You appeared to me today.

I saw you as you truly are.

 

I saw you as the energy of life.

You radiate with a presence not physical.

But an aura of color that cannot be defined

by a philospher’s tome.

 

From where do your thoughts derive?

Your body breaks into speech.

From where does that intelligence come?

Can sun shine through you.

As surely does moonlight.

As sunlight through your hair.

 

The mystics have it right. 

Your energy is my life.

I sent my novel off to the publisher a few days ago. It feels like I sent one of my children off to college after raising, nuturing, and cajoling over this last year. But now it’s time for it to stand on its own merit and enter the real world sometime early in 2019. Wish it well.

Night winds howled down from north canyon walls

blowing away sweet dreams from the sleepless 

to some place beyond

• the opium dens of Paris
• the brothels of Bankok
• the underground jazz bars of Kerouac’s San Francisco

where the poets and philosophers rest in a tea stick haze.

 

Do these dreams of meaninglessness 

travel to a far distant ancient Olympus

where grey eyed warrior Athena lives

with her snakes and owl of wisdom?

 

I rest alone in a vast desert of loneliness

in a fragrant copse of piñon and cedar

amongst the snakes and scorpions

who are my only friends and enemies.

 

A full fall equinox moon rises with cold light.

A wildcat screams from across the arroyo.

What more can I say that I haven’t already said?! Just WHAT?! Repeat that you are whacko becsause you still want to be married to a man who abusive you psychologically, emotionally and physically? A man who has taken everything from you: your child, your wealth, your dignity, your livelihood, your body, your friends, your family? So to what end do you still think this is healthy for you? 

So you think in your sad clouded mind you want to save a dysfunctional toxic marriage? A marriage he no longer wants because you have no more to give. He has used you all up and now wants newer prey to seduce, to fuck, to use up like a red dressed whore he considers all women to be?

You have been brainwashed, You do not know who you are anymore. You see no future. You cannot imagine being able to survive alone. But you can. So many in your condition have with the help that you have at your doorstep. But you refuse help or advice from people who love you and care for you. You stonewall your attorney who is working for your best interest, who is working diligently and smartly to protect you. You avoid counseling that can help you clear your mind of toxic haze.

This marriage is and has always been a sham. I do, your friends, your family, everyone sees this but you, how your continued attachment to this debacle will continue to drag you down into the black maw of suffering of your own ignorance.

You are too sad to be pitied, only scorned for your unwillingness to realize, to consider, to understand your desperate pathetic plight. Please. I implore you, please awaken from your fear induced hopeless longing clinging attachment. You have to decide for yourself: to dwell with your attachment and suffering or to do the work to let go. I hope you choose the latter … I now and always will love you.

This is the title I am considering for my new book to be released this fall. 

Here is the opening:

“All new beginnings lay shrouded in mist.” Nina George.

“What a long strange trip it’s been,” the great philosopher, poet, and musician, Jerry Garcia once said. Isn’t life really all just a strange trip from birth until death, some times being stranger than others? Strangeness began in earnest for me on a camping trip to the West when I picked up a woman hitchhiker on the second day out.

Chapter 1: Dana Departs

I like numbers. Numbers don’t lie; they don’t criticize; they do not discriminate, and, if you use the right numbers, you get a right answer. Numbers are black or white, never allowing for any grey areas. Numbers, work, and responsible behavior is the way this planet operates, and that’s the way I operate. I like my life orderly and functional with little or no room for surprise.

My name’s Russell Henderson. I’m thirty years old, six feet tall, in fairly good shape, brown-haired and brown-eyed. My parents raised me to be orderly, disciplined, and frugal, to look at the world as place of hard work, and to have realistic expectations of what that work produces.

After a double degree in Economics and Accounting, graduating with honors in three years, I was accepted into the University of Iowa Business School and earned my MBA—all by the age of twenty-three. I wanted to be a millionaire by the time I turned thirty, and I’d already exceeded my goals sevenfold by the time I turned twenty-nine.

To be continued . . .