adult male rape, trauma, Uncategorized

A DILUTION of ME TOO

I believe deep within the warm curves of my heart, that the current conversations encompassing sexual harassment and inappropriateness are all importantly valid. As all topics of discomfort are, I feel the daily mega stream headlines we are seeing today are all deserving of examination. I believe they have also come to fruition for the greater purpose of enlightenment and the brighter transformation of all people. The timing could not be more perfect for the evolution of fresh perspectives as we move forward through the climate changes of intentional sexual identification, conduct and respect .

On a cellular level I am more than familiar with the infrastructure of all of these disputations. I have experienced, healed, and triumphed through my own variety of life’s configurative platforms. I have profound respect for all who have spoken up and claimed their rights and freedoms of both voice and body around the world. I also have deep compassion and understanding for those who have continued to live in silence. And the countless list of brave warriors who have yet to meet their own inner empowered selves. I honor each individual experience as passionately as I do these rising topics of debate. (side note; applause to all on your journeys) 

I can only speak of my own opinion within these pages. One of my perspectives is that it is of equal value, to understand the materiality of both having a voice while harvesting an understanding of rape culture and harassment in positive ways, through education and or ones personal experience. It is also constructive to give voice and thought to any situations should an individual or group arise causing the pendulum of consciousness to swing in a counter productive motion.

When someone is seriously assaulted, I think it goes without saying that there is no humor to be found in either cause or affect. When someone is hit on, as most everyone is at some point on their earth adventure. Or an advance is perhaps taken in a direction that is not of their choosing, these to are not acceptable. I also feel that not all of these illustrated scenarios are equal to an assault as they may be portrayed in the arenas of “Big Press” as of late.

I realize some of my readers may argue my point of view and I am ok with this. What is important to me is the topic of clarity and the communicated word when going public with a statement of allegation. All words are valid, but words can be powerful, they can also be dangerous. As always choose your words wisely especially while illustrating conflict or resolve with another. 

I feel that it is critical to be as scrupulous as possible when in a moment of recollection. As we sit in our varied states of reflection. Especially when we are recounting interactions between ourselves and one or more about incidents of unwanted actions. Should projections of accusations begin to circulate, it is imperative, actually it is our obligation to both self and to society to be as pure as our cortex will allows us to be. To recount the movements of the moment through our verbal communications as well as our physical display, to the best of our abilities. Naturally trauma often makes this an impossible task for many. The concept of this writing, as you may have gathered rest on a loom of allegations more than a pedestal of legitimacy.

These writings are absolutely not intended to be about “victim” (a term I dislike) shaming or blaming. I understand my words through this segment may raise a brow or furled lip. This also is not my intent. My hope as always, is to remain open to both the light as well as the dark of all human experiences. I feel all aspects of life are of value and deserving of honor, it is what we learn and extract from each moment that allows us to evolve, should we choose. It is also up to each individual to evoke a culture of change. (my humble POV)

I do my human best to keep in mind that facts, voice and action are what create empowerment, not ego or the distortion of facts. I feel it is best to be discerning, in our hearts and thoughts as a collective, if we intend to ride purposefully onward with positive intent summoning healing while we advance as a people for future generations. As we heal the wounds of a #metoo manifestation. Keep in mind that this requires honesty, reflection, and a seeking spirt. Compassion and above all else love will take us to the next where we aspire. Love is the primary action of satisfaction that will mend all agitations that prod mankind’s desires for change.

The topic of words continues to rise up within me, I believe all words are good. The spoken word in conjunction with body language are two of the most powerful gifts entrusted to man. They can also be dangerous if used improperly, we see it each evening should we choose to dose ourselves with heaps of American Nightly News (insert a bit of laughter here). They may be counter productive to a cause of beautiful benefit when motives are not grounded in truth. Or when inserted as a tool of manipulation dicing up topics of importance. Particularly when fueled with a fear based desire opposed to respectful uplift-meant and positive intent. Always, choose and craft your words wisely especially when applying them toward any living creature, yourself, another, group or topic.

The words assault and rape are two impactful verbs, they are heavy and deserving of respect. Not only for what they represent as actions, but for the many who have walked through the narrows of discomfort and for those who continue to do so. These are the very souls who without choice faced the distorted powers thrust upon them. Abandoned in thick ponds of what many felt where an infinitude of helpless disconnect.

When words are tossed about recklessly via press or gossip, rooted solely in spectrums of ego and not rooted in actuality. They can unfairly and dangerously begin a witch hunt, destroy a family, career or community, through public humiliation or the unintended aftermath of false allegations. Obviously I am not referring to situations of factual physical assault, verbal abuse, rape or any other persistent undesired behaviors. I am talking about actual crimes of against mind and flesh.

AFTER CARE
It is within my clearest of thought that not only is it up to an individual who has experienced an episode or multiple episodes of aggression. Or in my perception an oppurtunity to evolve to greater life understanding, through their own experience and purpose. And to find appropriate care when they feel they are able to, if they are able to at all. To seek the support of loved ones, medical care, legal assistance and to eventually, if they should desire, carry out a message of hope to another who may still be suffering. It is also in my opinion that this is a positive oppurtunity for the encircling community to support an this individual through their composite of progress and diminishing pain.

Please bare in mind that many of us shut down or take on new patterns of behavior after an act of life disruption. Pay gentle attention to sub currents of new moods radiating post event, mild to severe. Often police or HR may not be contacted as emotions are bottled for reasons only known to the nervous system of those on the receiving end of an assault or harassment. If you sense something is up, my soft suggestion would be “If they don’t speak up, gently step up”! 

It is our fundamental right to participate in the wellness of others. It is actually a gift of living to engage in the betterment of our societies. Often it is the inheritance of fear based illusions that dictate to us that we “should” not be involved in interactions of unpleasantries. I encourage all to release the hype of this tainted thought. Listen instead to the love rooted truth within you and reach out. Surrender the well intended yet distorted teachings that many of us have been exposed to throughout our lives. Most all have heard them in our upbringings in one form or another. “It is none of your business” “They need time to heal” or “they want to be left alone”. While many of these these may be true, it is better to listen to your own “core” even when your gut feelings may feel new or uncomfortable at first.

It is ok to learn to step out our of comfort field of emotional vision and into what is right. If there is a change happening with a loved one or even a stranger, take a chance, take action and offer them your time and your presence. Listening is often more important than knowing what to say. An open ear and a warm smile can go a long way. This is often all that is needed, at times it can be just this simple.

ON DILUTION
I personally find it diluting to this very important topic to determine every advance as an assault, every grope or kiss in an environment of office, play or even home in hours of post convenient reflection as an act of unwanted aggression. Of course NO MEANS NO and YES MEANS YES! Cornered persistence and repeat situations along with a 100 areas of silvery gray variance come into play. It is up to each individual to use their wisdom to be fully honest with themselves when recall is required or desired.

Let us be careful about turning an EXTREMELY VALID and IMPORTANT moment of conversation and social change into another watered down political period of correctness. We should be seeking graceful forward motion with all causes. Avoid blind rage and the emotional white noise of mach protest as they only build barricades to justice. While detracting from the serenade’s of progress being sung as clarity and fundamental civil rights are set into place.

The point of a cultural shift, be it political, social or spiritual is to build a pathway of evolution not a division founded on singular needy spotlights. In other words, when your voice is valid, use it, stand by your sister, brother or other in need. DO NOT waste it when your ego is hungry for attention or locked in a mode of narcism, personal gain or out to destroy another living creature in a Wendy Williams-ish “hot topic” segment, with no genuine interest in social change.

My strongest belief is that we are all purposeful creators. We are all contributing to a climate of change, capable of supporting, loving and shifting the dynamics of tomorrow and the NOW. I am proud to be participate amongst like minded peers in this vast expansion. Politically, sexually, socially, culturally and spiritually. I truly believe we live in one of the most exiting times ever to be had. Furthermore I feel the #metoo movement, when in proper circulation is a powerful tool of uplift-meant, empowerment and change. 

As Always Love and Light
The Empowered Runt

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Uncategorized

TOSSED FLOWERS

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TOSSED FLOWERS

(a short amateur story inspired by the flowers photographed above)

We met in San Sebastian along the Bay of Biscay, it was September of 1993. He emitted souvenir scents of rave packed days and XTC pores gasping for oxygen. A season of repose and exploration had depleted his stained and worn cargo pockets of nearly every last peseta. Intensive days panhandling while squatting patiently awaiting an inbound Western Union reply from home. Had begun to reveal a temporarily strained wear over his twenty two year old vitality.

I made the assumption that in the eyes of many his charms where juvenile desperate and manipulative. I found them, gently magnetic, easily attractive and convenient.

I cleared space in my nothingness for this youthful stick of wondering flesh. Admittedly, for a moment he brought this aging heart to a flitter all for my self serving reasons. An un-proclaimed desire for emotional power ran through me. This was not about mentorship or a mythical cinematic notion of a sage American tourist offering rescue to an adventurous youth in need. A youth lost abroad after a Euro-backpack summer experience had rolled on after a few to many rave-capades. Leaving his bankroll anything but liquid with family and friends financially in a state of disownment.

I decided to move in for my thrill, comfortable with the evident temporary chance of detachment. Twenty minutes later he insisted on telling me his name, Jeremiah something, a lad from Kentucky. He spoke of his dreams and his two years at the University at Tulane and the pleasures to be had, lost in Luisiana charm. There was something genuinely sweet about the boy. Something beneath the grease and tweak. A docile moxie that stripped away seventy-six years of my own crust and jade in quick swipes and flashes.

Fear prevented me from trusting my own intimate reveal. Just as it had detoured me from embracing an innocent human connection. This time due to my own ego driven projections put upon the innocent, a youthful heart who in fact never requested of me a single favor. Not a dime, not even affection, only perspectives and references in regards to the costal area and suggestions on returning home without the assistance of family.

On a return from a recess the boy handed me a bouquet of street blooms. I tossed them harshly, through parted cafe curtains, onto the pavement below. A gesture of internal premature self defense. Over the years my own lessons in affection became entangled in crisis and resentment. I have always been aware that my discernible lack of emotional repair has never been attractive. Especially when put upon those perceived as less experienced in life or the weak. Over time I had convinced myself that I was offering affordable crash courses in defensive living. Just one of the many lies I’ve learned to convincingly live with.

Ever since that day, each time I pass a bundle of wilds laying astray, or a ragged toss uprooted by a child at play, I think of Jeremiah. I recall that September and our encounter on the shores of San Sebastian. I wonder with mixed feeling, is it to late, is it ever to late for a man who had often shielded himself with finance and protective walls of knowledge to kill all possibilities of true intimacy.

Have I laggard so, I wondered can an exploration inward in these last remaining months be at all within my seeking grasp? The one excursion I have yet to embark on is the one that requires no physical travel or fee? I’m feeling a bit waggish, now that segments of my body are fully out of function. Friends have passed and I have enjoyed all that I have had to enjoy. For the first time since the ages of two or three I feel a spark of excitement. Remembering Jeremiah, humble bouquets, the scent of the sea and elements of innocence. I have finally broken free, this is the sentimental me, I venture inward before my body sets me free. It’s never to late to be free, it is never to late, I just wish to be.

Love and Light Always
The Empowered Runt

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Uncategorized

THE LIGHT THIEVES

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THE LIGHT THIEVES
(a bash back)

SUMMER 2016 marked a significant shift in my trauma healing. The rips, bends and shreds of both my waking and nightmare’s had begun to take a vicious turn. This has turned out to be a remarkably good thing, an unexpected mend. Although I never thought I’d feel the warmth at the end of my psychological trauma noose.

I have come to a place, mentally and spiritually of allowing, a slow awakening. A process of continuous slow cycles, I believe I have been preparing myself subconsciously to face my demons my mind has been increasingly in a slow spin pace for a very long time. Now I have reached my ready point for change.

My increasing waking and sleep terror’s have been erupting in my mind allowing more and more sensory explosions to occur. So much so that I may once again feel myself becoming whole, I have become internally undone in order to become one. I may now become the man I had yet to fully allow myself to be. The great hold up of the the Light Thieves that have held on to me captive since November of 2011 has finally begun to shift. May we all find our path to our truth temples and created destinies.

FOR THE NEW READER
After being gang raped in November 2011 by 11 men I lived in addiction and denial. It took all the love, light and patience that I could slowly muster to survive. A great deal of personal compassion and intuition was needed to move me ever so slowly on this journey. If I did not believe in some form of greater good, purpose or energy I most certainly would gone mad, lived in a state of continual suicidal mode or would have been arrested for homicide by now. Or the obvious option #black, found alone dead which is preferable to being trapped in an endless dark addiction spiral of destructive living, but here I am.

I am graciously grateful for the 10,000 opportunistic movements of personal, social and spiritual growth that this conglomerate of experiences has allotted me. But do not get me wrong, it fucking sucked and detoured my life perfectly and disproportionately.

SWEET AND LOOSE
The sweet reward of all of these night mares has been the recent rush of finally winning. I went from November of 2011 to March 2015 before I began to understand how deeply effected I was by my “Hall of Mares.” Very few had I remembered, generally partners, dates or roommates would fill me in on the screams, tears, and boxing matches on the day or night after a good round with the boy’s. Fighting it out in my subconscious, literally to death.

March 2015 was one of the first major waking terrors that lasted on and off for 3 days’s. All of my terrors had all been loosing battles of rape, bashing, thieving, and life threats up until these last few weeks when something unusual had taken place.

I had enough, I simply had enough, I had been ill and in a deep exhaustive sleep. One night while in a cold coma an attack thick and heavy crept in around me. In my safe non safe space (until you heal there are no safe spaces of the mind) one of my 11 attackers came for me in my dreams. I saw his face in perfect detail, beautiful young, cocoa and flawless with little boy ears. Short cropped hair, innocent eyes breathing warm and sensual danger in my face with the encouragment of his evil mentor. His body tight smooth, narrow shouldered … God! I could cry for him, this was a kid… he was a 22 year old child, just a lost child of the night. (sorry I digress)

What makes this dream different from my other terrors are the details. I never remembered the intensity of any of their eyes, or how fragile many of them where until this particular dream. All of my real life attackers in my dreams always remained faceless up until this night. Whenever I had flashbacks, no matter how real, awake or asleep, no matter where they took place, on the street, in a store or in bed. In general I only remembered or “flashed” to the sensations and the words used during the rape. The sensations I recalled in my horrors where the penetrations and the brute violence, the fear, of the event, never any exact details of the faces or bodies. The terror blocks it out, the electric blast of my brain created a protective white noise screen protector over the memory pane.

I only could remember the pain, the force, the blood dripping, the breath, the smells, the ripping of my flesh, never any faces. The darkness, the choking, the restraints, and my screaming, never any faces. I’d remember the sensations of the rape, not the faces, never ever the faces although the rape went on for hours with the lights on.

Denial is so beautiful, a protective blanket soft and luxe. I know that I am ready now to move forward, now that I am able to remember some of these eyes, mouths, bodies and textures.

On the night of December 22, 2016 I awoke the next morning with a room looking as if an exorcism had just taken place. My bed frame broken in two, a lamp laying stacked across my face, and a chocker neckless clutch in my hand. Surrounded by clouds of tear soaked tissues and my usual balled comforter and sheets. A few lingering memories, most sketchy and that was all. I had finally begum to bash back the Light Thieves, my rapist and the winner is finally me. I remember one thing, I fought back and I won!

I recall waking seeing one of my attackers with a “slave” collar around his neck. I grabbed the necklace hanging off of my nightstand lamp in real time. While pulling the necklace in my subconscious state I thinking it was his collar. I ended up pulling the lamp onto myself. I remember screaming with voice finally. NOT THIS TIME MOTHER FUCKER, GET THE FUCK OUT. LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE, I AM SICK OF THIS SHIT GET FUCK OUT NOW.

This was the beginning of the release of my rapist, my light thieves. My subconscious had at last become empowered to say NO and finally bash back my bashers. In my dream state world I would no longer be a victim, no longer attacked and loosing. Now I was the victor and changing the game plan. This is huge, these are now my rules, finally a breakthrough that is worth noting.

The dream world can be powerful tool, foretelling the truth a possibilities in ones active waking hours. Now that I have finally taken ownership of my power over these imaginary attacks I am able to move forward with out fear or inner corruption.

*an update, as of August 9th 2017 I have yet to have a rape night-mare that I am consciously been aware of or a day-mare….knock on wood. Hang in there, hope… there is always tremendous hope. We humans are wonderfully resilient.

Love and Light Always
The Empowered Runt

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adult male rape, Selfportraits, trauma, Uncategorized

THE MOST DANGEROUS THING

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Unfiltered, here I am, naked, no decorative words, no room for flounce, not now, not within the womb of this cool circumstance. Raw and writing, it is we, it is he, Fernando along with the others which equal the new entirety of me.

I’ve decided no longer does it matter if there is an audience for my words or images. I now write because I need to write, I create my art because it is not only an essential part of my creative expression. It is a necessary segment of the healing equation, I still fall back on these words “art saved my life”.  Now I write with a slant on the unfiltered, just me and my selves. If another is helped as I stagger on my current path of wonder and stumble all the more glorious. Perhaps the flow of these writings will read more organically without the hindrance of self-criticism of thought, word, art and tongue.

I am afraid I am finally facing the raw fact that my trauma has become one bitch of a battle. It is increasing in bite and fervor. Sobriety has been a song and one I don’t give much of a shake about, even with all my trauma bullshit I have not thought once about drugs to deal with it. The trauma however is rupturing, ripping, splitting and soaring through the roof of my being. I am not sure who is winning in this wrestling match of wills. I do know I am not happy with the feelings beating me up each day, leaving me exhausted, bruised and raw.

Most days my thoughts are so tangled that I make no sense speaking. When I do manage to speak I often trip up my vocals. I mutilate simple sentences for example, ga-ga-ga-goo-goood goood morning. For a normally fairly grounded intelligent sounding person it becomes a bit humiliating. I often rock back and forth when I am alone typing, channeling my never existent autistic youth.

Yesterday, despite my gut intuition, I met with a therapist for the second time. It took me almost five years to reach a point where I was capable of receiving “professional” help. I understand fully that he has not been trained in trauma recovery, and may not even be queer sensitive. But surely he has a degree, and I assume based on his appearance he is of the human species. I also hope he had entered this field with an empathic heart, he does not seem old enough to be jaded and over his profession, or is he?

Aside from him being late for the second appointment in a row (note both appointments). Cutting me off, not hearing my needs then telling me to ignore my feelings. He then instructed to “Move on” “get over my past” to “get my old job back full time” please note I can barley function in my current part time position. I was instructed to “change my thoughts”  again. I explained this is something I do all day through many spiritual and personal teachings, meditations and techniques I have even developed along my personal journey.  I explain what someone in trauma goes through. I explained that I/we need tools to move forward and heal, I explained that I/we would like to learn how to cope with the subconscious thoughts that strike in the middle of night. Example: when I/we wake tossed on the floor in the middle of the night. Living out a rape, how do I/we move past that… I am enraged right now simply thinking of this session… yet I am moving forward I can not even finish this paragraph. _ RAW WRITING.

A bad therapist is the next worst thing to the actual traumatic event itself. I can not imagine anyone speaking these same words to someone who has just comeback from a tour of duty or lost their family to some horrific action of violence. I suppose a gang rape to faggot is just another disposable crime even in the eyes of a therapist. (please note the wrong therapist I know the majority are absolutely brilliant)

An average day for me, requires about 3 hours of meditation just to make out the door. Before I can go to my humble semi-stress free part time job. About once or twice a week I have at least one severe flash back during my waking hours. Two weeks ago, while walking down my block I hallucinated a full on rape, asshole ripping open, choking, suffocation, blood, restrained arms up against a fence the full nine yards. That was a pretty average scenario as of late. The week after the same situation took place while I was writing while sitting on a bench in the local park looking at trees. Boom out of the blue, restrained, suffocation, notebook on ground etc…. but this is my current unreality. “don’t think about it” he says. Again I say… seriously?

Last night three nightmares woke me up, usually I do not much of them, only the fighting, sweats, screams etc. But they are becoming more vivid as of late. Today I had to leave a simple task job after only an hour, because I freaked the F*@K out. My 10 minute walk home took about an hour, I was in a trance state the entire time. I crashed from exhaustion upon my arrival home (rather where I stay). More daymares, physical fighting and screaming and kicking. And he tells me “change your thoughts” “move on” I think to my self again, sarcastically, seriously?…I sorry I just forget to come out of trance states and nightmares to say “get happy” “get over it” Move On”….

Yes “change your thoughts” I agree completely, I do it all day everyday, minute by minute. This roller coster practice is enough to drive any normal person insane. I gently participate in many meditation techniques and lovingly embrace every fricking letting go method there is. But I can not delete reality, when something has never been dealt with it has to come out somewhere. Fact? or Fiction?

The most dangerous thing to a person in trauma recovery is… and I will say this again and again. Is having an unqualified person sitting opposite them on the other side of a desk when you are in therapy. This is not only dangerous it is negligent and can even be lethal. Last evening I felt so hopeless, lower than I have been, and closer to ending my life than and period in recent history. But I am as stubborn man, I will make it through this. Salt stains and all, I may not have much say during this period of my life that is up lifting. My core self is still in here somewhere, and it will come to the surface again. Until then, however long that takes be well be kind and be loving the best you can.

Thank you-

 

 

 

 

 

 

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addiction, Uncategorized

ONE YEAR RESTING

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It has now been a little over a year since my last drug use. I share no pride nor surprise about this news, it just is what it is. It came about in a dramatic ending in a masterful collaboration between the forces that be and me. I attracted the situation that led to an overdose and the rest is history. I have never had a serious desire to step back into the meth death pool to date.

Addiction, a word I have never cared to use, and respectfully encourage limited use of with others. “Addiction”not my issue, my theories surrounding addiction continue to be supported time and time again. Addiction is not the root of the “problem” it is the result of an inner issue, a deeper issue, not the cause. I’d like to take a moment at this time to encourage anyone who is working on “addiction” issues. If comfortable, to let go of terms such as disease, addiction, or defective along with a few others used in traditional 12 step program (not a dis). And for a few moments refocus on some positive concepts.

First I would like to state there are no defective human beings. Many of us have been exposed to some tough experiences in our younger years, have had learning issues, specifically on the autism spectrum or started using in our teens or twenties. In some cases we may have experienced or witnessed a trauma of some sort or experienced great loss.

The majority of heavy substance use or other acting out behavior. Is in fact based not so much on “addiction” rather as behavior patterns. An inside reaction to an outside occurrence, love yourself enough to care correctly for yourself. LISTEN TO YOUR GUT!

No one in my eyes can get healthy from any situation in life based on being told they are defective. Or told daily that they are an addict and always will be. This is like trying to go to school to get an education and being told you are stupid everyday.

This of course is only my opinion based on my amazing little journey in life. But I have seen a lot of shit, I have been to hell and back a few times. I believe we are all good people, we are simply learning, living, healing and being. I believe that love is what heals, there are many methods of support, there are many ways to heal and move forward. If you can’t find a way, make one up, it worked for me.  I have found that many people have very good intentions based on the intentions of those before them. But it does not mean that they have a clue to what you are going through.

Find your quiet space in your heart, let it guide you to the right place should you need outside guidance, help or even medical.

If  you are insanely over the edge as I once was, hang in there, remain open, trusting and honest. Meth is tricky, and it messes with your head, if you are still in the messy zone you have to trust another until you have clarity… enough said. I leave my words resting here.

Love and Light Always
The Empowered Runt

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guncontrol, orlando, Peace, Uncategorized

MOW-MY ONLY WISH

MOW
Music: The Journey
By: Elliot Goldenthal
From: Frida Soundtrack

PT 1: DEATH AND RESPECT
chicago vigil for the orlando massacre
PT 2: PASSAGES THROUGH DARKNESS
mourning & contemplation
PT3: FUTURE LIFE
rebirth, hope, love, light “one tribe”

A TEMPORRAY FEELING:
I am a simple man, pale in palettes of formal education and training, often I stumble for words and my technique can be on the primitive. At the time of this writing, my tone is overshadowed by casualties, bullets and hate.

The original direction of this piece was intended as a video offering only. Created to honor the victims of the Orlando massacre that had taken place on the evening of June 12, 2016. As words wrestled within my head for voice and release, I eventually concluded I had no other choice than to set them free. Allowing them to roam as they may as co-creators for peace in flux’s of love and rage.

Many of us feel wounded, as we attempt to make sense of this deeply dark fundamental wrong that has riveted near and through innocent young bodies. We may not know how to label, understand, or harness our own emotions during these times, this is only natural. Keep in mind many are sharing these same experience and we must gently strive to be sensitive, restorative, loving and aware of each others human condition. Take pride in your sensitivities, take pride in your awareness, take pride in your ability to be a peacekeeper. These are actions of love, actions we take for the living and in honor of those who have gone.

The effects of mass trauma and emotional unrest belong to no specific age, gender, race, or tribe. As creatures of this earth we are all connected, the energy that can flourish from an intense tragedy is often manifested in emotional or an energetic density. Although this energy is not visible to everyone, it is thick enough on a sensory level that most can feel it. Think “bad or heavy-vibes.” In times especially like these again I stress the importance of being patient, kind and loving in all of our actions. Be aware of misplaced feelings within yourself as well as your peers. Post tragedy or trauma is often a time when people “act out” in ways they normally may not.

Many of these “heavy vibe” or “static emotion” energies you may sense around you have been sparked by the Orlando 49 tragedy. Along with the countless other “casualties” of gun violence who have met their fate without choice, without prayer and assuredly with little or no voice. These absurd situational moments of continual repeat seem anything but casual to me.

I made this video specifically to honor the lives lost during the “O/49” massacre on the day I ironically began my 53rd year of living. Intended as an energy transfer, less self more light. It only seemed to have backfired, pricking a temporary fury. Fractionally due to an outbreak of local violence. One day following the final video edit, here in this normally quite cluster of blocks where I reside. In what I often refer to as the Park of Oaks, a full on police shut down was enforced as yet more shootings echoed from corner to expressway. I asked the empty air and blue sky above, why and when will these reckless shootings end? In Chicago firearm violence continues to exceed expectations. I ask again asked the same questions of my God, Angels and Guides…TELL ME WHEN WILL IT END, this self dismemberment of society, when will it end?!?

Oh these middle ages of mine, toss me increasingly into fits of anger. My spiritual roots once more lapse into a dry black upheaval. My philosophies appear to be nothing more than smoke, mirrors and several hanks of question marks. Robe of light that cloaks my soul I toss you once more into my surrender fire. Drenched in the collective blood of my sisters and brothers. In hope of spiritual cure and lift. I/we must remain lustful for hope – I have begun to question this “hope” that has always saved me from depths of black. To question hope is a dangerous space for anyone to believe in, a frightful place, not made for the weak of spirit or mind. Those with a vacant conscious or the yearling of new souls. will find existing with questionable or no hope difficult to seed, flourish or be at peace in.

FROM WHERE I SIT:
Shredded tween vacant legs, and scattered head. I look down upon my trembling heart begging for attention, not rejection. I see a golden spear of light that spikes bright. Ignored by choice, I just can’t, I no longer can trust my heart speak. (I correct myself) I can, it is more that I fear trusting my heart in this moment earthly chaos. I have begun to cave, this global static is to much for sensitive digestion. My nerves have been numbed by my own routine life let alone the mounting bullets and gravestones.

I stare at my pulsing muscle of life as it gleams like gristle covered in fresh spit and one last tear. Burnt by front page news it murmurs in sorrowed tones while sucking dust off cool grass neath my feet. As I sit in my beloved Columbus Park. In a moment of quite earth solace and distorted “head space” meditation. My eyes are unable to blink, in poor posture, I wilt forward with my willow branched back. Heavy, with weight and query I continue to count the wasting hours, I loose track of minutes and light. Immobile, from where I sit, I wonder have I really given up on listening to my higher self. My higher self that dwells soft light and patient within, above, around and whithin all things. As my ignored heart continues to beg for ear and understanding. I insist that it only speaks a language of my lost “GODS” translation. You see, I have allowed my natural human experience of anger and doubt to temporarily clutter my interpretations of light and clarity. This to shall pass as they say, I sometimes dislike these slogans but … TTSP.

THE “H” WORD:
Hate is a feeling my source-self does not understand, not in any true sense of the word. Even with the acts of extreme violence used against and within my own flesh I have never come to a point of true gut “hate” towards those 11 men. Anger… YES, Rage… YES, Hate NO. Absolutely never a desire to act out in any criminal, spiritual, physical or humanly unjust way. I do not understand this craving to dismantle a human life. Or to disfigure the natural flow and progression of another persons experience with intent. I understand we all have an effect on each-other, this is part of the beautiful rhythm of our existence, this is why we are here. For us abruptly reroute or dismember a persons path is unthinkable either by weapon or word.

PAPER TEARS:
Tired eye’s flutter shut like pages from a book of required tween-age reading. After rest I pull up a photograph of a man crying on my phone. I, myself have exhausted almost all functions of ducts and flow. I now have become one of “them”… I have become emotionless. You know the type of man, he who shrugs his shoulders as evening news plays repeat of stories of death, wrecks, war or natural disasters. No! I refuse to be saturated with the essence of this particular breed of social disorder or personal conduct. I now liberate myself from my temporary diseased moment of void. A natural reaction to completely toxic situation induced by demon and man.

I am in shock, just as I had been as the twin towers crumbled down creating ash coated zombies. Dazed and mentally distorted as they shuffled empty eyed with pumps and wing tips in hand. One by one they passed my shop of employment as I and others much younger stood, stunned and vacant. I remember that September morning at the corner of Broadway and Houston as if it where this very second. It is the same echoed feeling that resonates when I shed denial once more entering into the throne room of remembrance of friends. Transcending in masses of static flashes from life to death. Zapping, up and out endless and fast. Some called it an epidemic, some called it a collective spiritual rise, I still do not don’t know what to call it.

That’s it! I now can excuse my moment of emotional vacancy, I am human that is all. Whatever it is, my need to fix thing’s once again begins to kick in and I cut a paper tear from one of my many journals. With a dab will do ‘ya of saliva, I place the paper tear beneath my right eye. Still numb, I bark out loud in self anger, “THIS IS ALL BULLSHIT!” and just as quickly pull the tear from my eye and release it to the elements. Looking back I laugh recalling the words “THIS SHIT IS ALL THEATER.” Speaking of my production of one. Maybe it is the essence of my emotions that are only worthy of reflection. Not the actions although I must admit enjoy the dark humor of it all.

I continued to sit in silence, self indulged almost void of self awareness. Between breaths, I vacillated between surrender, understanding, and feeling boggled by the madness of these senseless killings. I can’t release the reminders of 9/11, war, hate and long list of other tragedies dating far back as the early 60’s. The ash zombie faces of 9/11 and the O/49 are the ones I can’t shake from my mind. My rage ignites when I think of this need to constantly defend the use of guns and weapons. Oh my beautiful dutiful right, no thank you, your right is my wrong.

Stuck, I could not moderate the electric tremble of questions dodge balling my mind… Am I in a state of shock? Is this some sort of emotional overload? Am I in mourning? Is this a self pity? Am I exhausted? Over saturated by media, everything in my life/our lives? has the world gone insane? Or have I finally crossed “that” fine line, into emotional decline? Have I finally gone from being a sensitive to desensitized?

I suppose there is a global numbness that is effecting us all to some extent. Perhaps it has spliced my spirit between truth and fear, night and light. My Only Wish no matter what the case may be, as I move the “me” that is part of the universal “we” off to the side. Is LOVE, Love is all I wish for – love, we all posses it, we all desire it, we are all capable of giving and receiving it. There are no fees, no taxes, no requirements. My Only Wish – MAY THERE BE EQUAL AND ABUNDANT LOVE FOR ALL. 

Love and Light Always
The Empowered Runt

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