The New Zealand Journal

http://www.scribd.com/doc/57940037/NZ-Journal-Synopsis

What do the good ole days mean to me?

The good ole days were days when cell phones didn't exist in the popularity that they do now. You knew where your friends were because we didn't travel that far from the things we liked to do, nor the people we enjoyed most. Nowadays, with the presence of Facebook, Twitter, what-have-you, we constantly want to tune into where people are, or what they are doing. While this technology is grand because it allows us to instantly connect with others, the quality of the connection (despite what our 4G service says) isn't near the quality like it truly used to be.

The good ole days used to be a time when children and teenagers went outside to exert their energy and creative nature of play. Nowadays, children, teenagers, and college-students spend a majority of their time inside. Gone are the days when we humans remembered the sheer joy that the outdoors brought to our physical bodies, our minds, and our souls. The good ole days to me are stored in the collective memory of many, waiting to be unlocked and reapplied into daily life. If only we would remember and learn to put down the devices that entertain and similarly corrode our brains.

To mentally reminisce what the good ole days were like, imagine walking down the street in your favorite section of city or town. You feel the warm summer breeze on your face, and you feel light on your feet as you make your way along the sidewalk. You see other people walking around as well with similar smiles of summer on their faces. The key difference is that when you walk near someone there is no cell phones, no iPods - the things that we place in our lives to entertain our already creative and intelligent brains. The people you pass say hello or perhaps they smile as you both go about your daily business. Think of all the smiles and/or people you might notice if you had your attention and gaze upward, instead of down in some device telling you about what somebody just watched, or what they ate for lunch. You notice the way the flowers soak up the sun. What a beautiful day to be alive! Ahh, where have the good ole days, circa the 1990s gone?

I’d say I miss the good ole days but that would make me a nostalgic stickler for the past; and remaining in the past doesn’t help the present, nor the future. I will say we have a challenge ahead of us: to remember what life and it’s likeness were like. Find time to put away your devices…you won’t be missing much if you leave it in the car, or at home for an hour. It’s a big step, but I feel you’ll find greater reward in the direct community around you. Embrace the love we all can share. This world is what we make of it and it starts in our local communities.

To the start of summer! May it warm our faces as well as our soul as we figure a way to be one with where we came from.

Life without happy; Happy without substances

By Wallace Krumpledorf

We Americans as a commonwealth rely on uppers, downers, lefties and the occasional right; day in and day out. The larger body of substances ingested hourly, daily and weekly is broader than just physical ones. Look straight ahead; now behind and over each shoulder. Who do you see? Now find a reflecting surface. Did you detect the similar nature of life’s fellow occupants with your own? As hard as it is to admit our interdependence with these substances, the truth is cold and real. To sit there passively and say that what you read isn’t true is to deny on the most basic level: yourself. Honest thoughts try to admit that you have never ingested any substance orally, intravenously, or otherwise but your ears tune-in to the unspoken falsity and wire to your brain a collective realization. Turning the pointed finger back on yourself is humiliating, but good news is, others will love you if you love yourself for who you are – regardless of your chosen poison.

I intend to bring about positive awareness. I see different walks of life colliding over substance semantics. My medicament and your medicament may look, smell, taste and do different things, but, one thing in common is the altered effects. Much like differing personalities amongst friends and enemies, we cannot consciously permit allowing ourselves to lump and label others because they play their cards differently. Homosexuals, African-Americans, individuals with disabilities and unlisted others all strive for this freedom of choice. I start to see the world how it is. I comprehend that we will always fight with one another, disagree, double-cross and abuse our talents to socialize and relate likeness. We as humans are all different; but not entirely. At times the living link bares correlation and substances are assuredly a shared experience. I may not speak Spanish well, know jack-squat about the history of Central Asia; but, I do know that marijuana is an enlightening medicine – much like my brethren from another state or country would. In no way is a substance like marijuana physically addicting like heroin, but psychologically, you’re glued-in; some way, somehow. At worst, it elicits euphoric emotions; much like coffee provokes alertness. Life without substances seems odd: if for the past few days, you’ve been high or caffed-up and now find yourself not.

*****

Grandma doesn’t look so good today. The doctor says she isn’t taking her meds as directed but hey, I guess I can’t blame her. Those Percocet’s I got from my wisdom teeth removal were pretty potent…

…Hell who am I kidding? I had a blast with Josh and Donny on those downers. Man, I got biggity-bombed! Wonder where the pictures from that night went to?

Grandma should know better though; she should learn to listen to what the doc says if she expects to make it through to Christmas. If I was in her shoes, I wouldn’t argue, no matter how bad she feels sometimes. Her medicine is supposed to be for pain only and she is taking them recreationally...I can’t believe her impudence. I never thought of popping a pill just because it felt good…

…Well… I only did them that one time…the 2^nd time it wasn’t Percs…so it’s not the same. I couldn’t just sell them or leave them to waste in the cabinet. Whatever. I don’t have a problem. They felt good but I was younger and stupid then…I’m in control now!

Are you? Your little cousin’s remote control car screaming around your feet at the 4^th of July celebration is telling you different.

*****

Life has a way of extracting the happiness out of you. Liken it to a bee extracting nectar from a flower, but the twist is the reality and necessity of it. Many people choose to medicate with “happy” drugs –living in a false reality created by chemical messengers communicating to their bodies how they should think and feel. Happy drugs, that express constant emotion without much flux; effectively making the user a smiling zombie of sorts. You ought to laugh because you know that those drugs desensitize the taker to what really eclipses them: sadness; often cohabiting inside other emotions. Though, you hold your stones back because you admit you are a swimmer in the ocean of users.

Illicit drug users are cast in a dim light but ragers, dopers and rock users are absent of light: achromatic. Applied labels are apparent and often warranted. Unfortunately, actions do speak louder than words; words that are conveniently forgotten after their flurry predominates the short term – preventing storage into the long term of memory’s mind. Where does it leave us though as a supposed sophisticated society?

Creatively canvas this: Shaggy Rogers from Scooby-Do Where Are You! Moving in a lackadaisical fashion towards you; hair askew; mind preoccupied with life around him. What are your honest thoughts of his soul presence occupying the same space as yours? Would his parents be disconcerted to see their son as he is now? Your ambitious thoughts decree they’d be proud of him for something he did. His lively erupting baking soda and vinegar volcano from the 4^th grade science fair was on-par with Timmy Tankerton’s mock steam engine…right? Perhaps the haze of smoke eluding his lips as he passes sways what you momentarily think and feel about him. Flash forward 3 years, your computer takes a shit and he is the same free-spirited soul at your local geek shop fixing you back up. Do you still harbor those initial impressionable thoughts about him?

The THC (Tetrahydrocannabinol) content in pot from the 60s and 70s was much less than the levels of today. Doesn’t make it that much altered though. Pot isn’t a drug to some; just like coffee, cold medicine and Ritalin. It’s a recreational activity with none of the physical exercise-related benefits, but seemingly some of the mental ones. If you haven’t partaken of its complicated beauty yet, question yourself. If you have zero desire to take that trip, find comfort in the thousands of others like yourself. Just like bungee-jumping or rock climbing, marijuana isn’t a substance for everyone; though, the actuality of it and other substances in our culture is more real than ever.

You may think that the substance stigma doesn’t rest on your shoulders. Don’t contradict yourself. Bottom line: be honest with your desires – real or imagined. The manner in which substances make us feel varies widely. Some find happiness only within that sweet leaf, righteous rock, or Iced Vanilla Latte; sugar-free, no whipped cream. Others find happiness without substances, yet enjoy partaking in them because our intelligence admits what our cautious, anti-substance sources won’t: the feeling is unparalleled; barring of course the adventuresome hard-core drugs that claim lives upon overdosing. Next time you find yourself purchasing coffee or medical prescriptions, think of the pot-smoking college kids down the street; or even the doping professional athlete you admire. I’m sure they aren’t judging you for making Starbucks or Walgreens a necessary actuality. One day we will wake up, do our daily thing, and at some point in the day light up, drink down or swallow whole as we sit in the park with the cop rolling by; caring not to bat an eyelid at our activity – legal or “illegal.” We are being judged for our actions regardless of where they fall on the spectrum of social acceptance. My coffee is his China White; his China White is your weed; your weed is society’s shunned step-child – looming in the closet, waiting to be accepted and taken at its face-value. Let’s not cover the healing wound from society; for coincidently, it was mutually inflicted and heals best in the open, clean air.

*****

The high of sobriety is often a trip itself. Distinction amongst the blur of a high is ambiguous. Some stimuli are front and center; commanding your attention. Others fleet right and left of your mental cockpit, initiating oversight on the stimulus at hand. Good thing Ritalin was invented. Now you can find the hours of the day ticking by and your attention still rambling on-course, with minimal mental interference. Be cautious though about crushing and snorting those little guys because cocaine-like dependence can be established. Methylphenidates like Ritalin, Concerta and Methylin are drugs of abuse. Yet, they are locked and stocked at your local pharmacy; waiting for little Timmy Tankerton’s medication to run low; hopefully because he’s the only one dosing as prescribed as he works on his mock steam engine project for the 4^th grade science fair.

While I do not suggest you go out and start using-up on what others are getting down-with, I do recommend however, that you take a look around and acknowledge. Both seen and unseen “users” are all around you. Are they lurking in shadow waiting to abduct your kid and sell him into sexual slavery in Hong Kong? No. They are the people you talk with at the bank, grocery store and public service/government offices. Now, before you go pulling Salem-esque Witch Hunt-stunts, breathe for a second. People are people and thus we do things just because we do; no intense or detailed explanation is needed. Basic human desires for plants, powders or liquids to alter their perception because of pain, grogginess, social reasons or other obscurities is inherent. We should strive to deal better with such things when we witness them in others. Turn the mirrors of your eyes back on yourself; then you’ll see it isn’t me…it’s you; it’s all of us.

Ramblings on a Thursday

Greetings readers, I found a piece I wrote in November of 2009. Hopefully it'll spur some fun thoughts while I'm brewing and chewing on a new piece.

Cheers,

Al

I've always imagined one day that I'll write a book and share stories from my epic [surpassing the ordinary] life. Is my goal to tout my past around like a prize-winning horse, or perhaps am I just merely trying to demonstrate the lessons learned? I'd ere on the later but not everyone who might read it would think likewise.

Being adept at interpreting written word is a time-honored art [a superior skill that you can learn by study and practice and observation]. Some writers make it very easy to understand what tone or attitude they are trying to convey; others, not so much. With the current state of books becoming more and more technologically advanced, I would not be surprised to find that books of the future will be read on devices such as Amazon's Kindle - very book-like but on a screen no larger than twice the size of current cell phones. Ahh technology...

...welcome to the death [end: a final state] of clear communication and widespread interpersonal skills in the young. With txting [read: texting] becoming increasingly popular and practical all across the age spectrum, it would come of no surprise that many people will lose practice of old-fashioned face to face communication skills [the learned capacity to carry out pre-determined results often with the minimum outlay of time, energy, or both]. If you are able to read this and say with blunt honesty [the value of speaking truth and creating trust in minds of others. This includes all varieties of communication, both verbal and non-verbal. Honesty implies a lack of deceit] that you have never encountered a miscommunication from technological devices; i.e. txting, email, etc., then keep up whatever you are doing. If you find yourself, however, being open and honest to the fact that technology has hindered [to obstruct: hinder or prevent the progress or accomplishment of] communication then pat yourself on the back because you've entered the first unofficial stage of self-help.

The longer I type on this subject, the more I find myself expressing freely on the matter. Perhaps random nights of conversation with friends has spurred this thought; or, perhaps current articles in news sources across the country have enlightened [to make free from confusion or ambiguity; make clear] my gradual acceptance of technological communication. I'd be a stone-cold liar if I said that I don't email, txt, etc.; moreover, I'd redeem myself though, by identifying my need to take an active role in technological communication discernment[discretion: the trait of judging wisely and objectively].

Sending the I had a good time txt after a date is not the same as calling the person and telling them with your tonal inflections and genuine [not fake or counterfeit] attitude. Perhaps it is here that we kick the tech crutch and rely on old-fashioned interpersonal [being, relating to, or involving relations between persons] communication [the activity of conveying information] like it's been done for years since Alexander Graham Bell's invention, or since cavemen turned grunts into sentences about feelings, emotions, and the latest town gossip.

Am I being to verbose [long-winded: using or containing too many words] to a population that already understands this dilemma [state of uncertainty or perplexity especially as requiring a choice between equally unfavorable options]? (Unfavorable in the sense that we can and cannot live without technology). If so, how do we reach the target audience, and what do they look like, dress like, and who are their parents? Question [challenge the accuracy of] the statement. Answer [be liable or accountable for] the statement. To all would-be or current parents out there: keep the I and U in communication; especially when my "I's" are on "U". Teach your children to communicate without their techy devices. Once a generation of great communicators dies, what lays in store for the remaining mortals? Food [anything that provides mental stimulus for thinking] for thought [the process of using your mind to consider something carefully]. Have a good day.

Lemonade!

There's a saying, "when life hands you lemons, make lemonade." Sometimes though, you can't help but eat the lemon as is. Fuck the lemonade man! What is it that leads us to such drastic measures?

Perhaps it's the way the lemon looks. You know it's gonna be a sour mouthful; it's gonna make you wish you had the patience for lemonade concocting, but awww who cares!

Those moments stoke the fire in my life - the heat spreading out from my periphery.

Just this morning, I woke up feeling a little so-so. The sick bug has been makin' its rounds round town. I thought perhaps I had flirted with it and brought something back, then I drank some coffee and sat down to my drum-set. Forty minutes later and 12 tracks into Axis: Bold As Love and I was lost in rhythmic synchronization and free expression! Wowser; what a mind/body relief to just play your mood and desires out in musical articulation. I gotta thank my residents above me (if they were home) for putting up with my boisterous sound.

Lemons....lemonade...okay. Right.

It's been said, mostly in my developmental theories classes, that impulse control strengthens as we age. I'd agree with such, though sometimes it's just too restrictive to hold back against such an opposing force. If you proceed with diligence - all the while reevaluating yourself along the way, you'll be on your way to goldenness!

Such can be said about many experiences in life; yours or mine. Often it's okay to play into your desires. With a quick survey into the possible results for good measure, you're off to explore away the day. Young and old, female and male, do what feels right. Your previous thoughts on the matter, positive and negative, will serve to guide you along the experience.

Life IS dynamic.

We all make decisions on the fly. The wrong turns have brought us (hopefully) back to the right track. Be tactful, but not overly circumspect. Basically, enjoy the free things in life. We are a tiny speck in the spectrum of existence and there are plenty of other tiny specks laying in wait to be motivated.

So about that lemon, it's gonna be bitting in bitterness but perhaps you only desire to use it as a zest. In which case, the impulse to forgo making lemonade was justified and the results were as delish as you could have hoped for. Pat yourself on the back, you made the right turn.

Till next time, Bon Appétit.

Our Society's Sad Situation

We live in a society of taboos and double-standards. Words spilling from just one mouth find their way to harm and mal-intended use. Many find it second-nature to utter a word or phrase with a laugh and smile, not realizing the depth or breadth of their comments; or who they might affect.

People in any sort of elevated position have a responsibility to bar ignorance from their societal presence, but excuses speak louder than honest admittance. A word of caution for all of us: we look terrible talking down on one subject and conversely living up another in personal and private spaces!

What possibly could I be speaking of? Let's start with drugs and alcohol. We expect college students, or those under the legal age to be drug and alcohol-free, yet we are on the flip side of this - getting smashed, twisted, or otherwise every weekend with pictures to prove it all on facebook. Though this is done in a guilt-free space, we imagine that those words or phrases we tell others don't apply to us.

Does anyone realize the hypocritical nature of this?

If society was more exposed to the reality of situations, the what really goes on, would we be so quick to pass the same advice and judgement? The optimist in me hopes not, but reason tells me otherwise. Shamefully, the echoes and reflections cast back upon us as a society further the divide between the ignorant and those wishing to see positive change.

Change your perspective like you would a pair of socks. Listen to what you are saying!! Before you slander another, think for a second of what that might mean. Who are we to play God, judge and jury? We are entitled to no more rights than the ants residing in your cabinets. We just think we do because someone somewhere told us we were important and that our ass was more special than another's. It's all very laughable, but yet very sad.

As the snow falls and melts to return again to earth, so will this vicious cycle of ignorance. Please be part of the solution and not the problem.

MLK Tribute - what could the future be?

I am the dream

festering in your thoughts

I am the unrealized person

grasping the unknown

I am the individual in a group

the unity laying in wait

I am the undisclosed start

the match to ignite the inferno

I am the hope residing outside your door

in wait to keep you company

I am the logic

screaming insanity in sane-ness

I am the stutter in your step

wishing you would trip and falter
I am the anchor

hoisted from the depths

I am the young soul

aware of a better future for all

I am realizing consciousness

space to think outside my sphere

I am forward-moving

with eyes to the past for guidance

I am action and reaction

becoming full circle

I am many of you

incarnate as a poem

I am

no longer

We are

Many

Together

One.

()

The Passenger Seat of Our Life

I seek to write though I find it a struggle to create clear thought, even though I am in good mental order currently. Have you experienced or felt a point in your life when you are tentatively ready to break through to a better you, but haven't or can't?

Idle on that.

You see in reflection how you want to fragment the blockage before you, but what will become of it? What is the method, the rhyme, the reason?Are these reasons selfish or self-limiting? Oh how confounding.

Perhaps the breadcrumbs leading towards the possible future will guide me into clear communicable thought...

* * *

There is something about the word development that entices me to write. Thoughts form but with relative ease they fail to assimilate sense at what lies before, beside, or behind me. Transform that medium to the role of an observer and clarity starts to peak. Perhaps I am putting my own life under the knife and microscope, but seeing the shadow that follows in my stead is proof enough for the examination of self.

Many have said that we are our own worst enemy, but why must it be represented as such? Can we not say that the worst enemy we have known has been the destructor of self instead? When the blocks tumble down and nothing seems to have any strength or growth, it is our own hand and mind that limits and destroys, but that same mind and hand can be positively responsible for so much more. Realizing we are the driver's of our lives permits a connection to words associated with control, but what of the passenger seat? Is that seat reserved only for someone else, or can we truly switch seats at a whim to find a differentiated viewpoint?

For those that have sought to follow my words and phrases but still are coming up bewildered, I apologize. My style is like a creek flowing over rock and stones in its way. Where the thought is headed is understood, but how it gets there and the lateral shifts it takes along the way are what may derail your good sense for reading this. Flow with me though.

As we drive down a favorite country road or half way across the country, the passenger seat in our vehicle is usually unoccupied or occupied. There is no denying this dualistic fact. I'd venture that 99.99% of us do not decide spontaneously to switch seats 30 minutes into the interstate, blazing at 69 mph down the highway. That just isn't logical, but what about the passenger seat of our mind? Who occupies that and with what frequency?

Often times, it is terrifying to take the passenger seat in your own vehicle while a friend drives. The same can be said for taking the observer's post in our minds. While this thought sounds spacey and far-off, it is actually more realistic and applicable than we realize. The desire to always be in the driver's seat is the Ego at work. Never does it desire to be second or third in line. Humorously enough though, the Ego has no quips when relegated to such positions; so long as a confident being is ordering the moves. Do we really need that delicious chocolate chip cookie, whose fudgey goodness begs a spot amongst our taste buds, or is the Ego speaking more loudly, telling us we do? This same dilemma, minus the rewarding taste of a cookie, plays out multiple times a day. The Ego, in the driver's seat, decides what, when, where, and how. Such a response is second-nature. Where was the higher mind?

If the Ego was in the driver's seat, which for all purposes is us manifested in our wants and desires, then who was in the passenger seat? That is where this piece strives to break into full sail. With no one observing from such a post; not even ourself, the higher mind keeps in its concentric circles above, while the Ego stirs the sharks below.

Fast forward 3 months and 6 days from now, that's April 15th; what is the status of your passenger seat? If you cannot see yourself in that spot, then perhaps you enjoying feeding the sharks. If you love being in the driver's seat but have a desire to take an observer's role, then you are aware that the possibility exists. Those like myself, who can imagine being the passenger for a split second or two, will appreciate the changed perspective. The clarity at that moment as we spectate how the sharks react below gives rise to the higher mind. Its concentric circles extend down to spatially incorporate all into harmonious thought. The person represented solely by the Ego is not absolute knowledge, but of course it thinks it is. Being able to see this as an observer, from the passenger seat or our own lives is disjointing, but we appreciate the harmony and understanding that clairvoyantly follows the schism.

Question this: How can we shift into an observer while still being in control of our vehicle, aside from actually scooting laboriously mid-drive into the passenger seat - rolling down the highway doing 69 mph? Just like anything in life, we can obtain the end result in a multitude of manners, but is it a manner we can be proud of as we lay in bed reflecting on our day or our journey?

Take that same morsel of fudgey chocolate chip goodness, and instead of eating it whole, sample it piecemeal. Do you notice the taste and texture change as it organically communicates to your brain the reason you desired it in the first place? If the cookie's shift from delicious treat to sustenance has been missed, than perhaps the passenger seat is unoccupied, with the Ego blazing full speed ahead.

Aim to occupy that seat; observe the lateral deviation and the new perspective it brings. Notice that life still continues, and the feeling of safety exists. Though the sharks will remain hungry, we have sacrificed the humanistic response at our Ego's expense. We have brought about a new awareness within ourselves without knowing how we would get to such a point in our lives. Oh how less confounding the road ahead seems as we peak through as both passengers and drivers of our lives.

Greetings Blog-liens

About to drop, fall or otherwise onto this blog is a post about something interesting to read, I hope. At least, at worst, it will cause some neurological processes to initiate in your cranium.

Stay frosty on the

Words and phrases,

Al

Whoa, it's been a while...

Whewwwww....Hello again. It has been a while since I posted on this here bloggie blog. Good to be back. Life has been busy but life has been good. I'm going to be curt (sorry). Below is a recent piece set to appear in the second volume of the Climbing Zine...out soon if you'd like a copy. Hope people are well!

Cheers and hugs,

Al

Points of Pressure

Some of us go through life applying just enough pressure to stay relaxed. Realizing through time and experience that too much external burden will only cause us to fear, falter and fail.

In climbing, applying just enough pressure with the pointed edge of the shoe or the tips of the finger to maintain a secure and comfortable grip is all that is needed. Many times though, comfort and security are not words exactly associated with the situation at hand. While strength, stamina and ultimately technique reside in the hierarchy of climbing needs, application of enough pressure is the exact bond between human and rock. One can possess many characteristics of a good climber, but connecting physical feat with mental acuity and execution is a greater challenge than of either physical or mental alone.

The rock appears bare and featureless but you know it has been climbed before because the chains to anchor into are visible 70 feet up. With harness, shoes and other essentials required for this sport climb, you verbalize the safety check your hands are already tasked with to your partner and lifeline.

“You’re the man on the hand” you finally hear.

“Climbing.”

Breath deep and exhale. Okay. Time to do this.

Even before you begin the climb, the mental aspect of your strategy is about to be sabotaged, sand-bagged or otherwise. This is the attraction of climbing for me. No sooner do I find myself 10 feet off the deck, carefully placing hand and foot in some alternating fashion do I realize my plan of attack is being shot full of holes. The full scheme of how I will top-out is not in mind because what truly matters is the points of pressure between my body and the rock at this current spot in space and time. If I allow other external pressures of life into my psyche, I will not finish. It seems simple to say, but thinking, saying and doing are all separated by fine lines. Welcome to the grey area.

I try to center-out. What was it he used to say to me?

…

“It’s like a puzzle; you gotta solve it piece by piece.”

I can hear his voice inside my head every time I find myself on rock now facing uncertainty in how to proceed. This mental memo combined with the possibility of danger and/or death and I find myself in the zone – tuning out the dangers; focused on task at-hand and foot. For some, a certain Kenny Loggins tune may be playing; but for me, it is a comfortable silence where my mind is gradually solving the puzzle at hand; commissioning my hands, feet, and entire physical being to the toil; to the completion.

I admit my extraverted nature has a hard time shutting up sometimes. Many love this quality about me. I cannot say I love or hate such because I do not desire to analyze myself – especially in writing. What I do appreciate though, is the quieted effect climbing has on me. When I learn to let myself ebb and flow with how my situation pans out on the rock, I find the clarity and vision for problem-solving echoing in the canyons of my mind. With a growing understanding of what the echoes are revealing, I come to appreciate the changes in perspective 10, 40, 58 feet up – almost as if I gain understanding with each new point of view. From this, the quieted-self pieces the puzzle together; not being daunted by unseen needs for change. Though, when I resist and am no longer quiet my technique exits and ego and preservation of self enter. The flash-pump I feel becomes companions with the fear of death, fear of falling or fear of how I appear to those who are watching. I no longer engage in a higher-mind. Reduced to primal survival, I finish and wonder how I came to conquer other routes of greater difficulty, but flirt failure with easier ones.

Thinking back, it seems nowhere else in that spot in space and time did I have the chance to fathom how a change in my quiet perspective dictated a successful change to my plan. Before the fear and the loudness of life crept into my consciousness, would I have still been able to center-out and focus?

***

I realize from climbing I have so much to write about but putting it logically and understandably into sentences that carry discernment is difficult. But why? Ask the tree why it grows and if it could talk, it would say, Why not?

“All I know is how to grow; I take in, I use, I give back. This is the life I only and always will know.”

Being of a higher mind simply because our species has developed and evolved significantly compared to the simplistic beings that surround us, is something not to be taken lightly. Finding a manner to engage that higher brain center is the challenge we as humans face. How is it that something physical can promote our brain waves to a higher level? Expert opinions aside, climbing puts us in that real fear of life or death. Even with all the safety features in place, you still gather a building fear. Enter the elevated consciousness. Standing back on the ground looking 70 feet up, you are not thinking of how it would feel if you fell from that height. Your mind is not fogged by failure. You practice optimistic thought and beta-gathering – whatever you can do from the ground to start your action plan’s formulation. Once you start applying the pressure needed to move decidedly up the rock, you find the quiet beauty of your mind harmoniously syncing with the surface your feet and hands are touching upon. Problems arise but possible solutions trail not far behind, much like the train’s cabose. You smile, realize everything is going to be alright and appreciate how the past shapes the future.

Meaning has been redefined now. Life is dynamic and so must be the learning process and understanding associated with challenges, fears of mind and successes. Applying too much pressure is most likely a direct result of fear. Typically, failure ultimately follows fear. However, applying just enough pressure in life to stay relaxed, like in climbing, requires a higher mind. Hopefully we all see the need and are able to center-out and tap-into such when we find fear building. Points of pressure can serve us well. It really is a matter of how hard, or how relaxed we find ourselves applicating.

Updates Hoooo!

Hello Peoples. Sorry it has been almost a month since my last post! Today could be considered ceremonious if we're feeling like it. After this short entry is complete, I am taking my internet modem back to Time Warner. No more internet for Alan; at least at my apartment. I'm counting down the remaining month in this sweet pad of an apartment. As my pictures will show (check out my picasa site! http://picasaweb.google.com/aldsmith3/SpringSummer10#) the porch I have had to hang-out on is second-to-none.

Things continue to go well besides the light dusting of snow we are receiving today. Excluding yesterday and today, it has been in the low 60s with plenty of warm sunshine. Hartman's Rocks, the place for mountain biking, camping, hiking, running, will be opening very soon and everyone in town is anticipative. I'm still looking for spring/summer work. Have a couple leads. We'll see where they go. I hope to move home in mid-July to spend a week or 2 with family and friends before I move to Boone, NC. Hope ya'll are well and I'll try to continue updating from the work computer.

In the meantime, enjoy a short portion from my recent piece. I've cut and paste 3 different sections so it's not a complete piece but it's a sampling. It is about substances and society. Enjoy:

Life has a way of extracting the happiness out of you. Liken it to a bee extracting nectar from a flower, but the twist is the reality and necessity of it. Many people choose to medicate with “happy” drugs –living in a false reality created by chemical messengers communicating to their bodies how they should think and feel. Happy drugs, that express constant emotion without much flux; effectively making the user a smiling zombie of sorts. You ought to laugh because you know that those drugs desensitize the taker to what really eclipses them: sadness; often cohabiting inside other emotions. Though, you hold your stones back because you admit you are a swimmer in the ocean of users.

*****

We Americans as a commonwealth rely on uppers, downers, lefties and the occasional right; day in and day out. Cold medicine, marijuana, Percocet, Ritalin, Alcohol, Ambien and coffee all exemplify the larger body of substances ingested hourly, daily and weekly. Look straight ahead; now behind and over each shoulder. Who do you see? Now find a reflecting surface. Did you detect the similar nature of life’s fellow occupants with your own? As hard as it is to admit our interdependence with these substances, the truth is cold and real. To sit there passively and say that what you read isn’t true is to deny on the most basic level: yourself. Honest thoughts try to admit that you have never ingested any substance orally, intravenously, or otherwise but your ears tune-in to the unspoken falsity and wire to your brain a collective realization. Turning the pointed finger back on yourself is humiliating, but good news is, others will love you if you love yourself for who you are – regardless of your chosen poison.

*****

While I do not suggest you go out and start using-up on what others are getting down-with, I do recommend however, that you take a look around and acknowledge. Both seen and unseen “users” are all around you. Are they lurking in shadow waiting to abduct your kid and sell him into sexual slavery in Hong Kong? No. They are the people you talk with at the bank, grocery store and public service/government offices. Now, before you go pulling Salem-esque Witch Hunt-stunts, breathe for a second. People are people and thus we do things just because we do; no intense or detailed explanation is needed. Basic human desires for plants, powders or liquids to alter their perception because of pain, grogginess, social reasons or other obscurities is inherent. We should strive to deal better with such things when we witness them in others. Turn the mirrors of your eyes back on yourself; then you’ll see it isn’t me…it’s you; it’s all of us.

One Love,

Alan