Moving On

The most consistent thing that people have said to me over the past year is that I need to move on! What they mean by this of course is that they do not care for the way that I’ve handled things. They want me to be the way that they want me to be; to do things differently from the way that I’ve chosen to do them. To hell with how I feel or that healing needs to occur! Move on!

This isn’t to say that all of these folks don’t care about me. I know that many of them do. Some love me dearly. That isn’t to say that they collectively give bad advice. You have to listen to yourself first. Then you can listen to others.

Back in the days when I was a professional Christian I worked for Baptist Corporate Headquarters though I was unexplainably in charge of a rag tag congregation in the inner city. I worked for was Russell Bennett and he took us all on a retreat one time in Kentucky. There were perhaps twelve of us (no comparisons to Apostles at all!) and we were in this gorgeous park. I remember driving over with my James Furr and we listened to Eddy Murphy’s first comedy album on the drive laughing our asses off.

When we arrived the afternoon was free so James, Steve and I decided to explore the park. Soon we stumbled upon a cave and decided to go spelunking. Somehow we had two flashlights between the three of us. So we enter the dark cave and made our way until we came to a place where it grew narrow. A sign was posted that said “No further entry.”

Of course I said, “Let’s go on in!”

And we did. As I’ve explained we were not Apostles. As we made our way deeper into the forbidden area the cave grew narrower, we began to wade in water and it was darker than I’ve ever seen dark. We were literally on our knees in the mountain stream when one of the flashlights went out. I had the only one that remained shinning.

Steve panicked and started ordering that we retreat. He was a Southern Baptist minister so he was quite loud and demanding about it. So to shut him up I unscrewed the top of the flashlight and we were in complete darkness. He shut up. Well, he actually mumbled the most holiest of prayers … “My God.”

He was standing beside me so I grabbed his arm and groped my way to his hand. I placed the flashlight batteries in them.

“When you calm down,” I told him, “we can start again.

He called me many names for a bit but then he grew quiet. “Hand me the flashlight,” he finally said.

“Say please,” I told him.

“Please,” he replied.

So I did and he led us out of the cave. Once outside he resumed calling me names.

A few years later we were together again on another forced retreat. And we were all sitting in a circle and we were all supposed to share something about ourselves that no one else knew. When it came Steve’s turn he looked sheepishly at me. Then he looked at James.

“The most exciting thing that I’ve ever done in my life,” he said staring at the floor, “was a couple of years ago. When I broke a rule with some friends and we went deeper into a place where we weren’t supposed to go. It is most alive I’ve ever felt in life!”

I jumped up and gave him a hug. James followed suit and the three of us stood there embracing one another in front of Baptist Corporate leadership who do not believe in hugging, the poor, speaking in tongues, or good music. I think that they thought we were dancing. They were all speechless and looked uncomfortably in other directions.

So I’m moving on in my own way; at my own pace. I’ve been through the darkest part of my life. Sometimes there was no light at all. I sit here staring at Fran’s thousands shades of green with the sunlight shinning through them and the wind making them dance. I feel myself being raised from the dead.

Last Night's Dream

I was pretty tired after all of the travel and went to bed early expecting to sleep through the night. By midnight I was kicking covers and thrashing around the bed with thousands of thoughts running through my mind. Goddess was, of course, snoring softly beside the bed unaware and unconcerned about me.

Sometime around 3:30 I feel asleep. And I dreamed. I do not normally dream or if I do I don’t remember them. Most of my life I’ve been a Day Dream Believer writing or making up programs or plans. But not last night! It was a vivid dream.

I was with my friend Gene and we were beginning an internship with a large law firm in Atlanta. The offices were in a corporate tower and everyone there seemed very excited that he and I were starting. Then we were called in to meet with our supervisor.

An attractive African-American woman was smartly dressed and flashed a very nice smile as she asked us to take our seats at the oak conference room table in her office. After talking for a while about things we’d done and things that we would be doing she stopped and started at me.

“You don’t remember me do you?” she asked with an intensity that bordered on anger.

I stared at her while Gene tugged at his collar and was obviously wishing that he was somewhere else. She locked my eyes and I searched and searched for some memory but there was none to be found.

“Back when I was in school,” she began crossing the border into anger, “I did a film of your work. It was the first big break that you ever had! After that, you never had any trouble getting your press did you? And you have no memory that it was me who got you started!”

The dream fast forwarded and Gene and I were with the other people in the office. They all reached out sympathetically telling me not to worry about it. That evening there was a banquet during which Gene and I were to be introduced. As she was making here speech, one of the young bright attorneys leaned over to whisper to me.

“Micheal, she’s not going to introduce you unless you sign this,” and a legal document was thrust in my hands. “It says that you must agree to never serve on the Board of this firm.”

I shook my head. “Sure,” I shot back, “I have no problem with that whatsoever,” and I signed the contract.

During the after party, many people came up to me telling me not to worry about it. The young attorney who had handed me the contract said, “Don’t worry about it Micheal. I changed some of the words around so there’s no way that she can enforce it.”

Then Dan Vaden of all people stood beside me and asked me what I was thinking. Dan is a friend, a successful Savannah businessman and a civic leader. I looked at him and he was giving me this large smile. Then he said, “We’ll going to have some fun.”

Crazy dream huh?

Throughout my career I’ve been an encourager of the people I worked with. “You’re more than you think you are,” I would often tell them quoting J.R.R. Toilken from “The Hobbit.” And I’ve tried to give others the credit while I shouldered the blame. So it’s funny that the dream was the reverse of what I’d tried to make my practice.

I’ve also known that no one accomplishes anything by themselves. Those who claim to have done it all by themselves are likely liars with the most inflated of egos. In my work help and support often were found in the most unlikely of places and the most unexpected of people. So it doesn’t surprise me that is what happened in the dream.

Attorneys? God knows I’ve spent enough time with them over the last four or five years. Recently I told one that I no longer wanted to have meetings at his firm as all of the news is normally bad and I’d rather meet in a happier environment so it’s a bit of a surprise that my dream had me interning at one.

And I’ve always looked for fun in the things that I have done and if you can pull that off with homeless people, the sick and the infirmed, then you’ve figured our survival.

I’ve read that dreams often represent the opposite of what one should expect. There were a lot of opposites in mine. We’re also taught that God speaks to us through dreams and I ponder the morning wondering what she is trying to teach me now.

Almost Home

Of all of the airports in the world Miami is the worst. Denver is up there somewhere because of the smoking policy. In Boston you can get on a bus between planes and never get off. Let’s not even bring up Atlanta.

Paris on the other hand is great. As is Berlin. Though in Amsterdam this blond haried buxom woman patted me down and I thought it was great! I tried to go back twice but Bill Berry (not the former drummer for REM but the other one who went to Seminary with me) made me get on our flight to Prague.

In Havana I was thrown into an office and yelled at. I also had to pee really bad at the time and they make you pay to pee in Havana. Capitalism is working after all. The same thing happened in Nassau when I tried to return from Cuba though this time it was Americans yelling at me.

I got stuck in Pittsburgh for four days which is one of my all time favorite airports but there was like 37 feet of snow on the ground and I hate snow as much as I hate Satan or Hitler. My friend Suzanne made it tolerable with her Hot Tub though she taught me how to cuss with the best of them. Jim Withers, the famous doctor was there that night but he pretty much proved to be useless.

The Savannah/Hilton Head International Airport is an oxymoron.

But somehow tonight I cleared customs in Miami and actually made the connection. I have a window seat on a tiny plane and it looks as though someone took a giant Christmas tree and flattened it over an entire city. There are white lights mostly for those who prefer those at Christmas and the red and green lights are rushing down the highways.

The blackness of the ocean separates it all over there. I am struck that when I started this trip it was with a magnificent sunrise from way up high and as I end it is with blackness and flattened Christmas tree lights.

Ho, Ho, Ho.

So it is back home now. I have missed a lot. And I haven’t missed it at all.

If I had my preference I would pluck many people out of their lives and take them to St. Martin with me. Of course I would also take them home to Tybee Island with me. They could take Goddess for a walk when I’m watching football on the porch. Or let’s be honest, I’m probably sitting on the beloved back deck with Goddess and if you want to take a walk then she and I are fine with it.

But I am ready for home. I miss the smell. When I lay in bed with Goddess snoring beside me there is a smell that I love; salt air and must and something that God sprinkles down when she isn’t busy saving us all.

But there is a future to build and I’m pretty determined that love will be a big part of it and Rebekah keeps giving me orders and I trust her though I don’t always listen to her. And I’ve missed my family at the Breakfast Club and according to Keller Deal Johnny O is spreading rumors about us. And Roma evidently learned to type while I was gone. And Chuck Courtenay is going to do another sidewalk concert and I love Chuck.

So there’s a lot to do.

And I have to go to Pittsburgh next week.

And the Hot Tub is finally fixed.

Ho, Ho, Ho.

Anticipation

The sound of the waves hitting the reef is loud. The Trade Winds have picked back up so a breeze makes the Palm Trees dance in rhythm. Thin wisps of white clouds roll over a baby blue sky. The sun is a bright yellow orb. Hummingbirds dart in and out of the lush green foliage. I sit alone watching it all.

I have hung a set of wind chimes outside of the tiny studio that I’ve called home for the past two weeks. It is a blue crystal hummingbird holding up silver and blue chimes with a smaller bird suspended from the bottom. It dances and sings for me and I find that I am mesmerized by it.

It is a relic of the past. Representing love, romance and companionship that used to be mine, I hang it up every time that I am here. It is a thing of beauty, both delicate and sturdy. I suppose that is why I hold on to it and go through the ritual of choosing the right place for it to be placed. It reminds me of what was.

My friend Conner came busting into my room this morning waking me up to tell me goodbye. The taxi had arrived an hour early for them. I stumbled outside to find Hania making English Muffins and peanut butter determined that she feed me one more time before they leave. I wipe the sleep from my eyes and brush my fingers through my hair. In no time at all they are gone. I didn’t eat.

Conner talked me into coming here at this time. Normally I would have waited until the end of the year but he was determined and I would do most anything for him and Hania. Like always he and I made mischief while Hania and I had long thoughtful conversations about …what used to be.

I also did my best to inform them about my life now. New love and new adventures await. We make plans to see one another after the first of the year. I have to be in South Florida then and they want to return to Tybee Island for another visit.

I sit alone now celebrating the time that we had together. I am also thankful that my carnival of friends back home want me to return; it is good to be missed. There is a great deal to do when I get back as I have a future to build that already is very different from what used to be. It is mine for the molding and I close my eyes and imagine how I want it to be. I think that we create our lives in the same way that artists paint or sculpt. We start with some notion of what we want and then it takes us to places we never would have dreamed.

Last night we all gathered for the Last Supper with one another. The thing about Last Suppers is that you know once you’re done with them, they signify an ending; to a trip or a relationship or a Savior. A muteness hung in the air even though we laughed and drank wine and danced. Today it is part of what was.

I have a few hours to myself in this place that I love before I travel to the other side of St. Martin to catch the plane that will take me home to Tybee Island. When I get there I will put my arms around Goddess and take her to Shirley’s sad little holy dock. I resume my seat at the Breakfast Club and the Bored meeting. I’ll go back to Johnny O and Judy’s porch. I’ll resume the things that I love.

This has been a good trip for me though it has been far different from all of the other times that I’ve been here. The wind chimes have now stopped singing. That part of my life is over. I find that I am full of anticipation for the love that awaits when I return.

Professional Christianity

Back in the days when I was a professional Christian, getting paid to do what God was asking everyone else to do for free, the church that I was in charge of was not a normal church. I’m not sure there is a normal church with everybody showing up with their sins and all … crowding them into the same room … all demanding forgiveness at the same time. But I digress.

The congregation that came to my church was comprised of several little old ladies, homeless men, hookers, incarcerated drug abusers who were dropped off by a guy with a gun, and a bunch of radical seminary students who refused to get their hair cut at Dairy Queen (swirl tops) or wear suits. There were also a lot of kids from the projects who were running around.

When I first got there, the previous professional Christian refused to let a lot of these people inside. But I knew that a Sanctuary is a place that you get into. This one had bars on the windows to keep people out. I did away with that and the result is that a zoo was created.

Sunday School rooms were turned into apartments and the Baptismal Pool into a bathtub so that homeless guys could take baths. The social hall was turned into a Drop-In Center so that people who had no place to go could hang out. The kitchen pumped out food so people could eat. We broke a lot of rules.

We orchestrated good times as everybody individually managed through their tragedies. So the Prelude to the Sunday morning worship service was mostly the dance song from “A Charlie Brown Christmas” which got everybody in a good mood. Many mornings we would all break into dance over this with everyone mimicking the dance of their favorite Charlie Brown character. I do a mean Pig-Pen.

The offering plates got passed around but nobody had any money to put in them so the collection was always interesting. The little old ladies wrote I.O.U. on offering envelopes. The homeless guys would slip in discount coupons from the McDonalds around the corner. The incarcerated guys would spit their gum in. The Seminary students would dig deep into their pocket to find lint. The place never broke even.

Then when it came time for me to be the center of the universe for 20 minutes and preach, I was challenged to keep everyone’s attention. It took me a while to figure out that preaching a regular sermon wouldn’t do it. The few times that I tried the little old ladies snored so loudly that no one else could hear anything that I was saying.

So I got a little dramatic. That is an understatement. I got a lot dramatic.

One of my favorite sermons was on friends accepting one another as friends regardless of our imperfections. As soon as I made the point, I looked at our D.J. (yes we had a D.J.) and he hit play. Bruce Springsteen’s “Bobby Jean” came on and everybody got up and started dancing. It is a song that makes the same point as I was making and Bruce is the Boss and all. Everybody seemed to get something out of it.

Another time I was talking about having faith and Jesus walking on the water. The Baptismal Pool was full of dirty water so I wasn’t going there. Instead I walked across the pews. I jumped off the stage onto the top of the first pew and then danced to the second one and then the third and so on. It was a miracle that I didn’t fall and break my neck. Afterwards the entire congregation came to believe in miracles.

Of course I wasn’t always successful. Once in the middle of a sermon a drunk homeless guy carrying a baseball bat made his way down the aisle giving me a death stare. Talk about stopping the word of God dead in its tracks. This guy didn’t like my preaching. Lucky for me there were several other homeless guys who did and they tackled him and beat him up in front of the pulpit.

After they were done everyone was staring at me and I just stared at everybody for a second and said, “Let’s eat.”

What else do you say?

So I lasted for eight years. But it was a very good eight years.

Then I moved on to unprofessional Christianity.

Standing Still

God painted the sky in blues and it was amazing. Deep blue sky covered with light blue clouds suspended over an aqua blue ocean. The Trade Winds had ceased so there was no breeze and all was quiet. I stood with my feet in the water willing myself to be absorbed into the vastness of it all.

I would then turn to face the other direction and Fran’s thousand shades of green were painted in the Palm trees and cover the mountains behind them.

Brilliance is everywhere.

I feel small and whisper a prayer of thanks to be able to witness this.

Throughout my life the ocean has been a healing place for me. Car crashes and broken bones were mended by the sea. So was a heart that’s been broken more than once. And years of carrying the burdens of the poor, the sick, and the dying was put into perspective as I made my daily run beside the water.

I’ve spent the last few months coming to terms with a past that has left me behind. Perhaps I left it behind. I’ve been gathering my thoughts as someone told me. Having long conversations with myself as I’ve tried to learn from the things that I’ve done and plan for what I want to do next. The smell of the marsh and the salt of the sea have given me context for these chores.

I’ve made the pilgrimage from the spotlights of the city where hundreds of people made demands on me to the solitude of a beloved back deck and a dog that I love. My friends have sought me out proving who they are and offering me love when I had none left to give. My dear friend Fran was raised from the dead in my back yard and is still teaching me to stop and appreciate what is around me in this moment. These things happened in a beach house that I rarely left.

When I did leave it I was most often on my bicycle for the morning communion of the Saints at the Breakfast Club where my days began with coffee and hugs. Or I peddled to the Bored meeting at “Fannie’s” for laughter and a daily celebration of the island that is my home. On Friday nights I parked my bike besides friends so that we could stumble in and out of Bernie’s, Doc’s and by then I don’t remember anymore.

Most every day Goddess and I have sat on Shirley’s sad little holy dock listening to the choir of mussels popping and ticking their songs. My feet dangle off the side and my arm is around Goddess. It is the place where I rediscovered that I still have love to give.

Daily I looked inside of myself and have written about what I found. It has been a prayerful conversation with myself. I inventoried my sins, confessed them aloud, and forgave myself for sometimes coming up short when I was really just doing the best that I could.

And I delighted in the surprises of those who read what I write and offered their own wisdom, consolation, encouragement or stories. I found joy when the “word became flesh” these discussions were face-to-face and arm in arm.

Aside from when I was forced to go to other cities, the only place I’ve chosen to visit is back here in St. Martin. I marvel at the consistency of its beauty; and the consistency of my friends who have stood steadfast by my side both when they are here and when we return to our own homes. The friends who live here have welcomed me back with open arms and large smiles. Again!

I know that this time of reflection and celebration of who I am will soon be coming to an end. In a few weeks or a few months there will be lots to do, places to go, people to see. There is a partner that I am obligated to, a corporate identity to fulfill, and customers to satisfy. I can smell the changes as the waves lap against my feet.

I’ve been standing still. For perhaps the first time in my life I have stopped. And I am humbled by what I have found when I did.

Laughter

So I believe that life is a gift that each of us has and none of us asked for. It is also sprinkled with friends who come and go. More go than remain. Though sometimes God reaches down and drops old ones back in again.

A thousand years ago when I was in college I fell in with this magnificent group of friends. It was the time when we had all left home and discovering who we were as people and we all held one another’s hands into us becoming us. When you do that you realize that love is all around you.

Then you graduate and everyone scatters to the four corners of the world and your friends become memories or stories that you tell. You get on with your life, find a career, start a family, do well, screw up, start over and eventually become who you are.

And there is no going back.

But for those of us who believe in miracles, and I am one, sometimes you do. Through the creation of Face Book we all found one another again. We stared at one another’s pictures and looked at how we’ve aged. We admired one another’s children and marveled at what each of us have done.

Then we started messaging and talking and the laughter returned easily. Then we decided that the word needed to become flesh and we all met at my house one day and we laughed. We told stories and remembered. And we learned something. That intense love that we shared all of those years ago remains.

Since the reunion, we talk almost every day either as a collective group, or individually. We call one another offering encouragement and advice and support. Three of the four of us are going through major life transitions and we’re relying on the one who is not to be there to support us all if things don’t work out.

I think that one of the things that gets you through life is laughter. If you are in a place where you don’t laugh or with someone who doesn’t help you laugh then God’s gift of life is reduced and it is like we are throwing it back in her face.

Now these friends of mine … well we can make one another laugh. A lot! Individually we are humorous. Collectively we are a riot!

And we do not let up. We keep egging one another on. One continuously topping the other and I find myself spitting out my drink because of the unexpected laughter.

So because I truly love these people I will not tell you that their names are Dedra, Mark and Mitch. They would kill me if they thought their friends might know that we enjoy each other so much.

So much for today’s musing. I’ve got to let it pee.

Home

Like a river that don’t know where it’s going
I took a wrong turn and I just kept going

Bruce really summed up my approach to living well with that line. Dianne Reel Fuller and I went to see him together when we were in Seminary. She was also a member of the congregation that I was inexplicably put in charge of. Later she was also the very first person that I hired at Union Mission.

I remember the audience went nuts when the E Street Band launched into “Hungry Heart” and Lady Di and I danced in the aisle with thousands of others.

I was living in the gritty inner city of Louisville, Kentucky surrounded by homeless people, prostitutes, and poor little old ladies who had just one leg up on their poverty. And the poverty went on for blocks and blocks for as far as I could see when I stood on the roof of the Church building that housed us all.

Hungry Hearts indeed!

Daily I’d drive to the beautifully kept campus of the Seminary to be indoctrinated on the Baptist brand of faith which minimized “those kinds of people.” So because it was those kinds of people who were “my people” I took it upon myself to represent them in class which of course got me in trouble with the professors.

I was forever being summoned to the Dean’s office for being “confrontational in class” and I was instructed to absorb the knowledge of the esteemed mostly white men with suits and swirl top hair cuts from Dairy Queen.

But back in the inner city the Hungry Hearts kept coming and the tiny broken down church grew and drew the attention of the Baptist corporate offices and the secular press. And I was introduced to media management which wasn’t taught in Seminary.

And we got a lot of it!

Which really didn’t sit well with the esteemed mostly old white men of the seminary. I was getting more press than they were and I was saying things that weren’t particularly Baptist.

I took a wrong turn and I just kept going.

Now I look back on those days with pride and satisfaction. I am certain that my name has been “blotted from the Book of Life” at the seminary and it makes me kind of proud.

But what I remember is the satisfaction and happiness of those homeless men, hookers, little old ladies, and increasingly other students of the Seminary who were not satisfied with what they were being taught and how “everybody found a home.”

Everybody needs a place to rest
Everybody wants to have a home
Don’t make no difference what nobody says
Everybody wants to have a home

For eight years in Louisville I found one that I am still proud of and it fills my heart. And there are old press clipping to remind me that it all happened that way.

Disconnected

My I-phone died yesterday.

Maybe it was because it poured rain most of the day and Conner, Hania and I were running through it in Philipsburg the Capital of the Dutch side of the island. Of course I was using it in the rain. Then we got back to my tiny studio and I was reading a long message from a friend asking questions about my writing when it just went dead.

At about that same moment, it stopped raining and the sun came out. I think that I heard a choir of angels. Maybe.

Everyone who knows me knows that I am wed to the thing constantly whipping it off my hip and letting my fingers fly. At Bored meetings Johnny O and Trolley Joe are forever rolling their eyes at me when I do this. They tell one another that Micheal is “sex-ting” again.

Once Conner took it away from me and put it in the freezer handing me a beer at the same time. He put his arm around my shoulder and took me to the beach to get away from it.

My son Jeremy once said, “Jesus Dad you use that thing more than anybody. No wonder you’re always having to charge it!”

Now God has intervened and struck it dead.

I tried to raise it from the dead last night but charging it through the evening but, alas I evidently am not Christ like enough and it is still as dead as a door nail. I stare at it in disbelief.

What in the world am I going to do? Even Conner seems sympathetic.

But the Tropical Storm has passed and the sun is shinning and there are all of these hummingbirds and butterflies whisking around me. The waves are breaking softly on the reef. The weather is warm.

I suppose on the one hand that I am disconnected. On the other hand I’m standing here with my feet in the aqua-blue-green warm water and feel very much alive.

I suppose that God made the decision for me.

Tropical Storms

A Tropical Storm blew over St. Martin last night and it has been steadily raining since. During the night the Trade Winds were up and water pounded the metal roof of the tiny studio that I am in. There was nothing much to do except go to bed and listen to the roaring sounds that were passing by. And there isn’t much to do yet aside from stay in bed listening to it drip onto the lush tropical foliage.

“And here I am just waiting on this storm to pass me by...” by Michael Franti and Spearhead, “and that’s the sound of sunshine coming down.”

It’s all at how you look at things I suppose, opting to feel good about whatever situation you happen to be in because feeling bad about it just makes things worse.

So what that it’s raining? It’s warm here and I hate the cold anyway. Friends are nearby and there is no doubt that some adventure will find us today as they have a tendency to do in the Caribbean.

Yesterday we repeated a great moment in Team Mike history by returning to Nathalie and getting waxed. She just laughed and of course Conner and Hania were doubled up as I flipped and jerked on the table like a fish on the sand.

Then Nathalie grew even more torturous than she had previously been by introducing a pair of tweezers to the experience. I know completely understand violence and have never wanted to hit a woman so bad in my life.

I did have my opportunity to get Conner back when it was his turn. As the bitch Nathalie spread hot wax on his back I poured a glass of cold wine on his butt. It caused quite the reaction!

The first time that we encountered the evil Nathalie was this past June on another rainy day. We got bored and started daring one another to do things and, well one thing led to another and that was how a great moment in Team Mike history was born.

And then I wrote about it there was quite a reaction. Most people laughed and asked, “You did not!” or “Oh My God!” Several were upset because you’re not supposed to write about such things. What’s wrong with good friends having fun and then talking about it?

I’ve always tried to live life honestly and try to be pretty transparent about it all. I do my best tell the truth because lies just make everything worse. I do my best to enjoy myself and encourage others to do the same. I am a hopeless romantic and know it. I believe that good always will trump evil even if it sometimes takes a while. I’m an eternal optimist who is also a realist. I do my best to sense the holiness that surrounds me and acknowledge it when I see it.

As I’ve said many times before I like to create … be it blogs or books or programs to help people or friendships. My friend Tina recently sent me a quote by John O’Donahue, the Celtic Christian poet and philosopher. The gist of it was in order to create you have to do things that you don’t normally do. You have to step away from the routines, the rules and the traditions. You have to have the desire for something new.

So those are the rules of my living I guess. Now I wait on new fun and new stories to come my way today. And here I am just waiting on this storm to pass me be.

To Dance

I dance a lot when I am here. The crazy wild kind of dancing where I warn whoever my partner is “keep your back straight and don’t let go” and our bodies and our arms are flung all over the place in wild abandon. It is hot here so you sweat a lot and if I’m not careful my partner’s hand can slip out of mine and she goes flying across the three foot high wall that surround Papagayo’s.

This has only happened to me once. I flung her away from me, sweat got in the way, and while I stood there in perfect form with one outstretched arm she sailed over to the wall and tumbled right over it. I held my poise wondering what to do when she decided if she jumped up as quickly as possible and made her way back to me no one would notice that anything happened.

It may have worked if the sand that she fell in didn’t stick to her sweaty body.

One morning I was standing on the beach when another one of the guest here approached me.

“Do you know that you danced with 17 different women last night?” he asked.

“Really? No I did not,” I reply.

“Is your wife here,” he continued.

“Yes.”

“Did you dance with her last night?”

“I think so,” I answer.

He walks away shaking his head. That night we did it again shagging and twirling and rocking the night away in the tropical head. The following morning I was talking to my friend Hania on the beach when he approached me again.

“Is this your wife?” he asked.

“No,” I tell him the truth.

He again walks away shaking his head.

And last night we did it again. Multiple dance partners just happen as people grab one another depending on the song or the mood. Towards the end of the evening the wait staff join in with the guests and people just accept people in joyful expressions of creativity.

There are two types of dancers; those that learned proper steps and rules and then those of us who make it up as we go. Obviously I belong to the later category. There is a creativity that I appreciate when two or more different people can bring rhythm and graceful movement without following predetermined steps or rules.

It is hard to be sad when I dance like this. So twirling around last night I gave thought to new dances bound on new love. And at one point last night in the middle of a song I just stopped. Everyone around me kept dancing of course but I just looked out at the night time sky and I blew her a kiss … inviting her to dance.

Not Quite Alone

“Are you here alone?”

Alex asked me sitting in his golf cart which had stopped in front of my tiny studio. I was sitting admiring the morning and sipping coffee. Alex is perhaps 70 with a bowling ball of a head with a short crew cut. Glasses rested upon a flat nose. He is from Belgium and is one of the first people that I ever met in St. Martin.

“I am,” I sighed.

“I understand,” he sighed back, “my girlfriend dropped dead three years ago.”

What does one say? I just looked at him.

“Why don’t you come to my place at six o’clock for cocktails?”

“OK,” I told him. And he slowly rolled away.

So at six while everyone else congregated somewhere else, I walked over to Alex’s place. He was there alone staring at his watch. As soon as I got inside it started raining hard. When it rains here, it really rains. The roofs are metal so it was impossible to hear whatever the soft spoken Alex was telling me. But he was telling me something and I just watched his mouth move.

I did learn that he was expecting others and he kept looking at his bright yellow watch. The room reeked of sadness.

After half an hour I told Alex that I had to go and meet Conner and Hania. He sighed heavily. The rain continued to poor.

I thanked him and put my arm on his shoulder. He looked lost.

Then I made a dash through the rain to Paul and Nancy’s place. As soon as my feet hit the tiled patio they went flying and my head slammed into the hard surface.

When I opened my eyes there was an Asian doctor staring at me. “Your eyes look focused,” she said then her hands probed around my forehead. “My husband is an OBGYN,” she laughed, “in case you have other issues.”

I stood up and looked at Conner looking at me as though I’m an idiot. Hania came over and rubbed my shoulder. Paul handed me a band aid. Peter who is this 7 foot tall British friend towered over me and softly patted my back. “You sure you’re alright?”

The rain stopped and we all made our way into the warm night sloshing through mud puddles in the sand. Alex remained alone in his tiny studio with the doors opened wide, still staring at his watch waiting on his other guest.

After we ate, Hania grabbed my hand and said, “Come on you! It is time to dance.” And we did song after song after song.

At one point I was soaked with sweat so I walked to an outdoor shower and let the cool water rinse me, The Milky Way was brilliant in the sky and the roar of the waves were hitting the reef. Laughter was in the air from inside. Happy music floated towards the heavens. Glasses were being raised.

And I stood there taking it all in. Not quite alone.

Team Mike

Everything changes today. The peace and quiet of a tropical vacation will be kidnapped. Conner will be here in a few hours. He texted me yesterday informing me that he is bringing additional provisions which will all be consumed in short order. Hania wrote me on Face Book that she is also coming with her husband so that she can continue to serve as our designated walker.

I was with Conner in New Orleans two weeks ago and he got me lost on Bourbon Street. Then we lost one another and I have no idea how I woke up in my hotel room. I assume he woke up in his. We are relatively normal people when we are by ourselves but you put us together and it is this spontaneous combustion. Stuff just happens.

Jim Withers was with us in New Orleans and I saw him a few days later after he had been Conner and me.

“I’ve never laughed so hard in my life,” he told me. “Your friend is funny. You are funny with him! What happened?”

“I have no idea,” I answered. “It’s just me and Conner.”

In St. Martin we are known as “Team Mike.” Conner’s first name is Mike like mine and Ana named us that several years ago. We also have a third member of “Team Mike” named Jacob from Norway. Jacob lobbied very hard to become a member.

As strange as it may seem, not everyone is a fan of “Team Mike.” The people who actually run the resort grew upset that we had taken over the weekly wine and cheese manager’s cocktail party. Conner and I would show up with real wine glasses and work along side Carlos pouring wine.

“A man like you needs Rosé,” we would loudly announce.

This did not go over well.

The following week we were stripped of our wine glasses in front of everyone.

This also did not go over well with the members of “Team Mike.”

So we got our friend Kamira to make signs in English and French that Team Mike would be hosting its own wine and cheese party in the fitness center. This is when Jacob earned his strips by buying all of the wine and cheese and setting up a bar in the fitness center.

Carlos came over to my studio the day of the party and asked me what we were doing. I explained that we were having an alternative wine and cheese party in protest of the manager’s. He told me that we needed a permit.

So Conner got one from Chuck. Chuck’s been coming here longer than anyone and by virtue of spending over a quarter of a million dollars in that time, granted us “Le Permit.” We hung it in the fitness center and I happily informed Carlos that everything was taken care of. We even took a picture of “Le Permit” and posted it on the Internet.

About 60 people showed up. Jacob served as bartender generously serving everyone. Conner and I had an autograph table set up. Because this is a beach and laundry is scarce we used Sharpies to sign body parts. You can go to the official “Team Mike” Face Book page and check out the pictures for yourself.

So I’m getting ready. I’m not certain what is going to happen. I just know that it is.

Good Times!

I Love it here

Everyone is moving slow today. It was one hell of a party last night. A cocktail party planned at the last minute by Nancy turned into an explosion of French cheeses and wine. I think that everyone who is staying here was in attendance. People were inside and people were outside talking and laughing and catching one another up on their lives.

Then the collective group made it over to Papagayo, the restaurant, bar and dance floor. Coop is from Louisiana and sings like Louis Armstrong and he wrestled the microphone from the D.J. and we learned what a wonderful world it can be.

At one point I was standing beside Carlos who is my friend and the manager of Papagayo. He had his arms crossed and was just watching making certain everything was going fine.

“You want some real entertainment while you are here?” he asks me in his French, Creole, and Caribbean lilt.

“You mean like last time?” I shoot back.

He starts laughing. “Yes, like last time.”

Last time, Carlos picked me up at 3:00 on a Sunday afternoon. I was crying as I dressed to leave the beach but I made myself do it. Carlos drives a big SUV and was wearing a Lakers Jersey that we’d given him. I had a tee shirt on with shorts AND underwear. I don’t wear shoes down here.

So he drives us down the dusty road lined with bushes that can break into your car if you get to close to them. He is happy that I am with him and I’m happy to be experiencing another piece of the island. He takes me to this other beach and there must have been a thousand people there, grilling, drinking, laughing and kids were running around everywhere.

Carlos pulls under a tree to park and we walked what must have been a mile through the crowd until we stood in front of a stage. Well, it was really the back of a large truck, but it was being used as a stage.

And across the bed of the truck were girls wearing lingerie. One after the other they came parading and dancing.

“That is what I am talking about!” Carlos told me, laughing and slapping me on the back.

I had to admit that I’d never seen anything like it.

“You stay here and keep our spot,” he told me, “I’ll get us some beers.”

“No, I’ll go with you. You’ll never find me again.”

“Trust me,” he said pushing his hand against my chest. “I’ll find you.”

And he left me there in a sea of people watching girls in underwear parade across the bed of a truck.

Then I busted out laughing. Of course he would find me. I was the only white person there!

So I told him sure. I’m up to hang out with my friend and let him take me wherever we end up next.

Cindy stumbles over from her and Randy’s studios turned palace to tell me that they are going to the grocery store and asks if I need anything. Her eyes are red from the party last night. I jump up and give her a list and think how nice it is to be taken care of.

I watch her and Randy walk away. The breeze is light and the sun is brilliant and it is 87 degrees. The water dances a tango of blues, greens, and aqua.

I love it here.

Electio n Day Results

Sipping coffee this morning my slab mate John leans over and asks if I have Internet connection. He does this every morning. I tell him that I do.

“What?” he explodes and walks over to where I’m sitting to make sure that I’m not lying. It’s too early to lie. I haven’t even finished my first cup of coffee. Besides I’m not elected to public office where most lying occurs.

He storms off with his computer in hand. His wife Deb comes over dressed for her morning workout.

“He gets so frustrated,” she tells me.

I nod with a sympathetic look.

“Have a great work out!” I say.

“You know Micheal,” she says sitting down across from me at the large wooden table on the tiny patio, “to hell with it. I’m not going to do it.”

“Good for you!” I tell her, “Then I’m not either.”

At home I am a relentless runner. I run almost every day usually missing just a day or two each month. But something happens when I am in St. Martin. It’s like God flips this switch and I slide into a different existence with myself. There is no hurry. In the Caribbean nobody makes anything happen. Everybody just waits on something to happen. It is a big difference.

A large green gecko slithers across the patio. Deb stops talking to watch it. She is telling me about how she’s lost 40 pounds but loves to cook and how difficult it is to do that once you’re past 60.

John comes back with his computer in hand and announces election results from yesterday. I suddenly remember that there were elections at all. For the last 30 years I’ve done politics as part of my work. First the dangerous cut throat politics of the Baptists and then the regular cut throat version of Washington and Atlanta and Savannah.

I no longer care. I have come to believe that leaders are rarely elected but that people who are elected believe that they are leaders when they are anything but. I’m happy to be here away from it all.

Instead I dwell on more important things. I text people that I love and tell them that I love them! I check up on my friends on Face Book and through email. I send messages to new friends that I’ve just met and look forward to deepening relationships. I look deep into myself and write what I see. I miss people.

Randy wanders over across the yard that separates his palace from the slums where I stay to wish me a good morning and ask if I have connection to the Internet. I do. He doesn’t. There is something to be said about staying in the slums. He storms off too and I thank God that she has blessed me with connectivity.

Back home people are celebrating victory or consoling one another over defeat as though it were a football game. I’m counting the twelve conch shells that someone planted around that Banyan tree. It is much more fulfilling.

Beach Time

It is quiet on Tybee Island where I live. I am five blocks from Butler Avenue, the main drag which turns into a traffic jam during the summer months and on most weekends. From Butler to the ocean crowds swarm and it is loud. There are always people. But on my street it is quiet and the nights are soft even when fireworks are blasting over the sea or the Tams are playing on the pier.

It is a different kind of quiet here. The electricity goes off most every morning for a couple of minutes while someone reboots the generator. It woke me today when the fans stopped swirling and I lay there with absolutely no sound other than my own breathing. Unlike yesterday when clouds rolled across the sky, the sun was forcing its way through the drapes and tiny beams of light dart across the room.

I crawl out of bed, turn on the coffee pot, throw open the sliding glass doors and stumble towards the ocean, wade in up to my knees and fall over. This is how I wake up every day when I am here. The warm aqua green water of Orient Bay doesn’t shock my senses alive but lovingly coaxes them awake. I float for a few minutes and then stand up.

A long reef separates the bay from the Caribbean Sea and I’ve learned to see what kind of day it’s going to be by watching the waves break over it. If they are large and roaring then the wind will be up and it will likely rain. When they are small and lapping then it is a beach day. Most days are beach days but the reef and the waves never lie.

I walk back to my studio and pour myself a cup of coffee.

When Conner and Hania arrive I’ll walk over to wherever they are and we have established this tradition of morning laughter. I’m not sure exactly how we do it, but in no time at all we are cracking one another up over cups of coffee and tea. Some traditions are precious and this has become one of mine.

But they are not here yet so I sit on my front little deck with this big heavy wooden table. My slap mates, two different studios share the same slap of concrete foundation, are John and Deb whom I’ve known for several years. John leans over and as he does every morning to complaint about lack of access to the Internet.

“Welcome to the Caribbean,” I say every morning in response.

So I sit and marvel at the beauty of it all. Lush tropical plants and flowers are everywhere. Long leaf Palms line the roads. My friends Randy and Cindy took old broken down studios like the ones the rest of us stay in and turned it into a palace. It has everything including satellite television and a walk in shower.

Anyway they planted more Palm trees in front of their place. The thing is all of the other Palm trees here have a piece of tin nailed around them to prevent critters from crawling up them. Randy and Cindy’s did not. So Conner and I thought that they should conform (I know…I know…this coming from me? But Conner makes me do strange things).

So while they were away, we got tin foil and wrapped their Palm trees. Then we fixed cocktails and toasted how funny we are. Then Randy and Cindy, who are quite proud of their broken down studio turned palace, drove up. Randy and Cindy are beautiful people and both of them jumped out of their car, looked at their tinned foiled Palm trees, then at us, and they whipped their heads so fast, it would have made anyone else’s hair flip out of place, but not theirs. They are perfect.

Conner and I both said at the same time, “What?”

I had dinner with Randy and Cindy last night and the story was told yet again as it is every time that we are together. So this morning I watch Randy scrub down the palace and am very thankful that I don’t have one.

Time for the Beach!

Promises of things to come

fI watch the sun rise over the ocean a lot but rarely do I get to do it 17,000 feet in the air. Flying out of Jacksonville the pilot hugs the coast of Florida. It is black when we take off and the stars of the Milky Way are brilliant in their display. I stare out of the window trying to pick out the cities that we are flying over. St. Augustine. Daytona.

Then it begins. The ocean goes on forever and is black and brooding. Then a hint of pink appears on the horizon thin and distant. I watch it as it turns redder and redder. The black sky turns into the deepest of blues with a growing red line over a black sea that remains asleep.

I can recognize the shoreline easily now and see waves that appear to be miles long softly kissing the beach. The ocean turns from black to gray. A haze of yellow begins to erupt from the red line. The dark blue sky becomes muted. Clouds appear that are almost as gray as the sea and I can’t help but think that they are still asleep but will wake soon.

The yellow haze begins to fade and the deep red line becomes this mixture of colors that reach upward becoming one with the blue sky. White clouds roll in and the ocean turns green. And I feel blessed to witness the birth of a day.

Eventually this one took me back to St. Martin which I love. A day of travel by yourself can leave you melancholy so I was ready for action. After immigration was finally convinced that I would eventually leave the island, I was allowed in.

Because of a lengthy delay, I’d missed my ride so I met Nate, the cab driver. As we made our way to the other side of the island, he happily sang Christmas songs that were blaring from the radio.

“Hey Nate, it’s kind of early for Christmas isn’t it?”

Naw Mon,” he replied with a smile. “It starts Halloween here.”

Alright then. Nate pulled into the lone grocery store still open so that I could pick up provisions. Inside children of all colors and sizes were dressed in costumes, mostly ghosts and devils. As I made my way up and down the aisles, they would come and smile at me and hand ME a piece of candy. One little boy dressed as Superman screamed bloody murder every time he saw one. It is hard not to love it here.

I called my Mom to tell her that I was safe and she told me that I was in the New York Times Book Review. It seems that my book Tour of Homes is listed as one of the best books about Savannah by a local author. Cool Beans!

It didn’t take me long to unpack the storage bin and arrange the room. As I did so Paul and Nancy were knocking on my door. They are friends from Canada and were dressed as Jokers on the card. They told me that they had a place reserved for me at their table for the big Halloween party. It is damn nice to be welcomed and know that you have been anticipated.

So I stumbled next door to the party and the place was more packed than I’d ever seen it with everyone in crazy costumes. My friend Carlos, dressed like a Chicago mobster, threw people out of the way to give me a bear hug. “It is all good now that you are here,” he said. “Are you good?”

“I’m alright,” I told him.

And I am. It’s a new day that was ending with a hell of a party. There is no lack of people wanting to talk, all of them aware of the changes in my life. Like every place there was one who tried to be funny about it but ended up looking like an ass. But the Sabbatical on the road ended with lots of hugs (mostly from the people who work here), amusement, laughs and promises of things to come.

And I am a firm believer in promises of things to come.

Promises of things to come

fI watch the sun rise over the ocean a lot but rarely do I get to do it 17,000 feet in the air. Flying out of Jacksonville the pilot hugs the coast of Florida. It is black when we take off and the stars of the Milky Way are brilliant in their display. I stare out of the window trying to pick out the cities that we are flying over. St. Augustine. Daytona.

Then it begins. The ocean goes on forever and is black and brooding. Then a hint of pink appears on the horizon thin and distant. I watch it as it turns redder and redder. The black sky turns into the deepest of blues with a growing red line over a black sea that remains asleep.

I can recognize the shoreline easily now and see waves that appear to be miles long softly kissing the beach. The ocean turns from black to gray. A haze of yellow begins to erupt from the red line. The dark blue sky becomes muted. Clouds appear that are almost as gray as the sea and I can’t help but think that they are still asleep but will wake soon.

The yellow haze begins to fade and the deep red line becomes this mixture of colors that reach upward becoming one with the blue sky. White clouds roll in and the ocean turns green. And I feel blessed to witness the birth of a day.

Eventually this one took me back to St. Martin which I love. A day of travel by yourself can leave you melancholy so I was ready for action. After immigration was finally convinced that I would eventually leave the island, I was allowed in.

Because of a lengthy delay, I’d missed my ride so I met Nate, the cab driver. As we made our way to the other side of the island, he happily sang Christmas songs that were blaring from the radio.

“Hey Nate, it’s kind of early for Christmas isn’t it?”

Naw Mon,” he replied with a smile. “It starts Halloween here.”

Alright then. Nate pulled into the lone grocery store still open so that I could pick up provisions. Inside children of all colors and sizes were dressed in costumes, mostly ghosts and devils. As I made my way up and down the aisles, they would come and smile at me and hand ME a piece of candy. One little boy dressed as Superman screamed bloody murder every time he saw one. It is hard not to love it here.

I called my Mom to tell her that I was safe and she told me that I was in the New York Times Book Review. It seems that my book Tour of Homes is listed as one of the best books about Savannah by a local author. Cool Beans!

It didn’t take me long to unpack the storage bin and arrange the room. As I did so Paul and Nancy were knocking on my door. They are friends from Canada and were dressed as Jokers on the card. They told me that they had a place reserved for me at their table for the big Halloween party. It is damn nice to be welcomed and know that you have been anticipated.

So I stumbled next door to the party and the place was more packed than I’d ever seen it with everyone in crazy costumes. My friend Carlos, dressed like a Chicago mobster, threw people out of the way to give me a bear hug. “It is all good now that you are here,” he said. “Are you good?”

“I’m alright,” I told him.

And I am. It’s a new day that was ending with a hell of a party. There is no lack of people wanting to talk, all of them aware of the changes in my life. Like every place there was one who tried to be funny about it but ended up looking like an ass. But the Sabbatical on the road ended with lots of hugs (mostly from the people who work here), amusement, laughs and promises of things to come.

And I am a firm believer in promises of things to come.

Another Journey of One

I am still not used to it. Traveling alone for work has been a norm for as long as I can remember. As the years passed though, I often was able to take my companion with me to wonderful cities and fantastic places throughout the United States. That was fun.

We traveled a lot aside from work too happily knocking out Caribbean Islands until we found St. Martin and this wonderful carnival of friends. Back in those days I kept journals of all of our trips. I would chronicle our adventures and punctuate them with drawings that I did. Memories of good times that now collect dust on a shelf in my bedroom closet.

Last April was the first time that I began a journey of one, returning to St. Martin alone. My friend Conner met me there for a “boy’s trip” because I didn’t have another option. We had a good time as he and I always do but if I could have chosen for it to be the way that it had been before I would have.

Then in June I did it again and Conner and Hania and hung out. What had been a foursome had been reduced by one. It takes getting used to.

Now I head back again. In several days Conner and Hania will join me again and we’ll have fun again, though everything is different now.

Everything about my life is different now. Very little is the same as it was just several months ago. I am on this journey though I’m not quite sure where I’m heading. Everyone tells me how great it’s going to be though and how successful I’m going to be at it. It’s interesting hearing them.

There is no joy in traveling alone. The destination may be fine and I may enjoy myself once I arrive but once you’ve had the pleasure of laughing and whispering and planning all of the things that you want to do as you make your way, well it makes it lonely and contemplative when you no longer have those things.

So I’m off today to return to a place that I love; a place that someone used to love with me. But that is the past. And I don’t live there anymore.

Get An Afterlife!

St. Augustine, Florida was the first place that I came to learn that the world is a much bigger place than what I’d been exposed to growing up in Port Wentworth, Georgia. America’s oldest city with its Spanish architecture, narrow streets and ancient fort made me realize that the world is much more than the Sugar Refinery and Continental Can Company.

I’ve been to the old city countless times and always enjoy being there. So yesterday, mainly because I wanted to go, Mom, Jeremy, Marie, and Chelsea all loaded into the car and we drove an hour to get there. After finding a parking place on the main street, we walked to the Mill Top Tavern, one of my holy places.

With an incredible view of the old city, the fort and the river, the Mill Top also has live music throughout most of the day. So we got an outdoor table on the deck and settled in for a few hours of salt air and acoustic music. We told stories and laughed and snapped photographs of each other.

St. Augustine runs in the blood of my kids, my close friends whom I’ve drug there and most anyone else who hangs around me for very long. And the Mill Top is ground zero for it all.

Once, Chelsea, Julie, and Austin and I went on a ghost tour of the city. The tour guide wasn’t especially good and when she learned that we were from Savannah, she said, “Well, Savannah is the most haunted city in the United States. St. Augustine is the second most haunted.”

“Get an afterlife!” Austin told her.

Chelsea told this story again yesterday and we laughed another time.

This morning I sit watching the sun rise over the ocean, palm trees silhouetted in the dark, and a black sky sprinkled with stars, begins to be invaded by pinks and purples. God is giving us another day to do with whatever we choose to do. Every day is the chance to start over or try again. Whatever life we had yesterday can either continue or we begin a new life after that one.

That’s what I’m doing. Building an afterlife that is much different from the one that I had last year. Like everyone, I’ve already lived several lives. I was a kid in Port Wentworth who became an adult and left that life.

In college it was another life with new friends from different places and then did it again when I went to Seminary. Children were born and a family was created. A career was born in an old worn out inner-city church. I liked this life very much but it came to an end.

Then I left that life for the one on Tybee Island, at Union Mission, kids left, success came, books were written, a love died and another was born and there was happiness. This had been a happier and more fulfilling life than anything before! But now that life has ended too.

What happens now? The black sky is now blue. The palm tree dances in the breeze. For the first time I am living life alone. The love that I’d believed in is gone. And I have stopped the carnival as I take stock of everything that comprises my life right now --- who I was and who I want to be moving forward.

I find myself after those other lives that I’ve lived. It is getting closer to the time that I embrace a new one that I believe will be happier and more fulfilling still!