Dancing your problems away

"The future belongs to those who prepare for it today."

So said Malcolm X.

Every since I read his autobiography as an impressionable teen I've always liked Malcolm X.

I was at Groves High School as it was being integrated which actually went pretty smoothly in that there were only a couple of riots and I was the cause of one when I asked a black girl to dance at a school function.

All the black kids were dancing and having a good time while all the white kids stood against the gymnasium wall talking about how good they can dance ... if they were going to ... which they weren't.

So I wander across some imaginary line to ask this girl to dance.

It's one of those scenes that is crystal clear in my head.

Wearing a purple gown she sheepishly looks down because every black kid in the Gym have their eyes set on her and I immediately sense the awkwardness of the situation.

Then her large brown eyes look up and she grins so I take her hand and spin her to the dance floor.

All the black kids immediately join in.

All the white kids stood against the wall talking about how good they can dance ... if they were going to dance ... which they weren't.

The next day a riot broke out.

As I walked down the hall to Gretchen Johnson's English class a bunch of white kids beat me up for dancing with a black girl.

There is another moment forever frozen in my mind as they kick the crap out of me.

My best friend Gene Prevatt comes flying through the air like Superman into the middle of the pile to make it a fairer fight.

They kick the crap out of him too.

Later we're both laying in the Nurses office when Gene asks, "Elliott did it never dawn on you that when you danced with that girl it was going to piss some people off?"

"What do people have against dancing?" I retort, wiping blood from my mouth.

Gene ponders this for a moment before answering.

"Well," he begins sitting up on the table and for the first time I see his black eye, "we do live in the South. There are lots of Baptists and they don't like it worth a damn."

"So?" I cleverly reply.

"Just give me some warning next time," he sighs laying back down. "Okay?"

It was sometime before or after this happened that I read "The Autobiography of Malcolm X."

Decades later Denzel Washington made a movie of the book which I watched and was pleased as punch to learn that Malcolm X danced.

It all makes sense now.

If everyone would spend more time dancing there wouldn't be as many problems in the world.

A Holy Place

When I was in Seminary I spent a good bit of time in Catholic Monasteries which is funny because I attended Southern Baptist Theological Seminary.

But the great Catholic Monk Thomas Merton had lived only a hour's drive from Louisville so Bill Berry, not the former drummer for REM but the other one, and I would drive to Bardstown to spend afternoons at Gethsemane.

There's no interaction with the Monks but we would make our way to the balcony of the Chapel and watch them pray, which they do seven times a day.

It sits on wonderful lush hills permeated by a sense of holiness that's either manufactured by the Monks or we just believed it so it was true.

Later I discovered the much more opulent, but no less holy, St. Meinrad Monastery in Indiana and unlike Gethsemane, I had free reign of the place and wandered into Monk's rooms, the Chapel and the adjourning Seminary.

In terms of feeling holy, I enjoyed visits to Meinrad more.

There have been others though they don't stand up in memory test and I can conjure up only fleeting images of having visited.

What I do vividly recall is the search for holiness that I seldom experienced at the Baptist Seminary.

That was all a long time ago and I haven't visited a Monastery in decades but the search for holiness has never waivered.

There is a back deck affixed to our house filled with plants, a Chiminea my kids gave  me, a table under an umbrella, a wooden robot looking man who holds a potted plant and a ceramic frog with a silver ball on its head.

There are also signs proclaiming the site to be "Clothing Optional" and "Umbrella drinks served here" hanging underneath four wind chimes, each chosen by Sarah and one of her girls.

It's mostly bathed in brilliant sunshine during the day and blanketed by stars at night. The songs of the sea are easily heard from just on the other side of the Palm Tree with the oyster smile, coconut bra and grass skirt.

I have no idea why it's such a holy place but from the moment I step on it I can feel Divine things ... the way the leaves dance in the summer breeze ... the choirs of birds ... the shadows playing on the wall ... the feel of salt on my skin ... the pungent aroma of the marsh in the air ... a spot for drunken Angels to rest and collect themselves ... a spot where I collect myself.

God only knows why this is such a holy place.

Forgotten acts of kindness

Most acts of random kindness are quickly forgotten.

Paying it forward doesn't have much life expectancy either.

Neither does doing unto others as you would have them do unto you.

The Jewish concept of "mitzvah" teaches the world is built upon kindness but it seems we keep destroying things.

"Kindness is my religion," says the Dalai Lama as he's in political trouble with China.

Buddha taught kindness creates good Karma though the great teacher himself may have died from food poisoning.

I believe in kindness.

It's the way I try to live.

But I'm not naïve.

Just because I'm kind doesn't mean people take it kindly.

Most of the time, I think, they go through the motions of reciprocating in kind but quickly forget about it and move on with their next need.

"The more that you take ... the less you give back," (Daryl Hall and John Oates) and that's just as true as anything Buddha, the Dalai Lama, Jesus, Rabbis or anybody else has to say about kindness.

There is a story in our house ... we try to keep a vase of fresh flowers on the table all of the time ... it makes for a more appealing house ... in the dead of winter there's the reminder of spring and they constantly celebrate summer ... it's out gift to ourselves ... a permanent reminder of colorful blooms at this stage of our lives ... reminding us of the love and happiness in our lives.

Sarah was at Publix and had flowers to bring home when the cashier gushed over their beauty.

In an impetuous random act, Sarah asked for a moment to run to the back for a forgotten item only to return with another bouquet of flowers for the woman.

"Oh  My God," she exclaims, "you've made my day!"

It made Sarah's.

I doubt the cashier remembers it all ... but we do.

One of religion's biggest problems is, while it's supposed to be a group activity, we've reduced it to a singular sport.

That's the thing though, the kindness we give to others is mostly for ourselves.

Recipients take short term glee and quickly forget.

But every time we author acts of kindness we walk with the Gods.

And every time we don't ... the Gods move on without us.

Jesus was a Beach Bum

Nicodemus asks Jesus, "So you’re telling me I can be born though I’m obviously already born or I wouldn’t be here to ask you this question?”

Jesus smiles, nods and says, “You got it Nick!”

Nick shakes his head signifying he doesn’t get it and asks, “There’s no way I’m crawling back inside my Mom’s vagina to do it again? Or can I?"

Jesus yells "HEY!” then looks at Nick like he can’t believe the stupid ass question so he yells it again.

“HEY! LISTEN you moron … you gotta get wet … then you catch the Spirit …after that you can hang out with God.

“No one can enter the Kingdom of God unless they are born of water and the Spirit …” Jesus says according to John, the youngest and weirdest of the Apostles.

Water mixing with Spirit is … heavenly.

Biblical commentaries speculate that Jesus is talking about Baptisms but I have a difficult time following their logic since it has nothing to do with this particular conversation.

So Jesus was baptized by John.

It’s got nothing to do with the convo with Nick.

Jesus starts with water.

I like that.

Of course Sarah and I live beside the ocean so water is big to me … literally.

That means we live at the beach where the Spirit is easily found.

They go together.

Jesus was a beach bum.

To kick off his ministry he got baptized.

The first thing he did after being raised from the dead (no small feat) was host a fish fry on the beach.

It’s hard not to love Jesus.

I believe when he walked on water Jesus invented paddle boarding.

When he recruited Disciples his pitch was they could be fishers of men and women.

Jesus liked boats and often took sailing trips to crazy places like the “Region of the Gerasenes” hang out in graveyards with crazy people and eat bootleg Bar-b-Que (Jewish law forbade pork)!

Even when he was being crucified Jesus kept a positive attitude and probably thought something like, “At least I’m working on my tan.”

Many take issue with such depictions of the Messiah but the Gospels can certainly be read from a Beach Bum perspective.

And I swear to God when I’m standing on the beach watching God throw diamonds on the ocean, silhouettes of crippled people walking on the water, Pelicans diving and dolphins smiling, it’s just like being born again.

That’s why everybody needs some beach time.

Water and Spirit go together.

Find yours again in the water.

Happy Easter!

Surf's Up!

 

Baggage

Waiting for the luggage, Sarah and the girls are excited to be home. Talking at once ... well except for Maddie who is texting, utterly oblivious they've landed, walked half-a-mile and is now standing among a crowd of people... they're exclaiming the things they did in New York City.

The carousal spits out bags one at a time as travelers jostle into a mini-mob waiting to snatch a giant suitcase or golf bag the instant it rolls down the belt.

We're standing with the more patient people as Laurel and Cassidy argue over who's rolling the bag to the car.

Arms intertwined, Sarah and I are happy to be together again in the "suddenly compact universe of skin and breath and hair."

Cass grabs my UGA tee-shirt pleading because she just turned 7 she's perfectly capable of rolling the big bag by herself.

In the same instant, Laurel machine guns words, immediately overloading me with information which mostly seems aimed at Cassidy's inability to roll luggage without supervision.

Glancing up over her little blond head I spy Fran, staring stoically with folded arms, waiting on bags, standing beside us.

For the first time, I realize I've had two Fran's in my life.

I loved one of them.

She's dead.

"Hello Fran," I say to the other with the confidence of a Congressman telling another lie, "remember Sarah?"

Pauses really can be pregnant and this one was going to be volcanic when it blew!

"Micheal," she says without a smile, arms folded, a morticians face ... and then, "Of course, Sarah," with breath from Antarctica.

Sometimes history occurs in a second.

Sarah holds me tighter, grinning beatifically, and confidently says, "Of course. Fran!" with the slightest hint of "I don't give a shit!"

Fran had been a board member of the organization where we'd both worked. After 30 years in the business I begged for a sabbatical and the board said "No" so the weight of homelessness, AIDS, poverty, despair, really bad Government and hunger did me in.

Such graveyards are full of emotions.

Two large purple and white stripped bags roll passed on the belt and Fran jerks to grab them, as though a Zombie scratching the dirt off a grave and then she's instantly gone.

Cass tackles me ... "See! I can do this!"

And she does.

Well, it tips over four times before we get to the car, but dammit, she did it.

Unlike others I've known and choose to forget.
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How Different are you?

At the beach, life is different.

Most can only take "different" in small doses, going to the beach for a weekend or a week or two.

They have to manage being "different" while the rest of us embrace it as a complete and total lifestyle.

The beach is a world of extremes.

There's too much contemplation and too many opportunities to have fun.

Living here means you swing both of those ways because you can overdose on too much of either.

As my friend Jane Fishman told me, "On an island everybody is either running to, or from, something."

Plus there's lots of water ... and lots of alcohol.

Both are used for baptisms.

Life moves slower, probably because we're constantly confused about which way we're heading ... contemplation or fun ... to someone or from ... seeking forgiveness or just diving back in for more sins ... sunrise or sunset?

I've got friends on both sides.

The contemplative ones are all involved with the Government, passing laws, making policies and forever sprucing up Paradise.

The fun ones only notice when one of the Government's numerous employees ... policemen and policy enforcers ... pull them over to arrest us, give our dogs a ticket or issue a "Stop Work" order.

I try to slide under both radars, strolling with the dogs and a little Blessing or two, by the Back River, inhaling the smell of the Marsh, listening to the Mussels tick and pop in the mud which naturally makes you think about sex.

It's a different way to live.

My Mom will be the first to tell you I've always been different.

I've been much happier once I accepted it.

I feel really bad for those who haven't and are still trying to fit in.

Which are you?

I want to know who to say prayers for tonight.
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How will you enjoy today?

Sometimes you simply sit and stare.

Inside but somehow outside of yourself.


Staring through the open sliding glass doors at a glorious sun illuminating the water dripping from the trees, I'm just thinking.

There are no words ... just thoughts and emotions.

I'm focused on people I love.

Sarah tells me I love everybody, meaning it critically and as a warning. You're not supposed to love everybody because they screw you in the end and that's true of lots of people.

And I've certainly been screwed ... and it hurt ... and they left not giving a damn ... blaming me somehow ... and those I thought cared didn't ... and I was shocked at who did!

But the truth of the matter is I'm a Daydream believer.

I imagine and don't think I'm the only one.

I'm a fool, for Christ's sake, but there's wisdom in there somewhere if we really are Daydream believers, meaning we're honored and dishonored in life.

I've certainly been both.

But that's life! It's what you do with it that matters most.

God made life, gave it to us and now it's ours to do with what we want.

Or to not do anything with it.

Sarah's away visiting her parents in New York so everything is a bit out of sorts. The dogs understand somehow because they follow me closely whenever I move. The house is too quiet. It's just a house when she's not here. I'll be glad when she gets home though I'm glad she and the girls are having a good time.

Johnny O interrupts these thoughts with a barrage of text messages. He's asking about my son Jeremy though it quickly dissolves into really bad humor that has me roaring in laughter.

Ah, it's a good day to do good things, as my friend Dicky Trotter says.

I'm going to enjoy it.

I hope you enjoy yours too.
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The Book Club

"It's a bit like becoming a Monk," I explain. "Not in any sort of bad way but life now is a lot of silence, contemplation and waiting on words to come."

Dicky nods head, stroking his beard and says softly to the ceiling, "I understand."

The other members of the group, all women, stare at me without expression.

Sarah stares too, sitting beside me, listening every intently. She's heard me say this before taking it as a negative reflection of our life though I never meant it that way. Now she seems to be hearing it in a different way.

Ours is a crazy schizophrenic life. A large portion of each day is filled with quiet, solitary work that demands lots of concentration with little interaction with others. That's the Monkish part, working from home managing virtual relationships and occasionally orchestrating "community".

When Sarah's girls are here its a relentless series of constant demands and a schedule that takes both of us to manage. We're always carting them some place or the other, often meeting in the middle to swap them off before heading in different directions again. We try to expose them to the world at our house to balance the cloistered upbringing they have at their fathers. Afterwards we collapse.

"If money wasn't an option and you were wealthy, what would be on your bucket list?" Nancy asks the members of the Book Club.

When it's my turn I say, "Well first I'd hire Dicky to take all my phone calls and tell everyone 'No' unless I over ride him to say 'Yes' to someone."

He gives me a thumbs up saying he would be good at it.

"Then I'd buy a large plush House Boat and park it just off shore. Sarah, the girls and I will live there and we'd move if it ever got cold. I never want to be cold again."

Several agree with the last sentiment.

I'm struck my goal to live on a House Boat to be secluded from others is when I'm already living a pretty cloistered life.

It's funny.

I want more of what I've already got.

Everyone leaves so Sarah and I end up in the kitchen sharing thoughts, concerns, hopes and dreams. She munches on toast while I sip wine. It is most intimate.

We are pleased with tonight's gathering of the Book Club. It's a lot like life. People come and go in it and we're never certain whose who but it keeps happening, bringing a joyous fellowship that boarders on worship.
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Ghosts in the fire

The sun hangs muted in a grey sky. Ocean breezes are chilled though it's not cold yet I have a fire in the Cheminea for comfort more than warmth. The birds are silent while squirrels frolic in the trees. Soft music streams proclaiming everyone's gone to the moon.  Holiness reigns and I feel Angels though I can't see them.


I sit in prayer but it's a perplexing one sided conversation.

God doesn't feel like talking so I finally shut up and stare at the fire.

Sarah meanders into the kitchen, lost in thought drinking coffee while writing herself notes.

The sun escapes the clouds and for a second everything is bright but it doesn't last and grey returns.

The faces of old friends dance in the flames as I continue to stare. One after another they parade pass though they are long gone from me. We were close once but they were moments in time and have moved out of my life.

I wonder if they ever think about me.

I was really there for them, pulling strings and doing magic, helping them get to where they wanted to go. Most never said "Thanks", just taking what they needed and moving on.

Why am I thinking about them now?

Throwing Palm fronds in the fire, they crackle and hiss chasing the ghosts away.

The vacuum cleaner sucks and blows from inside the house reminding me there are things to be done. A few friends arrive later today for fellowship. Afterwards, we'll make our way to the American Legion for an hour of good music.

"Hey God," I say out loud, "you don't have to say anything but I appreciate the friends I've still got. They're damn good ones! Sarah too! I don't know what I'd do without her. All the kids! That's all. Just thanks."

As I turn to walk inside the sun bursts brilliantly through the clouds.
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Happy Day of the Dead!

Happy Day of the Dead!

I'm not really certain if that's the appropriate greeting but I like the Day of the Dead.

Originating with the Aztec Indians in Mexico, it's a day for family and friends to gather and remember friends and family members who have died.

In Christianity, it's called All Saint's Day to remember and celebrate all of those who are in Heaven, which is a better way of saying, "They're not dead, they're in Heaven!"

* There is no mention of remembering anybody who went to Hell instead of Heaven on All Saints Day who are also dead which is merely the Christian way of saying "Aw, to hell with them!"

I like the "Day of the Dead" better.

It says it like it is.

People I love died.

I'm not big fan of death but I understand and accept the fact that it happens.

Given my druthers, I like to have all friends and family back but that's simply not the way life works.

The Day of the Dead makes time to remember them and to celebrate the fact they lived. This is done by cooking the person's favorite food, having a picnic at the grave and celebrating their lives.

I think that's a good way to do it.

It would take me a month or so to get the celebrations done. Granddad and Grandma Carver, Dad, Uncle Fred, Ricky, Rick, Sheri, Uncle Bud, Granddad and Grandma Elliott, Aunt Regis, Uncle Ruben ... Hell that's two weeks worth of celebrating right there!

And that's just my family!

Bubba, Fran, Chicago Bob, Trolley Joe, Georgia, Bruce Barns, Chester Fawbush, Joe Bridges, Rodger Pack, Sidney Daniels, Dan Sheehan ... SHIT! Naming all of my friends who have died is going to take a long time so that's just going to make the celebration last longer.

Like I said, the Day of the Dead celebration is going to take a month or so in my case!

Though, the truth is hardly a day goes by that I don't think about them.

They're still alive in my heart where I keep them safe and hold them dear. My Dad and I still have beers together, Bubba still makes me laugh, Fran's still teaching me green, Chicago Bob feeds me his great lines when I need them, and Grandma Carver says prayers with me in the middle of the night.

I don't know how I would get through a day without them.

I celebrate them every day so I suppose, for me at least, every day is the Day of the Dead.

It's not morose, macabre or weird that I can still feel Trolley Joe's arm around my shoulders when I'm having a shitty day or Dan Sheehan's always there when I'm having to do something I really don't want or Uncle Fred reminds me when I need to exhibit grace.

As time passes my friends and family who have died become more precious to me and I find myself interacting with them more some days than when they were alive. I delight in them and am increasingly thankful they graced my life. I don't focus much on the fact that they're gone but concentrate intensely that they were here. I would never have become me without them.

It's a good Day of the Dead!

I'm already celebrating!

How are you going to celebrate it?
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The best thing in life

I remember watching Liberace, the flamboyant incredibly talented pianist and showman, when I was a kid sitting on the floor in the Den with my family. Wearing a fur cape and brightly colored tuxedo, he'd stare straight into the camera, directly at us in TV land, never looking at the piano keys while playing beautifully.

The man was magic!

And he was gay.

No one in America seemed to care he was gay and Liberace himself shied away from the topic whenever it was brought up. For more than two decades he was the highest paid entertainer IN THE WORLD!

Sarah and I were watching the magnificent movie "Behind the Candelabra" when I'm reminded of Liberace's incredible talent, opulent lifestyle, incredible showmanship, life in the closet and ... for a second ... I was transported to another time ... another place.

Eight of us were gathered in the very opulent home of Jack Kersy, with flowing fountains, chandeliers, long dining room tables and statues of naked men. Four of us were clergy and four others gay ... some in the closet and some not.

We were the St. Jude's Guild.

St. Jude is the patron Saint of desperate cases and lost causes.

It was 1984 and AIDS was exploding across America. I was the 28 year old pastor of the Jefferson Street Baptist Chapel in Louisville, Kentucky and HIV infected people were begging me to give them a place to live. Their landlords were evicting them out of fear of catching the disease.

So the eight of us joined forces to do something because we didn't know what to do. Fred Schloemer and I were the babies of the bunch, the others being older, established, reputable and wealthy.

The result was Glade House, the nation's second housing program for people with AIDS (the first was in L.A.).

It was the first time I comprehended what it's like to live as a gay person. In those days, there was fear, hate, condemnation and prejudice. And AIDS made it all worse as a Holocaust was launched by the good and faithful folk of America.

Since then AIDS left its exclusive hold on one segment of people jumping to women and children as its favored mode of transmission.

I shared these things with Sarah as I rubbed her feet, sitting in the floor watching a movie on television.

"The best thing in life," Liberace explains, "is to just be yourself."

"Yep," we both say out loud at the same time.

Because why in hell would you want to be anything else?
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Kissing Paradise Goodbye

And you can see them there, on Sunday morning
They stand up and sing about, what it's like up there
They call it Paradise, I don't know why
Call someplace Paradise, kiss it goodbye

I'd listen to "the Eagles" every Sunday morning before leaving the Pastor's Office for the Sanctuary ready to deliver God's message to those who came.

We were a rag-tag congregation of little old ladies, homeless people, prisoners, idealistic Seminary Students, kids from the Projects and the occasional normal person.

The students were a talented and giving bunch bringing good music, enthusiasm, commitment and joy balancing the sadness of the homeless people and the prisoners. The kids brought a greedy lust for snacks and a better place to play. The little old ladies watched it all suspiciously believing the house of cards would fall at any moment.

I was their Minister, having taken the job because no else wanted it and I liked the little old ladies and they liked me.

My first sermon was a "fire and brimstone" affair extolling my flock that we were going to do great things together. Resembling a coach's halftime speech when his team's losing badly, I let faith fly in the face of facts. The ladies quietly smiled having heard it all before.

Over time the place was reborn. A tired old building became a sanctuary where Sunday School rooms turned into apartments and the Baptismal Pool a bathtub. The "Fellowship Hall" morphed into the neighborhood's living room and the institutional kitchen became a "Coffee Shop" that never closed. The roof became a gathering place where we'd sit under the stars breathing the smell of death from the nearby stockyards and listening to the city cry.

The only time we resembled an actual church was during the Sunday morning service when I delivered the message. I grew fond of telling stories rather than preach which seemed to go over well. And I learned how to pray because people were constantly asking me to and I didn't want to say "No."

I was there for eight years and for a while it was a magical, holy, place of joy in one of the seediest parts of the city.

Towards the end, I had a hard time holding it all together. While the little old ladies were in Sunday School, the homeless people and prisoners sadly heard the "Good News" from enthusiastic Seminarians and the kids stuffed their mouths and pockets with everything they could ... I'd sit in my office listening to "The Eagles."

For a while, it really was Paradise.

I'm preaching today for the first time in a long while and it's got me thinking about old things. Under a tent on an island surrounded by vacationing Pirates and real life Beach Bums, I'll deliver God's message. They'll be good music, enthusiastic believers and those recovering from last night's celebrations. It'll be Paradise, at least for a little while.
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Enjoy ... or not.

We were one stressed out lot of students and we must have looked it. Dr. Davis had taken her position at the lectern launching into her lesson when she suddenly stops and stares. Of course we stare back uncertain of what's happening ... or we're collectively sleepwalking through her class ... it could have been either.

"You all look tired," she says. "It has been a grueling semester."

It was the beginning of spring and after a long, cold, dreary winter, the sun's shinning outside. It's still freezing but the sun's reminding us that the tired cold will eventually go away.

"I tell you what," the short, plumb, brilliant professor says, slamming her hand on the podium flashing an evil grin, "to hell with it today."

She immediately got our attention because it isn't something you often hear in Seminary.

"I want you to leave here now and go find something that makes you happy. Do whatever it is the rest of the day. You can tell me about it tomorrow."

And she throws her notes in her briefcase, shoots the "Professor" stare, and walks out of the room.

"Holy Shit!" we collectively say in a prayerful, Christian sort of way.

And we leave.

The following afternoon, Dr. Davis again takes her position behind the lectern. Smiling, she begins, "I truly hope everyone had a fantastic day yesterday. I prayed for you too. Now today, I want to hear all about it. Everyone is going to share what you did."

Looking at the first student in the first row to her right (Baptists don't do left), she says, "Jimmy you start."

Startled, Jimmy sits bolt upright in his seat. Tall, thin, with a helmet haircut, he looks lost in his flannel shirt. In a deep southern drawl (he helped put the "southern" in Southern Baptists), he reports, "Well mam ... the truth of the matter is ... ummm ... I drank hot apple cider, ate peanut butter crackers and ... ummm... watched "Rocky and Bullwinkle."

I've never seen a distinguished Professor lose it so quickly and laugh so hard.

The room is a spontaneously combustion of laughter.

"Love it!" Dr. Davis said. "I watched Andy and Barney."

The room howls.

One by one we confess. Some went to work, the Library or launched into catching up. Others took walks, naps or the chance to be with their baby. A few prayed in the Chapel. A couple of students had no idea what to do with unstructured time so they did nothing.

I drank beer listening to the new Jimmy Buffett album.

"Of course you did," Dr. Davis sighs.

It was one the most impressionable things that occurred during my Seminary career.

Ann Davis dispensed grace which is always unexpected and shocking.

"It's OK," is how it comes across. "You can go ... you're free ... liberated ... forgiven ...released ... in fact, go do anything you want ... and try to not screw it up."

All these years later, I end conversations by saying, "Enjoy!"

Because we just have this one life and we either will or we won't.

Today ... I hope you enjoy!

That's what I'm going to do.
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Summer's gone

The Government has shut down because the idiots we've elected are self serving ideologues.

It says as much about us as it does them.

Having said that ... the skies an incredible deep blue. A brilliant yellow sun blazes on a glassy ocean reflecting white light in every direction. My toes dig in the cool sand and a crisp breeze blows from the north which I don't care for yet it's a pleasant morning. Seagulls squawk Hymns of praise, sand crabs dart into holes and a pod of Dolphins smile as they glide by me. I smile back.

Summer's gone ...

I've read somewhere that your favorite season is when you were born.

It's true for me.

My birthday is July and I love summer with everything in me!

September is a mixed bag full of college football and airplanes crashing into buildings. October is a cozy fire in the Chiminea and ghosts wandering the streets. Thanksgiving bleeds into Christmas, Chanukah or Ramadan throwing us into the New Year which is cold and dark. In the dead of winter we go searching for our hearts again.

My dear friend Mitch Wesley is a Celtic at heart and believes things take root in the cold hard ground. Growth begins in the dark times. Light burst out of emptiness, stones are rolled away and new lives are embraced. It starts when we embrace the darkness and you go from there.

I like the idea but hate the experience.

Give me miles and miles of clear blue skies, rum on ice, lazy days in a Paradise of white sand, aqua water and laundry neatly folded and put away. Days linger into warm nights with blazing stars and a moon dancing across the sky. Fireflies, Dragonflies and Butterflies are Angels spreading happiness and hope.

The Government has initiated the beginning of the dark period ... again. The Church will follow suit. Those who haven't taken sides yet will. Wars and the rumor of wars will increase. Hell will come on earth as it is in ... Hell. Heaven's just a wish for a warm heart on Valentine's Day when the world is cold and bitter.

 But ... today the sun shines down on me, the house is full of love as I work on things I love in bare feet. Dark things are happening but I refuse to be part of them. I love the Sun dancing on green leaves and casting white diamonds on the Sea. I love Home, the cicada songs, squirrels playing in Palm Trees and Pelicans diving into the ocean.

These are the things I will dwell on today.

The Government, the Church and the Powers that be can dwell on other things because I'm not going to be part of that world.

I'm staying where it's always summer.

How Did I End Up Here?

How in the hell did I end up here?

Let me be clear about where "Here" is.

I'm sitting under an umbrella, on the beloved back deck of a house I love on an island I cherish filled with people I love and who love me.

Living with me is a beautiful, smart and sexy woman who would knock my socks off if I ever wore socks which I don't.

It is a beautiful morning, not a cloud in the sky, and the sun is playing a game of hide-and-seek between the lush subtropical wall of foliage that I call Fran's Thousand Shades of Green. A lovely breeze is blowing off the ocean and the leaves are dancing in celebration.

It's the day after a holiday and I don't have to physically go anywhere other than take Goddess for a walk beside the Back River where the pungent aroma of the Marsh is as intoxicating as sex on a hot summer's day.

I've got lots to do but this is the "Here" that I have to do it.

Back to the question at hand ... just how in the hell did I end up here?

My life's been a broken jigsaw puzzle full of holes where pieces used to be. Yet it somehow paints a beautiful, poignant portrait of a happy and content man whose heart is full of love and lust for the future. Behind his head is a rich tapestry of a wonderful life with some crazy made-for-the-movies action scenes!

If I were to plot it out on a graph, it would be one confusing chart. In Port Wentworth, Georgia Mom and Dad launched my life and I've been around the world only to land half an hour away from where I was born.

That's just the geography! If it were a relationship graph ... Holy Shit! ... it would like the angry drawing of a child with a red pen scratching back and forth across the lines, mostly outside of them. Through the end result has been three wonderful children, a wife I adore and her three little "blessings" who daily bring home confusion and laughter at the same time which is no small feat.

Yet here I am.

Which naturally makes me think of something Steve Jobs once said.

"Your time is limited, so don't waste it living someone else's life. Don't be trapped by dogma -- which is living with the results of other people's thinking. Don't let the noise of others' opinions drown out your own inner voice. And, most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary."

To which I add ... yep.

Is it scary sometimes? Hells Yeah!

Do I want more security than I've got? Hells Yeah!

Do things still go wrong? Hells Yeah!

Would I trade?

No way in hell!

_________________________________________________

October 2013 ♦ Embracing peace in your life! “You are one of the most tormented people I know,” she said. I was at the height of success, living at the beach, working in a beautiful city, having everything I thought I wanted…but she was right. I was miserable and didn’t know why. Then I decided to take a journey inside of myself. Life is too short and I deserved to happily celebrate my life. As much as I wanted to lay the blame at the feet of others, it was my own fault and I needed to know why I prevented myself from enjoying my life. I needed to find peace. And I did. You can find yours.

Interested? There's still time to enroll at http://www.meellc.com/wordpress/indepthclasses/

We Did Good

A smile burst across his leathered face as he sees me enter The Breakfast Club. We were to have met at 8:15 but he'd arrived 20 minutes early.

"Why do make an old man wait?" Val says from behind the cash register as I rush pass ignoring her.

Frank stands and we embrace in the crowded back dining room.

He's frail and his body has shrunk since I last saw him four years ago. Instantly I fill with emotions ... my eyes grow moist, the throat is dry as my arms completely engulf him.

"You look great!" he says, stepping back with his arms still on my shoulders.

His face absolutely beams. Glistening eyes and the crooked smile lets me know he how much he loves me.

A moment is suddenly a thousand years.

Once he was a force in Savannah. Owner of a chemical distribution company that he started from scratch, Frank rose to be President of the Downtown Rotary Club, served on numerous Boards and was a behind-the-scenes Kingmaker. He'd helped orchestrate the Savannah Music Festival, the Paul Anderson Youth Home and was the first big time member of my Board at Union Mission.

We'd met when he'd asked me to speak at the Rotary Club. He stood immaculately dressed in a dark suit, black hair greying at the temples, and bounced nervously as he waited on me to show.

"Mr. Stanton?" I asked.

Confused, he stared at me wearing blue jeans with a blue blazer and a tie. My hair was tied in a pony tail and I was carrying copies of my first book.

"Rev. Elliott?" he asked completely perplexed. "You don't look like a minister."

"Thanks," I said as we shook hands and he led me into the Ballroom.

The speech went well, there was applause and in appreciation Frank bought a book.

Late the next afternoon he burst into my office demanding to know, "Who wrote this?" as he held the book in front of my face.

"Ummmm," I smartly replied at his unexpected intrusion into an already too long day, "that is my name on the cover."

"That doesn't mean anything," he shot back which made me burst into laughter and in turn, he burst into laughter too.

We went on to accomplish great things together: The city's first shelter for women and children, first response to people with HIV/AIDS,  first drug treatment center for women, and health care clinics sprinkled throughout the County for people without heath care which was half the population.

Throughout the decade, Frank smiled and brought countless investors to meet me, gave wise advise and lavished me with the gift of time away from it all. He forever surprised me with trips somewhere so I could relax then be at full strength when he introduced me to the city's decision makers.

I may have been successful without Frank but he certainly made everything happen faster.

He's retired now, living in another town and misses the things that used to be. Life is spent alone with his wife who is ill, he reads old books and every time he watches television he's reminded that life has passed him by.

We spent an hour reminiscing as everyone who works at The Breakfast Club recognized this was a special reunion. They thrust sweetness on us. There was lots of noise but we didn't hear it. The staff patted his shoulder as they refilled his coffee then they rubbed my back to share in the holiness of the moment.

Frank seemed to grow as we  talked then he placed his hand on top of mine ... in front of a very crowded restaurant that suddenly seemed to grow quiet ... in front of the long line waiting on the other side of the window to come inside ... in front of God herself.

"We did good didn't we Parson?" he said softly.

Nodded my head up and down, my voice cracked as I agreed. "We did."

I walked him to his car and we embrace again.

"I love you Frank," I said in his ear.

"I love you Parson," he whispered before lifting one leg with his hand to climb inside his car.

And I watched him wipe tears from his eyes as he drove away.

_____________________________________

An eccentric life dotted with eclectic characters pop from the pages of award winning author Micheal Elliott’s newest book Sandy Bottoms & Duct Taped Hearts. Over 200 pages of his musings immerse you in a world of headshaking wonder, gut wrenching laughter, heart touched tenderness and empathetic tears.
Never letting the truth stand in the way of a good story, Elliott’s ninth book takes you on a wild journey of “Wow! Really! I can’t believe that!” every day moments. Sandy Bottoms & Duct Taped Hearts exemplifies his gift of capturing common thoughts and painting them perfectly into words. Release date (pre-order books ship) is September 23, 2013.
Just click http://www.meellc.com/wordpress/newbook/

Peace

"The opposite of war isn't peace, it's creation."

It's a great line from the musical RENT written by Jonathan Larson.

I think its true too. War is about violence and death, social disruption, economic destruction. It's authors are mostly politicians and ministers. "It means destruction of innocent lives," as the song goes, "War means tears to thousands of mothers eyes; when their sons go to fight and lose their lives."

No matter how you slice it, war sucks.

It is true that peace is characterized by a lack of violence, conflict and freedom from fear but the $100,000 question is how do we get there?

Let's be honest, much of the time we're at war with the members of our families. Sometimes in literal ways but more often through suppressed feelings, hidden anger and looks that can kill.

Our children can drive us absolutely crazy and we conjure punishments and prisons, stripping them of the things they enjoy so we can teach them a lesson.

Friends abandon us in our worse times of need, tell us things we want to hear rather than the truth and are suspiciously absent when someone should be standing up on our behalf.

My friend Jimmy Cochran wrote a marvelous thing about his mother recently. He was taking her out for lunch and she's old and is having trouble getting out of the car.

"What's happening to me?" she asks in frustration.

And the peace that passeth all understanding hit Jimmy like a ton of bricks.

He remembers a lifetime in a second. Everything she's ever done out of love for him flashes before him, all of the times she created love out of bad situations, unfortunate accidents, or when she pushed him to be more than he was becoming.

Peace is an easily vanishing experience, especially the kind that surpasses all understanding, and they were quickly back to their mortal selves with her asking him what in the hell he's staring at, helping her elderly body out of the car and admonishing him to not put any of this on Facebook, which he did.

You grab hold of peace and it's gone.

In the end, it really is about creating, because when all is said and done, we're either creating the wars or we're making peace with things.

I don't know about you but I "ain't going to study war no more."

I got better things to do.

I'm heading down to the riverside ...

lay my burdens down ...

talk with the Prince of Peace ...

touch the people I love.
________________________________

October 2013 ♦ Embracing peace in your life! “You are one of the most tormented people I know,” she said. I was at the height of success, living at the beach, working in a beautiful city, having everything I thought I wanted…but she was right. I was miserable and didn’t know why. Then I decided to take a journey inside of myself. Life is too short and I deserved to happily celebrate my life. As much as I wanted to lay the blame at the feet of others, it was my own fault and I needed to know why I prevented myself from enjoying my life. I needed to find peace. And I did. You can find yours.

check it out at http://www.meellc.com/wordpress/indepthclasses/

After the Deluge

The sun shines through the branches of the Palm Tree with the oyster face, the coconut bra and the grass skirt.

Wetness drips from the red, pink, purple, orange blooms of the plants on the beloved back deck.

God has painted a watercolor sky of a brilliant blue background with splashes of white.

The breeze off the ocean is slight and the branches of the Palm Trees sway in a silent rhythm only they can hear.

Puddles are scattered throughout the yard and the streets of the island.

It is warm again after days on end of rain and cool winds uncommon for this time of year.

The house felt like an Ark we were trapped inside bringing a gloominess to the days.

But no more.

The choirs of cicada and birds are singing Hosannas, squirrels dance in trees and dragonflies bring good tidings of great joy. A hummingbird darts to the hanging blossoms becoming one with it before magically disappearing. In the distance there is the movement of life as people are outside again.

The world has been baptized again and it has been gifted this glorious beginning.

I sit alone in God's majestic Cathedral, quiet and appreciative, holy and humble, full of hope for the day. The dreariness has been washed away and joy is ours for the taking if take our time to find it.

The choir of cicada build to a powerful crescendo and I concentrate on the beauty of their voices. A lone bird sings solo.

So this is the day that the Lord has made.

Let's rejoice and be glad in it even if just for a little while.

_________________________

An eccentric life dotted with eclectic characters pop from the pages of award winning author Micheal Elliott’s newest book Sandy Bottoms & Duct Taped Hearts. Over 200 pages of his musings immerse you in a world of headshaking wonder, gut wrenching laughter, heart touched tenderness and empathetic tears.

You can order by visiting http://www.meellc.com/wordpress/newbook/

Religious Rules

"Dear Lord, I plan each day with what I will not do or say ..."

It's how a lot of people approach their religion, thinking its a bunch of rules that you follow. Sure there are Ten Commandments of which I've broken eight. Most everybody has broken some of them and its best to be honest about it and say so.

I've done a much better job with the Greatest Commandments, "Love God with everything you got and Love the people in your life like you love yourself" (Micheal Elliott Revised not-so-standard version). God and I have a pretty good relationship. We have wine together most every night on the Beloved Back deck. I say all sorts of things though God keeps pretty quiet. I'm convinced I'm heard though and every once in a while God actually speaks.

Most of my neighbors like me and I like most of them. Oh sure, the Kat Lady drives me nutty sometimes with her "Here Kitty, Kitty, Kitty" screeching and across the street a fat lady gardens in her underwear which is not a pretty site. But we speak and get along all right.

I don't pay any attention to all of those church rules. Attendance for example. If's hard to even remember what the rules are if you never go. Consequently, I'm not too bothered about what I'm not doing.

Even at Bar Church, I've taken to stopping by sometimes before it starts to talk to Psalmist Stephen. He'll tell me what's happening and I'll leave before it starts. That's pretty much enough for me these days.  If I need more organized religion I visit Psalmist Stephen at the Sugar Shack to get sprinkles of wisdom.

I've noticed lots of people discussing how there are too many religious rules these days and how lots of them are made up things that somehow got inserted into God's rule book. God knows nothing about it.

America's Greatest Minister Guy Salyes wrote a great piece on "Being and being Loved, Before doing and duty" which is a crazy title. Then again he's always been a wild and crazy Guy. He goes on to dismiss the majority of rules Churches have as they get in the way of a real relationship with God. He doesn't come right out and say "To hell with these rules" like I do but it's pretty close.

Plus I've been working on the Micheal Elliott Revised Not-So-Standard Version of the Bible which will soon be available in paperback for $666. It's a much more accurate translation accentuating the sex, murder and debauchery of the Bible which is glossed over by most churches. When's the last time you heard a really steamy sermon from Song of Solomon?

If that wasn't enough I'm reading Georgia's Greatest Christian runner up Michael Ruffin's "Prayer 365" which is a bunch of prayers. I really distain bad prayers and have heard way too many when both God and I fell asleep. Mike has really good prayers that get to the point where its like he's sitting here on the Beloved Back Deck with God and me having wine. I like that.

All of that to say, I do not get up every day promising God what I won't do in order to be religious.

I do get up every day and say, "Hey God. What we doing today?"

Praying for the world

Tornados blow through schools. Children disappear. The number of murders continue to climb. Politicians make promises they have no intention of keeping. Clergy profess to speak for God when God speaks daily without assistance. The masses are frightened. There are wars and rumors of wars.

For decades this was my world.

I was immersed in the cesspools of society, doing my best to clean it up and make things better. The homeless, hookers, addicts, abusers and the abused were my people. I saw the bad side of the world up close and personal. I touched it, finding good that most had no idea was there and shared holy moments with them. I also was witness to self-destruction, self-deception and death.

I walked the halls of Congress, state Capitols and City Hall seeking favors and indulgence from the powerfully pompous who demand more than they give themselves. Sitting in church conference rooms I asked professional Christians to remember the poor so that you may be kind to them only to be told that God helps those help themselves. I sat with the rich asking for help and was challenged, "What's in it for me?"

These things have left me changed.

I understand the frailty of the world. Our lives are like spider webs, integrally woven and wonderfully complex yet can be knocked away in the time it takes to blink. If you're lucky, like the itsy-bitsy-spider, you start over again because there's nothing else you can do except give up and die.

I understand the evil that exists in the world too. In a sea of good there are people who do bad things. Caring only about themselves, they lie, purposely hurt and never give it a thought. They take without thinking, pass without looking and are so easily hard ... so easily cold. Their favorite word is, "No."

Today I sit in the oasis of the beloved back deck, serenaded by choirs of birds, watching Fran's thousand shades of green dance in the pleasant ocean breeze. I am far away from the madness, a monk in a seaside monastery, perpetually tanned and constantly content.

I wonder if this is a gift in time, a reward for three decades of giving myself to others or an incredible streak of good fortune?

Back when I visited real monasteries with Bill Berry, not the former drummer for REM but the other one, we'd drink beers with monks and have long talks. In our youthful zealous exuberance for Christ, we'd ask, "But how can you just sit here when we are to be of the world, making it better! Making heaven on earth!"

With his shaved white head, wearing a white robe and blue stole, the old monk sipped his beer and smiled. "Oh,  but my job is to pray for the world. That's what I do. That's all I do."

I think I finally understand what he was saying.