Morning Shorts

Morning 114-10 min

The days pass. The always did. No matter waht. A good day a bad. It goes. You think, well in a week in a year in 5 it’ll be different. The worst is when its not. The worst actually is when youre not. when you haven’t changed. when the world still looks the saem from your side. When things feel the same and people sound the same. You thought once it was them. Then you found out it was you. Its you who sees it. The newest movie will still be in black and white on an old tv. Those years of everthing beng the same. They bother you, they haunt you. Then you realize why they do. They haunt you so you’ll stop letting it happen. They haunt you so you change. You have to. You don’t know how so any how is the best way. Then you feel more. The pain more and the gratitude. You remember them both. You discipline yourself so that the pain is mitigated, you humble yourself so that the gratitude is amplifies. You look up, for the first time theres change. But its not in you so much as in others. You feel for them. You see them. You wish you could tell them. But you’re on a journey. You have to keep moving and let them see you. You keep trying always alway keep trying. When it all looks the worst you smile, well at least I see it.

Morning 113-10 min

It wasn’t that I hated my job. It was more that I hated that I had to do it. Not in the sense that I was above working. I wasn’t I had prove that to myself by now, and to that stupid voice in my head that said I was supposed to be proving that. I am pretty sure at this point that that voice is just some way of holding myself back to make some other voice in my head happy. There are a lot to voices, and not a lot of them seem to be helping me.  No, the reason I wasn’t happy at my job was I knew I didn’t need to be doing it. I was certain anyone could be doing it. I was certain that I could probably have AI doing it. I was mad that this job wasn’t something that only I could do. That it wasn’t the thing that my brain and my body and my upbringing and my past experiences and my issues and my knowledge and my interest all covered into, to be the thing that I was solely suitable for. I was upset that this job wasn’t the convergence of my life up until this very moment. That the universe and fate and my efforts had not placed me in a position that fit me, that I alone was the key to. I am upset that I was not being used for what I could offer. This is not a, childish selfish, anger. Not a, spoiled, I deserves something better, anger. This was a anger with myself. An acknowledgement. An understanding that when people said I should do what I want, what I felt called to do, what I loved to do that they were serious. I had thought these things fancy ideas. Ideas that didn’t hold water because who cared about what you wanted or liked, it was for children and for fun, and not for adults and being serious. As I sit here now, I realize that those things were mine. Mine to pursue, mine to love, mine to grow into mine to become great at, solely because I wanted to, because I had to, because my soul and heart and head came together for them. I am angry now, because anyone could do this job. Anyone could be here now. Someone who loved it even, could be in this seat, feeling alive, while I am here angry at myself for letting those voices in my head tell me what I cared about didn’t matter. Angry for not realizing sooner that what I love is mine to love and there is a life to be lived in the pursuit of it. I am angry because I realized this today, and I am still sitting here. These words though, these are mine and I love them.

Morning 112-10 min

He walked outside, his dog with him. It was the usual time at night. Him and his girlfriend were big on routine. The dog was on a routine. He was. She was. Things went well that way. This was the Friday night routine. It was time to walk the dog, then it was a movie. For him that meant a couple of hard drinks. For her, it meant wine. For the dog, it meant a sleep before the real sleep. He was preoccupied as he stepped outside. He had been working on his mindfulness, but tonight he was lost inches thoughts about the movie and the relaxing. It had been a hard week for him, and reading was on his mind. As they walked it too was routine. A right and a left and down the street. They would go until the dog went. Then it was a stroll back, smelling all that there was to smell. As they made their turns. He thought about work for a moment, but was able to turn it off. He thought about things he wanted to do, but turned that off too. He had been working hard to be present, but still was not great at it. So, when the dog did go, he decided it was a good marker to be present the whole way back. As he brought his attention to the world around him, he noticed the quiet. He noticed th foggy air, from the rain they had just received after a long hot day. It looked as if the street was steaming, as a hot cup of black coffee does. Then he noticed it was very quiet. No sounds of cars or insects. No sounds of other people. It was as if the  rest of the area, and wanted to remain silent. That feeling that he wasn’t in on the know. That he wasn’t being quiet when everyone else was. It made him feel alone, and worried. What did they all think? Were they all watching me? He pulled out of the paranoid thought process. It was just quiet he thought… just quiet and I just tired. As they made their way back, the dog perked up first. He thought maybe he smelled a rabbit or deer, as they were abundant around there. However, when the dog began to pull for home as hard as he could the hair on his arms stood straight.

Morning 112-10 min

He walked outside, his dog with him. It was the usual time at night. Him and his girlfriend were big on routine. The dog was on a routine. He was. She was. Things went well that way. This was the Friday night routine. It was time to walk the dog, then it was a movie. For him that meant a couple of hard drinks. For her, it meant wine. For the dog, it meant a sleep before the real sleep. He was preoccupied as he stepped outside. He had been working on his mindfulness, but tonight he was lost inches thoughts about the movie and the relaxing. It had been a hard week for him, and reading was on his mind. As they walked it too was routine. A right and a left and down the street. They would go until the dog went. Then it was a stroll back, smelling all that there was to smell. As they made their turns. He thought about work for a moment, but was able to turn it off. He thought about things he wanted to do, but turned that off too. He had been working hard to be present, but still was not great at it. So, when the dog did go, he decided it was a good marker to be present the whole way back. As he brought his attention to the world around him, he noticed the quiet. He noticed th foggy air, from the rain they had just received after a long hot day. It looked as if the street was steaming, as a hot cup of black coffee does. Then he noticed it was very quiet. No sounds of cars or insects. No sounds of other people. It was as if the  rest of the area, and wanted to remain silent. That feeling that he wasn’t in on the know. That he wasn’t being quiet when everyone else was. It made him feel alone, and worried. What did they all think? Were they all watching me? He pulled out of the paranoid thought process. It was just quiet he thought… just quiet and I just tired. As they made their way back, the dog perked up first. He thought maybe he smelled a rabbit or deer, as they were abundant around there. However, when the dog began to pull for home as hard as he could the hair on his arms stood straight.

Morning 111-10 min

That feeling was back. That one that came from the edges. It came in long a strong wind. Blurring his vision. Shaking his head and the things around him. It dimmed the lights. It dizzied him. Dread is what some people call it. Anxiety maybe others call it. He didn’t know in that moment what to call it. What mattered was that he noticed it. He saw it come on. He felt it close int. He knew it. It was his buddy. He smiled to himself this time. This smile, did not make the person who was currently yelling at him any happier with him. This also did not escape him. It was hard to when the volume was going up and they were do close to him. It bothered him, the yelling, the idea that they thought it was okay to yell at him. It bothered him that they thought this was a way to treat someone. It bothers him that this was the environment it was happening in. A lot bothered him. That was the reason for the dread. The dread came whenever he wanted to get out, but didn’t see the immediate exit. It came when the realizations that where he was was not where he wanted to be. It came when the choices he made became so so clear, and how he got to where he was made so much sense. It was movement he wanted. It was out and up he wanted to go. The dread came when he was reminded of what it would be like to stay where he was. It came when comfortable cam around to bite him. He smiled again, and silently said thank you. He was grateful for the dread. The sign he needed. The permission he wanted and now realized he didn’t need. It was the engine and the fuel of the movement he needed to make. With this he stood. The yelling continued. It was muffled now. It was incoherent. He was now moving at escape velocity, and all else was quiet.

Morning 110-10 min

’ll go back and I’ll change it. He didn’t even know what he meant before he said it.

“what are you talking about?”

“I’ll go back and change it. I’ll go back to the night we met and I’ll do something different I’ll not meet her. If I don’t meet her I can’t fall in love and then my future has to be better, right?”

“I don’t man. Look, this whole time travel thing is wild, I don’t know the rules”

“i don’t think its time travel. I think it’s more like dimension travel, or worm hols stuff. Like I’m going to an alternate reality, but in a different place then I am now”

“that is exactly what time travel is, Damn dude, have You ever seen a movie”

Thinking about it Darren was right this was time travel, which now made sense to him, which then freaked him out, but also made hime happy.

“see I’m just a hands on learner” he said it thinking about the science class he barely passed in college. No demonstrations made it hard for him to understand the physics, just math problems. “uh, nothing nothing, just thinking out loud”

“well look, the fact that I have just excepted this as real should be enough, but I can’t in goof conscious say that I think its a good idea for you to do it again”

“think about it Darren. Think man. If I go back, if I go back to where things started to get off track, where things started to derail and I just stay on the track, think about where I’ll be then”

“maybe, maybe you’ll be somewhere different, or maybe you butterfly wing this whole thing, maybe you end up worse”

“no no no. because results come from our decisions right. So if I go back and make good decisions then I’ll have to be in a better place”

“But you won’t know until it shoots you back to here, which I still don’t get with the worm hole and all that”

“yeah, I haven’t figured it out, all I know is, let time after I fell asleep I woke up here and nothing had changed, but I did the same thing as I did before, you know to avoid butterflies or whatever, so this time I’m going back and changing it. This time I won’t meet her”

Morning 109-10 min

He stood in the mirror. This hotel had cold water. Colder than he had at home. It gave him a headache as it splashed across his face. He felt that stink and soon he was in the shower. That pain was now all over. Those voices that thought that thing he wanted to subdue was being subdued. He couldn’t think much in here. He could feel. He stood under that water. Loving the pain, loving that quiet. But it never got quite enough. Stop! He thought he was saying this in his head, but the echo of the bathroom told him otherwise. Fuck he said this time out loud.

His body began to shake, his skin red from the cold. His jaw could not be controlled. Enough he thought. He didn’t need any attention on him. If he got self induced hypthothermia thought might create a stir around the wedding. No he was not to make a scene, not to mess anything up, not to cause any attention to come his way. He was there to be a guest, a helpful wonderful guest. He of course couldn’t do the thing that had kept him up all night, the thing that was knowing at his brain, the thing that not even the icy water freezing his body into a survival state could quiet, that was to tell her that he loved her, her being the bride of course.

The thought of it scared him. Made him feel like he had to leave, like he couldn’t trust himself not to say it. But, in his thoughts, when he saw himself saying it, when he imagined her response…their lives their happiness, no no no he thought. Just stop it. I can’t. I won’t. Never. I’ll learn to love a different way, in a different aspect.

He heard a knock at the door. “You ready? We have to meet Eric in 2 minuets”

“Yeah” he checked his pockets “Yeah I’m ready”

“You got the rings?”

“Yes, what kind of best man do you think I am?”

Morning 108-10 min

It was that feeling of dread, of worry of confusion, of not knowing. This was a bad feeling. It was here again. Again after he had spent so much time living in it, it was back. How could he have forgotten, how could he have thought about it any other way? What was he going to do about it?

Nothing, well he wasn’t going to do anything about it today. He got out of bed, and for the first time said to himself, as he sat down and sipped his coffee from freshly ground beans, well shit this isn’t bad.

Thats when it occurred to him. Maybe the reason he was miserable wasn’t because he had a shit life, or because things looked bleak, maybe it was because his vision was too far ahead. Even a marathoner doesn’t think about mile 26 on mile 2.

As he drank his coffee he focused on it. Every sip was great. It was warmth and soothing and when he thought about it, absolutely a miracle that it was at his table. A bean, grown on a different continent he had never even been to, was shipped to him so that he could wake up in the morning.

The ideas that usually flood of his mind, of conforming, the harshness of capitalism, the loss of nature, the hamster wheel of his life. He chose to let it go. “No, just this coffee”

As he drove to work he decided to drive. To notice the engine rev, the way the car felt, the way the road was designed, the way it all connected like frozen rivers. Who he stepped back he thought it was almost incomprehensible. That people all worked to change their environment to make way for a vehicle that got them around faster. Paving over obstacles and through mountains. Then he thought, what if they had just done that first, would there have been cars. Or was the need to let cars be as much as they could be the thing that led to the rest of it. Was it the creation that then expanded. Yes he thought, then realized he wasn’t in the moment anymore. But recorded his thoughts on his phone.

At work he thought on his idea. He was in a bubble right now. A wall of weird gray carpet that surrounded him. What would be the car that could change the life surrounding him?

Morning 107-10 min

Um what do you mean. He asked, knowing exactly what he meant. He had always had that feeling and now this week felt and sensed and thought he had seen it.

“Um, I don’t know never mind” He tried to get away from it. Sensing that that he consoled him

No its okay, what do you mean? Like people in the gym, or at work, like judging you?

“sort of. But not really”

Okay, well what do you mean. Like just watching you? He didn’t want to lead him, he wanted to know what he meant, he wanted to know if he was having a similar experience. Darren was one that he thought had too much talent to have done nothing with it. He also had that ability to pull talent from no where, and now he thought people were watching him, and he was talking to him about it. Tell me what you mean really, no judegenment.

‘Alright, maybe I’m going crazy but it seems like people are watching me. But, they’re also trying to hide it. Sometimes I have this thing where I catch people watching me” Darren looked at him to see of he lost him. He was still there listening. “ But this is different. This is people that I don’t think are trying to be obvious, this is people that I think aren’t meant to be seen, but I keep catching them”

Thats interesting. He looked around, anyone here. What he didn’t tell Darren was that he had noticed the guy on the treadmill, two rows down and all the way on the far corner of the gym keeping an eye on them in mirror and through the gaps in the machines.

“ I don’t know’ He was hesitant again. “I thought I saw a guy over there on the press machine”

Oh, he said seeing the guy looking at everyone. “And I’m pretty sure that guy over my shoulder on the treadmill, all the way in the corner”

Oh shit he thought

Morning 106-10 min

He woke up, suddenly. There was a door opening. It stopped. Wait, was that real, was that a dream, was that anything? There it was again. He was up, out of bed. Bat in hand. What was he going to do? If the people he thought wanted him, if the paranoia in his head was right, what was a bat going to do. He crept around the house. He never found the sound. He remembered the dish washer made the oddest noises. The dishwasher that he had set to go on for the night. His heart settled down. He climbed back into bed. The glass on the window fell, and broke. He new it now, this was something, this was happening. It was going down right now. Just then he heard the window whip into the side of the house that it always did. The house flexed in the way it did. Was he explaining the sounds away or was he going crazy? The night continued like this until it was daylight. The daylight brought sleep and relaxation. That day was a sense of cloudiness and wonder. He felt it all. He went out of his regular routine and did nothing like he usually did. He even found himself sitting outside his work watching it, even though he had taken the day off. He snapped out off it at some point and headed to the gym, a workout would do him good. He saw Darren there. Not the chipper type he usually was, “ever feel like people are watching you?”

Morning 105-10 min

How he thought did he know how to do that. He thought maybe it was just lucky. But then he thought again. These things had happened to him a lot. He couldn’t recall learning these things. He didn’t recall practicing these things. If asked, he wasn’t even sure that he could explain it. But for a long time, these things were happening. Something would come along where he would need to do something, and he could do it. He didn’t think about it. He just did it. At first he thought he was the only one. Then he met Darren. Darren was a nice guy. Fun to be around. Not real ambitious, but a nice guy and friendly. What Dan did like to do was to travel. He would get these urges, to get up and change his scenery. A flight to the islands. A flight to Europe. A long drive to Tennessee or Texas. He had the wanderlust and sense of adventure. He saw it first when a man fell. He was with Darren in the airport when a man walking toward them collapsed. Darren waled over and in a manner which made it seem like he had done it a million times he checked on the man. Diagnosed him. Figured out he was having a diabetic issue and got the mad juice and revived him. When it was done, he continued on. As if nothing really happened. He was unfazed. When the story was recounted later, Darren could explain how he knew that the man was diabetic, couldn’t explain how he knew what to do, and didn’t really remember that well. This was the first time he saw it in someone else. Since then he had met several people like Darren. People that he found himself on trips with. People with unusual skills in unusual times. He was starting to think that this may not have been accidental.

Morning 104-10 min

He had started in so much pain. It had felt immense, all consuming. It was painful enough for him to feel it all, but not enough to destroy his senses. He had felt it all. It was unbearable. But it had to be bearable, because there was nothing else to do. There was no one to take this away. There was nothing that would replace it. They pain was there and it was staying. It wasn’t moving, it wasn’t budging.

All he could think about was how he wanted it gone. The need for relief filled him. Lash out scream it made it worse. Then let it sink in. His heart raced. His mind was the worst. It screamed. Overwhelmed his heart and body thumped. He was present only in the pain and now in the fear. He was present only in the feeling of wanting what he wasn’t getting. His brained raced for ideas of how to solve it. It even blamed the the reasons he was here. Thoughts helped but not enough, when he was back to this moment he was dying again. It was too much. Too much. Anything to stop, anything at all. And still nothing came. Still nothing. Relax he said. His brain and heart and body did not. Breathe he said. He did. Quickly and hurriedly and fast. It wasp’y helping. It made it tougher. He tried to think of the field he loved as a kid. The one where he could stand in it, his house to his back, the woods to his front. The last moment he would see it clearly before he disappeared into the unknown for the adventures of the day. He tried to feel that breeze and hear the bugs and the birds and the way the gras crunched under his foot in the heat of the dry summer. He managed it for a moment and then the moment came back to the fear and pain and panic and persistence of action to be anywhere but here.

It never came. He wasn’t going anywhere and so he gave in. To the feelings and the death of pain and fear. And it was gone, it was gone.

Morning 103-10 min

He noticed that they all looked the same. he sat on the bench and looked around, and for the first time he noticed that they all looked the same. Noticed that they had similar features, similar builds, were doing similar exercises.

One comes over to him. He knew this one for a long time, but had not seen him for a long time too.

“Hello” He says. The even have the same name. The same hair and same color skin.

How have you been, how is life how is everything, start from where you left off, 12 years ago, what happened to bring you here with me.

“I didn’t know what to do, so I did what they told me, and now I’m here, working because I have to”

The answer was true.

He asked the same question to the man sitting.

He wanted the answer to be different. In his head, it was full of twist. His life had been crazy, full of life and love and heartbreak. But the answer was the same. It was a straight line. Doing what he was told, over and over. Now doing what he was told in order to live.

Was anything he had different from the others? Was anything his? Did he do anything that was off the line, away from the program, a try a want a something that was not a clone of the rest of them?

He sat there and said nothing.

“What have you been up to, what’s your story?”

I don’t know, he said, I think it’s the same as you.

“Well no, its not the same”

Actually, I think it is. I think it is the exact fucking same fucking shit. I have nothing to tell you.

“Well okay then. It has been a delight to see you. Would you like a spot”

No man. Are you alive in there. Are you fucking okay?!

“I am great”

I am not. I am not you

“I know that”

Get the fuck away from me. ALL OF YOU!

He ran out the door. Passed his car and kept running. He ran as his legs burned. he ran until his lungs burned. He ran until his head throbbed. He ran until the voices in his head said stop stop stop. He kept running. If he was different then he could run himself to death, and he would try. he would keep going until his world went to black, until what he know he couldn’t remember and what he felt was real.

Morning 102-10 min

He didn’t know if he was running from life or if he was living it fully. he didn’t know if he believed in it, or if he was afraid of it all. He didn’t know if he was doing this right or if he was completely messing this all up. What was good and bad, was that he didn't have a long time to think about it, he had to start working again.

He got back to it. Work, hard reparative and hard again. It left a lot of time for the mid to wonder and wander. He thought of how to do this job better, faster, different. thought of how he would spend his time when he was done. Thought that he could do a lot of things different. When he had it all figured out, he had to go back to it again.

The work pulled him in, kept him in place, kept him from acting.

Or was that just an excuse not to? Was he just there to say that he had to be? Was he just there so that he didn't have to do the things he said he wanted to.

When would he do them. Back to work. When would he Start? Back to work. when would he have the time? Back to work. Is this where he would die, Sitting here doing the work for another man, Never knowing if he could do it himself? What if it all went wrong, what if it already was, back to work.

What was this work for?

Morning 101-10 min

He had a vision, He thought it was fun to think about it, fun to run though in his head. It was the thing he would think about as he wa falling asleep. The thing that might lift his mood if he was down. It was the thing, that when angry, he thought about. Thought about If it were real, if it were they way he saw it, how things would be different.

He didn't think about trying to do it. For some reason the thought never occurred to him. Maybe it was the way his parents thought. Dreams are fine, but that’s what they are, dreams. You are to work and to work and to work, and to have a family, where no passion should be thought of for the life you live. Maybe it was the way he thought if the world. He loved cinema, loved books, loved adventures and mysteries and stories of people living in a different way, a way against the common drone. He loved stories of people who sought a different path and who had a passion for the things they did. He loved stories of people living a life fully, ones of people that they still talk about. But, maybe that was why he had an issue, to him those ideas were for the screen and the pages and from the words of the older people he looked up to, it never once occurred to him, that it could be him they discussed. Perhaps it was his fear. He had been thought of, both in himself and from those around him, as a boy of potential. One of possibility. Perhaps it was his fear of destroying that idea, of destroying that notion, of letting that thing, the idea of what could be go, because he feared what he would be if he wasn’t at least full of potential. So perhaps he sat in that, never giving his all, because to give and not succeed is a failure, and he could not handle that. Perhaps, it was that he thought too much of others, of what they thought and what they wanted and what they needed and not enough about how he could become strong enough to endure any failures that may come his way. Perhaps his mind decided to focus on the smallest of details, the things he had decided would effect his life, while ignoring the truer, realer things, like effort, habits, work, and love.

The reasons were good to know. The thoughts were and exercise in understanding. But what he had determined was that all that mattered was progress, for he had wasted so much time, and there was only enough left.

Morning 100-10 min

it wasn’t that he was just mad. Mad was easy. Mad was fast. Mad could be thought through rationalized, detached from and sorted through. It didn’t last, or at least it didn’t have to. Mad was animal. This was Human. He didn’t want revenge, or justice or some sort of comic book idea of righting the world, putting it back in it rightful place. He didn’t want to protect those that might come after him, those that might experience it too. He didn't want to let the world know, so that the crowds could march and the voices could carry and say how wrong it was. He wanted it quiet, he wanted to no one to know. He wanted to take it all. He wanted to destroy it and take it and make it his. He wanted to be the fear, the worry, the thing that people say to be careful of. He didn’t want to dole out justice. He wanted to be the common law.

He told no one this.

He sat out. Taking it step by step. Re-inflaming that power in him again and again. To the point where he glowed and everyone could see. Some thought it was for his work, some for his love. He knew why and soon they would too.

Morning 99-10 min

To master something, that was the idea. To make something that he does, the best that he could do it. It didn’t really matter what. Making money from it would be nice. Making something that other people would enjoy would be nice. Making something that others could understand and relate to, these were all great ideas. These however were not the ultimate goals. These were ideas, by products, others. The main goal, was to create something of his own, something that he could make his own, something that great, greater then anything else then he could hope to create.

This required hours, days years. All those things people say when they talk about effort. But none of that mattered. It was like breathing , or walking to him. The effort, it was just the point. And the harder the effort the better. This was the purpose the calling the thing that came. This was the idea. The was pure. It was effort. Something from nothing. Blood form a stone. A bison to a creation. This was his to create, and it was all he cared, or even thought to care about.

Then it was done. The thing he had tried to do he did. The effort paid off. The create was real. And so he thought, what could be next, what was the thing he could do now.

He began again, as if the first one was a waste of time. He began like it was all wrong. He began like time sped up, this time it would be right.

Morning 98-10 min

He had a deadline. This one he knew they were serious about. he had pushed the others back. Stating that they could wait for him. Knowing that he needed more time, because, he had nothing. The publisher, was now, out of patience. They had given him the advance and had given him an editor, they had given him everything he could need to succeed. What he had to do, was to do the work.

He had tried to do the work. This he wasn’t even lying to himself when he said so. he had sat down almost everyday to do it. To get it done. He had put the work in, at least he had put the time in. And then he would delete it. He would delete it all. Everyday. If it was 20 pages or 20 words. He deleted them. Not only that. He did his best to forget them. He did what he had to do to start truly fresh everyday.

He loved it at first. A new start everyday. He thought he was burning the loose ideas off the pile. Taking the easy thoughts, using them and letting them go. He thought that in that way, he would get to something better, something so deep that it could only have come from him. He wasn’t sure what that thing was. He didn’t know it yet. But he thought he would see it or know it when he did. How could he not. The thing he was looking for was the thing. the one all writers look for. the truest voice. the most original thoughts. it he thought, would be the best thing ever put to paper.

Now though, there wasn’t anymore time. so he had another thought. He wrote this time. Whatever came to him at first, then, after some time a story began to develop. He told it the best he could. The rule right now, he thought, was don’t stop writing. He wrote this story, it came to him and he wrote it down as fast as he could. It was as if all those false starts had plunged the drain, and now it was all pouring out. For almost two days he slept only long enough to pay attention again, he ate only what he needed to make the pangs stop distracting. He wrote and wrote. After two days he had it. A start, pages, a story.

When he delated it, he could hardly sleep, wondering what he could write in another two days.

Morning 97-10 min

What he wanted was a story. The kind of story that would change the world. Not headlines, nit news, but fiction. He wanted that story that somehow everyone knew. The one that was retold and retold. The one that they made movies about and referenced in songs. A story that made the world think different. A story that would be translated into every language. He wanted that story. So he figured he would try to write it. Just word he thought as he sat down every morning. Every story ever was just word. Words on a page. Word written down. Just words in a certain order. That all the story was.

He sat and wrote words every morning. Sometimes the words came, sometimes they didn’t but he kept writing those words. He wrote and wrote and wrote those words in every order and combination he could think of. He wrote the truth eh wrote fantasy, he mixed them up, sometimes enough to where he forgot which was which. He wrote it all. And yet, that story alluded him.

Then one morning he awoke. He had it. he had the story. He had just had the most vivid extreme dream about the story. The clarity of it, the wisdom. It was a gift. It was perfect. He went to his computer to write it down. As he tried. the images started to blur. The story got jumbled. It wasn’t as clear. It was getting less so by the second. He wrote as fast as he could. he wrote faster then that, thinking he could fix his mistakes, but he didn’t want to lose it. he couldn't. It poet slipping and slipping and slipping away.

When he was done, when he couldn’t retrieve anymore of it. he looked up. Before him was a story. A story that was so elementary, he was sure that if he asked any grade schooler, they would come up with something even better. He almost cried. He knew there was more too it. he knew there was something that he wasn’t saying the way it should be said.

The next night, he had the same dream. He once again wrote and wrote, it was sightly better this time, maybe a little clearer.

Morning 96-10 min

He decided he would do Christmas in his own way. If she wasn’t going to be around and it was too late to go home, then he was going to do something. Is first stop was getting a tree. For him that was the mark of the holiday. In the way some people felt about the cookies or the movies or seeing the lights, it was the tree for him. A ridiculous act of brining a live tree inside, was the thing that was so ridiculous that it meant it was the holidays. As the shop he saw tall ones and taller ones. He went with the Charlie Brown. And it was Brown. And Charlie’s size. The girl asked him if he was sure as he was ringing it out. He said he was, as he walked away, he winked at her. It occurred to him as he was walking home, Christmas beer in one hand and brown tiny tree in the other, that maybe he was an asshole for winking, or maybe he was sly. It didn’t matter tonight he thought, tonight is my Christmas party. If she’s not here, I’ll enjoy it alone doing all the things she didn’t want me to do.

As he was setting up Charlie, he had another realization. She took the ornaments too. All he had was a few from his grandma and from his childhood. He was at the bar within the hour.

I thad great music, if not some depressing personal. It was Christmas Eve eve. A Friday. This was the day to party with friends. Ugly sweaters and eggnog and mistletoe toe. These people were here with him. He ordered another Christmas Bourbon. A bar special. He was pretty sure it was Rubbing alcohol with food coloring, and a hint of all spice. It was terrible, but it was getting the job done. His heart hurt, but he was happy about it. He began to make friends. these were people too, maybe in fact, they were his people, maybe he was one of them.

The door opened. More people to join out club he thought. It was a group of them. Noses red from the cold. Gloves and hat and bog coats. They had been outside for awhile. It was the Christmas Tree crew he had met earlier. It was Her, the one he winked at.

He went back to the bar. This is not good. One more he gave the bartender the sign and close me out he said. He left 10 dollars on the bar for a tip.

A voice next to him said “What? He doesn’t get a wink too?”

Morning 95-10 min

He was there looking at wha the had and in the true essence of things, he had so much, in the numerical essence he didn’t have much. There was a part of him that was sad, some parts scared, others embarrassed. He knew these feelings. He knew them all too well. They were what he had lived with most of his life. Which was another realization. These things were not knew to him. This set back was actually normal. He handled with as much grace as he thinks anyone would. He handled it with as much calmness and level headedness as he had ever seen, and in a turn he had congratulated himself on that. But, he did know, it was because he was experienced. Experience is failing, experienced in starting over, experienced in letting people down. He wasn’t sure if he did it on purpose, but he was at least sure that it was his fault. And, he was happy now. He knew now, that no matter what, he was going to be okay. He had done this so many times. He had made it through. He knew he could now. Like a man trained in survival, he could do it, and do it well.

Now though, things were different, it was the why he was after. More accurately, is was the not anymore. They why, was probably because of some programming he had used to get something he wanted or to avoid something he didn’t and now it was out of control, now it had gone too far. And now he saw that. He was at the bottom but his spirit and should and heart were not. They were grateful. They let love in and gave it out. They were grateful for tit all even the things to come. This was the start. it was the beginning. It was the moment that turned everything into what it could be and it was here.

The first step, was to love in his heart. The next was to get a job.

Morning 94-10 min

To show up, to not give up, to keep going, to never stop, to do the work, to move. These are the steps they say will get you there. He thought of this as he stared at the sunlight coming through the window. It was the old urge to stay asleep that was bothering him. I twas also the old urge that there was nothing worth getting up for that was bothering him more. He knew the rules, the ideas. to create something to have a purpose a meaning, to grant it to yourself. These things he knew and yet he saw that light creeping from a glow to an orange hue. The day was here and he was letting it go. The day was growing and he was in bed. Fine he said, lets do it, nothing going on here anyway.

The first steps out of that bed were the hardest. The back was tight. Tight enough that standing up straight was hard to do. The eyes were bloodshot, from lack of sleep. Even his morning pee, and some difficulty to it, it seemed that not enough water made it hard to go, even though he felt the pressure on his bladder. Just keep moving he thought. It just one more thing. Coffee is coming.

Coffee was always something he could look forward to. His one private mediation. He gratitude journal. His presence practice. Something about that hot liquid in the morning made him happy. Was it the smells. Was it the warmth. Was is just that it was a contrast to the rest of the morning. Whatever it was he was always able to enjoy the sips that he took. Paying close attention to temperature, to flavor, to smoothness. He was preset for every sip. As he waited for it to brew he resisted the temptation to scroll on his phone. Another good decision he thought. He had noticed that his days and brain didn’t get better when he scrolled through the endless pictures of the internet. He noticed it always left his Brian craving more. The oddest thing, being that if he didn’t, his brain didn’t seem to mind at all.

He sat there as the morning rose more. his good decision in. His coffee almost done. Then the loudest noise he had ever heard in his life.

Morning 93-10 min

I sit and think. Well I try to, but I have devised that the work around me keeps me from doing so. We have the food making me feel sick, the booze making me tired and sicker and pulling my thoughts into all sorts of directions. It is also making me feel good, but its switching to bad, as I sober up and the effects leave. This would normally make we won’t to have another drink, to avoid that fate, but I have things to do tomorrow. Another drink would take away from that and I don’t want that. I also have the tv on, the computer playing a movie and I end up scrolling funny videos on social media and don’t notice I’m doing it until I do. So I’m not really thinking. I’m flooding my brain with everything I can, probably to avoid thinking.

And then I breathe. I breathe deep and I can feel it go into my head. I can feel it connect with the parts that feel asleep.  I can feel my body awaken.

Think I think. Create something amazing. Something that will make you proud, something that will make them love you. Ah, but you don’t need that do you. What have you done, spent your time not doing it, to see what was left. Well you know now, what’s left is left and your on the edge that it’s your point and ego against what you can do in this world.

So think, you’ve waited them all out. You’ve gone as far as you can go with it. So now is it. Think and create. Think and make it better. Think and do what you do. What can you do?

It’s like changing a train and the tracks. So much time and energy. So much momentum. To a bridge too far, to short and to nothing. All have gotten off that ever will. The rest are here and you have to decide where you are going to take them.

So think and create and do and create and do again and change it all.

Morning 92-10 min

It was like the whole world knew something he didn’t. “How” He thought, how could he have not known. Difficult is what they said. Hard to be around. Impossible to work with. Bad temperament. No passion for the job. Argumentative. A contrarian. These were the worlds used to describe him.

He had known that not everyone thought he was easy to be around. But he assumed that everyone had those people. What he didn’t know, was that was how everyone felt. He didn’t know everyone thought he was difficult.

In his heart he wasn’t. He didn’t mean any malice, or hate towards people. In his head he couldn’t help it. When there was an instruction or a way of doing things, he could not help but think, is this really the best way. He could not help but think, why are they wasting time. He could not help but think, this could be done better or different. In fact, if he knew it could be done different, it was hard for him to do it any other way. It was if his brain was locked on the solution.

When he finally found out what others felt about him. He as confused. What did they want instead. A cog, a minion, a weeble that doesn’t know hoe to think. A person to just follow orders and not create solutions. In his mind thats what computers were for. They were for doing task, without thought or emotion. They were for doing. He didn’t understand why people would want him to be like that too, but as it turned out, that all they wanted from him. To get in line. To not think it was all dumb. To not have an opinion.

He couldn’t do it. If this was who he was, then he was this way for a reason. He would find a way to make it work. He would find a way to have his personality work for him. A puzzle piece in this epic board of life.

Morning 91-10 min

Way to go

he heard it over the crowd. He could hear that voice anywhere. It was his Dad’s. Distinct and loud. He would have hear him though even if it was a whisper. Way to go was not something he heard often, and he instantly wondered what he did to elicit the comment. He had been playing this game most of his childhood. Playing to win. Practicing to make it. Practicing to get away from this home. And now, in an instant he wanted to stay. He wanted to hear what else his Dad had to say. What was good about it. What did I do right. Was there anything else?

Then the ball came down the field again. He was snapped out of his day dream. He was back into the game. Present now. Defending like he never had. Seeing every move, anticipating it. Setting up for a hit that would knock the ball out and line up for a recovery. He planted, lowered himself and then stepped up and into the opponent. He looked for it. The ball was in the air, in front of him. He easily grabbed it and took it down the field. As the others stepped up to stop him, he saw he was around. A fake pass, a spin move and then he was alone with the goalie. The goal seems huge to him. A large space with a tiny man standing in front of it. Nothing but space to the back of the net. One more fake, a shot to the lower left for the goalie to commit and a finish to the high right side. He watched every fiber of net wave, as the ball was caught by it.

Then he heard it. The cheering, the screaming, all of the comments and amazement. His teammates jumped on him, Slapping his helmet and pads. He listened.

“thats it, way to go”

Morning 90-10 min

He felt it. It was rare but he knew it when he did. It was that feeling that he knew exactly what he was doing. It was the feeling of knowing that whatever was happening he could handle it, that he was handling it, that he was in control. He had that feeling enough times to know it, but know he thought about it. Then he thought about thinking about it and that made him think more. No no no, he thought, this is not the time. Luckily in these moments the flow of thoughts took over. He was there and not, attached but not, cared but didn't. Like playing your favorite game for the millionth time, the skill was there, the stakes were real, but there was no pressure as in no thought of doom, there was just playing and playing it well.

When it was over he thought of it all. Why was that feeling only sometimes? Why had his feeling swung so often now to the complete opposite side. To thoughts of doom and anger and fear and worry. Why did those thought dominate his brain. He knew that based on what he red it was something about the wiring. Luck programming a car. Some cars were programmed to be sports cars, others were programmed to be heavy pullers, well his was programmed to be afraid, at least that was the science. He didn’t believe it though. These moments had happened enough for him to know that they were real, that they were not a fluke. That meant that his brain could be fearless. His brain could flow. His heart could be in the right place and his thoughts focused.

How then, could he get there more often. How could he make it apart of his life. How could he change his mindset to one of being and doing and presence instead of thinking and thinking and being in his head. Mediation seemed to show a glimpse, but it never felt like enough. It was like a reminder, but not a pathway. Maybe he didn’t do it long enough, or in the correct way, but he knew he could access it all in some other way. He knew if he could do it once, or twice and especially three times, he could learn to do it whenever he wanted.

Morning 89-10 min

It was an hour into the lock down. So far nothing had happened. He knew it would be weird. all the movies he’s had ever seen about ghost were in homes like this. They just and an eerie sense about them. They moan and creak and sway. Years of abandonment and no upkeep were to blame for that. He also knew the stories of this place. It was that house in that town that everyone talked about. The one kids dared each other to go into. The one every aspiring film maker wanted to make the next Blair witch at. It was that house a cliche itself. And he was doing a cliche thing, spending a night in it.

This was of course, as was the case for many of the thing he did that seemed rediculous, a bar bet. It was the last Friday. His friends brought up the house, as they were to do every halloween season. It was the same old stories. How they came here when they were kids, saw something move and ran out. He had never come as a kid. For one his curfews were strict and his parents all too happy to punish him. For another, he didn't like those things when he was a kid. He thought they were silly, a group mind meld to freak each other out. He as a serious kid, and had better things to do. Mostly writing, what he thought were serious post, but were mostly just about pop culture and some knew topic he learned about and thought he was the only one that unederstood it. Racism is bad, bullies are bad, sexism is bad. He cringed now to think about the blatant publishing of obvious ideas with an arrogance that would make Trump blush.

Now though, as he had grown, he loved these stories of the super natural. Cryptics and Ghost and UFOs. What he loved about them though, was that he thought they were all fake. He loved that others didn’t thing so, or had some how convinced themselves it was real, this to him was the fascinating part.

Morning 88-10 min

He wanted to go home, back to bed, back to doing whatever he wanted. He was here now though. If he went home his parents would be mad. He was always annoyed when they were mad. His mom always acted like she had never seen anyone ever in the history of the world act that way. His Dad always took it personal and tried to show him how tough he was.

No he thought, not worth it. Not worth all the yelling and questions. That was not the type of attention he wanted. So he stood there, Feeling the cold against his face, watching his breathe. Now he wanted the bus to get there. At least then he’d be warm. Or! he thought, Maybe it won’t show up! Maybe the bus driver didn’t show up. Maybe someone snuck into the bus yard last night and cut all the buses fuel lines. Maybe they got to work and one of the drivers flicks his cigarette and the whole thing went up. Yeah, that would be at least two days without school. That would be the thing. Then when the questions came in, he’d tell them the bus never came. You guys left for work. There was nothing else to do. I had hot dogs and Mac and cheese and chocolate milk for lunch. I watched movies. It was a great day.

The bus came around the turn. He felt the pit in his stomach, the same way he did at every day. it was the same feeling of getting your test back, or getting your report card, or being asked to take your home work out. Here we go, another day he thought.

The bus was warm, and smelled odd as always. He was the first to be picked up. That always, made him feel like he was in trouble too. This bus, to that place, all for him. As he sat there another thought came to mind that made him smile.

Morning 87-10 min

He thought, what is to the fullest? He heard it his whole life. Live to the fullest, do it to the fullest degree you are capable, he lived a full life. What was life at its fullest. What did one do, to the fullest. Did they wake up screaming, running, fighting until they passed out?

Was it that they were so present that every moment felt like a lifetime, nothing got past them, nothing got was lost, nothing was not seen or heard and all appreciation for the creation of the world was given thanks everyday.

When ever he had heard that people lived to the fullest, it was usually people who lived lives that were different. Dangerous lives. Ones that meant that their lives could be cut short. They other times he heard it, it was when people had fun in their lives. Creators. Writers, comedians people who changed their worlds.

He sat there and thought about all this, while he knew that he had a meeting in 5 minutes with his boss. His boss was going to ask about his performance. His boss was going to ask what he had done all week. His boss was going to be disappointed. He knew this because he was disappointed. There was no creativity in this job. This was a job of the hustler, the now that gets the high from getting something from other people. This was not the job for him.

There was also no danger in this job. The most dangerous thing that happened was a strongly worded email telling him to stop sending him emails, because they don’t want what he’s selling. The sad part he thought, was that even this did get his heart pounding. What kind of lame ass man gets a surge from an email.

There was nothing physical in this. He could feel his back sage, his blood cool. He wanted to do some pushups or squats or do something that proved he was in this space, this world.

His breathe began to get shallow. He knew what this was. Panic.

Morning 86-10 min

Why had it once been so fun, energizing, exciting and wild. It was now silly. A man trying to recreate what once was for people he didn’t like. Pulled back to the carnival to entertain to make others fell good. Pulled back to the show to make others laugh, to make others forget theirs lives while they pretended they wanted him to be apart of his.

He was back there, in the same place doing it again. Literally trying to recreate it. Trying to use the same devices and same laughs a second time. Trying to get that smile or that laugh the he had heard. Trying to get the desired look and touch that he had wanted last year. But, its to working. Its falling apart and he knows it.

They don’t smile, they scorn. They want their clown back. They don’t bring him in, the keep him at a distance for he doesn't give them what they want. They don’t give him the love they can tell he needs, they keep it, knowing that both with holding it, they can make it seem more desirable.

But it all begins to crumble. They’re bored and he is mad. Mad at himself for trying. Mad at himself for failing. Mad at himself for wanting what they have. Mad at himself for caring. It was a memory and a feeling he wanted. But he can’t go back there, and he is not the same person now. So what to do? They laugh at him now, and he knows what he sees.

They are upset that it is put back on them. They are upset that they have been found out. They need him to want them. They need him to think that being liked by them is something worth caring about. And now it seems like it doesn’t. It seems like he may not care. It seems like it doesn’t matter to him if they want him around or not, and what are they, if they are not the object of someones desire.

They split up, even from each other. The exchange has been too much. Too much revealed, too much given away. They all leave to save themselves. If they don’t look at themselves, they don’t have to change it, they don’t have to see what broken, but he sees it now, he sees all the broken pieces of the devices that he thought were people.

Morning 85-10 min

All he ever wanted was to be perfect. The was the thing the didn’t realize they were teaching. Look up to the man. be like the man. Think like he would think. Do what he would want you to do. Be like him. Be perfect. Some of them took that as gospel. wasn’t that the idea. To take it literally, to be the man, to be perfect in every way.

No one really thought about what that would mean though to a boy like this. TO a boy like this, perfect wasn’t an idea, or a thing he gave up on. Perfect was an obsession. Perfect was the point. Perfect was the only thing that mattered.

Things got tough when he realized he wasn’t perfect. The he wasn’t born perfect. That the things inside and outside his world weren’t perfect. This bothered him, tortured him actually. he couldn’t understand why. What would I be made if not to be the perfect image of what should be. Why be taught what it should be if I am not. So he realized the real reason was, He was not perfect yet.

Not perfect yet was something that he held to. every mistake was a pain to his soul. Every mis-step, every fail, every delay, tore at him. The fabric of what he was was being torn apart by what he knew he could be.

Perfect was the idea, perfect was the solution. Until he grew up and asked another question. Who’s perfect am I. What is my perfect. Is it the same for everyone, is it the same in the universe. Perfect was now abstract. Not concrete. Perfect was lost and so was he.

Morning 84-10 min

what? Why would you say that? why would you want to say that?

This was the thing. He knew why. he would probably say the same things to her. So why was he asking? Why was he talking like he didn’t understand. Was it because he didn’t know, or was it because he want to have the power, because he wanted to make her feel bad, because he wanted to exploit the situation.

Yeah, that’s what I Thought!

It kept coming. The ideas, the thoughts, the feelings. The things he felt. Then it happened. Things clicked. Things went high and higher, hot and hotter. He could hear himself thinking. Displaced from the feeling. Displaced from the thought that were raging in him. Why he thought, was this happening. What was he supposed to do. To act, to fir off, to fire up, to feed the fire.

What should eh do, listen to one side or the other? What if he didn’t listen to those thoughts. What if didn’t listen and instead, took a breath. And instead watched that breath, and inside focused on that breath. What would happen then? Could he calm down. Could he think clearly? Could he make it through this and then be able to control his thoughts from now on? Could he love himself and the people he was with more, if he didn't let the thoughts of other things control him?

Morning 83-10 min

that feeling, it’s here again. You know it so well. That feeling of, shifting ideas of shifting worlds. The one where what was no longer is and why will be could be anything.

Thats a strange one. It could be great. In this moment though, it is odd. It is different. It is new.

You have changed. The world has changed. There is something that you can not have anymore, and you d not have. A break from an identity. A change in vision. A difference, a marker , a period.

In these things, you have been here before. They things that are grounded. The things that are strong stand out. Like unbroken trees in the wake of a hurricane. You watch them. Their roots are strong. They do not sway. No small breeze will knock them down. Its all too deep now.

You watch from a new stand point.

What will they think of you in a year. What about a month? what about in the morning? They are strong. Their worlds have changed and they stand tall. Can you too?

These thoughts you don’t just think. You feel. New, different, weird, odd, scary. These are all things that describe life. As if it was anything else.

You’re grateful for it all. The change and that which remains.

It is good and beautiful. It is a blessing to live and you know that this game has many chapters. Remembering you’re a writer, you think on what you’ll write this time. You think on what you’ll make it all be.

You remember, it is yours. All of it.

Smile and feel it, and don’t shy away. This is it.

Morning 82-10 min

He knew he didn’t have a lot of time. He knew they would figure it out sooner rather then later, and when they did the’d be here. This is where the note had said it was hidden. Unlike him, they had a lot of people, and these people were perfectly fine with hurting anyone who got in their way. They didn’t have tact or brilliance. They had fear and intimidation. He knew he had to stay ahead of them. He knew that was his chance to get it. He had to be fast and swift and not make any huge mistakes.

He went over the lines again and again. He knew this was the place, he just did not know where in this place it was. He thought it over. Again and again. Then it hit him. Of course he thought. This man was a diver, a diver of wrecks his whole life. Its where this object came from, it would make sense that that’s where he hid it.

He looked out over the water. The serene, smooth glass that was the water of the lake. He knew what he had to do, and despite the calm, his inside turned over and his hear t pounded as if he was being chased uphill. He looked back. The watercraft was gone. The large boat. The one everyone thought he had bought to fix up. But, had they put more thought into it, would’ve seen that a boat that ;are was too large for a lake like this. To slow to get up and too slow to slow down.

It all made sense now. It was in the boat. Locked away. And that boat was at the bottom of that lake. Where better for a world class wreck diver to hide it, then in a dangerous wreck dive in his own back yard. No doubt that boat had more then a few things about it that kept the object safe. Walls that could give way. Bottom that could give out. Only he knows what else.

He didn’t have the time to think of it all. If he was going to get it, it was now. He hoped that maybe the time limit would suppress the real problem. The anxiety and the claustrophobia that was already gripping him. Mayne he thought, it would burn itself out before he got into the water, but as his heart rate increased and his hands shake, he didn’t hold out much hope of that.

Morning 81-10 min

He sat down to write. It had been weeks since he had the time. He knew if he allowed there would always be something. A thing to do a place to go and thing that was funny that he had to go see. But after all of that. He still had not written a word.

So today he sat. Today he would write. It would be the start of it. His writing was going to start right now. But what he thought was there to write about? He could write about love, but that had been done. he could write about conflict, but that was definitely in fashion right now. He could write science fiction, but that too was a craze and he wasn’t going to make a name for himself by writing about thing s people already were. he thought may he’d write about history. The irony of being modern by writing about history appealed to him. He wouldn’t say he was a hipster, but his predication towards dong hipster things could not be denied, though he still would deny it.

History he thought. What kind of history? What, he thought, did he like to read about. He liked to read about how things were created and built. the decisions that led to the way things are now. But he thought, those books are for the experts. Even if, in his opinion, most of the experts were just people who read books that others wrote then out their own spin on it. Like reporters of history. Then they would lay out some claim, that they knew could not be proven. It was fun, but to call them historians was a stretch. There were a lot of people who wrote historical fiction calling themelsves historical experts and he wasn’t trying to be one of them.

So what then, what history did he love? Mystery is what he loved. The idea that there were answers, that there were answers somewhere, but that no one had found them, always seduced him. These mysteries always called to him. Something did happen, that was for sure. But what? what in the possibilities of the world could have happened. Yes he thought, that was it. This would be it. A mystery that was very rarely talked about, but first he’d have to do some research to find it.

Morning 80-10 min

He thought it would go one way and it went another. Its the same story, told over and over again. Yet, it has to be lived to be believed. Its the same start. potential. Potential is the element that as the ability to spark its container or decay it. Potential in a person, can lift them or destroy them. And sometimes, destroying them is exactly what they need.

He was a smart kid. A friendly one. A kid that never lost, how could he. Smart they always said. Smart was what he oteditfied as. The problem with smart, is that he thought that’s what he was. He thought that was what people liked about him. Loved him for. For being smart. So, he never challenged that. He never wanted to be seen as not being smart. If he was, what would he be then? What would he be to his family? Smart was all he had and smart was what he had to keep.

School was easy, but it could have and should have been harder. Harder would have made him better. Harder would have shown him what he could do. Harder would have made him smarter. you don’t have to get smart, when you already are.

Sports, he could have tried harder. He wasn’t that guy. he wasn’t the one to try to hard at sports. Sports didn’t match what they said he was, so sports were kept at minimal effort.

Minimal effort get you minimal skills and gets you a minimal life. That is exactly what he had, until he had had enough.

He broke.

He broke so many times he thought he was done. And when he was done breaking he broke more. He was destroyed. Not pieces, but powder.

He was powder on the ground.

How does powder repair itself? All it can do, is take a new form.

Glass to concrete. That was the mission. That is the story.

Morning 79-10 min

They say, just go after it. have some passion. Do something that you love. Live louder, bolder, you only have one shot. It wasn’t that he didn’t agree he did. In fact he always encouraged others to do the same.

Whenever he met someone he worked with that had a talent or a passion, he’d support them. Look for jobs for them. Come up with ideas for. them. He’d want them to succeed. To get out of the race of fighting for the same piece of cheese and go make their own.

But, when they would tell him to do the same. Well he’d say yes. yes thats a great idea. He used to come up with exscuses. Well I would but, or I could but, or maybe I will but first. After awhile even he hated those excuses. So then he just started saying you’re right, I should, and you know, that’s a great idea, I will. That seemed to make people angry though. I guess they took it like they were getting the brush off. They also weren’t wrong.

He knew what they saw, They saw what he saw, potential. Potential to do it differently. Potential to live a life that wasn’t boring. One that had meaning and drive and cause. The ability to have a life that others would say “holy shit” to. That’s what they saw in him. After awhile, he was a never was though. A hero that never flew. A hero that doesn’t do heroic things is just a man, or maybe less than.

He wanted those things, he wanted to be great and big and bold. He couldn’t even explain what held him back. It wasn’t as easy as fear. Or as clear as intimidation. It was something that he could describe. It was an invisible ghost that got in his way. That sapped his passion whenever it got too full. It was a cup with holes on the side.

He didn’t know what to do, but he had to do, and do is what he tried.

Morning 78-10 min

All I want to do is get home

“Well then you go right on ahead and do that. But you leave my food and my drinks and my money right there, or this is going to be one holy night for you”

The quip was not lost on him. She was obviously at ease to make a Christmas and murder joke at the same time. The Christmas part coming from the fact that it was two days before and the murder part doing from the fact that she has a large 12 gauge shot gun pointed at him. He knew from this distance it didn’t matter really where it was pointed, in his general vicinity was enough, and that’s where it was.

I know this looks bad, but that guy out there, who just ran out. I don’t know him, i’m not with him

“Thats funny, you two came in here together. No you just wait right here with me and you can explain it all to the cops”

I know, and you’re right we did. He just picked me up. I was hitchhiking and he stopped. hen we stopped in here, he said he’d spot me a snack and a drink. Next thing I know, he’s pulling a gun and taking the money”

“yeah, well you should pick better friends. or rides. or whatever the hell you want to call it”

You’re right I should, and i’m sorry. I’m putting this all down slowly, at my feet.

He did as he said he would. Slowly placing it all on the ground. He looked at her. She had a sweet face and what he knew were kind eyes under a hard shell. One he was sure she had no choice but to have. He saw her begin to lower her gun. Just then the cops came flying into the parking lot. They came into the store pistols out.'

“Where are they?!” The cop said

No one said a word for a long moment

“Dallas! Where the hell are they” the cop repeated.

She looked at the cop, snapped out of there daze and then back at him.

“They ran out….it was just one actually. He jumped into his car and headed toward town.”

“And who is this?” the cop motioned to him, ready to make a move if he had to.

“He’s a witness, he saw his car”

With a sigh of relief, he breathed again and color and feeling retunred

“Well!” the impatient cop yelled

Oh yeah yeah…..it was an oldsmobile,white…..probally 70’s. It one of the big ones. boats on wheels type of thing

“Are you sure?”

Oh yeah, i’m sure

The cop gave the report over his radio.

“Alright, he said looking at everyone, stick around a minute, we’ll need some reports”

The cop left.

Thank you, he said. I appreciate that more then you know

“yeah well, you might be playing me, but I figured, you didn’t keep anything, do anything, and who doesn’t run when they have the chance”

Thank You. Dallas was it?

“yeah, Dallas it is”

Morning 77-10 min

He sat, the goal was the focus. The pin point. The tip of the pin point. The center of the tip of the pin point. The center of the center of the of the tip of the pin point. He sat in this focus. Pushing it as far as he could go.

At first all the thoughts came. standing in his way were the ads that he saw that day. The drama of the days before. The dreams of the previous night. The sounds of the various boxes around his home that made sound and shouted at hime about what to buy.

Then cam the deeper thighs. The ones about what he had done wrong. the ones about what they meant wby what they said. The ones about why he did what he had done.

Then came the ones about he was in this place. He was here anon it all. Nothing fast nothing reset. just now was all that existed. That it was just all now.

Then came the absence of all that. A focus on something that seemed so intense that the rest were silent echoes that were dissaperaing. Like driving by a siren that was trying to get your attention.

Until he was slammed into the next space. A space of all nothingness. A space of quiet intensity. A depth and a distance all at once. He was there for a Moment. He was there for a time, until the things started to bring it back.

Could you be here, what is here. Pulled back through that tunnel. Pulled through tho the surface after being in the sink hole. Pulled back to earth after being above it. Pulled into or out of or back or pushed.

Moved to a different space, now wanting the silence, now wanting the thing that was peaceful

And then, you know, that none of those states were the things that you were supposed to be. That those spaces are all the same. That to live in one, is to not live in the others.

That its all all about the same thing, that its all the same space and avoiding anyone of them is the same as never understanding them.

Morning 76-10 min

Is it okay to look, okay to see?

Is it okay to work, okay to feel it to work for it, to want to feel it?

What happens when you feel it all

See it all

Want to be apart of it all

The forms, the figures, the power, to sexiness, the pull of it all.

To be pulled by it, to be shot out, to be all in form and all in form out

To love it all, no matter what. All in. No outs. To love because now it yours, and yours is is al there ever was

A wide world, full of beauty, to see it all, no regrets, to love it all, and wish the best for it all, that’s the love that we all look for

what are we when it all comes back, if we aren’t the same when we found ourselves away?

Morning 75-10 min

He saw that look again, the one he thought he had seen several times. It was the look that he thought abut at night, when he laid there. the one he thought of when his days were long and didn’t seem to let up. It was the look he thought he had seen several time that day, maybe a bit more often as the drinks were had. he saw it, he knew he did. What he was hoping, was that she didn’t notice him see it. He didn’t want it to stop.

What he wanted even more then that, was that her partner and his partner didn't see it. He knew she couldn’t have feelings for him. And he knew he didn’t have any for her. But that look, that look out of the corner of his eye. The looks she gave with a smile and a glance into his eyes. The one that seemed like she was searching for him, looking deeper into him then anyone had, the won that bore into him like a bright light, the one he could feel against him and in him, as it warned him up. He knew it might eb wrong, but he didn’t want that to end.

Why then, was that look for him? He didn’t see it when she looked at others. Why was it for him to see? What was it for him to feel? Did she know what she was doing? Did she understand?

No he thought, its in your head. He thought about it, again and again. It was because his partner was cold, unloving and rarely smiled. It was because she never laughed or thought he was funny. It was because she, brought no warmth to him, And that was why he was there. Because the coldness allowed him to stay frozen in time. To not have to move, to not have to decide. to now have to try any harder to make anything happen. No, he could just exist in this place, and he had planned to.

And yet, it was like something else called to him. Wasn’t that a nice feeling? wasn't that a great feeling? How could a look, make him see alive? Make him feel like trying and carrying on, make him feel like pushing more? Why was that look form someone he didn’t want, or couldn’t or what was the difference. Was warmth and love something he wanted? was it something he could ever have?

Morning 76-10 min

Think of the water he thought. How does it feel? How does it taste? How is it splashing

“Your heart is beating fast, really fast, what’s wrong, something is wrong?”

No no no he thought, don’t listen to that voice. Breath slowly. Breath deeply. You’re okay, your’e okay

“if you were okay, why would you have to say your’e okay?Are you okay, maybe your not, your heart is beating faster”

It’s okay, i’ve been here before. I’ve done this swim so many times. I’ve never had a problem. I can float.

“What makes you so special? Why are you so special that this swim doesn't matter then you, what are you the best swimmer in the world? Why can you do this when other people have failed. Why is your hear t beating so fast, it doesn’t do that unless something is really wrong.

No no, stop stop stop. Get control get control. Breathing in. Breathing out. Breatttthinng in. Breeaatthhing out. Slow it down I’m okay. Breath deep breath slow. Watch that breath. Out slowly. Breath in in in. Breath out out out out out

“Maybe you’re okay now. Your heart has slowed down. What was that? Why did you panic? You’ve never panicked before. What would happen you you panicked for real? What would panic in the middle of the lake feel like. What would happen? What happened when that happened to other people. What would that feel like. Your heart is beating fast again why!? What happening? Does it feel like you can swim? Does it feel like it can’t hold you anymore. Is this what happens to people? We are not holding ourselves up any more…

STOP! BREATH BREATH BREATH! SWIM! SWIM! swim swim swim. I’m not tired, i’m okay. Slow and steady. I’m okay, slow and steady. Breath in, breath out breath in breath out, I’m almost there, i’ve done this all before, I’m here…

Morning 74-10 min

They always asked him the same thing. What he was doing. It was small talk. He knew no one cared. he didn’t take offense to it. How much could you talk to someone in the grocery store anyway? What could you do, stop, ask how the last 15 years have been. Asked details, ask about feeling. Ask where it went off track and when it got better. Were you supposed to take them away from their day and their errands? Take them off their timeline, so that the kids had to eat late, the go to bed late, then sleep late and most likely mess up the whole next day?

No, he didn’t think so. Although he was curious. He was interested. Bu then, how can you be curious and interested and not seem like a weirdo? He didn't know, so he said nothing. Instead, he saw her out of the corner of his eye. She might have seen him, he wasn’t sure. When he turned, she was losing at something else, and he confirmed. Well he thought, she seems to be doing well, and I hope she is. that was enough. No days taken off track. No forcing things to talk about. Just a glance, a memory of people they used to be and a walk on.

As helot, he thought one more time, “should I go and say hi?” no he thought, the day is almost done and this isn’t what they need. As he drove away he wondered. Was it all the reasons that came to him. Was it the altruistic ideas that he thought about, or was it that he had nothing to tell them. That he knew he couldn’t answer their questions of “what are you up to?” and “Where you at now” and “Are you married or anything?”

No these questions had real answers and the real answers he wasn’t allowed to talk about. He had the fake ones too, the ones that he had rehearsed enough to sound real. The ones that he thought were dumb and in an Ego sense, too lame. He hated those, a because of that, avoided a lot of interactions with people from the past.

He would see them, and turn. He would look away or down, or read something. He always saw them first, it was what he was good at. Seeing people first.

Morning 73-10 min

He looked down at her. His friend. His companion. His protector. It was his first experience with the ultimate . The first time his tears wouldn’t bring something back that he wanted. It was the first time that he realized he was alone when he hurt, but that it felt better to hurt together.

“You’re cheating”

“How am I cheating, we’re racing, I can see where you are anyway”

“I don’t know how but stop looking at my side of the screen”

He had the same argument anytime he was losing in the game. He knew it wasn’t true. But he thought it was funny, and if distracted his brother from what he was doing, maybe he would have a chance to beat him. Mostly, it just distracted him. This was close. Down the icy slopes of the best game on N-64.

It was winter, New Years eve. They had just moved into the neighborhood. A small town house community. Not a lot of kids, and even less land to play on. Streets and roads. The stuck nature of suburban sprawl. The type of stuck that doesn’t get mentioned. The type that’s drives kids inside, which it had that day.

The game was in their moms bedroom. A clever bit of doing, ensuring that it wasn’t played too much. This also meant, that whenever she left the house, they were in her room, challenging each other to something.

Besides them, it was their Dog. Their Dad and Mom and recently separated. Their Mom got the dog. She had always called it hers, and it was named after a dog she had has a child. The Dog was to him a loving pet, and reminder of the family they had had. A thing that he knew everyone loved. Something that made him feel better. That it wasn’t all gone. Beyond the bickering and the scheming and the digs and the say this to him and that to her. There was this beautiful dog, that loved and was loved by everyone in the family still.

He was just about to win, he had convinced himself, when their mom came home. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to help unload the car full of groceries, it was because he didn’t want to lose his momentum. He thinks this now, but isn’t sure if it’s true.

What is true, is if he had left to go help, when he was asked, that dog might have lived to see a new year.

Morning 72-10 min

He took the blanket off and walked to the window. The frustration of not being bale to sleep was leading him to not be able to sleep. This was a vicious cycle he was all to aware of. He got up as silently as he could, to not wake his lovely sleeping partner. He walked softly over to the window. What he wondered was the lake like as this hour?

They were staying at the lake house. A remote get away. A time for them to unwinded and relax and enjoy the holiday. Only no one had seemed to tell his brain that.

He stared offing the lake. It was lit by the glow of the moon and the occasional firework display.

He took some soft deep breaths. Focused on nothing but that water. Soon his eyes felt heavy. As he turned to go back to bed, the water heaved. It was something in the lake that changed the shape of the water. He had turned fully around before he realized what he thought he saw.

“what was that” he thought. He scrambled for answers. he was tired, it could be that. His eyes and tired brain connecting things that weren’t there. Maybe it was the clouds and the moon, the lights changing shape off the water. He turned and looked back through that upstairs window. What was that? He stared only to see nothing. As he was about to turn again, he saw what he had seen before. The water heaved. As of something was surfacing below it.

His brain scrambled again. What am I Seeing? what am I actually seeing? Then he saw the water break. The white of the rough water now show clearly. Something was out there. Did someone have a boat out there, or a little submarine. He shook his head. “What are you talking about?” he asked himself. Thats crazy. He shook his head and gently rubbed his eyes…..

Morning 71-10 min

Matt woke up in the best mood he could think of. For someone reason, that he’d have to think about later, he really slept great. For the first time in a long time he felt great. He didn’t remember having to get up. Not to pee, not to adjust his sleeping portion, not to wake a hand that was asleep. No, he. didn’t remember doing anything but sleeping. And now his head was clear. He was thinking great. His body had energy. If wanted to sit and bask in this feeling longer, but he looked at the clock and knew he had to get moving if he wanted to get it all done before the party.

Matt decide his first order of the day was to go to the gym. it always made him feel better. Got the blood flowing the sweat dripping. It made him feel as if he had done something for the day. A sense of today was not a waste, I did something hard and will reap the benefits. As Matt pulled into the gym he noticed it was unusually packed for a Saturday morning. Inside, was even worse it seemed. Not a machine seemed to be open. Not a cardio, not a weight, not a space on the floor or a bar to hang from. well he thought, I’m here, i’ll go fro a run outside and maybe by the time I get back, something will have opened up.

Matt started his run, down the Main Street and into town. He thought up and down the big hill and i’ll be all set even if that’s all I get to do. The first turn bought what he would only be able to describe as a massive walk a thin. About 500 people were walking up the same hill he was planning to run. Covering the side wall and the street. He had forgotten the holiday parade and walk for charity. He turned to go back the other way, and realized there was no where else. So he went back to the gym. He spotted a machine. Something anything he thought. I want to get a sweat. As he reached it, a lady, with real school principle attitude stepped in front of him.

“I was using this” she said. Despite the obvious lie, Matt felt to good and was to nice to argue with an old lady. So he pursed his lips, shook his he’d and said ok. He thought, old ladies might just be the biggest con artist, and we’d never know.

Morning 70-10 min

What was he really doing here?

The thought was there again, despite him having pushed it away time and time and time again. he answered it. He was here to find something that no one else could prove existed.

“Yeah, but to what end? What if you get hurt? What if you don’t find it? What if you get lost? What if you do find it and it kills you?”

It was the same what ifs he had been dealing with for so long. the what ifs. The negative ones. The ones that tried to keep him form coming out here. the ones that tried to tell him he was crazy. those ones are the toughest. He never wanted to be crazy. As in, he Neve wanted to do something just because he was delusional and having some sort of crisis where he believed something wild in order to bring meaning into his life. no, he didn’t want that. So then and there he thought it through.

“All head, lets go over it and be done with it. All of those are possibilities. They are risk, and I have mitigated them as best as I can. I except the rest. I am here because I Have found evidence of something. Something that people have debated for a long time. I am alone, because no one else wanted to come with me. NO, that’s not true. I am here alone because I wanted to do it my way. Think on my own, do it the way I wanted to do it. If what I think is where I think it is, then I’ll be able to show others. I have gone over the data. I have gone over the logic. Its a real and unflawed guess. And that brain, is why I am here”

He paused for a moment to consider this. His body felt better. Slightly more energized. His thoughts, the ones of anxiety and doubt got quiet.

Alright he thought. So lets just get on with it.

When your Brian is used to being on fire with impute, a strange quiet can come over you when you remove them. He realized the input he had been dealing with was his one thoughts. No he was readjusting, to the climate around him. The natural untouched forrest of the Pacific Northwest.

Morning 69-10 min

“No! You can go fuck yourself!” She slammed the phone down. There was the usual tense quiet pause in the office. The wait for the explanation, or the rant or the tears. Something to break it. Like realizing your breath after holding it too long. What she did, was to pick up the phone. She dialed. When the muffled words of the man could be heard by the rest of the people in the office, She went off again. A long list of insults and curse words. The most impressive part being that it was almost as if it had been complied ahead of time. There was very little jumbling of phrases or insults. There was also very little stepping on her own words. It was, almost calm, in consideration of the emotion and passion that was being used.

From there the boss came over. When he asked the rest of the office what was happening, they all sort of looked at him. No one wanted to rat on her. No one was going to be that person. Not in an office so small, where so many things were said. Things about the boss, or the other employees. Things about husbands and wives. Stories from childhood. Those things were the currency in this part of the office. Gossip to others, but to them, a dopamine hit that got them through the day. No one would upset that trust, and risk being cut out. No. So they stared at him blankly when he asked. A couple of them shrugged.

Darren watched it all from his corner. The words. The almost physical wrestling match to get the phone from her hateful hands. The looks of what seemed like joy from the others as this all went down. No doubt a new story for the home and the salon and the next brunch.

Darren watched and watched…his heart raced, his head hurt, his eyes weren’t focusing. How could this be his life, he thought, as he lay behind his desk, debating on if he should ask for help.

Morning 68-10 min

The noise came, smashing into his head and ears. It shattered the thoughts of his dreams into a million pieces. It shook him awake. Eyes opened, his stopped the noise. His first thought were towards what he had to do that day. He felt the energy pump from his heart. the heat raise to his head. He used to call this anxiety, but now he just called it energy. What was the difference anyway, If he used it, that so be it.

He paused for a moment. Remembering to pay attention to what was happing to him. Not just to react. To say hello. To himself. To the anxiety. TO the thoughts. They were apart of him, and from that he did not do well to forget that. he did not do well to forget that he could feel things and have things happen in him, and for them to only be parts of him.

He tok a deel breathe. One of his own command. One that who knew because he had decide to, that he would breathe deep. A long deep breathe to remember he still had ultimate control. He had control and he remembered that now. He thought again about the acts he was to do for that day. He was excited, he was energized, he was ready to get his feet on the ground.

Then the thoughts of that dream came back to him. What was that? Why was it running through his mind? He could see it still. It was as if he was still in it. Odd, and exciting. He felt it. He wanted to go back to it. What was his brain trying to tell him? The questions came as fast as it started to fade. The details blurred and the show started to fade. The last thing to leave was the feelings.

It had been so long since he felt like that. He forgot it. He forgot that he even had that feeling in him, but his brain brought it back to him.But why?

Morning 67-10 min

God it hurt. Its what he had waited for. Only now his hands were wet and the kettlebell was starting to slip. Another swing. Where was he. Another swing. Fuck it. Another swing. I’m gonna rip this fucking world in two. Another swing.

His heart slammed against his chest. His lungs smoldered. His legs began to lose their rigid shape and became muddy.

Another one. The grip he had he was losing. Ahhhh! another one. This time his back took the action, tearing at something. Fuck you he thought. One more one more

Another one. His body was done. It could no longer take it. His eyes filled with tears. “Fuck YOU” he yelled.

Another one, a half of one, barely one.

He dropped the bell, along with his body on the floor. His heart was a wrecking ball. His lungs a fire pit. His legs and back were shredded into and unusable mass. His mind, it was broken.

He smiled to himself. Destruction was what he was after. The pain, the hurt, the ability to get himself there. He broke. It was broken, all of it, and that made him happy.

Morning 66-10 min

The week had been long. Most of them had seemed that way recently. Long and slow, yet way to fast. He knew this was the way when he was doing work he didn’t want. The time would drag on. Him, trying to make the best of it. Saying that he’d do more when he got home, or maybe get up early and do something of value for himself. Then the week would come to a close. He’d be so spent from working he’d want to blow off stream. Which would mean almost a full day of recovering on Sat. Sunday would come, he knew he had to get up early Monday to work, so he felt like he was just waiting. Thinking, how maybe if he could work Sat or Sunday morning and take Monday morning off, maybe that would be nice. Maybe then the panic wouldn’t set in with the raising sun and get worse as it began to set. He wondered if this was it. The dread the, the suck, for ever until he was dead. If it was he thought, well then I’ll hit this bottle and ride it out because this is some relief.

But, he had to remember he had a plan. This thins he was doing wasn’t going to last. He felt guilty about that. Guilty about the fact that the things others did to make a living he despised. But he would think and think on that. And he’d say, “well, settling for something I don’t want is no way to live” He wasn’t sure if he believed it. If he deserved it, to strive for something more. He thought that if he did, maybe things could get better, and that thought, that they could get better, was enough to get him up everyday.

The plan was simple enough. The plan was to buy a camper. One that worked. And move around the country. Now he knew this was a tale as old as American freeways. The open road. The freedom. The cliches. His way though was different. With the podcast equipment and his camera, he’d document the attempt. A documentary to make it to the coast. To meet the country and the world. If nothing else, to leave.

Morning 65-10 min

“Where do you think you’re going?” Jon asked him

“I don’t know. I think the west coast. Something about the idea of California. I know how it sounds. Like something out of a movie or a beat novel. Whatever though. It’s different. I figured, if I have the idea of it, a lot of people do. If a lot fi people have the same idea of a place and they all go there, then isn’t that what it becomes? I think it’ll be great whatever it is. its different, and that what I want”

“You’ll hate it there” Jon responded “Yeah, maybe your brother would do well out there. Not you. I know you. You won’t like it. There’s a lot of weird people and they’re all fighting for the same dream in the same place. You’d have to be really really good at what you do to make it out there”

“I get that, so what does that mean?” Dan already knew what that meant. Why he wondered had he bothered to ask for clarification? Why he bothered to ask Jon’s thoughts on the matter anyway?

“Well it means…it means maybe you should stay here. You know you can write from anywhere. I mean shit, what’s there not to write about here? We see crazy people come in here all the time. How about that lady yesterday?”

“Who the one with the cats?”

“Yeah, cats on leashes, where the hell you gonna see that? That shit could go into a book. Why don’t you try living, then write about that?”

Dan knew what he was saying. He was saying don’t go. Don’t give it a shot. Stay and be practical and don’t do anything “crazy”. He knew because he had heard this all before. He knew because he had felt this way.

“Yeah, I get what you’re saying. And, I know you need help here at the shop. What if I get stuck though. What if I don’t ever go. What if I never leave?”

Morning 64-10 min

‘Listen, I had a hard night. I don’t need this right now. I just want to get through this shift and go home and sleep”

He knew tight away it wasn’t what he should have said. he should have kept this to himself. He had had a. ad night, but this was night the guy to be telling. The man he was talking to was named Ron. Ron, was a self proclaimed badass. Ron was also, as anyone could tell completely full of it. He never left the town he was still working in. Which would be fine, except he made it sound like it was a rough place to grown up, when in fact it was a town, know to be nice, know to be recession proof, and for him that meant steady work and being overpaid for it. This also meant that Ron, was senior, and that he enjoyed talking about how soft the younger guys were.

“Oh here we go. Your generation is soft. When I was your age I came to work and I worked no matter what my night was like”

“Yeah Ron, in case you didn’t notice, I am here working at work. I Just would rather not have a lecture right now, I get plenty of those in class” Again, he knew he made a mistake saying this to Ron

“Oh college boy is tired from having to use his ears and listen all day. You should be so lucky to have to listen. When I was your age men were going off to war. I didn’t even do that. I stayed home, took care if the farm, took care of this place. With out me this place wouldn’t be here. “ He gestured to the airport that they were both employed by.

“So, if you didn’t work here, you think this place would have folded?”

“ That’s right smart ass, Ron said glaring at him now. Who knows how to run this place? You college kids? The other full timers? I thought them all they know. I taught Brad what he knows.”

“Well yeah Ron, that’s because you’ve been here 40 years. But had you got a different job, someone else could’ve figured it out, just like you did, Right?

“You Guys don’t know anything”

Morning 64-10 min

‘Listen, I had a hard night. I don’t need this right now. I just want to get through this shift and go home and sleep”

He knew tight away it wasn’t what he should have said. he should have kept this to himself. He had had a. ad night, but this was night the guy to be telling. The man he was talking to was named Ron. Ron, was a self proclaimed badass. Ron was also, as anyone could tell completely full of it. He never left the town he was still working in. Which would be fine, except he made it sound like it was a rough place to grown up, when in fact it was a town, know to be nice, know to be recession proof, and for him that meant steady work and being overpaid for it. This also meant that Ron, was senior, and that he enjoyed talking about how soft the younger guys were.

“Oh here we go. Your generation is soft. When I was your age I came to work and I worked no matter what my night was like”

“Yeah Ron, in case you didn’t notice, I am here working at work. I Just would rather not have a lecture right now, I get plenty of those in class” Again, he knew he made a mistake saying this to Ron

“Oh college boy is tired from having to use his ears and listen all day. You should be so lucky to have to listen. When I was your age men were going off to war. I didn’t even do that. I stayed home, took care if the farm, took care of this place. With out me this place wouldn’t be here. “ He gestured to the airport that they were both employed by.

“So, if you didn’t work here, you think this place would have folded?”

“ That’s right smart ass, Ron said glaring at him now. Who knows how to run this place? You college kids? The other full timers? I thought them all they know. I taught Brad what he knows.”

“Well yeah Ron, that’s because you’ve been here 40 years. But had you got a different job, someone else could’ve figured it out, just like you did, Right?

“You Guys don’t know anything”

Morning 63-10 min

The wind blew hard in gust. Sending the needles of rain into his face. The cold came with it. When the gust would calm, he could see out to the horizon. The face of the sun starting to show. The glow of the orange cresting into his vision, filling the rough blanket of water with a orange hue of a headboard, stretched out across the world. The day was coming and it was going to be a calm one, but the night didn’t realize it yet. It still wanted its anger felt. So he sat, on the balcony of the the light house and let the night say what It must.

He had beat that night, evidenced by the fact that he was still there. That sun was his trophy. That rain and wind were the cheers to his victories. He was in the moment when the terror he had felt, felt almost ridiculous but only because it hadn’t come true. He knew it could have, but in this moment in this day, he felt alive and untouchable. He knew he would remember with humbleness that he was spared, but for now he would sit here and feel his invincibility with all he could.

With the anxiety of dying gone, and the act of living so forced upon him, there was a serenity. He sat and stared and felt and thought. He thought until even the thoughts he had seemed to be interrupting him. It was as if there was something else trying to be there. Trying to use his eyes as lenses into the world he was in of confidence of liberation of life.

He let that thing come through, letting everything else, be nothing else.

Morning 62-10 min

He went inside. Thats what they all said. Peace was to be found within. Peace and calmness was to be found within and if he would only look, then it would be found. He went in and what he found he brought back into the world.

The day was a bright one, sunny and calm. The type of day where most people want to be outside to out of their homes, just out in anyway. It was a day in spring, where you could feel the warmth was going to be bringing back life to the earth. The buds were on the trees. The birds were back. The animals were out and grazing. Change was at the fore front and he could feel it and he wa about to make sure everyone else did too.

He walked into work. Jeans, his dirty boots, and a t shirt that reminded him of being alive. The looks he had anticipated. The attire in this office was usually business casual, except for him and a few others, relegated by the boss to dress nicer in a suite. Where some would take this as a point of pride, as he tried to, he knew instead that his boss used it as a power move. A way to show those in the office, that the top people were actually his people. That the uniform was his uniform, an enforcement not a compliment to their achievement. It was a symbol of control, like the ties that he instead they where around their necks. Just like the very tie he had in his hand as he walked past the glances and the comments and the questions.

“Just watch” was all he said in response to all the commotion.

He stood at the door to his bosses office. He knocked. As usual, the door did not open. He didn’t open the door to knocks. only appointments. No unscheduled excess was given to the man that swore he was there to support his people.

The next knock was from the hell of his dirty boots kicking the door in…

Morning 61-10 min

Night time. Cold room. Comfortable mattress. Pillows surrounding and supporting. Cover that’s too big. Dark and quiet. It was a time and place for peaceful sleep. It was a place to reset and recover. That was not how it was used. The rest instead, brought the thoughts. He knew how to control them at this point. He was to reckonize them. To not ignore them but to see them for what they were. To understand them and then let them go. it was a way to not give them power. So that they didn’t couldn’t take over. His thoughts knew this. They would start early in the morning. A shuffle from his slumber a momentary alertness from his unconsciousness mean that they could go to work.

First they were thoughts of himself. What was he doing? Where was he? Why? These were easy ones. Yes he’d think. I’ve been here before. I know why I'm here. I’ve made certain decisions that brought me to this place. No, I won’t stay here. No I don’t want to be here. This is a life and it is moving and I am moving and that is how his works. Set backs happen. Things change. They aren’t perfect and that’s okay. This was good he thought, He had won, back to sleep.

They were better than though. Oh? Decisions? You made them? What are the ones you’re making now? Have you ever made good ones? Will they ever get you to where you need to be? Will you ever actually change, or is this just who you are? Able to see your weakness and just to small to change it?

The heart then would start too. Pounding, faster, and less rhythmic. The lungs would lose their air. Enough to breath not enough tone sure the next breath was coming. The head would ache, with the heart beats echoing. Maybe this was it? Maybe this was it. Maybe this was

Morning 60-10 min

“It’s just Business”

Then it all went to nothing for Sam

6 month prior to that, things were different. Sam and Tommy were the best of friends. Friends that had spent too much time together doing too many things that they now couldn’t and shouldn’t tell people about. But, if you got the drunk enough, the stories would come out. Tommy had enjoyed that lifestyle for a while, but he had then decided to move on. He wanted a family, he wanted nice things, he wanted to own them and be able to give them. What he wanted was to move up in the world, to be different than he had, to be better, then he even thought he could.

Sam though, sam loved the way they had lived. Sam didn’t really ever want to give it up. He respected Tommy’s space. His desire to want more, but he always thought he was dumb for wanting it, and he never thought it was real. To Sam, no one really wanted that life, they just were brain washed by the corporations and the ads and the banks to want more and more, when they had a life that was already great. For sam, that meant taking what he could from who he thought could spare it. To him, taking things was a game, one that he was good at, and one that he felt was right. Why, he thought, should someone have so m h more than him. If they were going to, then it was okay to try to take it. He justified this, by thinking that if it ever happened to him, he’d be okay with it. Also, he knew that he had nothing worth taking, and that made him feel better about any cosmic retaliation.

Tommy usually had to handle the fixes that Sam got himself into. This, was an issue. For one, it took away from what Tommy was trying to build. For two, is wife didn’t understand why he would put up with it, and although he knew she had good points, he just always told her, he’s family to me. She knew he meant it. Tommy took care of his family. Even in the days where he wasn’t taking care of himself, he as there for them. So when he said someone was family, she knew that he would deal with whatever issues they had. She just hoped that one day he’d see what the cost really was…

Morning 59-10 min

They were in the bar when they heard the news. It was a girl from their high school class. She had gone missing. They heard it because they were in a bar with a few of their classsmates. In a town this size, it wasn’t too uncommon to see some people from your graduating class. Tonight though, it was a more than average assembly. Zak mentioned this to Sam as they sat at the bar, him sipping on a beer while she threw back the rest of her wine, never taking her eyes off the screen. Another of their classmates, Bonnie, had asked the bartender to turn it on the televisions that sat above the most expensive of liquor. Zak, kept his attention on Sam until she looked at him.

“What?” She looked around “Yeah, it is odd I guess” saying it a little flustered. “ What does that have to do with anything?”

“Nothing” Zak said “Nothing, just weird is all”

Sam looked back art him in annoyance and then back at the television. The girl who was missing was Monica Spears. Both Zak and Sam knew her. She didn’t run in the same circles, but she was in their classes and would be at the same parties. They both remembered her as being nice enough.

“Shit!” Sam said suddenly. “The last time I saw her was right here. Do you remember that night. We were both here a few months back. Towards the end of the night. She came in, you were on you way to the bathroom. I talked to her for a second and when she realized it was packed in her she left.”

“Right! I remember you telling me when I got back. Remember saying I wished I would have seen her. Oh Damn, now see, that is weird.” Zak said.

As they continued to watch the news story…

Morning 58-10 min

HE slept in that morning. he was supposed to be at work early. There was a staff meeting. The type where they tell yo about what is happening, what’s changed, who got promoted that sort of thing. He didn’t care. So he didn’t go. For him that job was too easy, and they knew it, but he also happened to be their best sales person, so they kept him. They figured maybe it was his lazy attitude that somehow made him sell so well. They didn’t really care as long as he sold. He rolled into work late, had his coffee on the job and waited. The rush would come soon. He’d turn on his selling magic, like he did most days, and sell like crazy. He did just that. He sold sneaker after sneaker. To men, to women, to whole families. The only part of the day that was odd was a man who came in looking for a black sneaker. He wasn’t a talker. He said very little, other than the show had to be back, and that it should be good on all terrains, wet or dry. The first thought was a hiking shoe, so he went to the most expensive ones he could find. He knew he could sell these, and get the higher commission. The man, listened to the pitch, never giving away if he cared what was being said or not. He then asked if the shoe was a popular seller. Trying to be a great salesman, he told this quiet man that it was in fact exclusive, that not a lot of people had these show, that he could among them. At that, the man put the show back on the rack. “NO, I need something a lot of people wear” was his next sentence, said with a strange authority, that made this all seem creepy. He was shown a lower cost shoe, a higher seller, and the man gave his size, paid cash and left without trying them on. He thought about that interaction for a few days after, something about it just did not sit right.

Morning 57-10 min

The plane landed at a private airfield an hour and a half northeast of L.A. He had asked for this. Not so much for the privacy, although that was a great benefit, but more so for the drive. He wanted the time to drive through the hills, see the ocean, feel the air, and test out his new car. A brand new Aston Martin, waiting for him at the airport. It was on these drives he could either focus or let go. And today, he wanted to let go. He, as of the time he landed, was a Billionaire. The media would not know about it. If he had it his way, the only one who would know would be his wife. He hoped it could stay that way. He didn’t enjoy the notoriety. He did enjoy the wealth though. What it could provide and what he could do with it. He was headed to one of his favorite homes, in Malibu. A massive home with even more beach front property. Enough that it would be around a long time. He was driving there for a birthday party, with his friends and his family. People he actually like and cared about. Some from different lives, that had stayed until this one. Others that were newer but could be trusted. This he knew was the real wealth, the people in his life. He also knew, enjoying the little things was something that added up to big things. That was the drive to his home in Malibu. The Aston Martin was perfect in his eyes. Beautiful, fast, handled amazingly and was great even with the top down, so he could feel the wind and smell the ocean when he got close enough. The drive was slow and graceful at times, and at others full of speed and real driving ability. Today he though, I have achieved a massive goal for myself, and I am headed to celebrate life with the people I Love.

Morning 56-10 min

He sat there breathing. That was all. The thoughts of his brain were still there. Coming in and going. Manic and angry, scared. Load and whispering. However, he didn’t pay too close attention to them. It was like they were a TV on in the background. Just noise hw wasn’t listening to. He then saw things he had never seen before. It all made his heart beat faster. Like waking up in a dream. Wondering how all these things got there. They were all so foreign to him. Real, but different in that he hadn’t seen them before. The world he thought, was beautiful. It was wild. It lived and it breathed. It heaved and hoed. It was a thing, and he was in it. He also realized he had created for himself another world that was loud. His phone dinged. It had notification to grab his attention as soon as he looked down. In a moment he was mesmerized by the grass, in the next he was reading about a person he had never met doing something he did not care about. he stopped. Put the phone down, and found it again. The. air, it seems think, like he could feel his breath. The sky, was the largest thing he’d ever seen. He thought for a moment, “is it bad to not think, is it ad ti think this is so great? What would man kind have ever done if they hadn’t wanted to change a thing?” He realized he was thinking again. No No. Now is not the time. The time is to be. He breathed and panicked that he had lost it. Ad then he remembered he was still thinking. Son’t worry, don’t panic. Just be and watch it all. He sat, on the stoop of his house for 25 minutes like that. Watching the world. He was loving it. Then, the world started up again. He had dinner reservations, with his family. He thought, I wonder if they’ve ever seen this? I wonder if they’ve ever had a chance to stop for a moment and see it all. See what was around them To see what they were in? Then the next thought came, How do I manage this, now that I’ve seen it? He wasn’t sure, but what he thought he’d do, is try to not let it consume him. he thought he’d let himself just be. To do the things he wanted and needed and to not be so attached to the ideas of the outcomes. To just do, and recognize, and be

Morning 55-10 min

No No No! He was talking out loud now. So they all could hear him. That was the problem with his voices. They were rude. Very rude. They talked over him and themselves. The other problem with the voices were that they were very convincing. He had a few of them. One was Dark, like real dark. Dude was kind of psycho. He was always talking about how messed up things were. How it was the worst and he could prove it. How everyone was lying and he had prove that too. The type of guy you never really want to be around, but if you were too long, well he started to make sense. And he did have some proof, and that could change the world for the darker. Another voice was more panicked. Never really sure what was real and what wasn’t. He could be described as more of a stressed out dumbass who talked a lot too. He was always wondering if things were okay, if it wold work out. He was always worried about what was going to happen and why and when. He was annoying. But just like anyone else, if you spend a lot of time with people like that, you start. to pick up their vibe. Another big voice was an old guy. Always talking about the past. Brining up every little thing that has ever happened. Not just to you, but to anyone. Guy had a library for a brain, but it was full of pain, and he liked to remind you. So the real problem with all these guys was they lived in His head. They were always talking, giving their opinions, their ideas and inputs. He had people living in his head that he didn’t even like, and that made life a challenge.

Morning 54-10 min

What he loved about it, what most people seemed to hate about it, was they knew how ended. The ending was always the same. He loved that, because it took the pressure off. There was no uncertainty. There was complete certainty. To some that ruins the fun. Ruined the hope. Ruined something, that in their minds should not have been that way. It didn’t matter though, because none of that changed a thing. He remembered this as he walked in. He remembered thinking once, why do this, why play when I know how it ends. That made him a terrible player. That made him a terrible team mate too. For although the script was written, the how to get there was still to be determined. It could be a great show. It could change how people who had come to see it. It could change other shows in the future. He didn’t know, maybe if he played it well enough, it would change the ending, or at least how they thought of it. It was a relentless show though. He wondered why he had been assigned it. But, that too was another thing that did not matter. It was his to do, and that he knew how it would, were he only thing he knew for sure. So that thought was written on the wall before he left for the stage.

When he got on stage. He forgot all that he had thought of. The story was long. In parts it dragged. In others it really dragged. In others there ws some excitement and feeling and pains. There was a lot of dialog, too much he thought. In a bold move, he cut some of his own….

Morning 53-10 min

Dan had just pulled into town. It was a town off the normal tourist tracks. Dan knew this, because he was supposed to be on the tourist roads but he wasn’t. He was lost and it was raining harder then he had ever seen it rain. As buildings finally came into view, they were at first only cottages and farm houses. Ireland was a modern place in a lot of ways, but its country side was still that. And they took pride in it. it was also why Dan was here, to see it. Only, on this day, with the GPS not working on the rain making it hard to see even the street signs, he had crushed around not really knowing where he was going. This didn’t bother him. It was an island after all. He couldn’t really go too far, and if he did, he had no where to be. Two weeks was his plan. A rough idea of where he should go and what he should do, but no real plan. It was because of this lack of panic and his lack of planning that his town in the mist of this downpour was a beacon for him. The town from what he could tell was small and as he drove through it he tried to entity the one place in every Irish town that anyone seemed welcomed. He saw it, he thought at least. The pub Was standing alone, with parking off to one side. A rarity in this part of the country. it seemed designed for him to pull in. It back yard was a drop to the see. Even in the rain he could see the white caps. The small parking lot, which was really just some loose stone thrown to the side was empty, leaving room for him. He knew that in these places, walking was how the towns people got to where they needed to go. He parked, and then made a run for the door. The pub had some patrons, and few hardly looked up. Even the bartender, barley made a glance at him until he stepped to the bar. He thought about ordering a Guinness, but he was chilled and he would be staying for a little while, so a whiskey was had. As he sat and nursed his second, he noticed a man in a booth. Yellow legal pad, and large stout. Irish wool sweater, and large beard. It was a scene out of a poem or movie. He looked over at him, chuckling at the idea of the stereotype of it all, and just as on cue, the bartender came to ask if he needed another. He said yes. Dan asked about a room, and the bartender said he’d ask. He walked around the bar, the the man in the booth. Whispered in his ear, and returned with the answer…

Morning 52-10 min

He was checking out. He had a basket with him holding it. Careful not to let it look to heavy. He was self conscious about the idea of struggling with it. He thought others might think “why didn’t he just get a cart with wheels” these thing came to him from time to time. He brought it to the last checkout line. Happy to see only two people in it. One was an older man. Haircut that didn’t look like it was from this generation. Maybe something that was popular at the end of the seventies or beginning of the eighties. He wondered to himself about why the man still would get it cut that way. Didn’t any tell him it was out of style? Doesn’t anyone from work or his wife give him a hard time? What about a barber, who cut it like that? Shouldn’t there bee some kind of rule with barbers and hair dressers, nothing more than 30 years ago, except for the classics. He had noticed a lot of women with the big curly hair shaped somewhat like a mullet, popular in the eighties. These women all were old enough to have had it since then. What was it? Was that their year. The year they met the one, the year that they had the most fun, the year they loved themselves the most? Whatever it was they were not letting go of it. But why not? As he asked himself all these questions. Another thought came to mind. He remembered that he would stop drifting off. He wanted to be more present. More engaged with the world and people around him. He took a silent deep breath. Paused and let it out. Just this listen bit made him slightly light headed. He was okay with it, he actually enjoyed the sensation now. In that moment, he was present. The lights seem to get a bit brighter. The noises clearer. The store itself was now a modern wonder. It was something to behold. The colors, the technology, the variety. Being alive in these moments made him think about all that he was probably missing by thinking, and just like that, he was thinking about his whole life, since the first grade…

Morning 51-10 min

They referred to him as the mad scientist. It was due to his white unruly hair and his odd behavior. He was also the science guy of the plant. Really what his was was Quilty control, but to the common people of the last he did since. Even to the magnets, some of whom were engineers of some degree didn’t always know what he was up to. What they did know, was that besides having a a spotless quality record, he was also innovative. he had come up with many improvements for the company not just the plant. These improvements had saved the company money and had helped push them to a new degree of standards. What this also meant, was that the mad scientist, was given all the toys he wanted. His lab was in two parts. the testing was done in the office located what was basically in the middle of the floor of the plant. this was where the materials were tested and passed the roguprus testing that he halted develop. the second part of his lab, was in the far corner of the plant. It was a literal addition to the building. He was even given its own entrance and his own key, claiming that he sometimes had innovated thoughts at random hours of the night. As far as the company was concerned, he was doing great things, they were saving a lot of money, and his experiments were safe in a corner away fromnthe workers. this to them, was their one man R and D team. he was happy and so were they. This also meant, that what he was really doing was not seen, even could be seen as being aided by the company.

the “ Mad Scientist” was actually named Scott Lender. This was an alias, and in fact, he quite liked his nickname. He was in fact, what some would call mad and because he was a quality control specialist, he never got the recognition of being a scientist. Although he was. For he wa actually a chemist. A chemist who was working on a weapon. This plant, and these people, would be the perfect place to test this weapon and he knew that within the week his test would be ready. If everything went to plan, he would need to be out of his office, without a trace. He would need several samples of the weapon, and he would want the security footage of the night. With these things, he would leave, and offer his new weapon on the black market. With it he would sell as he saw fit, living abroad and traveling the world. A different country and city and being a different person as he saw fit.

Morning 50-10 min

The house was nestled into the back of the cup de sac. From the street it looked like a large New England home. The kind that might be found in the Hamptons or Connecticut, or New Hampshire. It was in fact one of those. The inside was modern and traditional mixed. Large ceiling. A lot of natural light. Beautiful deck. Hard wood floors though out. It had the feeling of a modern home and an old sea shack. At least that’s how he described it. His beautiful wife and more elegant ways over describing its design. Either way, they lived it there. The house was basically on the water. Only there was a  private beach in front of them. A jetty a few hundred yard up the beach provided the beach with protection from erosion. The porch and living areas had fews as far as the eye could see out into the Atlantic. The upstairs and 5 bedroom and three bathrooms. The master being nicely equipped with a large bathroom, shower, Judi tub, private room for the toilet, large walk in closets. The laundry and other bedrooms were up there as well. The main floor, had an open concept With the kitchen being the main piece, and the massive deck being among it, floor plan. Even being able to be opened up to it. The rest of the main floor hosted a bathroom. A bar off behind the kitchen. A large living room with the dining room being in-between. There was bar seating at the kitchen as well. There was also a downstairs, that was a walk out. That was were the library and his office was. It was quiet a secluded and it was either there or the porch where he liked to write and think and come up with ideas. It al depended on what kind of distractions he thought he needed. From there down the hall was the gym. It was an amazing home gym. Squat wrack, pull up bars, cardio equipment, stretching equipment, dumbbells, kettlebells. It was a home gym that they both loved. It walked out to a small patio and right into the sandy beach. The fresh sea air was a perfect…

Morning 49-10 min

Afterwards, everyone would say they didn’t see it coming. They would speak about that day, in hushed tones, depending on the company. If they were all alone, they would peak of it with joy and humor. They would say in front of others that they had no idea what he was capable of, that they had no idea what he would become, but it was in my experience that there were always signs. It was just that we like to ignore them. Actually, it was more like we have to ignore them, because how would you treat someone if you knew who they might be.

On the occasion we are discussion now. He had been over for dinner. Something that I was told and that he talks about he does and did often. He was dining with her family. The women that he still loves and is still with. So, in a lot of ways not too much was different. However, on this day, he acted differently than he ever had.  And from that day forward everything changed. 

t was said they were eating steak. It was an early summer day with the windows open. The dogs were in the back yard and it was calm and peaceful for all. That was until the neighbor got home. When he got home, he started to mow his dirt, blowing dirt and derby. Into the house. He turned the music up loud, for them all to hear. When the youngest daughter went outside to retrieve the dogs, who were at this point agitated, it was said the neighbor said something to her. It was never said in all this time was was said, only that it wasn’t worth repeating. Now, in my opinion that could mean that it was in fact a heinous thing to say, or it could mean that the thing said was minor, and they all covering for the fact that his reaction to it was anything but minor. It was then said that before the youngest daughter had finished the story, that he was up and out of the door. He was not one to act in a rude way and not explain his abrupt departure….

Morning 48-10 min

His first instinct was to shut everyone and everything out. He knew himself. He knew the man he was and he could handle him. He could talk to him and cool him down and they could get through anything together. It was the others that he had trouble with. So, when it came to the pain and the hurt, he would close up, shut off , and put up the barriers. He would ride the storm out alone, in the basement of his mind. This had worked for him for a long time. And by “worked” what he really meant was that he was still here. He was still here and still doing what he does. That was made him realize things had to change. He realized that surviving wasn’t enough. That hiding from the storms, although he could survive them wasn’t going to make his life any better or any different. He realized that he if was going to grow he would have to try harder, he would have to work for it. 

She loved him. This was true. She loved him and he fought it. It had been a long time since he was loved. It had been an even longer time since he let himself love anyone else. This time though, he knew both were true. And yet, when the storm came he did what he always did. He pushed the rest away to fight it themselves. He told himself he couldn’t do that this time. He couldn’t hide away. He knew that he couldn’t fight the storms brewing in the hearts and minds of others, but he could be there. He knew that he could be a light house. He knew the he could be an example. A thing to look up to and at. A symbol of what life could be. That was his goal then. To live it large. To live it big. To live it all. The pain and the hurt and the love. It was all apart of it. And in the middle of it all, he wouldn’t lose himself. He could know that he was til him. That the man he could do anything with was still in there, unaffected by the world around him. Unaffected by the feelings and the storms and the intentions and the promises of others. That the ship was still solid. 

Now then, what was next? For he knew that it was one thing to think a thing, and yet another to do something about it. The first was his mood would have to change. He would have to let the light in. He would have to let the love in.

Morning 47-10 min

The hotel room he got for himself was small. It was stifling. It was dingy and musty and it was perfect. It had a shower with water pressure that was surprisingly great. In fact, it hurt, and he was okay with it. The sheets had some stains. The carpets too. The view from the window was actually okay too. This was on the second floor. Overlooking the pool. A pool that currently had a group of kids in it. A mom watching over them while sipping heavily from a plastic bottle with the logo of a coffee shop of it. Then there was another women. She was alone in the corner. She was younger. Thin. With a body that was fit and seemed cared for. No scared or tattoos that pointed to a rougher upbringing. No Man beside here that pointed to what might have brought her there. He noticed her. And that was all. She was out of place and he thought about why. Why was she here? Why was she alone? What could have brought a girl that looked like that to a place like this. It was because this place was isolated, because it was far from the world he knew. In fit it was because it barely had a cell phone signal that he chose it. He needed a get away. He needed to be out of it. To be away from the world he knew. The one that was suffocating him. The one that was so distracting that this place seemed like a welcome relief. He had come out here to write. The publisher had asked for another book. It was long past due. It was something that the publisher said they would pay for, if he ever delivered, It was here that he hoped to find his mind. Hoped to have this story come together.  He sat down to write. What could he write about? What could he create a story about? Why was that girl here?

Morning 46-10 min

Abigail knew she would have to leave him. He had become a man obsessed. He wasn’t hurting her, not in a physical way at least. He was however not showing her any attention. He was obsessed it seemed. Obsessed with finding him. She said she would leave, that she should come back when it all made more sense when there was time left for her. She said the words and he barely looked up as she walked out the door. She closed it, and sat in the car. Be fore she could put it in reverse she started to cry. She cried and cried and cried. She cried more than she ever had. She cried so hard and loud she hoped he could hear her from inside. She kept looking at the window, hoping he would come out to the car. Hoping that he would snap out of it, walk outside, open the car door, grab her and tell her it’s going to be okay. She wanted him to say he was sorry, that he was back. She sobbed staring at that door. Waiting for the knob to turn. After so much time, and the sun beginning to set and the tear drying up, the door never opened. The window shades never moved. She thought for a moment that she’d go back in. Maybe there was still a chance she thought. Maybe there was a glimmer of hope. Then she had to force herself to remember, the man in that house was not the one that said he loved her. He was different now. He was a different person and he was not the idea she had in her head. She had to leave and had to move on. She took one more look, felt that twinge of heart breaking, and put it in reverse. She drove down the road. She could head north to her family. To the people that were going to be there for her. The people that would give her a place to stay and food to eat and anything else she needed. She loved that she had that option. She also knew it was a trap. A trap she had seen so many people get trapped in. She thought about this as she turned right and headed south instead. South was where her friends lived. South was unknown and uncomfortable and more interesting. South was going to be scary and painful, but she knew this, the south was where she was going to grow.

Morning 45-10 min

He rode across that dessert ground. It was wild he thought. The ground, the earth, the idea that he was here. It was one of those moments. Ones of those moments that others talk about. The ones where the image that you’ve had for so long comes true. The one that you thought about laying in your bed, thinking about how it could all be different. The one that got you through the days, the pain, the darkness. The image that there was something else. Just anything else. Just the idea of something more, something different then the place you were. It was like that. In that moment he reached it, he was in hit. On his motorcycle, not another car in sight, riding through the dessert. Plateaus and rock formations on both sides. He realized this was the image he had. The freedom he had wished to experience. He breathed deep in that moment. He sighed. He would never tell a soul but his eyes filled with tears. The wind hit his face, his hands, his legs. He felt the vibrations of the motor and the road. He smelled the air.  The clean air of the dessert, the air of no one around. The air of complete privacy and isolation. He thought about it all for a moment and smiled. He turned his wrist down and felt the pull of the motor. The bike took off. He felt its speed, it’s anger, or was that his? He felt it go. Faster and harder. The tires beginning to vibrate. The suspension taking all it could. The engine pinging. The handlebars pulling out of his hands. He Was back, into the bike, into the moment, into the survival of it. One wrong move, a slip, a crack, a big rock, and it was done. The idea scared him, and because of that, he went faster. Harder. Quicker. He pulled that throttle until it had no more. He pulled it, his heart beating his hand trembling…

Morning 44-10 min

He had a thought. A thought that changed everything. A thought that made it all make sense. What he wanted, was what He wanted. He wanted to be wealthy. He wanted to be a creative force. He wanted to love someone with all that he could. He wanted to be fit and healthy. He wanted to taste great food, and travel to amazing places. He wanted to triumph. He had a thought, that he wanted these things and that these things in their own right wanted him. They wanted him back. These things, these specific things, were his own desires. He realized this when talking to his friends and family it began to occur to him that he was different. Not in a way that they talk about it now, as if you’re different and better. It wasn’t like that to him. He was different in that he wasn’t exactly like everyone else like he assumed he was. He had, for some reason assumed everyone liked what he liked. He had assumed that what he liked was trivia because “who didn’t”. He thought to himself, who didn’t like to know the context of every movie he ever watched. He didn’t want to know the back story of the actors. Their lives. Who didn’t want to know the year it was made and what was going on in the world. Who didn’t want to know the director and their other works and know how this one compared. Who didn’t want to know the writer. To know how this movie was inspired. From real life or a novel and if so, what about that author. Well, when he discovered that actually not a lot of people felt this way, he had a thought back. Oh, well maybe I like what I Like and that’s okay. This same thing would happen time and time again. People, he realized had their own interest. They had their own ideas of what they liked and what they wanted and what got their Brians fired up. He thought, of course this was true. And of course, he didn’t like the things he had done or the goals he had been chasing, because he never did. These things were not his idea and not his vision and not his want. He came to him, his vision was good. His vision wasn’t about hate or about hurting people. His wants and desires, when he was done with them would make nay family proud. So why then, was he busy working for and trying to accomplish other people visions instead of his own. Why then, were his decisions based on the thought and opinions of people who wanted very different things than him. Well it was right then, in that moment, that he knew. He knew that to live a life of passion it would have to be about his vision of it.

Morning 43-10 min

What he didn’t think about was what was real. He knew some things came with the “based on a true story” tag line. And among these, he knew this was a loose term. It was used to market the film, but very often it was a much different story then the one that actually took place. What he did not stop to consider, was which stories were based on real events, and instead chose not to talk about it. He had seen the story of the nutcracker plenty of times. It was something that was a tradition for some yers in his family. They would get dressed up. Go to the city. See the Nutcracker. Have a nice dinner. It was always a highlight of the Christmas season. A way to kick it off. Even as he got older. He enjoyed the food and the drinks after the show more then the show itself by then, but still it was a great time. What he never considered was the origins of the story. He thought of it as a mind of a writer, someone like him. Someone who would come up with a n ideas. Expand on it. Continue. Create a world and go with it. What he should of thought about considering it was something he did himself, was that there had to be a grain of truth in the story. There was a grain of truth in every story, it was just a matter of how big. In this case, it seemed bigger than he could have imagined.

It was the night he got home from the show and dinner. It was an amazing one. The show was great, and for some reason, he had enjoyed it more than he had in previous years. He felt into it. He was into the music and the dance. Really hearing every beat, and admiring the athleticism of the dancers. After the show, the family went to the high end restaurant they had been knew to frequent so often. This was a place of theirs. A place where people knew them, where things were made comfortable for them. It was a place that they felt treated. He was always impressed and grateful fo that restaurant. The drinks flowed and the stories were told. Amazing food was eaten and a million laughs were had. He got himself into a cab, and took himself home. And this point he was living in a…

Morning 42-10 min

It's been said that the only way to get over it it is to go through it. He sat there and thought about this, as the night crept on. Sleep was not going to be an option. His brain made sure of that. It was painful. The thoughts in his head. They were ones that when he thought about it, didn’t really effect him. They didn’t change who he was as a person. When he really thought about it. Nothing did. They were just thought. People, he knew were just people. They weren’t characters that were crafted and written, perfected and written in room, with every action and moment to have deep meaning. No, they were flawed. They acted out of impulse and instinct. This was just the reality of it all. He knew this. He knew that it wasn’t personal. And yet, he felt it. He felt those feeling in his chest. In his heart. In his brain. It felt like something was realised in him. A drip of negativity, of hurt of poison for his soul. He felt heavy. Like the world was putting more weight on his shoulders than he had ever had before. His thoughts raced. His breath shortened. He paced now. Wanting the thoughts to stop. Wanting the pain to stop. He took a shot. Vodka tonight. It was the only thing going down these days. He wasn’t drinking it for taste of for craft, he was drinking it for effect and it was doing the trick. He felt the warms go down his neck and into his stomach. Warmth he thought, Man that feels good. Next, was the head rush. The release of chemicals that made him feel good if only for a minute. He knew this was no answer. H knew this was addicting of he did it too much, he knew too that tonight he needed to.  He kept thinking, I have to go through it. I have to push through this. I have to make it to the other side. He thought how bad it hurt, how it effected his hear t and his soul, and then he thought, maybe that’s how I know I’m in the right track. Go through it go go go. He let the thoughts come over him. He put them in contact. He thought about if it was different players, different scenarios. What if it was him, what would he have done. What if it was a friend, what would he think then. His body twisted. The poison shot through his gut and heart and brain. He bent over in agony. He took another shot. Another moment of relief. Why he thought, why if my brain his making these thoughts, why are they also hurting me. What kind of fucked up system is this?i

Morning 41-10 min

He hammered on. What else was there to do he asked himself. He had thought about the idea of diminishing returns. But he also knew those ideas were long gone. Noe, he ws just in doing more mode. It wasn’t his best work, or the most productive, but it made him feel better. Dong made it better, and better was more then he had now so that’s what he decided to do. This was a hard problem to solve. It wasn’t hard on the sense that it was complicated or that it involved something the the hand’t seen before. No, this was hard because it was his on head getting in the way. He knew the end result. he knew wha thad to be done. He also knew where he was now. Both of those things were very clear. What was not clear was hoe to get from here to there. So, he sat, and he worked on it. he worked until his head hurt, his eyes strained his necykached, his body hurt. He worded on it some more. Pushing through, pushing through pushing through. Sometimes he knew, that was the only way, was though, and he wanted to push as far as he could before he had to stop. He knew that eventually he’d sleep. That he would break. But he wanted to do all he could before then. To collapse at the desk would be the best case scenario.

He awoke the next morning. Head in the most percrious position on the edge of the desk. The words he had written, staring back at him as he woke his computer up. His eyes were too blurry to understand anything. He knew what he needed. He made coffee and took a long drink of fresh water. He Mae his way to the garage. He jumped rope for a few minutes. The sweat came fast, with his set of old sweats on. Then came the work. Round of kettle bell swings, pull ups, heavy bag work and pushups. Round after round. This routine was great for a few reasons. One, it worked his whole body, feeling every once of it being used, made him feel alive. Second, it was exhausting. Exhausting was what he needed right now. Exhaotinf kept him from over thinking. Over thinking was what kept him from doing. He needed to do, not to think. DO work, not to worry. He pushed and swung and pulled and punched until the gray of his sweats were dark, and heavy…

Morning 40-10 min

The day was hot and he didn’t have enough water. Hs likes started to have that weak feeling. His head spinning, his eye not able to concentrate on any one thing. He had to keep moving though. He talked to himself. He remained himself that he had been here before. That he had put himself through much worse voluntarily. He remembered that he used to run these mountains. Having had very little water. Pushing himself to the extreme so many times. He had done it to test his body and his mental capacity. He wanted to see if he could handle it, in the same way that some of the ancient warriors and the tribesman and hunters of Africa. Now though, now that he was being pursued, thinks felt different. For one, he didn’t have his water on his back, which he had always carried in his test, just in case he needed it. Noe, noe having that safety net was something that he was going to have to get his brain to understand. He knew to panic now, would not be great. He knew it would mean he wouldn’t be able to think properly. He wouldn’t be able to make the best decisions. He knew that that mean that he might die. So he calmed himself. Breathing always seemed to do the trick. He breathed in and out., concentrating on his breath. Making it purposeful. Within a minute he was back. His mind in the moment. His body he knew, could handle a lot if his brain was on board. Control your thoughts, he said to himself. It's okay to freak out a little, but we’re okay. He was now talking to himself as if he was a friend. Disconnecting himself from the situation. Disconnecting himself from the pain. Besides the pain in his legs and head and lungs, all from the dehydration and the climb. There was also, the pain of the stab would. It was in his left shoulder. He knew that it probably wasn’t immediately life threatening What he was worried about was how it compromised him. He was worried that if he had to, he may not be able to fight, or lift, or do the thing he might have to in order to survive. That thought, sent a wave of anxiety through him

Morning 39-10 min

It was everything. Nothing seemed right. Everything was getting to him. He thought of himself as a man with a cheery disposition. Although, literally no one else would have ever said the same thing about him. But even so, as he drove, he realized that everything was getting to him. The head lights of every car, in front and behind him. The rattle of every piece of metal in his car. The tic and the tat of the engine. The bumps. Oh Jesus, the bumps, and the pot holes. They way they couldn’t be seen until the last minute. He had just hit the third one in 2 minutes, when he lost it. He punched the top of the ceiling of the car. He felt the pain rush through his hand. That pissed him off more, he punched again and again and again. He pulled over. He tried to rip the steering wheel off. It wouldn’t budge. He tried to punch a hole through the radio and dashboard. They wouldn’t t move. He kicked, the floor boards wouldn’t give. He screamed. He Screamed as loud as he could. With the traffic flowing steadily by and the rain picking up, he knew know one was watching or listening. God he thought, this feels good. He could feel his larynx ripping, his voice becoming horse. He could feel his grip on the wheel as he gripped it with everything he had. He screamed. He screamed and screamed. He let it all out, let it all flow.  With every new scream, a new imagine or a very old one came to mind. He screamed them out of existence. Every feeling, every thought, with all of his passing breath he screamed them gone. He screamed until it felt like his inside were going out. Then the tears came. First, with the last few screams he could manage, and then all at once. They were heavy, they moved his body. He gripped that wheel until the tears shook his hands off of it. It was all out there, It was all that he was. Exposed, in this car, on the side of the road, in a storm. He crumbled. He crumbled into himself, letting the tears flow, although it was beyond his choice…

Morning 38-10 min

There was only a box left. All he had left fit into container no larger than a container of tums. God, when he thought about it like that, it all seemed so quick, so short, so not enough. He Remembered how many he ha d had though. Enough to fill a room. They seemed endless. He gave so many away. So many away to people he longer talked to. People who no longer loved hime. People Who he would never trust again. He also just wasted so many. He would take them and do nothing. He would take them and sleep, or lay around. He lost so many in so many terrible ways. Now though, as with so many other thing sin the way he spent his one, when he could see it was almost over, his brain kicked into gear. Now he recognized what was going on. The pills, they were what gave him life. They were what opened him up to the world. Allowed hime to think to create and to be. To be anything. Without them, he was just anyone else. With them, he was a master. He was at the top of his game. The problem was, which he was realizing now, was that he didn’t have a game.. He had taken them, and had fun. He had taken them, and gotten revenge. He had taken them and found every bird in every tree within eyesight. Basically he had wasted them. And now, now the supply was low. He also knew there was no more. Besides them being illegal now. The only man in the world who could make them was gone. Most said dead, some thought from taking to many. Some said he took bunch and decide that he couldn’t live in this world anymore. There were a lot of theirs to the end of his story. What was certain was that he was gone. He was gone and Ryan had all that was left. For Ryan had known the man that could make them. They were very close. So one day  when Ryan got home, there was a note left ti him. “Use them well. “And with that, Ryan had the worlds supply of the mind altering, mind enhancing, mind expanding drug, that if used properly might’ve done some real good. Some people that Ryan gave pills to, they decide to do real bad. The pill doesn’t change how you think, it just enhances what you think. If you think bad, it’ll get you to think really bad. And so, some of the people hw gave pills to, well they decide to think bad. That meant that with a bunch of pills they were able to pull off the largest heist in American history. Another, stole enough money to bankrupt the banking system for a day.

Morning 37-10 min

His focus was there. Then it was about reps. He remembered something he had read Arnold said. He talked about being in the gym . How he would feel the pain of each rep, the tear of each muscle. He talked about how sometimes people would ask him how he could keep that up. How could he keep pushing day after day, with a smile on his face. He told them that it was because he knew with each rep he was closer to his goals. That with each tear of the muscle he knew he was going to build it back bigger and stronger and that that was what was going to get him to where he wanted it. So this was why he smiled, he smiled because the struggle was the path, the struggle meant that he was on it, that he was making progress. Jack sat down to write that day having that thought in mind. He had led a life that up to now, was a good one. He had learned a lot and had grown a lot. It was good, but it wasn’t what he wanted. Jack wanted to change his life, to making to into the vision he had for himself. He knew he could, he knew he had for the most part. He had changed his thought. He had changed his behaviors and his body and his peers. There was only one area left. Jacks plan included being very wealthy. He knew he would accomplish this through various business and creative means. Ownership of business, great investments, and string companies when he saw a lack or thought a a creative solution. What he needed now though was to start. What he needed, was a start. He needed to get ahead. To get the first cart in motion. For Jack, he wasn’t quite sure how to do this. He thought of his abilities, and skills, and pleasures. All he had he thought, all he could control, was to write. It had been his go to since he was a kid. To write was how he thought. To write was how he expressed himself. To write then, he thought was his way to the life he wanted. So he wrote. He wrote and he wrote. He wrote poorly sometimes and then sometimes they came out of him like a poetic gift. He wrote stories and poems and songs and thought and humor and he wrote all that he could. He put some together in long form. Somewhere just sentences. He thought that if he could get enough out that he could write his way out. He did this, and then one day, He got a very interesting email. The email, was from a well known director. 

Morning 36-10 min

It had taken a very long time. Time that he’ll never get back, but time that he also new was probably needed. the thing about learning lessons he knew, was that so often we don’t really learn a lesson until we know but sides of it. We know not to touch the stove, but its not until we get burnt the that stove is actually looked out for. We know what we should do, but its not until we don't do what we should and then hate the results that we think about being better about things. This was what had happened to Jack. He had a realization that morning. He realized that he wasn’t just about what he was dong or wasn’t doing but both at the same time. he realized he could have good habits, but if he cancelled then out with bad ones, they didn’t matter. He visualized it as running on a treadmill, he was working hard but not getting anywhere. So he sat down, and that about all the things that were keeping him from running on solid ground. First, he noticed that social media, was a big one. His brain and heart never felt good when he looked at it. And, just as he had learned with the stove, when he limited it, he felt better. Lesson learned less was more. Next, was the people in his life. he had grown up with certain people, Those people though hadn’t changed much, or hand’t shoes any desire to. what they wanted was to remain the same. They wanted comfort and to complain and to be in the same place with a little effort. When things didn’t go their way they blamed others. Jack knew, he knew this was a horrible way to go through his life. he also knew, that if he surrounded himself with better people, that he would become better himself. He once again, tried this. HE found people that made him level up. He spent more time with them and less with the others. It was not long at all before things in his life began to change. He saw his goal differently. he saw his approach and outlook on life change. Things that he wasn’t sure were possible in the past, were now within reach. they were within his possibility of growth. That then led to his biggest change. Himself. It was his own mind. Programmed by people and an environment that he wanted to change. Programmed to think a certain way. Programmed to have certain reactions to certain things. zHe could feel it. When certain words were said, his whole body reacted. his mind would switch gears into a different mentality. He felt it every time. he knew it had to change, and so he did. he stepped back from it all and let reprogrammed himself.

Morning 35-10 min

HE thought it odd. Story after story his whole life. People always saying they could see what he was. They could see what he would become. If he wanted it. If he was willing to go after it. It was if they saw something in him that he didn’t understand. A force behind the face in his soul. He though, not believing it, or possibly because he did, did whatever he could to fight against it. He fought his instincts. He fought his wants and his desires. He told himself it was the right thing to do. hat doing the thing he wanted, was somehow wrong. He went as far as to think that because he wanted them he was bad. That because not everyone had them, that him trying to get them was wrong. he had at a certain point literally talked himself into being a loser, as if this was righteous as if this was good. as if, if there was a plan for him, that this was it, to sit around, to world toward nothing, to use his mind to try to make nothing. This went on for a long long time. Somehow him sticking to this, he made himself feel better about it. then thing began as they usually do, with more knowledge and more perspective. He realised that despite living as he had for so long and trying his best to pretend he didn’t want certain things, certain things still appealed to him. he would read a book, or see the news or watcha movie and feel movies but the actions of a character or person or place and it statue in the world. He knew he’d be a hypocrite to ignore this. he decided he had to understand why. why did he feel drawn to those e people and those things, of which he didn't not know of personally. This lead hi to philopshy and religion and mysticysm. It was there that he tried to read about what people used to believe. What they let guide their life. He then read modern psychology and new age thoughts. He read there too, what should guide a life and what could. he Then read about the people he resected or liked up to, or for the reasons he didn’t understand, the ones that grabbed his attention. In all of these sources through out so much time and different points of view, there was a common ideology. He saw, that among all these things, that trying was the thing that made a life a life. he had mistaken what he believe to be peace and understanding and acceptance as doing nothing and waiting. What had come to him now, was that trying to do something, and keeping those values…

Morning 34-10 min

He overlooked the gran prix. He loved this sport. It was only in recent history that he started liking motor sports. It was a with a lot of thing him watching a documentary that spiked his interest. He didn’t know why, but it caught him. Formula 1 was the sport. It was completive. It was intense. It was about more then the drivers. it was about a team, engineering, management. it was about so many different factors and they all played huge rolls. To him, it felt like the ideas that he loved. All the aspects coming together. Then on to[of that, how they might overcome the unknown things that could happen.Thinking ahead, being read, being prepared., but also being aggressive nahd going after what they wanted. This was why he loved it. For him, it was a culmination of sport of how he loved. That was how he got to where he was now. Standing on his yacht, in the port of Monico, overlooking the best known Grand Prix in the world. He loved this sport but he really loved the life he had built. He had treated his life like a sport. He would think about it statically. Creatively and logically. He would consider where he wanted to go. What he was attempting to accopmplish and the implement his plan. In his world. He was the team, the engineer, the manager and the driver. He loved it with equal passion. He found his life as exciting and fun, as the race days that he loved. The each itself was his, and not just that he owned it. He designed it. Was the lead charger in creating the technological reforms. The yacht, was large beautiful and economical and efficient. It was not longer am environmental catoshphy to use a yacht. It could take you all over the world. He loved it. The other thing he loved was film, ewhcih of course he found his way into. First with writing scripts and then with producing them. Now he had gained many awarded and accolades from the business. But those didn't matter as much to him, in this case it was the creation. he knew the awards could be fickle, bought or influenced. But like the ship, like the team, the end product was what mattered. He knew they were his best, and his best was great, and only getting better. Pleasure was not the only reason he was in Monaco. He also had business to attend too. On this weekend it…

Morning 33-10 min

He was ready. He knew that this was going to be a long flight. Jack hated long flights. He hated flights in general actually. It wasn’t the flying. He actually found comfort in the idea of flying. Being above the clouds. Living in a way that for most of the history of  the world wasn’t possible. Having grown up around aviation and flying, he knew about its principles and its policies. He knew about air spaces and aero dynamics. Lift and and landing gears. Towers and Air space. All of it. He also knew that if anything were to go wrong up there, they had a chance. But if anything were to go really really wrong, there was very little chance. This somehow comforted him. The small bit of hope, or no hope at all. No, what he hated about flying was the space. Crammed next to other people. Waiting on them. Being near them, their breathing, eating, sleeping, scratching. He hadn’t always been like that, but these days he couldn’t stand it. And so, before the flight he decided that some cocktails would liberate his annoyance. That maybe the rose color of the bloody Mary’s would also give him the rose colored glasses he would need to get through the flight in a positive state of mind. It seemed to be working. As Jack sat at the bar, now on his third bloody, he was feeling better. He could step out of himself and notice the marvel of the world around him. The people running, they always got to him. Were they actually late? Or were they the type that felt they had to run to each terminal? How late were they? Where were they going? Then he would see the families. The ones with a stroller and a toddler. Man who would think “why would you want to do that?” He thought maybe they were going on vacation. He thought back to his own actions as a kid. They were meant to be fun he knew, or he knew that’s what his parents thought they were doing. But, as he would grow up he would realize they weren’t fun. They were more practices is doing what a middle class family is supposed to do. That would be going down the shore. Going to Florida. Taking road trips. This was what the movies of the era told them they should do. But really, all they ended up being were trips where everyone was annoyed. Trips where no one had any space. Where his parents pretended everything was fine…

Morning 32-10 min

They all thought he was crazy. he lived at the time of the hill in town. That always seems to be where the crazy people live. Putside of town, at the top of the hill. Over looking everyone. A place you had to travel to get to and there was no mistaking why you were there. Their Rodas never led to anywhere else and you drove by, you knew they must be looking because who else was going to drive by. He was supposedly a brilliant one. A man of education and of imagination.. There were a lot of stories about him. Some that he he used to world for the government. THAT HE WAS A James Bond that they had to retire. He wasn’t allowed to leave the property it was said. Some said he was a scientist, who had worked on the most top secret missions that the government ever had. They reason the government didn’t just get rid of him was because he was still the only one who knew how those things worked. So they stuck him outing the middle of now where. Making him live alone. And would come get him when they needed answers. Another theory was that he was an eccentric billionaire. That he lived in that house for privacy. That actually he had houses all over the road and private jets and yachts. Only he came to this house to get away from it all and no one ever knew. The theories went on and on. What anyone really did know was that there was a man who lived at the house at the top of the hill. No one really ever saw him., so no one really knew what he looked liked. Mail was not delivered there. There was no car ever in the driveway, that anyone saw. Of course if you asked around town, there were always those people that said they knew him. Carl, the local real estate guy, said he knew him well. Claimed they talked about selling the house a few times. Even claimed to have had breakfast with him at the diner once maybe twice a month. No one believed Carl. No one believed Carl , because Carl alway had a story that seemed to unbelievable. It could have been about UFO’s or big foot, or claiming he knew where Jimmy Hoffa was. Most people chalked Carl’s thoughts up to the idea that Carl didn’t have a lot to do. Houses in this town, didn’t come up for sale very often. When they did, they sold very quickly. Carl made a decent living doing very little, except making up stories it seemed

Morning 31-10 min

His mother used to say “ you better use that brain fro good and not evil” At the time, he never would have thought about doing anything “Evil” He was a good kid. One who was God fearing. Parent Fearing. Fearing in general about most things. He remembered thinking. Of course I’ll use it for good. What other way could I. Then the fear, it kept building. It kept coming. It kept making him not do things. Fear , it had a way of controlling him. It had a way of keeping I’m from living. Of keeping him from doing things. The fear he felt though, was nothing to the fear he had of it continuing. The fear of dying having lived as a shell of a man, that was a fear that bothered him. That fear grew too. That fear was powerful and strong and took over. It became the thing he feared the most, and in doing so, it out powered all the other fears. Soon, he was a fearful man, doing something. With every opportunity. With every new setting. With anything different. The fear came. But, like a loyal dog, the fear of failure came in stronger. Always there. Alway braking in his ear. He knew this was no way to go through life. Thinking that everything was bad. That fears dominated each other. He would sometimes try to let it go. Try to be the calm one. He wanted to take the zen approach. To let go of it all. To say “whatever is is”. He tried and when he did it all came back. It would take over. If not one fear the next. If not that one a new now. Those were rough, new ones. Old ones he could manage better, it was new ones that could get to him sometimes. So, eventually, he gave in. This was it for him., Fears fearing fear. When Churchill said his words, what he left out was that that fear could motivate those who feared. 

Then one day, it all went away. Well, not a whole day, a morning. It was a cloudy morning. Not one in which one would think anything glorious could happen, but it did. It was a day that he would never forget.

Morning 30-10 min

What he remembered was the sun. He had been burnt by the same sun so many times. Laying out o the beach or working in the yard. He had given the sun grief. Scored it, knowing even that that it was his fault. It was at this moment though that that same sun, felt so nice. It felt like a warm hand from a place he didn’t understand. I felt like a blanket of love and nourishment from a world outside his own. It was in fact that. It felt that way now though because he had made it out of the water. This was something he didn’t expect. he had expected to swim across. He had done this swim so many times. Across. It had been peaceful and relaxing. It was sometimes taxing but in all, it was always pretty easy. This time though, things changed. Has he had started to swim across. Something attacked him. Of course at first it was only just a bump. A something was different. He blew it off. No time to think of the worst when there is no floor below you and you’re the most awkward creature in the water. He thought that it most have been something small. A fish maybe. He had almost run into them while scubas diving, surprised by their lack of awareness and agility. Maybe, he thought, maybe it was a turtle or a snake. He hoped not a snake, the idea creeped him out. He had however seen that too. Swimming in this very lake, he had seen snakes. Never really considering how well they could move. They were gratefully, very weary of anything, and moving quickly away was their first priority. He continued, and then it came again. A tug on the leg. His brain could comprehend and it began to race. No pain. No blood. Maybe he was stuck maybe it was weeds grown tom high that he was feeling. Maybe there was fishing line, ir a top or something that he was swimming over that he was stuck on. WHAM! this time pain! This time it grabbed and pulled. He pulled his leg back. Doing so brought more pain. that pain brought in his response. He kicked with his other leg. He kicked hard again and again. To his horror, his foot met with something.

Morning 29-10 min

He wanted it. The big explosion of activity. The big moment. The part of this movie called life where the music comes on. the character knows its about to go down. The part where all the things he was doing before that moment are adding up. The moment before the moment he’d even take. Thats when the character in the movie says something like “i’ve had enough” or “ never again” and the trainman begins. He was raised on movies it seemed. Maybe his ideas were based on bad preconviceved Idas of how the world works. Maybe he hadn't tried hard enough. Mayne his focus wasn’t on pint. Maybe, well maybe the world didn’t work like that. So there he sat. Waiting. Although, he knew, just like in any goof movie, the hero can’t wait for things to happen. There were some movies where there was a hero, just sitting there, and something amazing happens. Almost always though, we find out that time heros were never normal. Their parents had know they weren’t normal. Or the universe had spit out some sort of fortune proclaiming them to be the chosen ones. He was pretty sure he wasn’t that, and even if he was, well he was tired of waiting. So, instead he knew he needed to act. So act he did. he worked out and kept fit. He read all that he could. He read about every subject and every philosophy and even way of thinking. He also wrote. he wrote his ideas, his own adventures his own thoughts. he did this all in preparation. Prepeatio for when his moment came. He did this for years waiting and waiting and wait, and his moment, well it didn’t come. So he thought about it. What was he missing ? What were the character in his movies and his stories. What was it that they had that he didn't have. he thought abut it. He mapped it out. A mission he thought. A mission, do do something. He thought he had a mission a few times. Thought that would sustain him. Then one day, it came to him. His mission was righting from of him. He had always wanted certain thing sin life. Besides his desire for the life of excitement, he then began to remember other things. It made sense to him now. What was a man prepared for, if he wasn’t striving for anything. This thought changed his whole life. He began. His writing was it of course…

Morning 28-10 min

He was out of ideas. He was literally alone. Hating where he was. Stuck in a lace he had always told himself he would never be. He was In a house where he said he’d never come back to. He knew this was his fault. He knew these decisions were his own. Now though, now he thought was not the time to think about any of that. he had spent enough tie thinking about the past. He used to think about it a lot. And one thing came to him when he did. He could have done it better. And that might be helpful to learn from, but he was sure he learned all he could. “Do better” He felt stuck now though. In a house. In a place with no where to go. “Do something” the voice in his head said. “Do anything. Move. Make something better. Make it all better” This voice of his, the one talking ti him now had grown louder in the last few days. It came to him like a friend trying to pull a buddy out of a slump. It showed up, and it was persistent. It wanted action. It wanted movement. It wanted anything to happen. He heard it before, but he ignored it. Today though, it made more sense. In the face of nothing, become something. In the face of inactivity, become the activity. The universe he had read was all, that it only created mentally. That because energy could not be created or destroyed it could be changed. And that change he had. He could change it by what he thought and what he did. In the face of nothing become the something. In the face of inactivity became the acitvity. What then? what could eh do. he decided it was too much thinking. First he thought, I’ll write it down. I’ll write it all down. I’ll make these thoughts real. In the simplest sense. I will bring them from one plane to the other. From the recesses of may mood to the physical pages of the notebook. In an instant he Rea lized that that was the whole idea. It started as a thought, and now it was a thing. Now it was real. It was letters and meaning and could be read not just by him but any others. In a moment he had taken thought and took action and Mae something happen. With this he moved on. He thought, how to make this grow,. How to make these words grown into something bigger. More action he thought. What other way was there. Action was the thing that made it happen. On the page was written to get fit. So he began.

Morning 27-10 min

Time. Some say it’s a construct. A thing we invent. A thing that isn’t real but that we need to contract our worlds. Others, as I’ve heard it say that we actually have the time idea all wrong. That its not linear. That it all comes back around. The only thing I knew for sure was that it kept moving in my world. That everyday was time that was gone. That everyday there was less of it. That everyday, I let it slip away. The therapist said I shouldn’t do that. That I shouldn’t look at the past and think of it as a waster. That instead I should think of it as the things I had learned. That I should think of the past as if anything, a measurement of how far I had come. I had read spiritual text that said in fact, nothing but right now existed. That there was no past, no future. That truly, the only thing that existed was the moment. That made sense in my mind. Then later, I would twist it. Twist it to mean that what I did didn’t matter. I knew it did, and that would be proven do me. Back then though, back when I was lost. When I didn’t have a mission or a cause or any reason. Well in those days time did seem relative. It would come and it would go. I though, I seemed to stay. To stay in the same place, doing the same things. It was as if a bubble was created and that nothing changed. I knew back then too why this was. I had delivered it when I was a child. The things I had done always seems to have a major impact. My thoughts, when they were big, caused big reactions. When they were small, caused almost nothing to happen. I kept them small back then. I kept my life small and therefore the things around me small. It seemed like the right things to do. It seemed like the proper thing to do. Only that, I knew it wasn’t I knew I was living a lie. I was waiting for someone to notice to say go ahead its okay to live big. I waited a long time. But that person did come along. Although like many things, never in the way I expected. I got the permission I never needed, but it took a lot to get there. Then, well after that, living large was the only thing that was left. After the world is broke open and the inter workings are shown to you, there is no way to live small. There is no way to think small. 

Morning 26-10 min

He was going at a pace that the vehicle could barely handle in this weather. The rain was coming down in sheets. Blowing straight into the windshield. Straight into his field of vision. He reckonozed this, and also recognized that this was not slowing him down. His eyes were working the best they ever had. He could see the boundaries of the road. he anticipated the turns, letting up off the gas, just enough to maintain traction and then going back into power. The sky was dark but lit enough for him to see. He was rushing to the opportunity of his life and there was nothing that was going to stop him. Nothing that was going to keep him from it. It was this, or it was nothing and so he drove on. He was in a foreign land. Racng against time and circumstances. He was on his way to the airport to catch a private flight back. He had with him a treasure that the world had considered lost. it was a treasure that would change the world, but first he had to get to the plane. He was being pursued. he thought of it on a straight stretch of road. He thought of how these things only seemed to happen in movies but that it was actually happening to him. He, was rushing to catch a flight home, being pursued by some people who would like very much not to let that happen. He felt for a moment like his childhood hero, mostly Indiana Jones. Now though, was not the time to lose concentration. He was trying to red his GPS. Up until now it was one road to the town center. But from there the road split in 5 different directions, and he didn’t know where to go. As he crested the last hill before town the signal was lost. The truck he had thought he was doing a great job staying ahead of was now in view and he was entering the city center. He desperately looked for signs. Physical to otherwise. He had tio slow down. had to see if he could figure it out. All the while the truck was zooming closer and closer. He saw cars and mopeds choosing ever which road. He saw people walking down every which way. Nothing gave away the airport road. Then he saw a truck carrying a large box. He settled it, turn there he thought, there is either the airport or buildings ir anything, it was the only choice he came up with.

Morning 25-10 min

Jack knew then what he had to do. It would be the only thing that would matter to him from that moment on. The thought of it brought a smile to his face. The feeling of simplicity. Of being in the moment. The feeling that he had a purpose and a reason and that his energy would flow to it. The feeling that whatever he was, it would be funneled into this. This was the thing that his life force would be shown through. This was the thing that when his life was thought of in review it would be measured by. The ideas came to him, as if the world hydrates of thought was turned on. Flowing like a river into his head. Filing it but never becoming full. His body tinged. His heart duped. He was at once there in the moment, and in the future. Leaving in the future that was his. His victory secured. All this came to him in an instant. A few moments. No oe had seemed to notice except fro the person who had inspired it. The man that had brought forth this epiphany was seated at the head of the table. He was rattling off things that Jack thought were nonsense. He had, and what had just become the moments life changing, had insulted jack for the entertainment of the table. The slights were subtle, but not funny. They were made not bring about a laugh, although they were despised that way. They were made instead to show power, to show distinction. Jack could not stand that. He could hand.e jokes, like anyone else. What he had always hated was the abuse of a position. He had hated that men would be sucked in by it, and hated that they would need to show it. This he thought, was a major problem in the world at large. Power going unchecked. Power, going to the heads of those who could not handle it. Power, never being Putin its place. This is the thought that gave Jack the slight smile he now fought to disguise. He would check this man. This mans ego and power abuse would be his fuel. He would turn all his attention, not on destroying this man but being better than him. He would take what this man….

Morning 25-10 min

Jack knew then what he had to do. It would be the only thing that would matter to him from that moment on. The thought of it brought a smile to his face. The feeling of simplicity. Of being in the moment. The feeling that he had a purpose and a reason and that his energy would flow to it. The feeling that whatever he was, it would be funneled into this. This was the thing that his life force would be shown through. This was the thing that when his life was thought of in review it would be measured by. The ideas came to him, as if the world hydrates of thought was turned on. Flowing like a river into his head. Filing it but never becoming full. His body tinged. His heart duped. He was at once there in the moment, and in the future. Leaving in the future that was his. His victory secured. All this came to him in an instant. A few moments. No oe had seemed to notice except fro the person who had inspired it. The man that had brought forth this epiphany was seated at the head of the table. He was rattling off things that Jack thought were nonsense. He had, and what had just become the moments life changing, had insulted jack for the entertainment of the table. The slights were subtle, but not funny. They were made not bring about a laugh, although they were despised that way. They were made instead to show power, to show distinction. Jack could not stand that. He could hand.e jokes, like anyone else. What he had always hated was the abuse of a position. He had hated that men would be sucked in by it, and hated that they would need to show it. This he thought, was a major problem in the world at large. Power going unchecked. Power, going to the heads of those who could not handle it. Power, never being Putin its place. This is the thought that gave Jack the slight smile he now fought to disguise. He would check this man. This mans ego and power abuse would be his fuel. He would turn all his attention, not on destroying this man but being better than him. He would take what this man….

Morning 24-10 min

But what was it doing there? The question was one that he couldn’t figure out. He didn’t know if he needed to just yet. Yet, the image of it kept coming back into his head. Jack wasn’t always one for the more super natural things in life. For the most part, he focused on what he could see and what he knew. The only issue with that, was that so much of what he did not see he knew for sure. Things that he based his life on, a higher power, waves of energy, and in this case, gut feelings. Gut feelings were a thing Jack had experienced his whole life. Sometimes there were just that, a feeling in the gut. A lot of the time there were things that nawled at him. They were things that he couldn’t stop thinking about. things that seemingly had no place in his in mind but made their way in there again and again. This was one of those times. He was trying to understand the events that had occurred to him recently. There was a change in his life. In what seemed like an explosion of activity and understanding, the world started to move for him. The things he wanted started to show up. The things he worked for, started to work out. He was in a sense experiencing a version of the “when it rains, it pours” phenomenon. The world was flowing and he as it his motion. Jack though, was a writer. For writers, at least for Jack. He wanted, in fact he needed to know why? Why? Was it working for him. He reasoned, that after adopting the idea, of a little more, forward momentum, and better everyday things did indeed get better everyday. He also knew that this was an explosion, not a trickle of success. He was grateful for it all. He just wanted to understand it. He thought too, that maybe trying ti understand it would disrupt it, would stop it, would change it. He knew that, in thinking that, he was in fact acknowledging that there was a flow. And if there was a flow to his life, he wanted to know how

Morning 23-10 min

What then was next? He asked this as it all had come to it’s logical conclusion. The floor had fallen out around him. The building had collapsed under its own weight. He had, by a miracle or some other outside force survived. He had come out unscathed. Unscathed physically at least. His mind felt the weight of what really happened. Felt the power and the moment of what happened. He tried to remind himself, that those were just feelings. That feelings weren’t a thing, the they were what he let them be. The feelings he was having now, he would not do well to let them be anything. The feelings he was having, were ones that would send him in a a deep dark destructive path, a path he had been down before and he would not want to go down again. Instead he breathed. It was a breath of clarity and of presence. He was alive. The goal he had set out to accomplish, was finished. He was surrounded by destruction, but it was destruction of his own doing. It was destruction that he was proud of, the he wanted, that he had planned for and caused. Now then, the same question came to him, after his long present breath. What now? What now was that he had to move. The flames and the destruction had surely alerted someone near by, and if they hadn’t it would soon. It would mean that he had to get to walking. He had to to take a route he didn’t think he’d be seen. On the off chance that he was seen, he had to have a reason to say why he was where he was. He knew that he looked like he had been through it. He also knew that any cop worth anything would be very suspicious of a stranger that looked like he had just be in a burning building when there was in fact a building burning. Move he thought again, move now and keep thinking. So he started to walk. Thinking quickly if there was anything he needed before he left. No he thought, it was all to be left. He knew what it was there, he didn’t have to have any reminders. He moved slowly. There were pains he didn’t realize he’d have. He realized he was relaxing. His adrenaline was wearing off. His body was starting to feel it all. He focused on moving not on the pain.

Morning 22-10 min

Sometimes he had to start before he was ready. Sometimes he had to start, after he should have. Sometimes life came to him, and others, well it waited, or it left him behind. It had a plan, and when he was in its flow, the wind blew, the sun shown. The clouds were sparse. Enough to let you know they were there, to give you some shade, and to show you, you weren’t the only thing moving in this great open space of a world. He hated that these days came after near tragedy. The day after, so bright, so beautiful. He hated that these days would stand out to him. He knew though, that this one was different. This one was something deeper. This one was a journey. A journey across a new land. An adventure taken on. A heart open. In thinking about it he thought about how it could have all been like this, but he knew he was wrong. He knew each step was a step in the right direction, even if it turned out to be wrong. He knew that the things that kept him from it all were the things that he filled himself with. When it all doesn’t matter, except for what matters, the world clears up so quick. He knew then, in that moment that he would never forget that. He knew then, that he was on his way. The path was cleared. The journey was planned the destination was clear, and he was already more than halfway there. In the moments of stillness he felt it all. The wind and the sun. The love and the fun. He felt grateful for it all, and felt the motions of it too. It felt like home. Home that. He never knew he wanted, never knew he could have. It felt like home and he wanted to make it grow. And now he knew, he would. He would help it grow with love in his heart. With his mind and his soul working as one. With his eyes he would steer it.

Morning 21-10 min

New places. They always gave him a strange sensation. He viewed them for what they were. Places with a lot of people. A lot of unknowns. Things that he didn’t know and people he wasn’t sure about. That was from a lifetime of this stuff. Checking doors and windows and even behind mirrors. Seeing where he could walk into without a problem. What the door had behind it. He tested it all. Hotels as he thought of them were puzzles. Where were the entrances and the exist? Behind that where were the real entrances and exist? The ones that only the people who worked there knew about. There were always those things. Anyone who ever worked anywhere knew this. The doors that the public saw, were the doors that the public were supposed to see. The ones that they wanted you to go in and out of. In any place though, there is how it really works. There are the excess doors. The service doors. The doors that were once open to the public but now aren’t being of some hazard or some budget cut that mean they couldn’t use it anymore. Those types of entrances were everywhere and they was what he always wanted to find. Once he did find these. Once he came up with his plans. Once he was able to see it all as he thought he needed to, then he was able to relax and see the new places for what it was. A wild thing. A thing that he had never seen before. A thing that had never existed until he set eyes on it. It was still strange to him. How massive this world was. How many people were in it. The things that built and the way in which they lived. A new place, a new way of talking. A new sense of community and ideas and shared beliefs. Who were these people? What was this place to them? He thought about how we all thought were were once thing, or we thought were were all different. But it seemed to him that the truth was harder then that, as truths usually are. It seemed to him that was all were trying to make the same thing, we just found different ways to do it….

Morning 20-10 min

What if the old world was right? What if the things he spent his life running away from, fighting against, trying to prove wrong, what if they were real? This was a new idea to him, and as he thought it, it gave him anxiety. He had been so sure. He had been convinced that although he didn’t know the right answers he was sure he knew the wrong ones. He was sure he knew what wasn’t the truth and what wasn’t going to set him free. And now, now he was less sure than ever. He was less sure then he had ever been about anything he had ever done or thought. What then was he to do? To fight this idea was to go against the very nature if his questioning. He couldn’t simply dismiss things because he didn’t like the idea of it. That would take away from his whole ideology. He also couldn’t dismiss that he had once reviled these thoughts that might now seem more important. That he had once dismissed them as straight up wrong, as injustices of the world. He was here now though, in the in between, in the ideas of what has come and what has gone. He now stood on the edge of it all wondering where to go. Then he remembered. This was all just thought, and thought didn’t amount to much without action. Thoughts were just thoughts. The sistine chapel and the moon landing were great thoughts, but only became great things with action behind them. So action is was to be. Then of course is the question , what action is the right action? There was only one answer, that was anything. A good plan now was better then a great plan later. That was his thought, a thought remembered from a wwII general he thought. Maybe Patton or Eisienhowwer, he couldn’t remember, and he knew if he looked it up, he’d spend the next hour learning about that war and those men instead of doing what they would do which was to take cation. So first he moved. He moved his body. It was always the simplest from of action and one that when he was done, had cleared his head and his mind and had opened his heart. Then it was to words. What ever was in that head of his needed to be let out. So he wrote. At first it was just non-sense. Random things. Random thoughts. Pushed together and without any real idea behind them. Then, they started to form idea. Things started to come together. They developed on the page as if they had been written by another. Then it was being preset, not overthinking it all, and taking the first step towards that big idea. That first manageable bite. That first anything that would be in the direction of the place he was trying to go.

Morning 19-10 min

Every thought of the future brought him a surge of adrenaline. That sharp warm shot through the body. The type that was almost painful, that made the heart skip and the body jolt. He wanted to stop thinking about it. He tried to, but trying not to think of something, he found out, was exactly like thinking about it. So instead he decided to focus on the moment. His mind would wonder, to the future again and again at first. With a shot of the warm needle to his heart every time. He would pull it back in though. Back to now and only now. As if this was the only moment that ever mattered as if this was the only moment that ever existed. When his brain would no longer think of the future, it would go to the past. Instead of that painful spike, it would be that dreadful gloom. Changing his whole body. bringing him down. It was like dark storm clouds rolling in to blot out the sun. He caught these thoughts too. Back to now he would bring them, back to the only moment that mattered the only one that existed, the only thing that was ever real, the only thing that he’d ever know for sure, right now. This was his process. Now it was daily. This struggle was one he now enjoyed. For it meant that he was struggling to be better. He used to live in the future. Never really knowing what was happening around him. Never really seeing what was happening. Only feeling what might be. This never led to anything good. It was hard for him to be good at what he does when his thoughts and mind and feelings were somewhere else. It was hard to be a top performer when he wasn’t present. It was like trying to paint a house when you’re standing across the street. Then of course there were those times when he lived in the past. Those were dark days. The what ifs and the if onlys. Those brought nothing but self pity, and there was nothing to keep a person down like their own self pity. It was a drug like any other, and it ruined lives. Now though, now he was here. He was right here, although he had just had all of those thoughts. He centered himself again, realizing that in fact he wasn’t present. He was about to take the biggest shot of his life and he was off thinking about thinking instead of not thinking.

Morning 18-10 min

What is it then to be in a different mind set? What is it that changes? Do you change as a person? Did you change who you are and what you believe in? Is the mind so fickle that it can be altered so easy? Is it so weak that it can be changed with certain chemicals or substances? What then is real? What can’t be changed? What was it that was solid and kept no matter the circumstances? Green had wondered this his whole life. He had wondered what he was made of. He had wondered what it was exactly he could do, what he could accomplish, just how far he could go. Green took this as his life challenge. Green started this by push-ups. They were his first love, because they were the first things he really hated. He would do push-ups after push—ups. Pushing it harder and further everyday. Doing one more. At least one more, at least another set. He would feel the pain. Sometimes feel the ripping and tearing, and he would go on. Eventually though, he broke. Not mentally, but his shoulders ripped apart. He took this as a valuable lesson. that sometimes to go far, he had to take a step back every once in awhile. So he noted it. And took up a new form. Green took up running. The time was adorus, it was painful and it sucked. This meant he knew, that he was on the right track. Mile after mile, minute after minute. Now though, he would step back before getting hurt. With this approach the miles kept coming. The training days were more consistent. Eventually his shoulders healed and his push-ups came back. More and more, taking it easy when he needed to. Then the same approach to pull ups and squats. These things he did on his own. By the time green was 18 he was a specimen. Not just in a physical way, but in a mental way. He had taught himself by having these strange goals exactly what every teacher and coach ever wanted to teach their kids. Perseverance, playing smart, pushing through pain, staying focused on the goals ahaed. Without realizing it, Green had put himself through a mental toughness and hard work training camp for 6 years. He was stronger and….

Morning 17-10 min

“Are you uncomfortable?” The question hit him. He felt it in his body. He was embarrassed but the question made that feeling of tears well up in him. As if he was a child. He hated feeling like a child. It made him angry. The anger and the pain and the arrogance of the question made him want to lash out. He was a child, in his childhood state. Fight was all he had, fight was all he he could do. Lash and hit, hurt, get away, these were his base elements, these were his emotions taking over control. He wanted to explode, to move, to stop, to change it all. Then the questions came again. This time it was loader and with more force. It was asked to be answered, not to be thought about. “Are YOU uncomfortable?” As he asked it, his face gave a twinge of a smile. That twinge made his emotions double. He didn’t think that was possible. He was here, he was melting down, boiling over. The voice spoke again. “I’ll answer it for you. You are uncomfortable. You are angry. You are frustrated and pissed off. You want to hurt me. You want to hurt the world. You want to explode and do anything to make this stop. None of that will help. You could kill me right now and that won’t get you what you want. You could be on an island with a fruity drink in your hand, but that won’t get you what you want. You are focused right now. Focused and motivated. Your problem is that it is all on the wrong things. You’re focused on me. You think I’m the problem. You think me being gone will end your pain. The truth is that you are the problem. Your focus is on changing the wrong things and wanting the wrong things. Focus on yourself. Focus on what you want to do. Focus on the change that will take you to making the change you want, to the thing you want to do. Don’t look at me. Look at the hill. Don’t worry about the weight, embrace it….

Morning 16-10 min

He tried to remember the things he took for granted. When things were great and nothing bothered him it seemed as if things could come to him without him ever taking a moment to be grateful. In fact, he could be down right ungrateful for most things. He could take a long drive on a beautiful day, sipping his coffee and listening to music and never once think about how great it all was. Then, things would change for him. And those long drives were blessings. That time was the time he used to collect his thoughts, to gather himself, to get pumped up for or to calm himself down from the day. That music could change his mood. It could inspire him. Listening to it intently could cause emotion and thought to rise in him which he had forgotten he had. The coffee, the coffee could become a gift. A nurturing piece of solitude. A nicety in a rough world. A delicious energizer. A beautiful complex idea of warmth and comfort. When sipped with intent, it changed him. It made him grateful for every sip, for every ounce. It was beautiful. Now, now that things were good again, better than ever, now he remembered those things. He never took a drive or heard that music without remembering, and without giving thanks. He always had the appreciation in his heart. The coffee, that too, he never forgot what some comfort can do for a mans soul, what little it needed to survive, and now that he had a lot, he never took any of it for granted. It was the little moments like these that he learned his lessons. It was the moments like those that led to where he was now. He was wealthy and free. His time was his own. His destination was wherever he wanted it to be. He had all the money in the world, with a bank account starting with a B. He chose this van, and this seat and this adventure to see the country his way. To see it without restrictions. Anywhere anytime.

Morning 15-10 min

He woke up. For a moment he didn’t know where. It startled him at first, but he took a deep breath and let the anxiety of it wash over him. He took another breathe. He let himself feel it. He was in the van. The same one he had driven thousands of miles and spent hundreds of nights in. He knew where he was, he just didn’t know where the van was. The sun was coming through the side window. He heard the crash of waves and a few sea gulls. He reached up to crack the window, to get some fresh air in. As he did, the familiar smell of the ocean came wafting in. It was a smell he had loved since he was a kid. It was his favorite part of the drive to the shore. The moment when the family would reach the bay and begin to cross the bridge to get to the other side. The moment he first saw the water. That was always the moment the smell came. The smell of salt water and the fish smell the tagged along. If that smell was a candle it would probably never sell. In his mind though, it was one of the best smells he could ever remember. As the scent of the water and the coolness of the breeze came into the van, his mind began to clear. He remembered now, he had driven 9 hours the day before making it to his current location around midnight. He remembered parking and walking far to find a drink and some food. That resulted in fast food, and some whiskey he had in the van. He thought now, as his head stung, that maybe he had had too much whiskey. He also remembered that there was a good chance he was dehydrated. He tended not to drink anything on the longer drives, especially if he had a schedule to keep. He felt like he was notorious for his small bladder, and he didn’t want that to slow him down. He had made it there on time and on schedule, and now it was time to get to work. He was supposed to meet her at ten this morning, which left only an hour and a half to get a workout in and make himself look like the man she was hoping could help her. 

Morning 14-10 min

It was early, the sun still had not come up fully. It cast odd shadows across the earth. It was also dark from the clouds that hung overhead, and the fog that was thick in the air. It was as if the weather was doing all it could to not let any light through. In time though, the sun would push through and light the day, but the clouds would stay, and the rain would continue. He thought about these things as he drove. His mind wondered to odd ideas. Was this why there used to be so many gods in the previous worlds? If you took the time to think of these different aspects of the world, they would seem to clash with each other. They would even seem to have different personalities. He thought about that too. The idea of looking at previous civilizations as if they were less knowledgeable, less sophisticated. What did we know though. We measured and we guessed and we proved, but in the greatness and vastness and increasingly larger universerve, what did we know? He then let his mind drift more, was that our goal in this world to explore the rest of them? Why was there so much space and so much area, what was it purpose? If our earths purpose was to grow the food we eat and create the oxygen we breathe, was there a purpose for the other planets, the other solar systems? If there was a reason for them, was there a reason for him he thought. These thoughts continued. At times he was so lost in these thoughts that he began to drift off the road. He would regain his composure and focus. Never really knowing if he had been thinking too much or if he had fallen asleep. The drive this morning would take almost the whole day, and when it was over, he hoped he would have some answers. Maybe not the answers to the questions he was asking himself at that moment, but answers instead that would provide him with the clarity he felt he needed to continue on his journey. First though, he had to get there. No more thinking he thought. No more, asking the unanswerable while driving. “Be right here, driving, on the highway”

Morning 13-10 min

Sometimes the best he had wasn’t enough. Sometimes he had to know, that despite the fact that he gave all he could, they he did everything that he could think of and owned every piece of it that he could own, that it still wasn’t good enough. He still failed. He still didn’t make it work. He still didn’t get the outcome he thought he wanted. Always though, in those moments he never felt too bad. There was always something about giving it all. Something about putting everything you have out there. Going past what you thought you were comfortable with. Sticking with it when you wanted to quit. Saying no to the voices in your head that said you were crazy. The thing, the thing you’re after, the thing that you don’t get in the end, it becomes besides the point. It’s almost always hell though. At least in his experience it was. It was always painful. The insight that it will end with a good feeling, or a lesson learned or a feeling of odd accomplishment, those things fade away and fall to the back of the mind when the real pain sets in. Some, some are great at remembering them. Some can reach for them. Some can say, I know this will be worth it all. Some can say, when I keep going, it usually brings me something good. Some can say, I’ll never stop until I get what I want. For him though, he never really thought of it in those terms. He never really considered the end or the lesson. For him it was about the pain. It was the pain that drove him. It was the pain that he didn’t want to beat him, that he never wanted to shy away from or say that he couldn’t handle. It was the pain that kept him there. Driving him to want more of it. Pushing him to what felt like the brink of death and the closest to anytime he’s ever felt alive. He wanted that pain, even though he would never say it. It was the hurt that made him move, its when it stopped he knew it was done.

Morning 12-10 min

Stepping off the jet, he took a look around. It had been years since he had seen this place last. He remembered the view. He remembered the mountains in the distance. the building of the air field. There were new ones but it mostly looked the same. The rising sun and the cool air hitting his face, reminded him of the days he spent working at this place. Starting before the sun rose. Mostly likely having only slept a few hours before getting to work. He remembered the busy times and the slow ones. Mostly though, he remembered what and who he wanted to be back when he word at this place. The road from when he left till now was a strange one. It was a long one. It was one he never expected, but it was okay because he was here now. He was retiring, in the exact way he always wanted to. On his own jet. Having gone out into the world and done the things he wanted. Having created the things he wanted to create. He was now returning, oddly enough to tell others that they could do the same. He felt himself be pretty as well. As he stood on the stairs of his jet, looking out over the field he remembered fueling others jets. he remembered seeing others come to town in this fashion. He reentered thinking and knowing that one day he would do the same. He also remembered that some of those people were nice and gracious and grateful, and others, as expected were thoughtless and angry and did what they could to assert they leverage on the people who were serving their needs. He remembered both types. Now, on this day he got to make that choice himself. He knew what he would do. But the thought of being a jerk made him smile. Instead, he came down the stairs and waited for the approaching lineman. He waited and saw him, a man he had spent many hours woking with before. As he approached he wondered if the man would reckonize him. It had been a long time after all, and this was definitely not the setting that man would have expected to see him again. He waited and as the man got close…

Morning 11-10 min

It was all he had. He lived by it. And because of it, he was dying by it. Dying by its source. It’s limited power. It inability to change. It lack of understanding and realness. He was dying by it, because it was killing him. Keeping him from seeing what could possibly be seen. Keeping him from hearing all that could be heard. Keeping him, mostly, from feeling. From feeling anything other than what it said he could feel. The same. The same as always. Thats what was allowed. Thats what kept him warm at night. The same. The same thoughts, the same emotions. No matter what came to him. No matter how it was presented to him. No matter how. He felt the same about it. Nothing made him change that. Nothing too good or too bad. The same was what he had and how he did what he did. Nothing would change that. IF it changed that it could be wrong. If it was wrong then what was right? If he didn’t know what was right, how could he live by it, how could he be good if he didn’t know what was right and what was wrong. So it stayed and he stayed and he lived by it. They tried anyway. They tried to show him the world. The beauty of it. He focused on the hate. They tried to show him the love in it. He chose to see it as lie. They tried to show him the depth of it. The distances and highs and the lows. The expenses and the tight spaces. The dry and the wet, hot and cold. No, to him they were all the same another trick, another distraction, another lie designed to pull him away from it. No, to him, there was only one way. And then one day, the pain that he knew, hurt in a new way…

Morning 10-10 min

What was it? What was happening? what was the thing making the noise at the door. The night was dark. Dark enough that seeing inside was hard to do. the power must have gone out, there was no light from anywhere. Not a glow from a clock, or from an appliance. Outside the windows nothing could be seen. he couldn’t remember if there was no moon, or if it was just so cloudy out the moon light wasn’t making it ti the ground. As he got his bearing he heard it again. A bang! at the front door. In this two room cabin there wasn’t much distance between him and it. His bedroom door was open and was directly in line with the front door. if anything was to get it, it was going to see him right away. Bang! again. Like something being thrown against it. He could heat the door push against it s bolt and its frame with every bang. He had to move, had to think but both had escaped him so far. Bang! this one harder. he heard scraping and something messing with the door handle. He screamed out “Hey! what do you want” The scraping stopped. He thought he had done it, maybe just someone lost thinking they had the right place. Maybe now they would just leave, just walk away and not come back. Maybe they would never ever come back. And then, BAM! BAM! BAM! Three huge slaps into the door. Like heavy bags of sand being hurled at the door with incredible power. He heard the from starting to crack. he knew if who or whatever kept it up they’d be through the door in no time. He had to get up. What was he going to do. the gun he thought. he had forgotten he had it. but of course, he was here to hunt. It was in its case by in the main room next to the front door. In a moment before he could think too much, he lunched out of bed and ran to the bench that was set up next to the front door. A place usually meant to take a load off and take your shoes off to get more comfortable, now was a place holding his last chance. He got to the gun and pulled it out of it cloth sleeve…

Morning 9-10 min

Sometimes you just start. He had wondered about the future. Trying to fighter it all out like a chess match. What moves he could do, what the world would do, then him then the world. he would sit for hours and months and maybe half his life contemplating these moves. What he had forgotten to do was to make any of them. A life of a chess game played in the head, amounts to a boring and pointless game. A life that there were no chances taken, no moves made, no thing sone, amounts to the same. So he sat there and he started. The more he thought the more he slowed down. The more he slowed down the thinking would start up again. He had to find a way. Had to find a way to stop thinking and keeping moving. He would set goals at first. Go this far, do that much. Those though became predictable, became mundane and outdated and wanting. So he tried to give himself motivation. if you do this, you get this. If you don’t do this you don’t get this. These things worked too for a while. until the thought, do I even care about those things. Do I care to have them or to lose them. Do I care about what i’m doing, and before he knew it he was back, back to thinking and not doing. So he had to try another method. he tried time. Time after all was the think he was fighting against. Fighting for more of it, or to use it better was what this whole action was about. He had so much time in the day, so much time to think, surely he thought, that he could spend more of that time doing. Well he tried. He tried to spend long stretched doing, working, and making things happen. Mostly what happened was that he didn’t do any of that. This was as it turned out just a smaller chunk of his life in general. Just a smaller bite of the procrastination pie. So, he tried one more thing. A tiny bite. tiniest bite he could thing of. A bite so small that his brain couldn’t say no. A bite so tiny that to think that it was too much was inconceivable. Then it began. Micro doses of doing things. Micro doses of work. At first they were just that. They were small nothings. But as, with anything they began to add up. Before too long they took on a life of their own.

Morning 8-10 min

There is was again. The split in the road. the decision that hd to be made. Unlike in the poems and in the stories the right one isn’t so well known. The right path can seem like the one to hell. The wrong one can seem like a blessing. The paths though, don’t ever reveal their destination. They have no markers or signs, just a general idea of where they are headed. One in one direction one in the other. Do you like that way, go that way. Do you like the other, go the other. Its never until you’ve walked the path that you’ve seen if you’ve made a good choice. As they say though, such is life. One day at a time. One decisions at a time. To never look back. To be in the moment. To give all that you have right now. Right here. Well then the paths don’t matter. Because it just becomes what is. Not what was. Not what could have been. Instead it becomes all that there is, and that becomes home. If that homes becomes bad, you change it. You never stop changing it in fact, because to not change would mean death. Death to the spirit and the soul and the body. So that’s what this life might just be. A walk down a path, all the paths you can find. A walk down a path to see what’s down there. A path where you must do your best to notice all that there is. Every tree every animal, every bug and leaf, for you may be the only to have ever walked that path before. Maybe you are there to learn. Maybe you are there to be taught. maybe you are there because that’s just how the game is played. But the dice are rolled, the path is chosen, the deck is dealt, all the thing that mean the same are said because they have the same truths. Get on with it. Its today, not tomorrow and yesterday is never an option. So he took the path, the one he thought could be nice. He had no idea what was in store for him, but he knew he’d still be him, and if he did it with love in his heart, he hoped he’d find some of that along the way too.

Morning 7-10 min

It was funny he thought, the things around us. The things we see everyday but never look at. He could see the sweet glisten on his hands. He could see the unique pattern of fingertips, that made him different than anyone else in the world. He could see the hair and the freckles of his skin. The marks and the scars forgetting where must of them came from. He could feel, The touch of the key board. the weight of the coffee mug. He could think of the next line to write. He could feel the tinkle sensation in his hands. The pain in his knee, the adrenaline building in his hear with every sip. he could hear the the heater warming the home. The shivers running up his back, when he let himself be. He could observe himself, and his own thoughts. He could realize that what he thought was not who he was, and this could make him smile. He could feel connected to something else, like a plug in the wall, grabbing energy from a place unknown to him. He Could feel that machine work. The pump of the heart. the presence of the brain. The feeling of weight on the body. He could feel the muscle fire and some tighten. He could feel emotions. Ones of love and gratitude, and mostly awe. He could see the world for a moment. A beautiful place of beautiful things. He could thing of existence as not mundane, but brilliant, like a man who forgot he was on vacation.

Morning 6-10 min

He woke up. Not from sleep but from something else. he woke up and did not know where he was or what was around him. he had seen it all before. The object. he knew name. he could name them, could even say where they came from and when they were bough. Now though, that was it. he didn’t understand what they were, he also didn’t care. they were things. thing s that once had meaning and were attache to something in his brain that made him feel a certain way. But now, they were objects. objects with color and points, smooth and rough. They were things that took up the space around him, and that too seemed so odd. Why did he fail the race around him with these things. The thing that played images and sounds at him. the thing that let him write to people and watch more sound and images. the thing that cost so much, for him to just sit. on. the thing that he put over the floor to change the color of the room. All of these things and hundreds more. They, he realized had no actually value. They meant nothing, and changed nothing about who he was as a person it a human. In that instant, so much was lost. what was left was raw and it was honest. it that instant there was truth and he had know idea what he was going to do with it.

The day had started in the usual way. Up early for a gym workout and then back home for breakfast and work. Only this day would be very different. As he left the gym, he something that changed him. While driving he saw a tractor trailer pull out in front of an suv. The SUV couldn’t stop in time, and drove right under the tractor trailer. He was not too fat behind and saw the whole incident. As he pulled over and called 911, he saw something that he never wanted to see. he saw blood dripping from the bottom of the door. He could see that where there was once a person, was then replaced by the metal of the trailer body. His stomach churned and his heart

Morning 5-10 min

He was well supplied. he had thought it out, every detail. He had rehearsed it. Thought of more, then planned that out as well too. This was what his life was coming down to, these moments of prep. Everyday leading up to it, he’d think of one more think. One more detail. one more problem. One more situation that could change everything. Sleep was not something he relied on anymore. It was inconsistent. I twas time consuming. It meant he had to stop and not think, and he didn’t think he could handle that.`So, he teed to sleep as little as possible. Setting alarms for aonly a few hours after he went to bed. He planned for that as well. More stimulants. More exercise. More cold showers. There was no time like right now to get I tall down. I twas coming. He didn’t have time to discuss this all with others. To explain why. To explain how. To explain why it was and was he was doing, was to try to explain the the complexity of complexities, the interworkings of interworkings, the depths of heights, and the vastness of narrows. It couldn't be done, at least he didn’t think so. Not in the time he had left.

As time continued on and sleep tried to steal him away And his plan came into focus, focus that blurred and screwed. his chest would hurt. his thought began to scream. What if we can’t do this. What if we haven’t thought of everything. What if we are not ready. What if this was all pointless. He had planned for this as well. He would ride these thoughts out. Knowing that they were just a symptom of whatever was goin on. A symptom of what was to come. He new the count was in his brain like a virus in lungs. He rode it out and waited and waited.

Nothing came.

Morning 4-10 min

It was one of those mornings. He had slept deeper than usual. A sleep that he almost would have forgotten One that he almost wore up not remembering what happened doing the night. That, being very unusual for him. He usually was awake all night. Awake to every thought. Every sounds. Every pain in his back and neck. Every stressor that his brain could develop he’d wake up for. But this night he didn’t do any of that. What he did remember instead was his dream. This dream was a real one. A message of some kind. A very clear and stern voice telling him what had to be done. It didn’t scare him. There was no malice or thoughts of fear when he heard it. The voice told him clearly, without metaphor, with out weird imagery without any of the usual things that make dreams so hard to understand. He heard that voice and when it was done speaking, he awoke. He awoke refreshed, with a solid 8 hours of sleep. He awoke motivated. Knowing exactly what he must do. He awoke excited that things were so clear. That was something he realized. When the mission was clear. When the intention was clear. When things lined up. Action was easy. He had spent so much time thinking about the why and the who’s and the what ifs and the how comes and the I don’t knows. None of that mattered when the reason was obvious, the rules were made, and the object of it was made clear. This was a good morning for him. He was excited about where he was going to take it all. He was excited about how it all would end, because now he was on board, now he was in it, now it was his to take.

With that energy he left the house. He knew what he had to do first. he had to go find the man that he knew would be key to this next step.

Morning 3-10 min

He always thought it funny, they way he would wake up. Thoughts already in his head. His mood already established. His worries coming in close behind and crushing whatever else may be there. At least that’s how it was for him, for a long time. Then, when he thought it was funny, he noticed it stopped. he noticed and it was like they noticed, the thoughts and the worries, as if they didn’t like being watched they stopped. He couldn’t go around watching his thoughts and not doing anything all day though, so he’d do stuff, and they’d come back, come back to play and fight and tear at him, and then he’d watch them again. He’d watch them, to see if they had anything to say, anything worth listening to. They only had the same things to say. Be scared! Be worried! Think the worst! And he would just think, well that seems silly, especially if there is another option. Then things began to change. He started to notice more things. Little things. he would notice the way an apple taste. How interesting the texture is. How is mouth would anticipate the sourness of the green bite. How some bites would crunch and other smush. How some skins would tough and other crisp. He began to notice his feet, and how they felt while walking. How the sun hit the trees. How birds wings moved to mush the air underneath them. before long, he noticed that he was in a world. A world full of things happening, things moving and growing, things he had never seen before. He noticed where he fit into it all. How small and how large his impact was. He noticed that he had choices, and for the first time he realized that they weren’t commands, they were just options, all his to decide. He noticed others. Not their just their words, but mostly the joy and pain behind them. He noticed how alike he was with all of them.

Morning 2-10 min

What now then? These words came to him, as he looked across the water, focusing on the way the sun beamed off it. Seemingly right not his eye. It was as if the world was putting the spotlight on him. Him was a man who had just completed the biggest business deal of his life. He had just sold a book to the publishers and a Hollywood studio had also purchased the right to make it into a film. Him was a success. Him was rich. Him was named Jim and Jim was celebrating in his hotel room. He had come alone to this meeting. he had told no one about it. That was the way Jim liked to do things. Never really telling anyone what was going on with him. He had figured out why a long time ago. It was because he didn’t want to think he was, or be held up to a competition with anyone else. Jim was sure he got that from being raised in a competitive environment. He was always being compared to his siblings and cousins and the kids down the street. Where his symblings thrived on that, Jim did not. One, Jim felt bad when he won, not because he didn’t like to win, but because those other kids that believed in only winning. Especially his siblings, they took hit hard when they lost. He could tell that they felt crushed and demoralized and less then they had before. He liked this kids and loved his siblings, he hated seeing them in those states. They second reason he didn’t like the competition was that he didn't really want to compete in the same things. He loved sports, but they didn’t mean that much to him. He loved school, but good grades weren’t his motivator. What he really loved was knowledge. He wanted to know everything. If there was something to know about a topic, no matter how obscure or obtuse, he wanted to know all about it. Storing it away, as if he was a knowledge collection bank.

Morning 1-10 min

Dont panic. Thats what they told him. “Don’t Panic” Up until that ver moment the thought of panicing had not occurred to him. The thought of doing what he needed to to survive had been the only thing on his mind. But now, there was that word, panic. Now his brain did the thing which he hated. It took off on its own. It started its what if and its what nows. It left his logical control. He thought, I may be headed toward panic. It was at this time that he decided to refocus. he didn’t have time to feel anything. he didn’t have time to really even think about not thinking. At tis monenmt he was floating away. He was entering the outer reaches of earths gravity and he was not slowing down. He also had no control. Nothing to pull him back in. Like a car skidding on ice, he just kept moving, and nothing he did was stopping him or even skewing him down. He was reporting what was happening back to the control room. telling them that he had lost it. Asking what it was that he could possibly do to stop. Maybe even to slow down. Maybe even to get to talk about what to do. But, “Don’t panic” was the only thing they managed and he knew it would not be long before he lost communication. He knew that in a few moments, he would not be able to talk to anyone but himself. That in that same amount of time. He would be so far out of parts atmosphere that he would travel infinitely in the same direction, alone. And he knew, that death would find him, in a slow and painful and solitary way far from everything he knew and anyone who he ever loved. He was panicking. And then, in an instant the panic was gone. Like a ballon over inflated, it popped. It structure gone. In its place was nothing. No thought. No fear. No worry. He just was. As he looked around, seeing himself and the world below him