Avoiding Natural Disasters

Back at the Savannah/Hilton Head International Airport (an oxymoron), I sit and look out of the window at the end of the bar ... waiting. Today is not one of the early morning flights that I normally have to take so I had time to slip into the Breakfast Club for some counter intelligence before swinging back by our house to pet Goddess and throw kisses at the things I love most.

Dedra is always up anyway so I texted her bumming a ride so she gave me one. As soon as I get here I have messages from the head bartender of my carnival of friends . She was letting me know that all of this travel might be getting in the way of life's more important things ... friendships and celebrations. We made promises to correct that soon! In the meantime I have permission to go out and save the world because ... everybody has a job to do.

Her message made me laugh and cry at the same time which is no small feat. Taping into multiple emotions at the same time instanteanously. Somehow I have mastered this ability.

So I stare out the window and ponder.

Today's trip is not about Street Medicine which has been the majority of what I've been doing lately. Tonight and tomorrow I am part of a group of twelve who are coming up with policy suggestions for Congress on how to improve government's responses to natural disasters like Hurricanes in New Orleans or Floods in those states where floods occur.

I'm really exited by this and have already come up with my solution. Put the President, Vice-President, Speaker of the House and President of the Senate on Air Force One. Drop their asses into the middle of the disaster. Then mobilize the military, FEMA, the Post Office, and the Humane Society to go save them ... saving everyone else they meet along the way!

I think it is a brilliant motivation to quicken the U.S. response to such things.

Of course whatever we decide has to be approved by the Congress which is by far the worst disaster this country has ever faced!

Anyway, I'm growing accustomed to what this new life is shaping up to be. Weekly I seem to be sitting here waiting to go somewhere. Then I have days at home which have become more precious. More significant still is the amount of time that I have to be with those I love and who love me back. Binding these things together are quiet times, laughter with my friends, strolls with Goddess, and sucking in the breath of ... love. The smell of the marsh. The salt in the air.

I've reached a place in my life where I don't take much for granted. Certainly I do not take ANYBODY for granted. It is all a gift that I have in this moment in time. I celebrate it and love it.

At night I pray that it will all last for another day.

I'm off now to get Rocky Mountain High in a conference room at the downtown Denver Marriott. I will give them my best and try to make the world a better place for those who are getting screwed by Congress or natural disasters.

But ... my heart remains home.

And I look forward to leaving the highs of Rocky Mountains for the toes in the sand of a beach where the elevation is two feet.

The Next Wave

Denver tomorrow.

Minneapolis/St. Paul next week.

Then I am home for a full week before spending almost a full week in Philadelphia.

By then I will be keeping my fingers crossed because because there are three weeks in a row with no trips scheduled for the rest of the month. Then it is off to Baltimore.

In the past two months I've been to Santa Barbara, Cleveland, Anchorage, San Juan, Pittsburgh and ... St. Martin.

Crazy huh?

Someone whose career has been working with the poor, homeless, sick and infected ... could be construed as a jet setter. I certainly spend my fair share of times sitting on jets.

Never in a million years did I think that I would see the world ... but I have. Especially doing this kind of work! Now I am working for an International Company providing health care to people on the streets and have daily interactions with people doing incredible work in ... China, Africa, Iceland ... and the list just keeps growing. If things continue the way they are ... according to plan (and we all know about plans ... they rarely work out) I'll be visiting all of these places.

Let me put that in perspective. I am part of a group of crazy people (well ... several groups of crazy people actually but I digress) who believe that people on the streets of the world deserve quality health care. Mother Teresa stuff. Actually ... Mother Teresa's people are involved. That's pretty cool too.

Zed Zha is in Peking and has as a tag on her emails ... a quote by Henry David Thoreau. "When were the good and the brave ever in a majority."

Hmmm...

Isn't that funny? A medical student in China who runs a student led medical clinic in a communist country is providing medicine to those on the streets (there's homelessness in Communist countries? ... I was in Cuba not too long ago and there is). She quotes Thoreau.

It's a small world after all.

And she has me mulling Thoreau this morning in Corporate Headquarters on the beloved back deck of my house. Especially when the Republicans debated last night and the President has ongoing discussions with himself.

"When were the good and the brave ever in a majority?"

The answer is rarely.

And when they were it didn't last.

I sit here pondering this. I am committed to a cause which is far more than a job. The job is guaranteed though the end of the year then there are ... possibilities. Which is all that any of us have really ... even if the job seems solid. Or the marriage. Or the house. Or the kids. Or the things that we have always believed in.

The other day I described life as riding a wave. The thing to do is catch it when it comes by and ride it ... enjoy it ... because we have no idea where it is taking us ... or how long it will last ... so the thing is to not let it pass you by ... and to stay on top of it and not under it.

Mine is starting to crest. A new crescendo is coming. I've ridden waves before and they were cool. Jeff Street. Union Mission. Janice. Julie. Life as an author. Life as a speaker. Waves that took me around the world only to land on Tybee Island.

But all of that is small potatoes.

This wave that I'm catching now.

Dude!

This is a wave.

Either catch it too.

Or get out of the way.

Fishing in the Dark

James and John, the sons of Zebedee, were fishing in the dark. I'm uncertain as to why Zebedee taught his sons that night is a good time to fish on the Dead Sea but he did. Maybe that's why it's called the Dead Sea ... too many fathers taught their sons to fish at night in old time Galilee and a lot of them drowned.

Who knows?

Regardless James and John sit in their little dingy throughout the night casting their on the right side ... because ... they were right-handed. I don't know. But they did it all night long and as the sun came up a stranger was standing on the shore staring at them.

He looked at them.

They looked at him.

"Hey," the stranger yelled. "Cast your nets on the other side of the boat and you'll catch fish."

They looked at one another and muttered under their breaths. "Who is this ass telling us how to fish?"

So to humor him, or to humor themselves or because they sure as hell hadn't caught any fish on the right side of the boat ... they threw their nets on left side and immediately caught fish. And that is how James and John, the sons of Zebedee, became Apostles.

There are a lot of plausible explanations to what actually happened. My favorite comes from my friend Johnny O. It was dark. They didn't know where their nets were landing when they cast them. As the sun came up the stranger stated the obvious. "Hey you idiots. When you cast to the right you're throwing in the sand on the beach! The waters on the other side!"

That's probably closer to the truth than all of the "historical" interpretations.

The point is that things are not always what they seem.

I'm in the middle of the happiest and most content times in my life. I've had my fair share of right sided experiences in life ... especially lately. It's good to be back on the left side of life when I'm in the sun and no longer fishing in the dark.

Work is fascinating and good. Tybee Island is corporate headquarters. I find myself all over the country on an almost weekly basis. Our house is delightful and becomes more so with every passing week. The carnival of friends grows tighter and the celebrations of summer are extending into the fall.

"I'm finding my way back to sanity again though I don't really know what I'm gonna do when I get there," goes a song that I love. "Take a breath and hold on tight, spin around one more time and gracefully fall back into the arms of grace."

Yesterday driving back from Athens, after a most excellent weekend, where we danced, ate, played ... and watched our team lose ... everything was good. I was with the people I love most. The car was quiet. The only sound was that of breathing ... and that was enough. It was plenty to let me know that I am confident in my future and happy with where I am going. I was surrounded by joy and contentment.

A few weeks ago I was having a conversation with friends. "I am much more interested in the truths behind the words," I argued. They were much more interested in the words that were used and whether or not they came true.

And there is a a lot of truth in that. But I believe the bigger truths are behind the words. "It's what you do and not what you say," is how Jesus put it once.

So yesterday on a four hour drive with random music in the background and country scenery, the truth is that we were together in a car. Words were not especially necessary. The truth was the behind the words. Just the togetherness of love. And the confidence in the future.

Surf's Up

Last year at this time I sat pretty much alone in an Athens hotel room going through the motions of a football season. It was the first after I'd found myself suddenly single and I was sad. I'd also just left a long career and wasn't certain of what would be next. What had previously been a time of family and celebration was suddenly sullen and a reminder of all that I'd lost.

Last night however I was dancing in a heap of sweat as part of a mosh pit in a club called "The 80's". All of the music was from that period so I danced like a virgin for the very first time with an angel who is a centerfold. Surrounded by my children, old and new friends. Standing on a stage we may as well been college students again though each of us have long passed that part of life. The joys of youth were again exploding in my heart.

This morning my hotel room looks like a bomb exploded in a laundry basket. Clothes are everywhere. The pullout couch is fully occupied. Body parts seem to be sticking out of everywhere. Coolers are leaking on the floor and evidently a liquor store was robbed and the entire inventory stuck underneath the window. After finally extracting myself from a lovely nights sleep washed in dried sweat and pleasantness, it too me fifteen minutes to find my travel bag.

Desperately needing coffee, I quickly showed and made my way down from the fifth floor of the Holiday Inn and stumbled into the restaurant. Everybody else at the Holiday Inn had the same idea at the same time so there was a long line. I recognized many of the people around me as the parents of the people that we had been dancing with last night.

"What a difference a year makes," my friend Ted Hardgrove once told me as we visited a program in Orlando that had worked hard for a year to make themselves eligible for support from a giant foundation.

Sipping coffee in a crowded and very unlonely room ... I marvel.

My extended family back on Tybee is waiting for the return to the endless celebrations that just will not end. The work that I'm doing is full of demands and needs which are increasingly becoming fun and challenging again. Bar Church wants me to do stuff. Our band, Fresh Live Lobster, needs to practice. Goddess wants to walk. Shirley wants to have dinner. Stacy and I have planned drinks. The Bored meeting needs to ... move to Marlin's in spite of Roma getting a new chair!

There is a game today too.

But I marvel at the explosion of happiness, joy and love that surround me. I've learned to ride it like a wave. The wave controls the speed and the direction. I enjoy the ride. Waves don't last forever ... nothing does ... but for now ... "Tubular Dude"!

In my Life

I was breezing through the airport and stopped to see whatever the headlines were in the "Savannah Daily Blues" having heard my old work was in it with things that I'd started and were finally finished. It front page stuff but as I reached to get it I saw something else. "Rolling Stone" magazine had a special edition on "The Beatles" the greatest thing rock-and-roll ever gave the world! It was the "The Ultimate Album-By-Album guide". I quickly forgot about the newspaper and purchased this.

I should clarify that I already own the massive book that details everything the Beatles ever did in the recording studio, song-by-song (trivia ... Who was the last Beatle to ever be in the Abby Road studios as a Beatle working on a Beatle song? ... Ringo). I've read pretty much everything written about them ... the biographies, I devoured the Anthology and watch it regularly, and if everything on the radio or Pandora sucks ... then just click to the Beatles and all is right with the world.

Flying to Pittsburgh I read and gleefully celebrated everything that I already knew.

What is cool about this review though is that it goes into some detail as to what John Lennon wrote and what Paul McCartney wrote on certain songs. My favorite of course if when McCartney sang "It's getting better all the time" to which Lennon sang back "It couldn't get much worse."

I just love that!

Then the whole ending medley to Abby Road are all of the songs that they had started but never finished. It was their last album so they took everything and made gumbo. My God! What a stew! What an ending!

"And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make."

When I was a kid and the Beatles were first happening I remember sitting on the floor in the den of our Port Wentworth City home watching the Ed Sullivan Show with my Dad (we must have skipped Sunday night Church). The Beatles came on. I was eight. And the world changed.

"They look stupid. Look at their hair!" my Dad said, "Elvis is the King."

I ignored him and started growing my hair. My Mom would take me to get it cut by Aunt Bootsie and I would put up the biggest fights, screaming and kicking and mad. Eventually Mom gave up and by then the Beatles were no longer Mop-tops but blazing the longer stuff so I went right to the shoulder length stuff.

Somewhere around this time, we were at Pastor Johnson's house of the First Baptist Church for a youth night ice cream social after Sunday night church. Ed Sullivan was on and he was debuting the Beatles doing "Let it be." The entire room stopped talked and listened to Paul sing "When I find myself in times of trouble Mother Mary comes to me ..." (His mother's name was Mary.)

"He looks like Jesus," I blurted out. And he did! Long hair, beard and holiness dripping as he sang.

"What did you say!!!" Pastor Johnson bellowed. Then he grabbed me by the shoulders and put his nose to my nose and I got this long sermon about Jesus and how the Beatles couldn't touch the hem of his garment.

I almost missed George Harrison's guitar solo.

Kerwood Durby later took me outside and congratulated me on saying out loud what everybody else was thinking.

It's funny the things you remember in life.

And the things that stay with you throughout your life.

When I found myself suddenly single I thought "We can work it out."

When I was alone and by myself with a dog I believed "All you need is love."

When I was crying about the losses of my life it was "While my guitar gently weeps."

When I found myself at the end of "The Long and Winding Road" I took inventory.

And now I think ... "She loves you yeah, yeah,yeah."

So ... "In my life" ... I've loved them all.

Building New Worlds

It is cool here.

The tropical depression that dumped rain on Tybee Island over the weekend has made its way to Pittsburgh so the sky is cloudy and the air is damp. We are in Shadyside, an area that is full of medical schools and students. All of the students are wearing scrubs as they surround us at an outside table at “Harris Grill”. We’re making plans for meetings with potential supporters of the Street Medicine Institute which is tomorrow’s agenda. During the evening, we sip drinks, talk and watch students rush everywhere.

I like Pittsburgh a lot. The airport is a good one, the drive to the city is a pleasant almost country experience and then you enter the Fort Pitt tunnel and BAM you’re in the city! The town is great, I like the Steelers, and the place is full of friends.

Reflecting over the past years, several personal milestones passed here. The first time I came it was an invitation only gathering of seventeen people working to change the way health care is accessed in the nation. I met lifelong friends and out of that grew the Street Medicine Institute which is the work that I’m now doing.

It was here that the Board Chair who chooses to remain anonymous (Jerry Rainey) called me early one February morning while a blizzard blew outside of the airport windows and I stood watching planes get de-iced. He read me the latest coverage in the Savannah Morning News of our work and then described what I looked like as the political cartoon. There is no worse way to receive the news. When I finally got home and read it all for myself he had blown it all out of proportion.

I got stuck here for four days the following February and had my first hot tub experience in the snow. Bottles of wine were stuck in the snow and we sat in the bubbling water under a tree with frozen ice hanging from it. The rest of the time I was trapped in a hotel room and bars at the airport writing and contemplating the fact that there was no one waiting for me anymore when I got home. It was a most depressing time. I remember that Johnny O kept checking on me.

Last April I sat in a Pittsburgh Hospital Conference room and heard my name brought up to do the work that a relatively small group of people believed in … changing access to health care for those with the least access … the street homeless. If they can have access then it can work for anybody. This stops them from constant emergency room visits and ambulance rides which cause the cost to go up for the rest of us.

At the time I was on a Sabbatical healing from wounds both self-inflicted and purposely orchestrated by others. The end of that self-reflective period began that day.

In August I sat in another Pittsburgh Hospital cafeteria working writing a business plan for the Street Medicine Institute. Another two days were held up in an airport hotel interviewing potential staff. We then retreated to the “LaMont” a lovely restaurant on the hill overlooking the city at night.

There have been a lot of milestones.

I watch the students in their scrubs rush by, sit at the tables sipping beers, laughing and talking loudly about their futures. Vigor and energy abounds and it is hard not to feel it. It has the feel of growth, hope, dreams … everything looking towards the future ... full of conviction of the things that are going to be.

“Hey Jim,” I say to the very famous Dr. Jim Withers, “it’s almost like we’re going back to college at this time in our lives. You know we’re part of this group, each of transitioning from the past to what is going to be next for us.”

He sips his drink and nods. “You do have a collection of friends who are fun to be part of.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I hurriedly respond as I do, “but the point is we all understand that we’ve graduated from whatever our lives were. Now we’re enrolling for the next part. We’re building our own lives the way that we want them to be.”

“The only thing holding us back is us,” he says.

“Exactly,” I say and we toast. “To hell with holding ourselves back!”

“To hell with it” he says.

“We’ve got futures to build!”

So in this place of so many milestones for me … another has been passed.

Changes (Wishes)

I am flying to Pittsburgh ... again.

It is work and it is good and we are trying to save health care from itself as it has become a health giant industrial complex and Doctors do it for the money ... or to be Godlike ... or because it's a job that pays well.

There are some Nurses and doctors though who still practice for the reasons that they entered the field ... to practice medicine where people need it ... on the streets making housecalls or house-less calls to demonstrate that the current system is pretty screwed up. The best health care in the world with the worst way to access it.

Yesterday was one of those crazy days when change comes along that I wasn't looking for. That's how it normally happens though ... change just comes. We're never prepared. It's like someone dying who'se been sick for a long time and everybody know that it's going to happen and then it does ... and everyone is shocked. So change came yesterday and I spent the better part of it with friends who love me and whom I love and we planned what to do now.

This morning I lingered and stayed in bed knowing that I would be on another plane. Goddess wasn't happy about it at all lying in front of her fan looking at me with sad eyes. So in the middle of breakfast I decided to take her for a walk.

We made it to the marsh and then to the back river before finally coming to Art's house. Art is an Auburn fan and he was talking to Paul who is a Nortre Dame fan.

"Saw the story on Union Mission in the paper," they both yelled.

"I don't work there anymore," I replied as Goddess and I passed.

"Well, they got bailed out," Paul said.

I stopped and turned around.

"From?" I said staring.

"Their debt," came the response.

It is true that when I left there was debt. A lot of it. For good reasons though. We'd built the nations first comprehensive health care campus for the poor and uninsured ... every discipline of health was co-located. And it cost more than we thought it would. It's just that way sometime. I can go to the grocery store and it costs me more than I thought it would. Then Judy, the CFO decided to match this debt with her own and suddenly we're talking big money. Then we had a small minded small man of a banker as Board chair and it was a massive train wreck getting ready to happen.

I remember sitting in my office, head in my hands saying to myself, "Shit! How does this happen? You spend you life trying to make the world a better place and this is what you get?"

I know how to raise money. At the time the budget was around $10 Million a year. but ... half that in debt? I didn't know what to do.

So I did what I did yesterday when change came. I picked up the phone and started calling all of my friends, and the friends of Union Mission, who gave it money. I explained what had happened and asked for their advice.

"Mike," my dear friend Terry Ball finally said on the 20th-something call, "only government deals in money that big. Go ask government."

Terry would know. He was Union Mission second largest funder for years and works for government.

So I went to see Pete Lakikis and Urss Abolt of Chatham County goverment. I told them the same story I'd told Terry and the others. "We need your help but it is for the people you are here to serve?"

"How much?" Russ asked.

I grimmaced. "A lot," I said.

Then this dance began. It's lasted almost four years now. I was on the sidelines for most of it, orchastrating arguments, and wasn't involved in this last go-round at all, but it ended recently. The County did what it should and invested the money in protecting the work. The debt will soon all be gone. The focus can resume on helping the poor, broken and shattered people of the world.

The sad thing though are all of the changes that have taken place. Union Mission is a shell of what it was. Changes happened. It split itself in half, gave itself away and now is back where it was fifteen years ago. People will take issue with me saying this, which is fine, but I've far more than earned my right to say whatever I want to say ... and obviously I am.

Some change moves forward. Some change backwards. It is always fascinating to see who allows which.

"Hey," I yell at Art and Paul, "good for Union Mission. They took most of what I have. I'm pleased for them today. I wish them well. The people they are trying to help ... they deserve well."

"Your team sucks," Art yells like a typical Auburn fan. For Christ sake he could be a small minded little bank President.

"Artie," I yell turning with Goddess for home. "Two words for you! One is a verb and the other is a pronoun."

Art is obviously confused.

"The pronoun is you."

Then he burst out laughing, getting it.

Unlike so many others that I know.

Life Goes On

I was one of the speakers at a retreat for college students in the north Georgia mountains. They were great kids and I was the long haired, blue jean wearing, hip dude with the "Rev" in front of his name. We played football together and it reminded me of my own college career when I kidnapped the entire Baptist Student Union intramural football team and introduced them to ... paganism.

During the games, they learned how many other words can be matched up with Jesus or God. While initially shocked at this learning experience throughout the course of the season they all came around. We made the playoffs and out cussed the "Fraternity" team.

Most of what we really learn in college occurs outside of the classroom anyway.

So, it came time for the program and the hundred or so students cleaned themselves up and we headed into this massive lodge with a fireplace that you could stand in. It was early fall so there was no fire and a stage had been set up in front of the slate fireplace. A podium and loudspeakers were there and music was playing. The kids were settling in and ready for the "inspirational" message.

They sang, danced a bit, and prayed a lot. Then the hostess introduced the first speaker.

He was much older than the rest of us. He wore a three piece suit. His hair was slicked back straight and cropped short. As he was introduced, he sat in his chair looking sternly at his audience. The hostess reviewed everything that he had ever done so it sounded a lot like his obituary column ... he just hadn't died yet. He smile and nodded at the milestones she ticked off, looked humbled when she described awards he had won, and beamed when it was over. The students applauded because ... I don't know why they applauded but they did.

Adjusting his tie he stood with his big black Scofield Reference Bible, smiled this large smile for perhaps twenty seconds before saying anything. This is an old preacher's trick. Be silent for a few seconds before you say anything so the crowd will be waiting ... longing ... thirsting ... for what you have to say.

"My dear young people," he began.

Rolling my eyes, I reached into the back pocket of my jeans, pulled out the tin of snuff and threw some between my cheek and gum. Then I reached down and grabbed the Styrofoam coffee cup that I'd taken to the stage with me. When he repeated himself, I spit.

"My dear young people," he told them, "this world is not your home, you are passing through. Pay no attention to this world. It is full of evil and temptation. It is to be endured. Your rewards are not here. Pleasure is not here. Treasures are not here. These things are all in heaven. This life is all about preparation for what is next!," he was yelling at this point and hitting the podium.

I was spitting a lot and watching the kids. A few were listening to him, but most were holding hands, passing notes, giggling, rubbing one another's legs, staring out the window or were asleep.

"THIS LIFE," he screamed as he climaxed, "will be better when it stops. THEN ... WE ... GET ... TO ... BE ... WITH ... GOD."

And he sat down. The kids applauded because they didn't know what else to do.

Then the hostess read my obituary which was much shorter than his.

Spitting out the tobacco, I took the microphone.

"Well," I cleverly began, "after that ... all I can say is that there is another view of all of this. OB-LA-DI OB-LA-DA ... Life goes on ... Brah! ... Enjoy it!"

And I sat down.

He looked at me with confusion obviously never having listened to the Beatles. The hostess had just sat down so she jumped up again. At first a couple of the kids laughed and laughter can sometimes be contagious. This time it was and in just a few second the entire room was filled with the joys of celebration and laughter. Some clapped.

The hostess came back to the podium and looked at me.

"That's it?" she asked.

I shrugged my shoulders.

"Seriously?" she said.

So I stood back up and took the microphone again.

"Hey I don't know if y'all heard what she asked. Quite down! She asked 'Is that it?'. So I need to answer."

So the room got quiet again. Everyone was staring at me including the old guy. I waited twenty seconds before saying anything.

"Yep," I concluded. "That's it. We get this one life. Got gave it to us. Don't fuck it up."

And I sat down again.

It was my first standing ovation.

All of these many years later ... I still believe this. God gave us here. God gave us now. It is to be explored and celebrated. Stay away from bad people. Stay away from bad stuff. That's how you fuck it up. If you're in bad relationships or doing bad stuff ... stop fucking yourself.

Now, today is this wonderful gift. I have wonderful people in my life. I am doing rewarding work. I've been through my fair share of hell and don't really want to go back ... so today is this joyful celebration. Because it's one or the other ... either endure or celebrate.

"Choose life or death," the Bible says ... 'for me and mine, I choose life."

Me too.

Real Love

The Swinging Medallions were wailing in the background and the crowd collected at the Pier obviously were enjoying themselves. The sky was clear and the night was warm. We sat alone on the beloved back talk ... talking. Everything in the world was happening ... over there.

We were alone in the stillness of the night, in our own world, while everybody else was in theirs.

Music ceased and the first BOOM of the fireworks exploded!. You can't help but stop and look so we did and ...

Fran came back from the dead in the biggest of ways.

We were close friends in college. She was beautiful, olive skin, long black hair that grew naturally into curls, large brown cow eyes, a pirate smile and ... M.S.

She was tiny and would topple over for no apparent reason but she was determined to live until she died. She taught me green one day. We got wasted together one night because she wanted to do that before she died. She would ride around campus alone on a bicycle built for two because ... she believed like nobody I've ever met.

I'd be walking to class and she would peddle up, her skinny brown legs weary because her muscles just weren't there for her anymore.

"You wanna ride," she'd ask, dripping in beauty and sweat.

So I'd jump on the back and peddle cause she couldn't anymore. She smiled though it all. When we got to the bike rack, I'd have to help her off ... she was so lite ... so much beauty and wonder packed into such a small body.

One day in a busy crowded hallway someone bumped against her and she toppled over onto the floor. She sat there with her legs spread, sitting up, palms on the floor to steady herself, books spread all over the place in front of her, and people just rushing by to get to wherever they were going.

"Hey Fran," I asked when I walked up, "what are you doing?"

She looked up at me with more beauty than I'd ever seen ... the fragile beauty of holiness ... and she smiled.

"I could use a hand," she said.

So I reached down and pulled her up and she had to throw an arm over my shoulder to steady herself. Then we laughed as I picked up her books this way. We looked stupid as people rushed passed but we laughed as both of us would bend over to retrieve a book and then make our way to the next.

Then Fran died.

Many years later I died too ... but in a different way.

One afternoon depressed, slightly drunk and sitting alone on back deck, Fran came back to me. There is this wall of trees with a thousand shades of green. The sun sparkled through the leaves as they danced in the wind. She reached down and touched my sadness and ... my resurrection from the dead began.

So when the fireworks blasted off Fran stood before them and we looked at her ... dressed as Christmas trees with wonderful lights glittering as she danced before us.

It is so Fran.

She was celebrating where I am now.

And letting me know it.

"Hey Fran," I say out loud today. "Thanks for last night. You are as beautiful as ever. I miss you. Thanks for coming back and saving me for myself. And ... umm ... remember that night we got drunk ... and we talked about finding love ... the real love that we all want so desperately ... thank you for blessing mine."

Eyes Unto Me

"No one knows what it's like ... behind blue eyes," Pete Townshend says.

Perhaps in his case.

I'm pretty wide open about it all.

Feelings are be lived and not suppressed. It's a shame so many people don't get that. They walk through life keeping everything they know locked inside. "All my life I've tired to make everybody happy while I just hurt and hide ... waiting for someone to tell me it's my turn ... to decide," sings Sarah Bareilles and that is how so many do it.

There is this explanation that Jimmy Buffett once gave of himself and his songs. "People ask me, Jimmy sometimes you write songs that are sensitive and moving and other times you write tacky ones."

His response was "That's because sometimes I feel sensitive and other times I feel tacky."

Yep.

I think he got it right.

The embracing of who we are ... as we are.

For me, I can lay with my lover and quiet contentment reigns. Heart smiles break out for the simplest of reasons. Story telling and brooding conversations occur. Love peacefully settles like a blanket covering from the harshness of the world. Breathing becomes synchronized. Smells magnified.

Then I can also jump in a swimming pool full of my friends and the craziest things happen. They make me laugh. We do concerts on the porch and form a band to perform at Bar Church. Skinny Dipping breaks out. We break into one anothers homes cause ... just cause.

I take long walks with Goddess to a sad little holy dock to thank the sun as it sets for another day and pray for tomorrow. We sit by ourselves with my arm draped over her and pants and stares at the marsh.

Work can make me very intense and I focus ... throwing out explicatives when it goes wrong (my favorite is a pro-noun and a verb ... the Pro-noun is 'Mother' ... the definition of the verb is 'all the way'" ... and dancing across the room giving everyone a high five when it all goes right.

I sit on the beloved back in the afternoons, sans the laundry, drinking wine and listening to music ... contemplating the mysteries of the universe and the beauty of the stars.

There are also times when the loneliness of what I am missing almost crushes me and I fall on the sofa because the bed makes me miss it more and my blue eyes hold the tears back ... but barley ... until I fall asleep.

All of these things make me ... me. I try to embrace them all ... to celebrate them all ... because this is who I am.

Other people want me to be somebody else and make no bones telling me that I should more of this or less of that. I don't listen to them.

I use my eyes to SEE things as they are. To be myself as I am. The sensitive and the tacky. Holy and Profane.

Just as God made me.

So if God celebrates that ... and I believe she does ... I should too ... regardless of what anybody else thinks.

Hope Coming True

If you're lucky there are times in life when you find yourself as a part of a tight, loving group of friends who border on family. Some are predictable while others leave you scratching your head wondering where they came from.

Still others you would have bet your life on to always be there for you are nowhere near. But the group is bound together for the common good, normally facing similar issues, and there is this natural familiarity and sharing.

When it happens, it is a good time in life.

This is such a time for me

After years of public living when everyone wanted to be my friend ... followed by their mass exodus ... leaving a handful of unpredictable characters ... then others showed up out of the blue ... and by the time summer got here ... we were having a moveable feast.

After "a long cold lonely winter", the summer has been a constant celebration of friends who love and rely on one another with more passion that I could have ever imagined.

Hemingway wrote, "But you knew there would always be the spring, as you knew the river would flow again after it was frozen. When the cold rains kept on and killed the spring, it was as though a young person had died for no reason."

Like most that he wrote, I like these words that capture both the despair and hope that life can be. I've had both the last several years and I am the first to confess that hopes coming true is far better.

Back when I was at Union Mission I wanted to set clear values for the sad, broken people who came there. I framed a large poster of a wealthy man dressed to the nines, with his foot propped on the front bumper of a Rolls Royce holding a glass of wine. Underneath in bold white letters were the words "POVERTY SUCKS!"

It was the first thing that everybody saw when they checked in.

The Board of Directors and some others gave me grief about it but I thought it the best way to convey that Union Mission wasn't a final destination but a place to take inventory.

"She's living a shitty life, but she still has hope," my dearest friend said of another friend recently.

It's a simpler way of saying what Hemingway said.

"Here is the world. Beautiful and terrible things will happen. Don't be afraid" (Frederick Buerchner ... my favorite author ever).

So after a couple of years of walking through the valley of the shadow of death ... I find myself in life again.

I've been constantly comforted by my friends. I've been to table after table of feasts. My cups have runneth over (thank you Cheryl Sadowski). Rods, staffs and oils have been ... party themes. We haven't pulled out the sheep yet but you never know with these wonderful, exhilarating, crazy carnival of friends. It could happen.

And last night I laid down in bed ... which may as well have been green pastures ... the still waters of the ocean only blocks away ... I was comforted ... my soul is restored.

Surely goodness and mercy will follow.

And I want to dwell here ... forever.

Pedicures

Trolly Joe looked at me with disdain.

"Homo," he said.

"Could be," I shrugged, "but I love 'em."

"Homo," he repeated with an incredulous stare as only he could do over his Styrofoam cup full of rum and coke.

"You're the one wearing an ear ring," I said sipping my beer.

"Homo," he said yet again.

"Joseph," I said, "what is not to love about it? I do it my way. I pack a cooler, make them change the flat screen television from the Lifetime Network to ESPN, open a beer and have an Asian woman do my feet. What's not to love?"

"Homo," he said again.

Then a few months later ... he overcame this prejudice and had his first Pedicure.

"Thank you," he told me the next time we were together. "It was great!"

"Homo," I called him.

Pedicures.

I love 'em!

And I'm having one today to kick off this holiday weekend!

I have to leave the island anyway so I may as well. Besides, it's been a rough week. All of the stuff that I was working on took a crazy turn yesterday afternoon. So I took Goddess for a walk and we ended up on the sad little holy dock and Shirley ... who is now running for God ... actually made an Epiphany. I haven't actually seen Shirley since her last Epiphany so we sat on the dock in the midst of the Marsh and talked as dear friends do.

Then she had to disappear as Epiphanies do to make an appearance at a political function.

Anyway ... who cares?

During today's Pedicure, I will raise a toast to Trolly Joe and tell him that he is welcome. Then I will watch the highlights from last night's kick off of college football season, feel the love around me, and this celebratory weekend will begin.

Feet first!

Head to follow.

Blessed

In the predawn day I peddle my bicycle when a car pulls along beside me and hands me the Savannah Morning News.

"Thanks Robin," I say as she speeds off.

Actually my subscription has lapsed because that is no longer my life. It was big psychological break to no longer have the Newspaper hit my drive way. There were countless mornings when I was waiting on it to see what had been written about me or the work. For decades I read it at the counter of the Breakfast Club and then pass it on to others. Now, they buy newspapers, rip out the crossword puzzle and hand the rest to me returning the favor.

At the Club I'd forgotten my money so was going to have to go home and get it and come back. Johnny O stands up and announces, "Got you covered this morning Rev."

"This is going to be an interesting day," I think to myself.

Leaving the Club an unnamed brown boy calls me over to inspect his latest work of art. Having obtained some reflective tape he decided that the stick figures in the crosswalk signs should be anatomically correct ... so he added penises ... big ones. It will be interesting to see how long it takes people to figure this out though it is a drastic improvement over the several thousand bland black stick person on yellow background signs that are everywhere on Tybee Island.

Peddling back home, my tires need air. Grabbing the quarters I used to use for the thousands of parking meters in downtown Savannah I make my way to the air pump.

"REV!!!!!!!" I hear a deep and husky voice.

Looking up, it is my friend Davy, the drummer in the Samuel Adams Band, smoking a cigarette and drinking coffee with our friend Rosco. They are waiting for their ride to work. I walk over and we all hug. I've been told this is a Southern thing. Maybe. Who cares? It is a good thing.

Peddling back home, Goddess starts pawing at me. She makes me smile so I put her lease on and off we go again. She is in no hurry today. It takes forever to walk a half block to the marsh. She meanders ... marking her territory as I stand there and just smell the marsh ... which is the smell of sex in the tropics ... standing under a Palm Tree I stare across the expanse of green grass dancing on a High Tide.

"How?" I say out loud to God.

It is the first prayer of the day.

Beauty is dripping like molasses all around me. The morning sun baths the world in gold. A choir of cicadas sing Hymns. A cool breeze from the northeast blows and my long hair hugs my cheek. Pelicans fly in V-formation offering protection from evil. God has painted splashes of green on a backdrop of deep blue. A lighthouse stands in the middle saying "Follow me, I won't lead you wrong."

"How?" I say again.

How did I get here. Several years of hell have miraculously been replaced by this.

How?

Why?

I ponder these questions.

Ever the logical thinker, I first tell myself that after everything that I've given away I'm finally getting some back. Karma, right? What goes around, comes around. Good trumps bad. Love beats hate.

Except I know that these things are not always true. I've seen people give and never receive, bad Karma, the things that go around never come back, bad sometimes rules and ... love can simply disappear. Bad things can happen to good people.

Goddess nudges her butt against my leg. I lovingly scratch her. The beauty drips everywhere.

"I don't know how," I say out loud again to God.

"But thank you."

Then Goddess and I walk back to our home.

A Wonderful Wednesday

Hump day isn't so rough.

I stayed in bed this morning which is something that I rarely do but today just seemed so ... special.

So I decided to let it linger.

Now the sun is hot as I sip coffee under a Palm Tree.

Rebekah will come flying in any second with boxes full of office supplies and we will resume the agenda that we worked on yesterday. We were all over the place ... setting up a scholarship fund for medical students, building a budget for street medicine as a practice, arranging alternative accommodations for a Symposium in October, justifying meetings with potential funders in three different cities and then ... I ran out of paper.

There wasn't another damn sheet in the house.

Work came to a screeching halt!

At that precise moment Samuel Adams and Dedra Shuman burst through the front door. God had told them to have a Finance Committee meeting for Bar Church. God did not tell me however so I was surprised. Rebekah is afraid of God so she packed her stuff and left as quickly as possible. I sighed and sat on the couch to ... go over God's checkbook.

Of course it was balanced. Perfectly so.

When they finally left Goddess was scratching the side of the couch demanding that I take her for a walk. She can be such a bitch. But she is the Lady of the House so I grabbed her leash and off we went. She stopped to enjoy everything that other dogs had left behind. It suddenly occurred to me that Goddess may go into politics. She was certainly doing all of the things necessary to get herself elected ... begging, scratching away until she gets what she wants, understanding things from crap, aimlessly leading me somewhere.

This upset me so I drug her back home and brushed 27 pounds of hair off of her while explaining to her that our family isn't about to get involved in the political system. Of sure we'll support Shirley because it's Shirley but ... well I like Dick too ... and Kingston owes me a beer ... and Floyd is my friend and the best Mayor Savannah ever had and I hope he is again ... then I owe Joe Buck like everything ...

"Dammit Goddess!" I exclaim throwing down the brush, "if you run for office I'm not having anything to do with it! You're on your own."

Then Dedra blows back in because God felt bad about not telling me about the Finance Committee meeting and sent her to Chick-fill-A to get me ten sandwiches. This has been the way I got through most of last year ... go to the Drive-in, order twenty Chick-fill-A's, eat one on the way home, freeze the rest, and it takes three minutes to toast the bun, nuke the breast, replace the pickles and ... dinner is born.

It was night time by this point. So I got a glass of wine ... Cheryl left me 37 bottles of wine at my house she brought for a weekend party ... all of the kinds that she doesn't like and wanted out of her house. So I sipped wine in the moonlight listening to Van Morrison sing "Moon Dance" and then ... I did.

So it was hard to get started today.

Rebekah just got here. A Cinnamon Bun was stuffed down my throat against my will. Dedra is texting to tell me that the famous Dr. Withers is upset because his presentation at Bar Church last week just hit the world wide web. He's concerned because he cussed in church ... as though anybody gives a damn.

Hmmm...

I think today is off to a wonderful start.

I believe that it will be as good as yesterday.

Who knew work could be so fun?

Wandering the Wilderness

It is the strangest of feelings.

For decades I worked this relentless public life trying to save the world because I believe God wants it saved and I want to do my part. So I worked hard surrounded by others who believe the world should be saved too and we accomplished a lot. It was a whirlwind of a life that took me around the world, got me published, won me stuff, let me carry the Olympic Torch and have way more than my fifteen minutes of television time.

Of course it had its cost ... two marriages, burn out, estrangement from those who love me, a cynicism for everything about the political system ... and churches and synagogues and Mosques ... they're all the same.

For the past year or so all of these things happened and I left it all ... or it all left me ... I have felt like Moses and the Jews wandering around in the Wilderness. What that must have been like.

"Are we there yet?"

"No."

"Are we there yet?"

"No."

"Are we there yet?"

"Shut up and keep walking or I'll whack the shit out of you with this staff."

"Alright," they said before muttering under their breaths, "he's an ass."

So they wandered.

For forty years.

In Hebrew there is no sense of time.

Forty years means a long time. Same as when Jesus was tempted in the desert for forty days. It was a long time. A long time can be four minutes when you get the phone call in the middle of the night that something bad has happened to one of your children ... or it can be forty years of bad marriage. Too much much time working a job you hate ... suffering through illness ... or enduring what politicians do to us "for our own good".

So for the past couple of years I've been wandering around the wilderness. It's been a long time.

I left the comforts a career that had served me well as I served others. It was all so perfect ... until it wasn't. The bliss of marriage fled leaving me with a dog ... so Goddess has been my constant companion as we've marched through marsh grass, paced a back deck, took walks to a beach swing, made bar tours, or sat for hours on a sad little holy dock.

So the thing about the wandering around the wilderness ... or combing the beach ... walking through the woods ... sitting on a mountain ... pondering what we've left behind or what has left us ... imagining what it's going to be like when we get to wherever we're going ... hoping ... wishing ... praying

... is that in Hebrew one of the many things that "Wilderness" means is that it is the place where God speaks.

It has been difficult for me to give myself permission to wander around like I've been doing. I should be working like I've always done. I shouldn't be spending so much time alone doing just what I want to do. I should not grieve for so long. I should get off my ass and pull myself by own bootstraps and do ... the same old stuff that I was doing before.

But I didn't.

I kept wandering.

For a long time now.

And God is whispering secrets in me ear.

Now the wilderness feels like home.

Tie that Bind

There we were on the stage. Johny O on drums. Mitch "Renegade" Wesley slapping the bass. DDDedra playing the keyboard. Gordon was wailing on the mouth harp. I was playing guitar and singing. Sure it was only a one song performance but this was actually our second show having played our first gig on Jodee and Cheryl's porch the night before.

As headliners for Bar Church we needed a name. The Acoustic Savages no longer worked because we were electric (in so many ways). The Electric Pirates was an option since Bar Church is where pirates worship. Then it was decreed from on high (the drums are elevated a bit) that the bands name would be ... "FRESH LIVE LOBSTER"!

It was perfect! Our first album will be titled "$3.99/pound".

As we did our sound check, a speaker was set up on Tybrisa Street (which used to be 16th Street and is between 15th and 17th but the Tybrisa family evidently contributed a lot to somebody's re-election campaign. I need to ask Shirley Sessions about this.). When the sounds of FRESH LIVE LOBSTER filled the street on a high tide Sunday morning ...

Surfers dropped their surf boards and ran to Bar Church.

Mothers left their children playing in the waves and followed them.

The place quickly filled and Bar Church hadn't even started yet. So we stopped as the regulars showed up in their bathrobes, bikinis, tee-shirts and flip-flops. They brought with the things necessary to enjoy a church service ... coffee, Bloody Marys, sausage biscuits, Screwdrivers and lots of coffee ... and Bailey's. Gordon has a pocket Bible so that was covered.

DDDedra wowed the crowd with her first solo performance giving the prelude. It was an incredibly soulful rendering of "Color My World" which is so appropriate because if anybody's world is colored it is those of us who attend Bar Church. Our worlds are colored red. Visceen is available with the bulletin.

Samuel Adams grabbed me and embraced me with a smile. He is the coolest dude on the island and is the founder of Bar Church.

"You have have just enough time to grab a drink and kiss a girl," he said. Then he beamed into a bigger smile. "We can use line as another incentive to for people to come to Bar Church."

So I did as he suggested.

Then I grabbed my guitar and joined the band. We did an original song given to us by God. And the packed house were collectively slain in the spirit ... or passed out ... or not really recovered from Saturday night.

But we rocked! And we had fun! Celebration can be contagious and that is what church is supposed to be anyway. So we celebrated.

It was supposed to have been Grass Skirt Sunday but the idea went up in smoke. Evidently Bar Church members confused the kind of grass needed for skirts.

Regardless, there is this collection of friends who came together from different worlds at just the right time. We celebrated one another and shared the celebration with anyone who wished to be a part. When all was said, sung and done, we made our way to the Pier and toasted the majesty of the Cathedral that God built as the blue green ocean kissed the sand. Then we toasted one another. Then we feasted in community together.

Then everybody had to go their way. Life was getting in the way.

But the gift of doing what we did is another tie that binds us all together.

And that really is what it's all about anyway.

One Eye Open ... One Eye Closed

Why is it that we do things that we really don't want to do? Be with people we really don't care for? Go to things that we prefer to stay away from? Make stupid mistakes which of course come back to bite? Wash ourselves in guilt when we've hurt those we love? Lock away what we really feel rather than share it openly?

It's all human nature I suppose. The way God made us ... how our parents raised ... how we make ourselves.

Somber things to ponder on a beautiful Sunday morning with it's lite ocean breeze dancing in the leaves hanging over the beloved back deck. The sun is behind the Palm tree with the smiling oyster face, coconut bra and grass skirt peeking into my eyes as I sip coffee. The Indigo Girls are singing softly in the background.

It is a weekend full of friends and love, bigheartedness, serious conversations, some confrontations, bad behavior and wonderful tenderness. All that life has to offer crammed into forty-eight hours.

Then it's Monday and life starts over again.

Many years ago, Chelsea my daughter crawled into my lap crying and said, "Daddy why can't it be like it used to be?"

I was living in a Cottage because her mother and I were on our way to living separate lives. It was a traumatic time for us. I didn't have an answer to her question. All of these many years later I still don't.

Because you can't.

Every day we are shaped and molded by our past, current environment and future possibilities. We make choices, most of which are good and then some not so good. But on every single day ... things are never like they used to be. Nor will they ever again.

If we're lucky we have people in our lives who support us through these transitions. I learned that it is always incredibly shocking to learn who these people are ... you think you do but you don't. It is like going through life with one eyee open and one eye closed.

The trick is to open both of our eyes at once and force ourselves to keep them open and see life as it really is. Embrace who we love with everything in us ... or that it is time to embark on a new journey in relationships. You can't do either halfheartedly ... it's all or nothing.

So this morning I am praying I guess. To keep both of my eyes open, love the ones I love with everything in me, do much more good than the bad that I stumble into, to celebrate the joys that present themselves to be and live this life to the best of my ability.

My New Life

The very famous Dr. Jim Withers is sitting across from me on the Beloved Back Deck. His laptop is open. My laptop is open. It looks like we are playing a vicious game of ... Battleship. He looks worried. I appear confident. Goddess is on my side.

The reality however is he is answering emails from medical students who believe that everyone in the world speaks Chinese ... just like the U.S.A. believes that the entire world speaks English.

I have introduced him to I-Google and so the famous Dr. Withers is now explaining to the Chinese medical student why she needs to lend money to him because the complex China/USA relationship is predicated upon them giving us money which will eventually pay back ... one day ... maybe.

On the other hand I am typing with one hand because I played guitar last night until late in the night ... the fingers on my left hand are sore as hell ... "I GOT BLISTERS ON MY FINGERS!" Ringo screamed during the "Let It Be" sessions.

There was a party at my house last night because other people decided that there should be a party at my house. It was as though I came home from work, grilled Boston Butts during a hurricane because that's the kind of guy I am, walked inside and a recording studio had been set up.

My guitar which I haven't played in years was restrung, plugged in and ready to go. My dear friend Mitch had brought his bass (and the entire island of Tybee is excited about a bass player coming back here cause we haven't had one for months). Dedra was on piano along with Judy O composing Hymns for Bar Church on Sunday. Samuel Adams was there having been the one to transform our living room to this. Johnny O was talking about drums. As were Rocky, Cheryl and Jodee. Esther was floating around.

We sounded better than terrible ... the bass player was great.

It was like the Beatles rooftop concert. In years from now thousands will claim to have been there ... largely because we had Mitch playing bass on Tybee Island ... who were not there but will hear the secretly recorded tapes ... it was something.

And we are playing at Bar Church tomorrow. The famous Dr. Withers is the speaker. The rest of us are the band. And it is "Grass Skirt" Sunday at Bar Church.

So I am learning a lot about the way that my life is headed and what it feels life.

It feels like this!

Diverse ... worldwide ... crazy ... old meets new ... new is fashioned by old ... evidently wounded fingers are involved ... music is definitely ... and then there are plans.

I have to go to class today. Well ... as much as I've ever been to class ... which wasn't much ... so ...

I have to go ...

the famous Dr. Withers just screamed "YOU SANK MY BATTLESHIP!"

I scream out ... "DAMN RIGHT!"

Life is good today.

Bathroom Reading

So ... I wandered down the hall of the house that I was in ... the living room was full of activity ... Dee caressed a keyboard looking life a star-crossed lover trying to decide between ebony and ivory ... Sam was spreading oil on one of the loves of my life ... and Davy was watching car porn on the computer.

It was a typical Tybee night.

Anyway, I had to pee and found the bathroom. So I'd never been to this particular bathroom before so I did what everybody does when they go inside someone else's bathroom ... I checked it out.

It was pretty nice by bathroom standards. It was clean enough. The cap was on the toothpaste. The TP rolled over instead of under. The ring around the bathtub wasn't too bad. The mirror needed cleaning but I could still SEE myself standing there ... then in the mirror that needed cleaning ... behind me ... was ... ONE OF MY BOOKS!!!!

It was open but face down on this little table that also had an ash tray, Uncle John rolling papers and lubricant from Wall-Mart. As quickly as I could ... several long long agonizing seconds (Have you ever tried to pee as fast as you could?) ... I completed my mission and turned around.

Picking my my third book ... lovingly and tenderly titled "Partners In Grace" ... it is was open to pages 52 and 53 ... the middle of a story!!!! ... not the beginning or the end ... it was put on table ... face down ... in the middle of a wonderful story ... BECAUSE SOMETHING ELSE WAS SUDDENLY MORE IMPORTANT!

My shoulders sagged.

My knees buckled.

I hung my head.

I have been reduced to bathroom reading.

It made me feel cheap and unwanted.

Immediately I wondered about my other books. How many were lying around in bathrooms? Beside toilets? In the homes of people who roll the TP under rather than over?

When you write and publish books you imagine all kinds of things. Your books are proudly displayed on the bookshelf in the middle, eye level position, so that it is the first book seen. If reviews are written ... they are clipped and placed inside of the book so that the owner can show them off to every single quest entering the house. The spectacular cover is framed and placed over the Living Room sofa.

AAAAARRRRRGGGGG!!!!!!!

"Partners In Grace" was my first book by a Publisher in New York City! Now ... bathroom reading.

Then I really got worried ...

and flipped through all of pages of book.

Then I thanked God.

They were all there.

A Beach Swing

" The tourist traps are empty ... vacancy abounds ... almost like it used to be before the circus came to town."

The island is quiet riding my bicycle in the predawn of the day. The ocean is glass, the flags above Ocean Plaza are limp, a lone couple holds hands as they make their way to the beach to watch the sun rise and I coast to a stop ... to just appreciate it all.

It seems as I have the place to myself for the moment. All of the walkers and runners that populated the island for the summer have disappeared, time drips slowly, there is no hurry ... no need to rush. Bright beams of red, yellow and purple burst out of the ocean and all of nature sings ... Here Comes the Sun.

So ... "I come down and talk to me ... when the coast is clear."

The coast is clear.

About damn time.

It's been a crazy ride getting me to this point taking me all around the world, dancing with angels and assholes, finding love and losing it, falling into loneliness only to discover people who really love me refusing to let me be alone, and letting things come to me rather than me chasing after things.

I climb off of my bicycle and go to kick the stand down but miss so it falls to the ground. I leave it there and walk to the swing on the beach at the end of my street. The sky turns blue and a red bubble dances on the water.

"This is where it began," I say out loud ... to God ... and the coming sun ... in prayer.

I sit there, swinging back and forth, dragging my bare feet in the sand and the red bubble turns into a yellow blaze of glory throwing diamonds on the sea and chasing stars away at the same time. Seagulls sing hymns of adoration. Dolphins dance. I am baptized in sunshine.

On this swing is where I found me again. I'd given me completely away ... to a career ... to others who took it without giving anything back ... to politicians who are the worst takers ... to people who I believed loved me.

But on this swing one summer night ... the rest of me was re-conceived. So now the rest of me is here ... finally.

Standing ... the coolness of the morning sand kisses my feet. I kick my right leg up throwing sand into the sky. Then I dance back to the fallen down bicycle representing my fallen life ...

"Let's go," I say in prayerful delight.

And we ride.

Into my future.