me.
Half mile to go before Cathedral Lake and I want to get there in under an hour. I want this fleece off. It’s getting too hot. Pushing my body for the next 15 minutes as hard as I can, I crest a small ridgeline and can see the shores of Cathedral Lake on my left. I go to the same downed Cedar I slept on five years ago and took my pack off. Shedding my fleece and stuffing it into the bottom of my pack, I feel the instant relief from the heat. My Dri-Fit shirt is already soaked from the perspiration, but I’m way better hydrated this time around. Five years ago, you were a mess. You were hungover, you weren’t on the trail until 9 am and you were way out of shape. I took a look around and saw no other human nearby. I reorganized my pack, shouldered it, locked in my camera onto its resting place on my right shoulder and continued the trek upwards.
The climb from Cathedral Lake to the summit gains about 2,500 feet over 2.3 miles. I worried a little because of the memories harbored in my head from 2015. Steadily ascending and feeling wonderful, I stopped every once in a while to shoot a few shots of the expansive Tahoe Basin opening up below. The sun had crested the horizon and was brightening the day as the chunks of talus became larger and sharper. Switchbacking steadily up the face of the Cathedral Bowl, I couldn’t help but smile. The energy I was feeling was radiant, full of light and bursting with positivity. This. This is why I hike and climb mountains. This feeling right now. Nothing else matters. This is when I feel my happiest.
I’m climbing quickly and soon find myself on the saddle at the top of Cathedral Bowl. I scan the talus for the stake that shows the direction to the summit (even though I know the way) and see it is gone. I lift my arms ups and let out a long WOOOOOOOOO!!!!! It feels good to hear the positive energy in my voice and feel the difference in the climbs from 5 years ago. My spirit is soaring as stand 8,500 feet above the ocean and 2,300 feet about the sparkling waters of Lake Tahoe. I feel tears coming to my eyes as I look around and see no one and nothing moving.
Heading up the trail towards the summit, there is roughly 1.5 miles from the saddle to the summit and my heart is already aching to be on it. I wonder to myself if there will be any crowds there or if I will be able to enjoy a bit of solitude. I grab my ear buds and push them into my ears. I know this altitude will push me a bit. Flatlander. I hear the voice in my head say. That’s what people up hear call others who don’t live at altitude. Maybe I am a “flatlander”, but I sure as hell feel great today. The music pumps additional life into my soul as I look to the west and see the spires of the Crystal Range reaching into the sky. I smile and enjoy the fact that I only have a few more of them to climb before I can say I have bagged each one. The tallest, Pyramid Peak, is still one of the hardest climbs I’ve made, mostly because of the route chosen and the snow and ice ascended to reach it.
The trail melts away as my breath becomes shorter and I inch closer to the summit. Coming up to less than a quarter mile away, I run into a group of backpackers on their way down. We exchange pleasantries and they explain they were up on the summit for dawn. I say that I envy them and then wish them well for their descent. They let me know I will have it to myself and I smile. This is perfect. That is exactly what I was hoping for.
Continuing on past the gnarled old Western Whiteback Pines and talus on the ground, I can see the summit a few hundred yards ahead. The trail becomes a mix of talus and scree as the ascent to the summit begins. As I round a corner a friendly chipmunk comes out to greet me and I oblige the little one in a few photographs. Locking the camera back into my shoulder harness, I take a glance at the summit and take a step. The familiar sound of Anugama’s Healing Earth begins to play in my ears. My eyes well up just as they did in the final 500 yards on Mount Whitney. I know you are with me I whisper. I know you have guided me and calmed my heart. Thank you. I speak audibly, but no one is around. I talk to my Angel and Guide often. I feel them in my head and heart every day. The sounds of the shakuhaji flute and earth drums echo their healing vibrations in my soul. Tears seep out of the corners of my eyes and streak down my face as I begin the traverse across the peak. I look at the sheer thousand foot drop to my right and wonder what it would be like to fly off of that like a bird while riding the thermals and seeing everything.
The music continues to play as I reach the tallest point on the summit. Pack on, mouth agape, I look to the east and smile. Sending my love, light and healing peace out to all sentient beings I sit down to simply “be”. I offer my thanks to the Spirits and Guardians of this sacred summit for the passage here. I ask their blessing for a safe descent. I take a few photos and then close my eyes. Dad. Dad, I hope you are listening and feeling this energy. 5 years ago you wanted to die. You didn’t want to fight. It was then I made a promise that if you survived for five years (an eternity and impossibility for someone of your age and diagnosis) I would climb this sacred mountain and make peace with it. Here I am. Here we are. I love you. I am proud of your fight. Namaste, Dad. May you be full of light and peace.
I sit for a few more minutes in silence before noticing a man with a child carrying pack on heading up to the summit. As he arrives, we wish each other good day and exchange a few words. His daughter is 10 months old and this is her first summit. I smile and look back to the sweeping view of Desolation Wilderness. I feel alive. I make a few videos of a cheeky chipmunk to share and smile as wide as my face will allow. I feel at peace. My energy is soaring and my spirit is healed of the bad memories of the last climb here. I think to myself about climbing it again and hope it will bring the same wonder and happiness. Closing another chapter of dark memories spurred on by my depression, I think about the book I continue to write and know that another summit, is another win for my heart and head in this internal fight. Gone are the negative voices calling me stupid, fat and unworthy of being called a hiker or mountaineer. Gone are the images of failure and sadness. Maybe for only the moment, but I know that this summit means something. Maybe not the meaning Mount Whitney did and does, but it showed me once again, I can fight the darkness. The chasm of negativity which invades my soul and destroys happiness.
Returning the car after the descent, I notice the entire trip was 5 hours and 34 minutes. Wow… I can’t believe it was that fast. 9 miles and 3,500 feet up and then back down. I even spent 30 minutes on the top! I was 2 hours faster this time and I’m now 5 years older. The awareness of how quickly I finished sinks in. The training, nights in the gym and focus on becoming healthier make me smile again. I look to the summit once more and thank the Spirits and Guardians. Om Mani Padme Hum. I conclude my thoughts. Opening a cold sparkling water and taking a long drink. I love this mountain.
We all must make peace with residual darkness within us. We must all deal with the negative emotions in order to grow and allow our souls to reach new heights. I wish you all love, light and healing peace in each of your journeys. May the radiant light of the universe, your Angel, you Guides and your soul lead you to where you belong. May you find peace and happiness in every moment. May you find love and passion in your life.
Namaste, friends.
“Leave nothing but footprints, take nothing but pictures, kill nothing but time.”
The Magic Bus and Normalcy
The surreal nature of this year continues forward and as you think things are approaching some degree of normalcy, the plot twists and we as a collective society are left slack jawed and out of breath. Arguments seemed to be fueled with additional vitriol as the summer sun begins setting earlier in the sky each evening. The time of year that children dream about new teachers, new textbooks and backpacks, new clothes and shoes. Things all children anticipate as they begin their knowledge quest and evolution from toddler, to adolescent, to young adult and then to maturity.
Normalcy has become something of Arthurian legend. A myth created by generations past who talk about nights in fancy restaurants, dancing in clubs and working out in gyms. We talk about returning to “normal” with friends and colleagues, but in the back of our minds, hidden among the memories is the thought that “normal” may never be “normal” again.
Almost two years ago, I set out planning my 40th birthday adventure. Something I’ve wanted to do for some time. Something which in my soul, I knew, I had to do. A trip to Alaska and to trek the Stampede Trail with the destination being “The Magic Bus”.
For those who are not aware of what the “Magic Bus” is, I suggest you pick up the novel Into the Wild by John Krakauer. If you have any type of adventurous spirit within you, this book will be something that sticks with you for quite some time. The story (true) is about a young man (Chris McCandless) with a troubled past due to being raised in an absolutely dysfunctional family and how upon his graduation from Emory University, he set out on a modern day “walkabout”. He gave away pretty much everything he owned, money included, wandered around the west, exploring and living the rubber tramp life. His goal was Alaska. A spiritual quest of sorts. To go there and test his mettle against the harsh and unforgiving lands of snow, ice and permafrost. To try and exist in this place for as long as he needed prior to returning (if ever) to the “normal” world.
Into the Wild tells his story based on the found journal Chris kept, letters mailed to friends and sister and encounters with other souls along the way. It is both heart wrenching and inspiring all in one. Chris eventually makes his way to Alaska in the spring of 1992. He treks through the Alaskan wild eventually ending up at a 1946 International Harvester K-5 city bus which was placed into the wilderness to serve as a base camp for moose hunters. Fairbanks bus #142. The Magic Bus.
He set up his own base camp here. Shooting small game and eventually a moose which becomes one of the great failures of his life because he was unable to preserve the meat properly and as a result, the game spoiled and he felt that he unnecessarily ended the animal’s life without reason. Chris eventually decided to return society after realizing that Happiness is best when shared. Unfortunately, as he began the trek out, the Teklanika River was so swollen that he had to turn back to the bus. During that time, details become hazy at best. Some believe that he died from eating a poisonous plant. Others believe that he starved to death.
There are several camps on the subject of Chris McCandless. Those who look at him as a hero and adventurer and those who look at him as an example of exactly what not to do. I admit, I am closer to seeing him in the first light, but am realist enough to know he made mistakes. Still, I envy him. I look at him as someone brave enough to live on HIS terms and not conform to what “normal” is according to society. Perishing in the bus and leaving an indelible mark with his energy there. He became a cult hero to me and I wanted to feel his energy and see where he left his human vessel behind.
Having now read the book well over ten times and having the movie sitting on a shelf, I knew what trip needed to happen. This was the time to finally experience the residual energy, emotion and wild that I longed for. As I poured over the logistics and details, I found myself becoming even more excited for this adventure. The climb of Mount Whitney in September of 2018 fueled the dreams of the Stampede Trail even more. But, as it so often does, fate intervened and my trip was unable to happen. Crushed by the thought, but in the back of my mind thinking this bus is just like any mountain; It’s not going anywhere.
A few weeks ago I found out that the “Magic Bus” was being moved. The State of Alaska felt that it was creating a risk because of the number of people who are ill equipped to make a trek of that nature were doing just that and then having to be rescued. I see these people on the trails often. I see them in their caked on makeup, Gucci shirts, tennis shoes, colognes and perfumes carrying their cute little leather bags and a single bottle of water in hand. Sounds judgmental, huh (apologies as the ex-Catholic in me surfaces every now and again)? I remind myself that everyone is out there hiking their own hike and doing hopefully something more for the experience than for social media. Well, these types of folks typically are the ones who provide the most headaches for SAR.
I was devastated at the thought of this monument being taken out. I wanted to see it and pay my respects to the energy of Chris and to the spirit of adventure and living on one’s own terms. The bus is now being relocated to a museum. A museum, really? I can’t wrap my head around it. I refuse to wrap my head around it. I see white shoes, fanny packs and garishly jeweled people walking around this hallowed artifact gawking at it and talking about Chris. It offends me as an adventurer. It bothers me to no end as a free spirit. This is a sacred piece of metal for the bold. This does not belong to the “normal” society. This is for the rubber tramps, the dreamers, the lost souls, the adventures, the poets and hiker trash, the folks who live for the outdoors and the prospect that any hike could be their last and they love that. This is not for normal. I refuse to accept it be for the normal realm. “Mike. A little dramatic, maybe?” Maybe so, but if we don’t have things we consider sacred and hallowed, what good are dreams? Why bother existing?
As this pandemic hopefully begins to end and we see the return to “normal” I hope that every soul who reads this considers what “normal” is and maybe redefines it for themselves. To not conform to what Society demands. Society, it’s not for me…
It's a mystery to me You think you have to want Society, you're a crazy breed When you want more than you have I think I need to find a bigger place Society, you're a crazy breed There's those thinking more or less less is more Society, you're a crazy breed Society, have mercy on me
One of my favorite songs. Never accept “normal” if it doesn’t work for you. In these months of the pandemic, I have been learning a lot about what I will no longer accept and dreams I have. The light that fills me and fuels my soul. The recognition that we all should live according to our rules and normal. Sending light, healing peace and the wonder of this universe to all souls.
Namaste, friends.
“Leave nothing but footprints, take nothing but pictures, kill nothing but time…”
Starlight
Starlight, star bright, first star I see tonight. I wish I may, I wish I might, have this wish I wish tonight.
We gaze at the heavens and imagine. We dream of things dear to us. We send our wishes out into the ether and think about what life would be like if those dreams were to come true. We wonder. We dream. We imagine. In those moments, we revert back to the blissful childlike state. Simple joy and peace found in these moments.
Astrophotography captures the magic of those moments and shows the viewer exactly how small and insignificant we truly are. Insignificant in the sense of galactic size and not in relation to the impact our soul has on this ethereal plane and on souls that surround us. How anyone can not enjoy the magic of being under the stars baffles me.
As children, we wish on stars and tell them our deepest desires. We dream about what it would be like to fly deep into space and see what is out there. We dream about who else is out there. Is anyone out there?
We study stars, constellations, moon phases and celestial events in school. We learn about comets, meteors and nebulae. But, do we ever stop and look at the stars? I don’t mean to simply look up at the night sky and point out the “Big Dipper”. Being under the night sky is about so much more. It is the feeling of closeness with the galaxy, universe and all sentient beings. The connection to the Divine (whatever the Divine is to you). It’s the soul calming, forget-about-everything, completely at peace kind of wonder.
My first astrophotography experience still resonates so clearly. August of 2016, the New Moon (when the sky is at its darkest) and the Perseid Meteor Shower coincided. I was brand new to this type of photography. I spent hours researching how to do it, camera settings, times for best viewing and so on. The day of the shoot I went to work and dreamt about what it would be like. After finishing at the Board of Trustees meeting that evening, I drove up to a spot I knew had good South facing exposure and would likely be very dark. As my car climbed Ice House road in El Dorado County, California, I craned my neck to see out the sunroof of my car at the stars above. It was dark and beautiful. I found a ledge on the side of the road and set up my equipment. I didn’t have the perfect lens or truly know what I was doing yet, but the experience and wonder of the night were perfect.
I sat on that ledge overlooking the valley far below while the 24-105 f 4.0 did its best to capture the galaxy and hopefully, a shooting star or two. I watched over 100 meteors blaze through the sky that night. I didn’t catch a single one on my Canon 5D Mark III, but the memories persist to this day. As I began to tire around 2:15 AM, I went about breaking down my tripod, lens and camera. Carefully placing it all into the camera bag in the trunk and ensuring there would be no sliding around. Shutting the trunk, I walked back around to the driver’s side of the car and climbed in. I put the keys in the ignition and turned my music on. Calm and reflective I smiled as the sounds of Anugama made me reflect on the night that was. I opened all my windows as well as the sunroof to enjoy the Sierra Nevada just a little bit longer. As I began to make my U-turn and head back down the mountain, I saw a shape about 30 feet away from my car moving up the road. I clicked on my high beams and saw a gorgeous, full grown mountain lion walking toward me. She was magnificent. Regal. Silent and beautiful. I hung my head out of the window in sheer amazement at her beauty. She passed the side of my car less than 10 feet away as I sat inside and pondered how I could possibly get to my camera and try to capture her on film. I couldn’t. Getting out of the car could make her flee, but could entice her into coming at me. I simply sat and admired her beauty as I had done with the meteors just a few minutes before.
When she vanished into the brush beside my car, I began to slowly process just how lucky I was to have seen such a beautiful animal in her natural state. To this day, I think of that moment often when I am under the stars and wish I could see her again.
In the years since that magical night, I’ve spent hundreds of hours stargazing, photographing the Milky Way and writing in my journal about whatever is in my heart, soul or mind at that moment. Some nights the writing is dark, macabre and ominous. Others, it is light, positive and full of romance. Each night is different. Each experience, unique. There have been nights where I sat and shivered in subzero temperatures questioning why I am out there until that one moment which makes me remember to stay present and enjoy the gift the universe provides.
I tell anyone who asks about Astrophotography to simply go out and try it. Worst case is that your photographs may not be great, but I promise you that you will not regret the experience. Just like how I wish beyond anything I could have captured that beautiful lioness on film, her memory is imprinted in my brains memory banks for all of time. July 18th marks the New Moon in July. The darkest night of the lunar cycle this month. I know that I will be sitting high atop my favorite spot in the Sierra Nevada watching the rise of the Milky Way, streaking meteors and gentle light from millions of miles away. Day dreaming, wishing on those stars and writing my thoughts and feelings down. I encourage you to do the same. Go out under that dark sky and allow yourself to wish on a star. Go out and watch for the brilliance of a meteor as it illuminates the sky. Dream. Dream. And Dream some more. Write your thoughts down in that moment, but be present in the beauty you are underneath.
May your wishes come true. May your hopes be realized. May the light of the universe guide you to where you are to be and where your soul, heart and mind are at peace.
“Leave nothing but footprints, take nothing but pictures, kill nothing but time”
Namaste, friends.
Black and WhiteThis weekend I sat on my front porch as I so often do, gazing at the Sierra Nevada and allowing my mind to day dream. Normally, my thoughts are consumed with the feelings of joy and elation about the coming times when I will have my boots on, trekking poles clacking off the granite and my camera snapping images to savor on days when I am not at altitude.
This weekend was different. My heart hurt. It still hurts. Violence, intolerance and madness has overcome this country. Hate is the word of the day. A man, George Floyd, was the latest casualty in a long line of deaths which could have been prevented. His death serves as a reminder of the systemic racism which still continues to thrive in this country. He was killed over an alleged $20 counterfeit bill. He was killed by a knee to his neck which was in place for 8 minutes and 46 seconds. The knee belonged to an officer of the law. An officer of the Minneapolis Police Department. A public servant. A man sworn to protect and serve. That same man is now facing a third degree murder charge and rightfully so.
I am not a person of color. I have no way to ever understand the inherent struggle people of color face. I do understand that I have the power to stand up and reject the current narrative. I have a voice. I can write about the way the system we exist in unfairly discriminates against people whose skin color is different than mine. I believe that Black Lives Matter. I believe that life matters. I believe that the lives of those in Law Enforcement, matter. The Buddha has taught me that life is both endless and subject to impermanence and uncertainty. We are in uncertain times with society being in even a bigger upheaval than after we watched what happened to Rodney King.
I do not condone the rioting, looting and violence which has been happening on city streets over the past few days. I understand the reason why. I understand the communities of people of color are hurting and will continue to hurt until something is done. Over the past several years, peaceful protests happened. Some on the local stage and others on a much grander stage.
Colin Kaepernick knelt.
America went ballistic.
How dare he kneel to bring light to men being killed?
Outrage had ramped from simmering to boiling. Eric Garner, Michael Brown and now George Floyd. So many others not named. These men were killed while being arrested. Does that give everyone the right to hate law enforcement or riot? Not in the least. Does it highlight a need to look at the system? Undoubtedly, yes. Were these men perfect? Did they commit crimes? No and yes. But, losing their life because of it is not acceptable.
Protests, mostly peaceful, have taken place in cities all around this country. Protestors want to be heard. They want to state their opinions and tell their stories. The want to advocate for themselves. They want a better life. They want equality.
Our founding fathers wrote about equality. The found it so important as to place it into the Declaration of Independence.
“We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness.”
This statement doesn’t differentiate between black, white, brown, pagan, religious, rich or poor. It simply states that ALL are created equal. And yet, true equality doesn’t exist when you look at data. I have no desire to sit here and cite reports, statistics and numbers, but would do so willingly in private if you want to have a conversation about it. A respectful and honest conversation.
I acknowledge the fact that I will never truly understand the struggle people of color face on a daily basis. The worry about their son going out with friends to hang out in a park, play basketball or simply walk around and enjoy each other’s company without them being profiled and watched more carefully than their peers who do not share the same melatonin. This is part of the definition of privilege. I know that in this country, being Caucasian holds a privilege. I acknowledge that. I also know that while this blog may not reach hundreds of thousands of readers, it is my way to allow my voice to be heard.
My voice may be nothing more than a whisper in the hurricane which now whips ugliness around all of us, but I say it to bring attention to the issue none-the-less. I am not calling for shame on law enforcement. I am not calling for shame to be felt by non-people-of-color. I am calling for everyone to understand what has been happening. I am calling for people to see inequality and change things.
Today is being called “Black Out Tuesday” on social media platforms as a non-violent way to bring awareness to societal issues. Stigmas need to change. The way we look at people and act towards people, needs to change. Our hearts need to change. Our society, needs change.
We need to change the way we treat people. We need to focus on respecting ALL people. This includes people of color, law enforcement (because in this time, many people will make them a scapegoat of sorts), gay people, transgender people, and so on and so forth. We have a unique opportunity in the face of all this unrest to change things.
Every blog ends with “Namaste”. The ancient Sanskrit word means, “The Divine in me, honors the Divine in you.” Yes, we are Divine. We all contain divinity and universal brilliance.
It is time to allow that brilliance to come through and advocate for your fellow humans.
Black humans. Brown humans. Humans that wear badges. Humans that wear ties. Humans that teach. Humans that work in sweatshops. Humans that are disabled. Humans in poverty. Humans with privilege. Humans with mental challenges. Humans who are suffering.
Yes. All of these humans are worthy of advocating for. Today, I stand with humanity and take a stance against racism, oppression and violence. Far too long we have allowed inequality to exist. It is time to bring the issue to the front and make this a more ardent society full of people who love, respect and honor their fellow human.
“Leave nothing but footprints, take nothing but pictures, kill nothing but time.”
Namaste, friends.
Hurt
Dark clouds have intruded on my mind lately making creativity into something mystical as opposed to what drives me. Writing has become laborious and thoughts which normally run through my mind are scattered and lost among the rubbish.
My chosen occupation in the world of school finance has become a cloudy picture at best. The destruction of the economy and the normalcy of daily routine has become something of Arthurian legend. Kids are at home, school districts are trying to cope with how to return children to their classes, friends and social activities.
Normalcy.
What is “normal” anymore, anyways? Even as we adults struggle to grasp at what constitutes “normal” we fail to see the future and what it holds. Where will our summer bar-b-ques go? Will evenings on a patio bar in our favorite restaurant become a thing of the past? Will the ice cream trucks return to suburbia with their enticing tones and cool, sweet treats?
Waiting.
During this time of waiting should be the perfect time to continue with the novel I’m writing, but what has happened is the summoning of some memories that I would care not to remember. Memories about visible scars on my skin, white pills consumed to offset sadness, regret and questions of “Why?”
Painful reminders of things though, don’t always live on in the visible. They live on in the mind as comments said, remarks heard and cheers which were never understood.
I have said before in a blog about self-confidence that I lack this in a major way. The only person in my family with this trait. The boy who never wanted to be the stereotypical “Alpha”. The boy who preferred the comfort of books, writing poetry and getting lost in day dreams over chest thumping and machismo. Now, with that said, I was a competitive swimmer in my youth. I had dreams, goals and ambitions. I loved the roar of the crowd and the feeling of besting my competition. I loved all the blue ribbons, medals and trophies gathered over a 10-year span. I swam with, and bested, future Olympians, made friends with souls I still chat with and dreamed of “walking-on” to the Penn State Swim Team.
As with all dreams, some are destined for nightmares and the awakening to reality. My junior year in high school saw my team and school finish with another section title, a time for me in the 100 Butterfly that earned All-Section Honors and generated some scholarship offers at Division II programs. It made me look forward to the next year. The final year of my high school swimming opus. A year my teammates and I talked about not only a section title, but a District title and shot at States.
The fall of my senior year dawned with the same dreams. I was training with an Aquatic Club in my hometown and doing the work the best I could. As fall progressed into winter, and the season started in earnest, I was made a Tri-Captain by my peers. Then, the nightmare slowly began to creep in…
Before competitions, we always did cheers after our warm-ups. Both the women’s and men’s teams would gather in the shallow section of the pool, surrounded by dozens of banners displaying the blue blood nature of our swimming program. The legends that came before us and those that would continue to swim after us. The red and black banners showed the hard work, dedication and tenacity of what our sport demanded. We were winners. We were teammates. We were a successful group of young men and women.
The cheers we would do were supposed to motivate us and drive us to be at our best. To get us “amped up” for the competition and then take our opponent to task. One cheer in particular seemed to excite everyone. It was simple. “H-H-S” with the rhythmic clapping and pounding on the top of the water. We did this before every swim meet. We made sure our opponent was watching as we cheered and showed our team spirit. “H-H-S” morphed at some point into “H-A-S”. I didn’t know why or what this new sequence of letters meant, but was happy enough to go along with it. I didn’t have a clue until my sister, a manager of the team, told me. I’ll never forget how it felt. I’ll never understand why. To this day, I can’t understand it or come to a reason why teammates felt this way.
“Henkel and Andy, Suck”. H-A-S… Ouch.
I still hear it in my head. Every time I walk by the lap pool at my gym, I hear the cheer. I feel the hurt again. A dream once was to continue my swimming into college and maybe beyond. A dream that died the night my sister told me what it meant. The “friendships” I thought were strong and deep, were just like where we stood in the pool; Shallow. Hollow. Most of those people in the pool had no clue about the fact I had lost my best friend to an attempted suicide just a year prior. They didn’t know the words which were spoken in the cold night of February, 1996. A boy that loved the sport and the comradery of fellow teammates recoiled. No longer were the dreams dreamt. They lay abandoned and scorned. I hurt myself today The needle tears a hole
H.A.S
Why? Was I too vocal? Did I try to lead too much? What caused this? No answers. 23 years after, I still hear it. I still feel it. Admonition within when the darkness sets in. When the trail becomes steep and the miles become long, I hear it. “H-A-S”. I suck. In the midst of what was supposed to be the best year of my swimming life, I gave up. I quit mentally. I no longer cared. I still wrestle with the darkness it created in my mind to this day. Climbing mountains has been the answer to the depression and darkness I feel. It allows me to forget that cheer for some time, but it always creeps back in. It always returns until the next hike or climb.
“What does it matter all these years late, Mike?” It matters because some things haunt you. Some things you simply can’t let go of. Depression won’t allow it. The mind of the over thinker and person who perseverates on every mistake they have made in life, haunts them in the witching hours of the early morning. We can’t simply, “Let it go”. It will never happen.
I share this memory as a way to conduct therapy of sorts on my soul. Over sharing? Maybe, but this helps. The Holistic Healer I visit told me the first time I went in for a Chakra alignment that I was a “Wounded Healer”. Someone destined to carry karmic debt of others and darkness for others as my own in order to help them heal. A burden I happily carry if it helps to bring light other souls. This memory, now shared, I say goodbye to. Brought into the light, I will do my best to no longer allow it to remain in my heart, mind and soul.
Throughout life, we collect moments and memories of happiness and pain alike. We do our best to bookmark the happy times in an effort to dull the edge of the knife of sadness. We walk towards the summit of life and the termination of our journey in the vessel which carries our soul, hopefully with love and light within us. Imperfect humans with dreams of becoming enlightened.
I bid you all love, light and healing peace today and all days. May you all find solace in whatever darkness may haunt you. Thank you for being a part of this therapeutic release. Om Mani Padme Hum.
‘”Leave nothing but footprints, take nothing but pictures, kill nothing but time.”
Namaste, friends…
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