It's all about me...

I have this little four word phrase that I find myself saying over and over again.  It shows up at the most painful of times, it show up at the best of times.  It's a soft little admission that feels so good to type and feels even better saying.

"She's right you know."

So often my better half quietly keeps her truth to herself, while I remonstrate or jump up and down, explaining with vicious and unabashed judgement how "so and so" just judges everyone, or "you can't trust that guy, because all he does is talk behind peoples' backs."  Blind to the simple, beautiful truths.  Blind to my own blowhard, self-seeking bullshit.

And there she sits, quietly letting me make an ever bigger fool out of myself, still loving me, still nodding once in a while at the right moment, careful not to bruise my puffed out feathers or interfere with my "cock of the yard" strut.

But then, when all of my pomp and circumstance has dwindled, and my self important speeches have ended, and all the hot air has been retired from the balloon, she takes a careful breath and very simply, adeptly and honestly lets me know what the fuck.  Not to hurt, but to enlighten.  Not to admonish or belittle, but to expand and teach.

She is a real beauty, a real example of shining love stuff - borne of heaven and delicately stuffed into the physical being of a supermodel.  Sometimes she is a Cree princess, not afraid to rough me up or anybody else for that matter, to make her point.  Her sense of justice is impeccable.  Her views on truth and psychology and philosophy and social contract and empowerment and growth and all that is interesting and real in this world are nearly always bang on true and accurate (I say nearly because to be right all the time would be maddening; I should know!).

She is mother like no other.  A friend to all who need one.  A beacon of truth and gentle compassionate understanding.

And I love her, till this heart beats no more, I love her.  From beyond this mortal coil, I will love her, brush her hair from her face as the wind; caress her cheek as a gentle rain drop; hold her close as a mist, rolling in off the lake.

And for now, I must love her from afar.  Slowly plodding through the baby steps that seem so great.  Through the paces of early recovery.  I want so badly to run to her, to hold her, to be her man instead of her sad broken addict boyfriend.

Patience young feller.  Do a little work young feller.  Get through a day or two, then perhaps a week or two, then maybe a month or two without picking up; without sabotaging your growth, healing or recovery.  Pay a few bills and rebuild some of what you tried so desperately to destroy.

Then, show her some of your moves:




That oughta do it!

I love you baby.
S.

Father... Oh Father. Part II

Hm.  What a day.  Two or three days of positive choices and a little bit of food and sleep, and so quickly we forget.  Forget what travesties we have committed.  Forget what pain we have felt or caused or both...

We forget.

Tonight I went down to a fellowship meeting to remind me.  It comes flooding back, real and visceral and painful and sad, but then the obligatory dance step comes a rushin' to the surface.  Shuck and jive, shuck and jive... A yadda-ta-dadda-ta-dadda-ta-Da... A-yadda-ta-dadda-ta-dadda-da-Da...

Maybe one more time... One more ride on the crazy train.

Fuck that.

Some amazing things came flying out of the woodwork today.  Work stuff, personal development stuff, spiritual stuff, truths, admissions of guilt and shame, realizations of what is real and what is fucked and what is beautiful and true.

And all I have is three days under my belt.  Well, in a row that is.

My friend is not home right now.  Likely drinking.  I smudged his house yesterday.  Beautifully from bottom to top, closets, drawers, haunted rooms and coked up rooms; he was so scared the other night.  Bleeding ulcers is my diagnosis but what the fuck do I know.

"Stopping drinking man; that's the only way I think," says I.

So yesterday he has Diet Pepsi.  Good on you D.

Today, nobody's home, and his truck's here.  Door unlocked too.  Weird. Hope nothing terrible happened.  But alone I am, facebooking, chatting, planning, plotting secret birthday celebrations, getaway spiritual weekends; just me and the cats.

And yet... Smudge notwithstanding, I still am uncomfortable in my own skin.  My babies are not here with me due to my DIRECT FUCKING ACTIONS...  guiltguiltguilt... shameshameshame...

Alone, in a basement with a cat staring at me like I'm a chocolate covered turd and I feel like a big shithead.  Feel.  Don't want to feel.  Maybe I should...  Hm.. I still have twentyseven phone numbers committed to memory; I can be euphoric (for two seconds) in ten minutes. But then paranoid, delusional, fearful, scared and fucked right up in a minute shortly following my crash.

Then I have stepped in and circumvented the Hand of God.  The guiding hand of Creator is not good enough for me, and I self medicate yet again.  Then likely wake up tomorrow late, miss my morning meeting, feel jittery and guilty and bomb my afternoon meeting, then miss my wife's birthday, and deny myself the chance to walk into the mountains with my spirit guides and snuggle up with 68 indians and spirits and teachers and helpers and all that is beautiful and humble and real in our culture.

And all I have to do is spend twenty bucks on some more street bullshit.  All this and more self loathing, shame and blame on self.

Hm. How bout "no".  How bout I show myself that I can tough it through this little ripple in the pond and step proudly and humbly into the light this coming weekend?  Shine and smile and cry and sing and eat and laugh and cry some more...

If my words did glow with the gold of sunshine.  Would you hear my voice come through the music?  Would you hold it near as it were your own? 

Jerry, RIP and help me make it through the night without using.  Help me make it to the mountains tomorrow and to the sweet gentle hand of my love and her family.

Tonight, a father's responsible decision.  A broken child's old pattern breaking.  A battle of tears and pride and softness and protective arms.  That path is for your steps alone.  No simple highway between the dawn and the dark of night.

Fuck me.  This ain't easy shit.

It's not what you do when you're on stage that counts.  It's when no one's looking.  I love you baby.

Happy birthday to the most beautiful woman I know.  I am blessed by your love.

S + T forever... TL4Ever

xox
S.

Father... Oh Father. Part I

I write today from the bottom of a long steep hill that I have allowed myself to tumble down.  I write today, alone, away from my family, my children, my love.   I write today because no one will talk to me.  All they have ever heard from me are words.  I write today as though I am speaking to my love, because she can't bring herself to hear anymore lies and excuses from my mouth anymore.

So much happening in the world around me, the world that I keep ducking out of.


Life.

Simple sometimes.  The best things in life are so simple.  Like becoming a father.  Simple.  Being one?  Not so much.

At least not for me.  Not right now.  My heart is just fucking broked...  Just fucking broked all up because of how I have treated my kids.  Every single one of them.  I have done everything possible to strain the ties between us all.

All I ever wanted to be is a dad.  I remember being small and my dad not being there, how alone and afraid and unworthy I felt.  How I thought, "If I was a Dad, I would hold my son so tight..."  or "I will never leave my kids... Ever..."

Bullshit.

At least my dad only ever left once.

I keep leaving, over and over again.  "No really, this time I mean it...  I will be right back."  Poof.

Fuckin' guy.  What kind of fuckin' guy have I become?

I respect all those men out there who are there, day in and day out for their families.  Men who sacrifice of themselves, give of their hearts and bodies so that others may live better, easier.  Real daddies.  Not dickheads.

I'm pretty sure I have it in me.  Reasonably sure.

I will write this evening to you my love.  Because I don't have to you speak to right now.  Because you are protecting those you love and yourself...  Protecting them from a wolf in daddy's clothing.

I will write some more tomorrow.  I am so sleepy.  Running and running and running from responsibility and truth and honour and faith and love and all that is good in the world really takes its toll on a body.

Love to you.
S.

Today: I love, therefore I am...

Hi.  Been a while.  So the smartypants expectation that I would and could sustain a daily sober counter accompanied by some prosaic wisdom or poetic weaving has been proven wrong.  Once again, I have proven that my words can very easily outweigh my actions.

Oh well.  Shit happens.

I could get all "oh, the sorrow of it all..." or "oh, poor Sheldon let himself down again..." or even use it as an excuse to imagine myself a failure and keep on keepin' on in a downward direction until I have taken a final pull on the devil's dick and this unbelievably strong heart just rolls over in exasperation and quietly says "Ekosi maka."

Strong heart indeed.  The things I have done, the things I have seen, the things I have put myself through.  <sigh>  Oh my.

I yearn today, this moment, to be kind to myself.  Looking outside, the blue sky, the green grass, the ringing sound of children's voices:  These are the things I would long for when I was at the end of yet another rope.

Or these were the things I chose to ignore when I was en route for another score, from my dark, lonely hiding place in the bush in a beeline to the inner city, then scurrying back to my hole - truck on fumes, smoking cigarette butts from my ashtray, picking up and tasting sesame seeds, snot particles or styrofoam from the carpet of the Chev, checking to see if they were more of that bogus, smelly rock that's being passed off as crack...  Nice...  way to cherish the universe and spread the love Mr. Hughes.

Well, I am here, I am clean and I will write when I am able, inspired, feeling too much, wanting to share... et cetera, et cetera.

I don't need any more pressure in my life to expect to sit down and carve out an hour each day to wax on and on, shedding light on the trainwreck that I had been trying to live and call a life.  It's only part of the story anyways.

I won't show you all my scars, all my fears... I won't tell you all the hardwired action stories or all of the sad, painful or insipid truths.  This is not a barometer from which you can gauge all that I am or all that I want to be.

This blog was started because I thought having a thousand eyes (or even twenty) on me would help keep me accountable, help keep me home.

Wrong.

It is the love that I feel and allow to flow through me that keeps me here, keeps me from calling all the dealers that pretend to be my friends and then sell me horse tranquilizer laced bullshit, or some concoction that tastes like transmission fluid and rubber gloves mixed together.  Death in a baggie.

Bleah.

Life is a blessed event that is ever transformative, ever fluid and dancing, and can be missed if you blink.

Today, God willing, I will not blink.  I will not avert my gaze from that which is real, true and suffused with love and light.

Today I will live and walk with Creator as my guide. Today I will hold hands with a big, juicy family who loves their daddy/hubby and we will allow our steps to be guided by a Heritage Festival food map!

Bring on the sheepkebabs!

hearts and smooches,
S.

Today: Blast from the Past...

Haven't written in a week.  Trying to find some solace in action, not the words.  No energy right now.  It's coming.  Slowly, coming.

No day counter.  Too much pressure.  There is just today.  Only, always just today.

Today I am writing for a friend.  For me too, but for a friend, who so quietly reached out and asked politely for a glimpse into my soul, into my storm.  Not knowing why but it doesn't matter.  Funny. When our friends need us, sometimes we can just give without asking why, without expecting anything in return.

Sometimes we can't.  Sometimes it's our family, those closest to us, who spurn us, deny us, turn away for this reason or that.  Sometimes it hurts but more often than not it don't even register anymore.  We've been spurned for so long.

"Yeah, yeah," we say to ourselves, "I didn't 'spect you to come anyways.  Just had to ask you know."

More often than not I kid myself that it doesn't hurt.  It hurts like fucking hell.

My friend politely reminded me I've undertaken a yearlong blog expedition and that she wants some of this action.

Hmph.

Well, just to show her what's what, I will cut and paste something from the annals of our conversations and emails that captures some of what I feel, what I think, what I know... right here, right now. (I hope you are not upset that I am sharing this...)

 These unexpected obstacles that slow us down, they cause us to reflect on what's important. These are what help us to see our true selves: Our true natures. It's tough cuz the pot doesn't help us at all.. Only hurts us. It's hard to see it while we're in it, but by helping us "relax", it actually prolongs the agony. Our relaxation is premised on the silky, green dragon smoke's ability to cloak our problems, to mask them in a green-tinged mockery of true love. "YEah mon, it's all good mon... " When really, inside, we're hurting, sad, scared, lonely beyond our comprehension, and just ACHING for real expression, real happiness, just REAL in general. And sometimes, real sucks; real hurts. Real is not exciting, not immediately fulfilling. Most times real is just a pain in the ass. But it is real.

That is what we yearn for. To find our real place in this world. A place where we belong. Where we can feel love. The real secret is that all along, while we may be looking for a geographical location or perfect job or relationship to discover that love, it only exists in one place: in our hearts. We just have to choose to unlock it. To discard that which keeps us mired in guilt, shame, fear, doubt, etc. To make an ACTIVE decision to love and accept love. 

Sweetheart, I hate to be a broken record, but true enlightenment and understanding and all that love is only possible when we are clean and sober. When we have stared the gaunt and sombre eyes of the tiger that is our craving, and taken back the ownership of our soul. 

"No," she said, "I will NOT succumb to you oh mangy and flea bitten tiger, whose eyes shimmer with the glaze of physical pleasure. I will not hide behind the promise you give with your temporary salvation, your short lived pleasure. I will instead surrender to these feelings of fear and doubt, and in that unique position of surrender, I will feel the unexpected strength that flows from the mountain, the snow; the waters and the sky. The strength that comforts me with the recognition that the very same strength courses through my veins and makes up the seat of my soul. I am one with the universe, and the universe is one with me. And it is love, sweet love, that ties me to this plane; that connects me to all and caresses my bare feet as they touch the ground. I choose today to honour my body, mind and soul by staying pure and treating myself with love." 

So fuck you devil weed; fuck you coca plant; fuck you cancer sticks.. fuck you sweet alcoholic vapours! I choose today to celebrate my life with a few chocolate chip cookies out of the oven and some green tea. And maybe a little word of thanks to my ancestors, in whose steps I humbly walk, and to those yet to arrive, whose way I hope is gentle.

I choose today to honour this planet and this life in the best way I know how: by learning to listen to my heart.

And tonight, when I lay my head down in my soft bed, between the sheets and eagerly anticipating my dreams, after I have given thanks for making it through this day and showing myself love, I ask that I have the power, will and wherewithal to do the same tomorrow. And if anyone up there is listening: Thank you."

So, there's my two cents. No "solving"; just the simple explanation of the daily battle that I engage in. These awarenesses are what keep me here. What keep me believing that the best is yet to come. I choose today to walk with the universe, clean, sober and mindful of my spirit; rather than fight against the naturally flowing current of love.

"The finest qualities of our nature, like the bloom on fruits, can be preserved only by the most delicate handling. Yet we do not treat ourselves nor one another thus tenderly." - Henry David Thoreau, from "Walden."

I love you more than you can know.
S.

Day Seven: Homeward Bound...

I was sitting in a railway station, got a ticket for my destination...  Mm-mhm...  Man I love Paul Simon.  This guy inspired me to play, to sing.  What a talent. What a beautiful soul.  Onstage with Willie Nelson.  Nice.

I have to go to Hinton, Alberta tonight.  Two days of meetings with the Canadian Boreal Forest Agreement Regional Steering Group.  Cool.  My home.  My place of birth. Homeward bound. (Gotta show Art too! Can't have Simon without Garfunkel)

Other things have come up as well; beautiful things.  Opportunities and rewards.  Terry says to me, "life just keeps putting these amazing things in front of you."

I know.  <sigh>  I know.  Like I expect the world to reward me just for being me.  Special treatment all my life. Mr. Manipulator; sell a screen door to a submarine captain - just for the hell of it.

My friend, the loudest most arrogant asshole of a recovery pro (and the sweetest, most generous man I know) says that he suffers from "terminal uniqueness."  I can relate.  The sense of being so unique, so special, so separate from the world - ALWAYS get my way... ALWAYS find a way...  ALWAYS....  Turn on the charm and by the time I'm done, not only have you done my bidding, but you figured it was your idea.

Sick.  Ever sick.

Pages 60-63 of the Big Book of AA.  I have read it over and over again.  Mostly because I have been directed to read it over and over again from folks that know. I know it by heart practically. And still I play God from time to time.

"The first requirement is that we be convinced that any life run on self-will can hardly be a success.  On that basis we are almost always in collision with someone or somebody, even though our motives are good."

This is the trick.  "Even though our motives are good."  Selfish is still selfish.  I remember wanting to stop the whole world just to listen to me tell them how ridiculous it was that they were at war, or stockpiling nukes or starving three quarters of the world's population so the rest of us could enjoy bologna and kraft dinner.  For their own good, I wanted to impart my wisdom.  My way is the right way.

Wrong.

My way is my way.  Their ways are their ways.  My job is to keep my side of the street clean, not sweep up theirs.

We find a way to lead by example.  Show the way.

"I am the light of the world, whoever follows me will never walk in darkness but will have the light of life."  John 8:12

Jesus rocks.

So I'm going on the road tonight.  My cousin and I.  Mountain bikes and fishing rods and notepads and laptop.  Mostly work but a little play.  My hometown.  Hell, it's even his hometown.  My first kiss, first love, first pube, first drink, first toke, first .. well, you know.  *blush*  A lot of firsts.

I love this place.  The rivers, the lakes, the mountains, even the smell (pulp mill).  I am pulling my trailer and parking at a beautiful ranch nestled in the foothills.  Maybe even squeeze in a horsey ride.

Day seven and all is well.  Bills paid, work copacetic, wife happy, kids healthy.  Body, mind and soul feeling not bad at all.

Just got to get a little wiring fixed on my truck.  And I'm on my way to do that.

Love to you all.
S.
xox

Day Six: Linking Heaven and Earth

Wow.  Google rocks.

I remember spreading out our Encyclopedia Brittanica nice, juicy red volumes all over the carpet when I was a kid.  So in rapture from all the information, tidbits and trivia.  I loved the "H" volume with its plastic page overlays of the human body.

We even had the Childcraft supplementary volumes - 15 coloured hardcover books; Stories and Fables, Crafts, Holidays, Cultures - all manner of interesting fare for a wunderkind readaholic 12 year old.

I remember when mom bought them from a door to door salesman.  How I gave her hell.  ("We don't have that kind of money to throw around on encyclopedias!") How she argued the point and didn't give a rat's ass how broke we were.  We needed the 1983 set of Brittanica and each supplemental volume of "Year in Review" every year thereafter.  And that, asshole, was that.

Now, I punch in a word or two, carefully bonded together by a space bar punch, and BOOM, 171,734,231 hits, organized in order of importance, views, relevance, etc.  Google rocks.

Today I punched in the number "6", preceded by "significance of the number."  Whoa.  Very cool.

The number 6 is represented by the Hebrew word "vav" which is the word used in the Torah linking Heaven and Earth.  Like a "hook" the vav links heaven and earth.  The physical and the spiritual.

Whoa.  Six used to be significant to me because that was the increment in which beer was sold.

Six.  It's pretty big in the House of David, the Jewish House.  Six pointed star and all that.

Six.  The sense of wholeness or oneness:  The whole of an object - back, front, right, left, top and bottom.  Six sides.

Today is the sixth day in this, the journey of recovery of one S. Hughes.  Feeling grounded, whole.  Balanced.  Healthy.

Things are not perfect but they are whole.  I am part of this whole.

I mask my feelings with practical realities...  (as in "I shouldn't be feeling this") And it is not a very healthy thing to do.  I am choosing to learn to honour what I feel, when I feel it.  A time for everything and everything in its time.

But choosing to act or not on those feelings is another art within itself.

Feel them, yes, but perhaps it is best to not say "go fuck yourself" to someone who signs your paycheques even though the overwhelming desire to do so is front and centre.  How to honour and value one's truths without stepping on the toes of the world or compromising your health and sanity.

This is the message of the day.

Brought to you by the number 6.

xox
S.