The Back-Story

I am not a scholar. I have no phd., or m.a. or m.s. following my name. Neither do I have b.a. or b.s. (except the kind we all have). I didn’t even finish high school. I’m not a guru, teacher, prophet, or fortune teller, or any other kind of spiritual advisor there is. I’m certainly not a theologian. And obviously, not a website designer either. I don’t purport to be a Christian. Though my upbringing does account for my greater familiarity with Christian doctrine (and dogma). In all probability, my early years would categorize me as a “sinner,” amongst any group’s religious beliefs. I was always missing the mark, or falling short (sin), of what I learned or acquired one “should be.” I’d say this recollection sums up an approximate time period from around age five or six, and continuing through my high school years. Then it steadily devolved into the crash and burn in 1987. But, from the place I stand today, unbeknownst to me then, I had engaged the powerful engine of the universe somewhere in those earliest years, and set its perpetual motion of my first story on course to its inevitable spin-out.

My body was birthed in 1956, and it was not until 1987 that I became consciously aware there was a difference between spirituality and religion. The chasm of my mind growing ever wider with each year between. It was in 1987, a power far, far superior to any doctrine or dogma intervened my life. Looking back at this from now, I can see this was the point where healing began, the fissure of my mind beginning to repair itself. Till this place in the story the satire ran amok. The Greek godhead Pan at best, or the superficially, ridiculous, and bawdy satyr, ever in search of folly. Offset profusely to the realities and beatitudes of society, but accompanied always by a highly adaptive persona. In short, a chameleon. Always walking a fine line between what I presented to the world, and balancing the darkness perceived within. Rarely measuring up to the world’s standards. The attitude I developed was, short of rape or murder (but just as derisive to nature), anything goes, as long as I don’t get caught. And I got good at not getting caught. This is what split-mind taught me, and I adopted. This divide was not without turmoil, disparity, and despair. Thank goodness for that dark night of the soul; bliss revealed in 1987. The dark night of the soul, I now know to be the light of the universe changing the story. Divulging a way to pass freely between the darkness and light of ego, the ever changing division of interrelated opposites, in thought, word, and deed.

Till this point in my life, I would classify and characterize myself, as your run-of-the-mill layman. One willing to put forth the minimum amount of effort, to acquire the level of know-how desired, to survive, and somewhat enjoy a disparaging world. There were of course, interludes of so called success. Times of patting myself on the back for what I had accomplished. Going back to school for example (motivated by fear of manual labor for a lifetime), a profession I could be proud of (though it became an albatross flapping my neck), an income level worthy of maintaining my lifestyle (with my wife’s needed help of course, and some extra curricular endeavors on the side), and a place to call home that lived up to my ideals (but weighed me down with the weight and drag of a thousand anchors). There were also the usual things acquired that brought fleeting moments of happiness. New cars topped that list. A few vacation trips thrown in, and I was living the life. I’m sure to others, it looked like I’d “made it.” Of course, I could not have kept up this facade without the false spirit(s) that always accompanied, and allowed me to tamp down feelings acquired from all my successes (heaven forbid you seeing me for what I really am, I’d never survive that, you wouldn’t like me). All this seemingly good stuff and “living the life fantastic,” yet happiness, contentment, and peace of mind always eluded me. Yes, thank god for 1987! Thank god for intervention—and, thank god for life as intended!!! Now you know “me!”—as well as the other 46+ me’s, mine’s, my’s, I’s, and other assorted personifications mentioned above. But none of these me’s or I’s is who’s writing this book.