Little Ol' White Me

I'm must look a sight, walking as much as I do. This tall white dude, that looks like Jesus, who listens to nothing but Jazz, hip-hop and reggae, and who was known for arguing with people about who the best MC's are. Haven't really been around a lot of true hip-hop and jazz cats for a little while, so nobody's been really shooting the shit with me about music, for a while. All my friends out in LA are making the music, not studying it anymore, so we talk about mostly beats we've been working on or drama in our lives. Having had this time to myself, and in different context, I think I came across something from my child hood. Being a white dude. I'm an awkward fuck, live off Coltrane, but look like I should be frolicking through a meadow on a hair flare, or something. I mean it, used to play Trane, Miles, Clifford Brown, Monk, man Monk. If there's not a better person to learn about living, it's The Thelonious Monk. Anyway, what am i doing listening to the masters? They're black. Right. Where could I possibly live and get a mix like that? Well, people have been more than generous to share with me things they've found helpful, especially, when it comes to music. Something about music, the corridor of communication opens in a way, especially in jazz, that makes it so easy to know what's going on. At the same, gives the listener the choice of how they listen, what they listen to, and what they like about it. So, I am always mindful of the things that I have learned from the greats. Identified with as much as I can as a human. And most definately, have learned more about the 50's, 60's and 70's from jazz than anything else. Even politics and politics would have been my other profession, but music always had a draw, that I knew if I just put my mind to it, I would figure out how to play an instrument. Listening to jazz allows me to sing in ways that only yodelers in sweden have used across large mountains. Any luck of Flamenco in my mom's line, adjust my vocal chords in ways I never could connect to, had I not started singing in the shower when I was 23. Steaming it up and just saying ohm. For like an hour, helped me to calm my mind enough to make dinner, and function on a level that I could take care of myself pay my bils, etc. Putting one finger on one fret, on one string on my guitar, and playing twinkle twinkle little star on every string, just one string at a time, was how I learned to play by ear. I practiced scales and chords I had learned when I had taken guitar lessons, and now I've been playing for 5 years, and am ready to start reading music, again. Not that I don't like playing things my own way, that's how I'll figure out how to play standards that everyone knows, from Fake Books that are out there. Could be a traveling act, if I had enough tunes under my belt. But as of now, I'm working with alot of chord changes from cd's I have and sitting down to the piano and mapping out chords as I work out melodies of songs I like. So how do I walk down the street with a gate to my step, and mouth on my face? How do I talk like what I hear from the street, but still never look like I belong? Cause this is where I'm from and the place I grew up valued the interaction of people living together. Not splitting up everything up on stuff that divides us. Cause if it's not being worked on by all of us, or rather, everyone's input isn't being put in, it's not working itself out. And it needs some help. I know. Having grown up in a neighborhood more black and middle class than my family could make white, I learned a lot. Call a lot of people family that would have only happened any other way from the layers of destruction that have clouded our perception of the vision we all hold for our country. This is the first generation where we can look at each other from the same economic and social status. If wasn't for the black resident looking after my mother while she was pregnant. She might have died from complications. No one had looked at her blood pressure to see it was real high for her (she having lower blood pressure, as is), only at what level it was below the line drawn for too much. He had looked at her chart and saw that it was well above where she was normally, and suggested the Physician in charge take it into account. I was born at 2lbs 14oz and my mom survived the pregnancy. I haven't had much interaction in other countries about race in america. But I do know that america is the only place that race matters as much as it does. The whole rest of the world, whether they are starving searching for food to feed themselves, to looking for enough resources to develop and function, most people look at the rich for needing to be involved to make things work. Here we just blame everyone for everything and are surprised to hear things do work out. Now I love this part, it takes me back to when I was 14 and a group of young people I knew, we were all in high school, majority of us from public schools. We would have weekly discussions about what it meant to empower youth. One of my most memorable discussions we've ever had was about Race. We made four squares. One for white men, European descent, etc. One for white women. One for women of color and one for men of color. Just like that. Dialougue has only one rule, only white men can be racist. Man, I knew what they were saying, but I didn't want anything to do with this. Are you kidding me, let's get these white sheet wearing mother fuckers. Fuck em, I need a world that included everybody, not some bullshit ass stage to make sure my tobacco fields get picked for subserviant pay and benefits. Fuck that shit. Wait. I can be racist, too? And only because I'm more likely to make it as a corporate president than the dude with the same idea in North Philly? Well, then how did I find myself wanting to meet that dude, more than the corner office? Ok, let's talk about this. Could you help me not be racist, like how am I racist, if I'm not trying to be? So, we all said something that they enjoyed about being the race they are. I mean all of our families come from somewhere. Well, did I mention I was having trouble grasping something? How about my Dad's family was Bretheren? People, I don't know about today, but used to be very strict about worldly things (women wore bonets, men wore beards and had very short hair, farmed and thought that everyone was created equal. I've always liked that part. Meant my dad could explain to me things in a way that I could ask others about it to. I mean a white dude. Used to mess my friend's up, "you're white, but you act black." I get "you talk black" occasionally these days, but I'm still a white man. All I know is where I'm from. Who lives around me, and what they appreciate about life. I love knowing what people appreciate. Having the opportunity to hear someone say something positive, makes me see them open to something better than anything that could keep us down. It means a lot more to me to hear stuff like that, than watching the news could ever tell me about what's really wrong in the world. Makes me sad to think that I enjoy all of these things and you enjoy all of the things you enjoy, but when I turn on the news it's all negative stuff about people getting killed, or fires in peoples homes. Then I get sports and the weather. If I was on the news. I'd want more people on talking about stuff they like and less about stuff that we really need to fix. I mean if someone gets shot, and it's on the news, I only have 15 seconds to say a prayer to my TV, instead of making dinner and taking it to someone's house. The Cops have it weird, they get there after the fact and try to figure out what happens. Whatever they work out, well, there's a lot more to be worked out in regards to making sure it never happens again. I mean people get so low when someone around them dies. EVERYONE IS AFFECTED. But I guess that's why I say a prayer everytime I get caught watching a news story. I have to admit, I'm a little deeper about it. I mean, if it were me, I would be furious if someone with a TV camera was in my face as my whole spirit tries to grasped the loss to my heart. Thanks guys, I think maybe we could make that news slot something else from now on? Atleast give it a week or so, so the familes can get through being so numb and hurt. I'm sure the people who need to be around or need to know already do. But, I'm not gonna leave it at not being beneficial for the whole community but it's a bit of a superficial level, emotionally. Amazing we have the internet, maybe I'll do some news clips of my own. I wonder if anyone would like my blog enough to let me write for their paper. This is me writing, and this is how I'd love to make my living. My goals are filled with doing my part to help people find space for something better. This is why I started this blog, this is why I started playing music, it's why I've started studying shiatsu. This is why I try to give all my friends a new idea everytime I talk with them. There's something I think we can find brand-new in every moment. There's always a way to make the world better. As we live to learn, all we do is change our perspective and we can learn something new. Man, I've been jacked, robbed, I mean, and felt so self-conscious after that. But I made myself go outside, just so I could make sure I knew how to do it. I didn't want to stay inside just cause I was scared. If I get scared, I usually find something familiar and follow it. I never learned anything else from all the human and civil rights movements that I grew up with. Which brings me to my thesis for this essay. It's weird being a white man, who's stuck between a world that looks at me as the quickest one to a 100 g's in some corporate job and one that learned about the inequities being spread across the world, from people doing something about them. I mean, can you imagine getting paid to make the world better? That's what I want to do. Know anyone hiring? I have experience and I have problems.

Day Out of Time

"Let your Spirit guide you," was the only thing I could hear from the dream I just woke up from. What the fuck? I mean I've had this idea of just getting up and walking to see where I get. Maybe I could get to the Rainbow Gathering in Allegheny National Forest. I figure it's about 350-400 miles from this corner to that one. Wonder how many miles I can walk in a day? Spirit guide me... Spirit, "Son, you have many things going on your life. Your son, stranded, do you really want to leave him." "Spirit, you've showed me what I'm getting out of this paper pushing interaction I've been dealing with in regards to the relationship of custody I have with his mother. Her vendetta for my flesh has dictated my resolve not play into it. If I stay, I will have to be present for another bout that's only conclusion is another series of hearings. Having no way of a new decision being made at this proceeding. My responsibilities are finding no common ground with obligation." Spirit, "Being his father, you are the guardian of his spirit. Do not think that he is not with you, just because you aren't together in flesh." "Yes, Spirit, lead my feet forward and remind me that I'm whole and have movement. I just want to see Aviv soon." Spirit, "Take only what you need then. And walk. As long as you listen, you will never loose me." Knowing how familiar the surrounding area is to me, I decide to keep my trajectory the sunset. Spirit, "Follow the train tracks. And do not worry, everything is working itself out." And that's what I did. Took my backpack, a sweatshirt, two books, a frisbee and a gallon of water. Step into my worn,and unbound sneakers and stepped out into the Sunshine. Having just done some Chi Gong, my body felt up to the task. Weird how we really do take care of parts of ourselves in different ways. Listening to our spirit, invoking trust in that light. Making sure our mind is clear and connected to our body, and that our body has enough nourishment to maintain it's balance. Dipping from Forest to Railroad tracks, I find myself crossing very little of the city in broad daylight. Funny how we always run the grid, by our favorite streets and passageways. Where, on feet I can make sure I go the way I want and nothing else need find interference in my passing through. Finding my new thoroughfare I step behind the wings of a hawk and pads of a fox and glide West. What is my motivation for my hike? Love and the ability of everyone to reflect the energy we need to keep ourselves together. "I Love you," and "Freedom" managed me through every town and suburb. Freedom, man, if it weren't so important for me to be this right now, I think I'd be outside Aviv's Mom's house banging down the door on a lecture higher than the senses. I can't find reason to keep Aviv in the middle of fight that has no end. So again I put my foot forward and ignite a little more passion for being able to just live. If I go through with this court stuff, we keep fighting and nothing changes. If I walk away today, maybe I can come back later and things will have a chance to change. So, I walk another step forward and Sing. "Spirit, tell Aviv that he needs to let go of someone saving him, that in order for that to happen, he must first say he wants to be saved...fuck it. Spirit I need salvation too. As I move forward, no matter how far I go, no matter where I go, please protect me from any energy that does not mean to let me continue forward. Allow Aviv to move freely, and to hear his daddy's true intentions in his heart, and to be able to embrace the spirit of Freedom wholly and infinitely past his current transgressions." With another step I move forward. Sneaks off, bare feet on cool grass I walk through each town along the path to Perkiomen. Watching bikers whizz by, to bidding them "Peace" as they head back pass me, on their way to where they started. With another step I move forward. I have nothing to bother me today. Just the wind traveling past, sunshine on my face and birds singing in trees cascade along the path. I reminisce about how wonderful the whole world is. How wonderful it is to see that just from putting one foot in front of the other. I walked by old stomping grounds, old girlfriends, old mills, and construction. I walked pass me at 14, 15, 16 and 17. Hair in a ponytail, my shadow falling just in front of me. Like a Sun dial I pass it on the left. Moving forward, I find exaltaion in the confidence that I haven't left it behind and excitement in the anticipation that it will meet further along in my journey as a friend would stand against a light poll to wait for my arrival. I haven't forgotten where I am from, nor where I am living, but continuing forward towards my goal, a future I will to see. I move forward one step at a time. As the sun sets, I sit, drink some more water and eat a dinner of apples, peaches, and a pancake. Making sure to show as much appreciation and abmiration for my body as I can muster, having walked for over 6 hours. Having no reason to stay, I move on. Maybe I'll find a bed to sleep in tonight. Having no company and very little interaction with the people passing by, besides saying hi. I needed something to entertain me. So I sang, I whistled and then a bird told me to talk. Realizing I was thinking way too much in my head. I began to whisper about how I had met Hillaria. See, Hillaria is Aviv's mom, and one of the most disuaded people I have ever met. Having a lot of issues that stem from her childhood, it was damn near impossible to penetrate through all the excitement generated by our meeting and her becoming pregnant. But I always knew that she only knew a certain level of depth to interact with people. She couldn't get attached because no one had ever allowed her to. Having grown up in an environment, in a town, that was anything but diverse and very rich. Her dynamics never gave her the opportunity to feel comfortable enough to show her true self around anyone. People were all around that really cared about her. And in the first 9 months of our meeting, maybe even 6 months, I watched her cut every one of them out of her life. This included old teachers, neighbors that had known her her whole life. When her house had burned down. The whole town chipped in and bought her Mom a brand new one. When Hillaria had had enough of the violence that her mom put her through. One of my best friend's, from high school, parents took her in and actually helped her emancipate herself from her mother. When I met Hillaria, I had actually just made it through a year of depression and anguish stemming from post-traumatic stress I had been dealing with from having been robbed at gun point inside a friend's house. I was in rare form. Couldn't keep a positive thought in my head and I was sure I had been possessed by the devil, who wanted to turn me into some KKK wielding white man. I mean, telepathically, the word Nigger had literally been transplanted into my brain. Couldn't figure it out, couldn't get rid of it, but I knew I knew how to work it. I'll talk about that some other time. In any case, it was no time for me to be having a baby. Well, I was riding my bike up from South Philly on Broad St., where this young but ok looking dark skinned woman turned as she walked down that side walk and tried to flag me over with her finger. I remember thinking to myself, "Do I really want to stop and talk with this girl?" Knowing my head was in no way in a place to be with a girl and the fact that I hadn't been with anyone but a week earlier for over a year, I was fully entrenched just to keep moving. But, why kick a gift horse in its mouth? So I turned my bike around and hopped on the curb and said hello. She was real bubbly I remember. We introduced ourselves and I asked her where she was from. She replied, Haddonfield. And I'm like...Haddonfield...I have two incredible friends that lived in Haddonfield. Do you know my friend Ted? And she goes, "Ted? Ted's my brother!" "Huh," I said, "no he's not." And after a few emphatic affirmations, it came out about how his parent's had adopted her when she 16, the year he had gone off to school. So I had never known her. I had fleeting memories later about a girl who had been doing dishes with his mom a couple times in their kitchen, but never spent enough time with her to really remember her. And then, there was this party I had at a house a bunch of friend's and I had just moved into. I had just been in a car accident, where the air bag took the vision from my right eye for 72 hours. Just having my vision start to return, I moved my belongings in the night of the party. Having little energy and being heavily medicated, I spent the majority of the evening in my room, where we started an impromptu drum circle. I remember there was this annoying 15 year old girl who really wanted me to teach her how to play drums. Having taken a perkocet or two, all I wanted to do was hit the drum, I was barely functionable to carry on the conversation to say no. So I told her to just hit the drum. Getting bored with such precise instructions, she soon left me to play my drum all to myself. Well, the day she passed me on the street, after we talked, we parted ways for the afternoon and decided to meet up after 9 back down near Broad and Tasker. When we did, I had just bullshitted away a couple of hours up at Rittenhouse Square. Having lost contact with most of my friend's the previous year, I didn't have the stomach to really talk to just anyone. But alas, I did make it down to S. Broad for my rendez-vous. We met up, hugged, walked to a park right around the corner and talked. She seemed cool, mad flighty but I was down to make out or fuck, if she was down. The connection with Ted, really messed me up. Having been so tight with him during high school, I couldn't imagine having missed such a big event like his parent's adopting a black girl. I mean I knew they always meant well, but I was like damn. She must be top knotch. She was spiritual enough for the things I was into then, and she knew a bit about the reptiles which floored me, cause I hadn't really had much chance to talk with more than a few people about them. Definitely not a girl. So I invited her to my friend's spot and we hung out for a bit by ourselves and watched TV with him. I kissed her, by asking her if it was ok. Taken aback, never having been asked before, she almost refused. But her thick african, carribean lips were too hard to resist. I mean I couldn't stop thinking about how much I wanted to taste em. We kissed in the doorway between their dining and living rooms. But, then my friend came back from going out. So we couldn't really make out after that. To get home, I had to walk. From Broad and Dickinson to 46th and Baltimore Ave. We're talking like 50 blocks and it was sprinkling. A fine mist across the land that didn't do anything but make us damp. Maybe it rained but I think we had an umbrella between us. After an hour and 45 minute walk, we arrived at my house, pealed off and got naked. I had a dark skinned woman, in my one room apartment, all by myself and no curtains. Having turned on a light, I allowed her to know how the whole block was going to see her titties. She let me know, if they haven't seen a black woman naked before, they have now. We got into bed and made love. And I mean, I got it in. She was all young and thought she was the shit. Well, after 4 hours with me, worn out, sweaty and exhausted, she told me to stop, and we fell asleep. I always thought that was the night Aviv was conceived. After that, whew, it was all down hill. She, I remember, had this thing about toys and tools. But where as I learned about inanimate objects being titled such, she talked about all the men she had been with in this context. I couldn't believe it, but who am I to judge. I was just happy to get some nooky and she liked it enough, she was immediately addicted and ended up at my house for 5 days. I didn't see her for like 3 weeks after that. She just reappeared and spent another 5 days at my house. All we did was have sex and smoke herbs. I love having sex. So did she. After this stay she went down to Atlanta to visit her mom and I didn't see her for like another 3 weeks. This time, no different than before. Except, she ended up waking up at 6 o'clock in the morning three days in a row throwing up in my toilet. First day, I thought she was just ill from a beer she had had, so I went back to sleep. Second day, I asked her what was wrong and she just said she didn't feel well. Third day, I made sure to get the truth from her. And she eventually gave it to me, she was pregnant. She was pretty sure it was mine. But not a hundred percent and that she was just going to move back to Atlanta in with her mom. Over the previous few weeks that she had told me about what it was like growing up like that. When she told me that she was pregnant and moving back to her mom's, she immediately picked up her stuff, so not to cry in front of me, and ran out my door, down the steps and all the way to the end of the block to wait for the trolley to pick her up. Tears streaming down her face as I ran to catch up with her. She told me to just leave her alone. I persisted for a moment, but let her be when I saw she was clamming up. Sitting a couple feet from her a step or two away, always below, I'm tall as it is. She let me talk to her again and I asked how she could leave the Philly area and go to a place she didn't know anyone, to live with her mom, whom she had divorced and who had beaten her her whole life? Well, she didn't want to, and she understood the necessity of people that care about her around her, especially because she was gonna have a baby. So, she never got on the trolley. She came back inside with me and we decided to put it all to rest for the day. It took me about 3 weeks to figure out how to tell my parents. When I did, I let them know everything. That this was someone I didn't really know, wasn't sure the baby was mine, like most men I find, and that we weren't sure why we were keeping him. The pregnancy was pretty dramatic. She started bleeding 5 weeks into it. We had to go into the hospital, the emergency room, and make sure she was ok. After about 7 or 8 pricks to try and run an IV, a tech, a dude who looked like he had just been mopping up another room, stepped up to her gurney and in one try, slipped it in and ran her blood work through. That was amazing. Three and a half months later, we ended back in the hospital because she had been barreled over in pain for a few days and it wouldn't go away. This was the first time I saw Aviv. They gave Hillaria an ultrasound and here was this little tiny baby, just 5 weeks old, in utero, waving to us from inside. It turned out that what was hurting her was a fibroid (a fibrous cyst) that had grown to something like 6 x 7 cm on a ultra sound screen. They said that most women, who get these, find they disappear after a while. But the next three weeks were excruciating even for me. She was riling in pain, could barely eat and didn't move from our bed for nothing but going to the bathroom. She was the biggest trooper I had ever met. Took each blow of Aviv moving around with plum and gusto, or moxy which was what she deserves. She is almost one of the strongest women in my life, if it weren't for her tired brain. But like most of us, her mind keeps her from really getting to the depth of things. I remember her running a fever lying in bed, writhing in pain and with the threat of bed rest for the last two months of the pregnancy on heavy narcotics, I remember her turning and telling me that wasn't gonna happen. I don't think they were giving her anything, and the over the counter stuff was limited to a very small dosage. That night, I put my hands on her belly like I always did, and Aviv and I began to heal her. I just remember telling him to love his mommy like it was the only thing in the world and pouring white light in from the outside, we managed to let her feeling body take over and she relaxed. I don't know what happened, or how, but soon after that, we never heard from that Fibroid again. The pregnancy went real smooth after that. We only had one other emergency room visit, I'll tell that in a bit though. The only real issues we were having were with living situations. She ended up moving into my apartment building a month after telling she was pregnant. There was a girl that moved in right before I had met Hillaria and her roommate left right like a month later. So, Hillaria took her room. She had been living with this dude she called a tool who didn't add up to much, I was always curious about who he really was. While we were moving all of her stuff out of his house, I was taking a suitcase down from her room, I remember her stepping into this dudes face and calling him a loser. I knew where she was going from then on. And it wasn't gonna be my house. Well, she moved in and within the first 10 days, a friend of mine came to stay at my house. He was homeless, him and his dog, Yona. Yona was a beautiful white dog, with german sheppard shaped ears. She was like a little wolf, but all white. Having them staying in my 20 x 26 ft. studio, made for tight quarters, living. So I was upstairs more than in my place for obvious reasons. Yona kept my friend in my place longer than I needed but she is forever loving and supporting everyone around her, especially my friend. I think he was in my house for like 4 weeks. By the end, Hillaria was getting kicked out of her apartment and my friend couldn't get his head together and I needed my space back. Hillaria actually was the one to tell him to leave and then hooked him up with a place to stay where he helped a guy with special needs for his board, like a block up from where we were living. Just having my place back, I was not interested in letting anyone else moving in. We, Aviv's mom and I, had to have a serious conversation. "You need to find your own place, get yourself together and make sure you have the support you need, to have this baby," I said to her. There was no way I could see her five, I mean five of the biggest suitcases I ever seen, fitting into my apartment. We didn't really know each other, and had very little in common. I mean, she didn't even know if the baby was mine. How is she just gonna roll up in my crib? But she did. No second thought, I was easy. She had not a clue who I was, nor what I expected. She just moved right on in. Set up shop, put her two duffel bags under her bed and filled the whole apartment with her clothes. At this point, I hadn't had a television, a phone, nothing. All I had was my stereo and a bookshelf full of books. When she moved in, we got a T.V., phone and eventually satellite dish. All things I didn't feel we needed. But very convienent for a woman having a baby and for a loving couple that spent most of their time at home. Well, if I haven't said it before, I'll say it here. Living in a small apartment, neither person really moving or working. It was really hard getting along with each other. I don't suggest having a baby the way we did. But I think we made the best of a really awkward experience, as far as the pregnancy went. Five months we spent in that apartment and it was hard. I mean she not being the most pleasant person to live with, we got into it alot. But, being that close to someone really made it hard not to love her. Being a white boy, dating a black girl builds a huge dynamic when it comes to the hood. Having no reason to find the bond stronger than history, I ran into all kinds of resistance, backward glances, insults. Being with a woman who had never lived in the city before and didn't really identify with being black, made it impossible to have much of a conversation about race. When we rolled into her home town of Haddonfield and were walking from the train station to her "parents'" house. This pick-up truck turned the corner and the kid inside yelled out the window, "What do you think you're doing with that Nigger?" Man, when I felt that, I was livid, I was beside myself, to hear that and to just watch them drive away, uh uh, I was gonna make sure that they knew how that made me feel. Hillaria told me, no, don't worry about that sort of thing...she was used to it. Well, I'd like to reiterate, uh uh, that's never been acceptable to me. Well, it wasn't till later, that I realized the flip of that. That it was acceptable to her to call people, ya means, because, there's a difference. Well, about November, maybe it was December, I remember waking up to a fight with Hillaria. She was straddled across me yelling in my face for some reason. Being well aware of her pregnancy (duh) and general mental instability, I moved to get off the bed and make more room, when she grabbed a hold of my arms, fearing I was coming at her. We were getting hype, but it wasn't getting physical, I remember, we were just on the bed and there wasn't enough space. So she grabs a hold of my wrists, and like a good Lifeguard, I uncrissed my arms, and broke free. When I pulled away, and she turned to me, her mouth was full of blood. I had been letting my finger nails grow for playing my guitar. Well, my pinky managed to slip under her lip, and graze right at the crease where her top lip meets her jaw. Not having actually touched with anything else, I had no idea I'd even touched her. But when she turned to me, her mouth was full of blood. Well, needless to say, she ran out the door and later that week, I was having to explain it to the whole neighborhood that I wasn't some over baring white dude. It sucked. Other than that, the pregnancy went pretty smoothly. It was amazing to be able to watch Aviv develop inside his mom's womb. But finding strength in having a child so suddenly was a huge task to overcome. I had a lot of trouble thinking I could do it. I was sure it was a mistake, that I was gonna fuck it up. I mean, I'm gonna be a dad? Sounded almost like a reality, but how could it be, I didn't know anything about raising a kid. Then about six months into it, I had run into a friend at a restaurant I was working in and he laid it out to me. Listen, he said, being a dad is easy. Kid's need their mom's to eat. You don't really have to do anything but change diapers and make sure she gets enough food for like the first year. Amazing I thought, maybe I can do this. That was the first time I was able to accept that I was able to be a dad. By the end of the thought, I had reaffirmed my masculinity and adjusted my priorities to, by the time Aviv was born, to being ready, both mentally, spiritually and physically to journey with this kid and be his dad. Not having much outlet to work out my issues with his mom. I spent the majority of my time while not working staying up late and playing my guitar and singing my ass off. Aviv and I knew right off the bat how we were related to each other. Nothing could have been more simple. It turned out to be a wonderful experience and he has the potential to be one of the smartest, most experienced people I will ever know, mind his mother and her inability to integrate into our community in a wholesome loving way. Atleast, building a better dynamic with me, would help him feel more grounded I'm sure. Having by this time walked all the way through Valley Forge, I was on my way to a friend's house and just as I'd gotten tired enough that it was getting hard to keep going, a kid stopped at an intersection and offered to give me a ride. I made it to my friend's house, but with no lights on and it being 12:30, I decided to find a nice chill spot to sleep a while, as not to disturb his young family. I came upon a stream with a tree that over hung the water. Sitting on that tree, perfectly craddled I slept a couple hours and around the time people start to wake up, I walked back to his house and waited for them to wake up. Happy New Year on the mayan side of things.

I Told Her

Look out for him...let the listening begin... He needs two parent's sure... but you want to lay claim... for his honor, I back down... He deserves to tell his mother what he's been AROUND!!! Let the old man walk out the door. Listen intently, it's not your fault. Our son is just a little boy in a big world. He was too close to be able to come out with it, but now he knows he can, he has to... He let it go 3 weeks into the first standardized separation, now two years older, mom, tell him he's big enough to help let this one go... He knows what he needs to get on with developing a world that works for him, not one that he must develop to work. Tell him you love him and only want the best for him... Don't cry over it as if you had anything to with it... I know something held you back from being able to go inside yourself and feel. Don't worry, any tension between you and me was because I am Aviv's protection. He and I may have something special, sure, but that was something you gave us, not the boat you missed...You want to keep him. Fine. Let him have anything he wants...He's not into anything that's bad yet...and when he asks for me, let him have the opportunity to connect to his web and follow through with the devine blessing you and I have made, regardless how our minds have tried to make something more out of this...He is the validation that makes Love so real. Don't hate what you can't have...Elevate your position with your son and follow through, allow evolution to embrace your Spirit and move forward to a place that doesn't force you to do anything but provide the world already waiting for you to Live in. peace and blessings... Now Be Free. I love you, Aviv.

Everything is ready and waiting for us...

How I've Really Been Thinking Lately...

Yertle the Turtle by Dr. Seuss

nothing like a crisp summer's day

Before the Rain Starts to Fall...

Everyday adventures

just a moment for me atleast