making lemonade

KerouacDaBuddhist · 02-21-2009, 07:12 PM

Here is another story I am working on....please feel free to comment...thx

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MAKING LEMONADE

BY D.B. milner

prologue: 'What a long strange trip its been'

The ball had long since fallen on 2008 when I bid death adieu, her siren sound serenading me for nearly three weeks. I had put myself in a coma after overdosing on Benydryl and anti depressants, 1200 of them to be exact. I had danced within her infinitely warm darkness once and twice again, only to be cast out as the circle gained momentum.Her absoluteless answering the question pondered since the dawn of time. In her deep folds, the secret laid, there for the taking for all who dared. I had inadvertantly stumbled into her path, the everyday suffering of so many weighing my soul to its very foundation,The sadness ultimately breaking me.Out of her comforting embrace would i learn, that my capacity for pain and suffering were mere life exercises, preparing me for my chance at coincidental destiny.

Yes,twas indeed a fantastical year, for me and the world. As I puffed on my joint, 2008 passed away. I breathed deep, partly to get a bigger toke, partly out of relief that it was over. I began to ponder my path over the last year. The year had started with me weak and weary, confused and alone; unfortunately,as usual. I spent a few weeks couch surfing after being released from the hospital. It had been a long downward spiral, culminating with the aforementioned pill cocktail. I had finally admitted to myself, "ok something is not right here". I went and screamed for help from the tallest peaks,"Please, someone tell me how this all works? I am lost and tired of being alone." Every where I looked I saw nothing but Hate. Our country seemed to be hellbent on destroying itself. The middle class vanishing right before eyes. The country was as divisive as I had ever seen it and the mainstream media all to willingly fanned the flames. There were days I would sit and cry "what is wrong with us?" Still noone listened. I put my faith in a healthcare system gone mad. A State healthcare system that literally told me "I functioned at too high a level to help". "What the hell does that mean?" I asked. A system that, simply put handed out pills in the hopes that it would be ok. And you cant blame it all on the system. They are constantly overburdened and underfunded. I thought of a conversation I had with my "doctor" who I saw once every 6 weeks for about 20 minutes.
"So, Jay. How is the lithium working for you?"
I replied " Well you know Doc, I dont feel anything. I cant tell what is real anymore. I dont feel anything. I dont laugh, I dont cry. I dont know what is real?"
The Doctor professionally feigned understanding and compassion as he listened to me basically breaking apart in front of him. I had been on at least 6 different medications in the last 2 years, all with some sort of problem side effect.
"well jay that is quite common with these types of medications. Your lithium levels look ok, why dont we go ahead and up your dosage. I will see you in 6 weeks"
I left the clinic absolutely dumbfounded. It was not long after that, that I woke from my bed, with my fiance' sleeping inches away, her deep breaths punctuated by discreet snores from her tiny frame. I found her cell phone and removed the battery. I removed the headset from the phone, and hid them under a couch cushion. I sat down at our Dining room table and wrote a suicide note. I then used that note as a funnel to take all the pills I had scattered on the table. 800 tiny little benadryl. I had gotten the idea for the benedryl from a Montel Williams show about pills that could harm children, the irony was not lost on me. I also had a whole bunch of antidepressants.
My fiance' seemed to appear just as finished downing my pills with a big glass of water. Someone would later chide me for taking water as my last drink. She was in shock obviously. She began frantically looking for her phone. I watched guiltily, not understanding what I was putting her through, but later realizing how much anguish I must have put her through. I ran out the door and hid in a new house that was being constructed just down the street, and waited. I watched as the cops raced up and down the street, to and fro they passed. I smiled "you aint gonna find me,copper!!"
I eased out of the house with great difficulty. The pills were really kicking in. I began to lose my basic motor functions, laughing at the wobble now taking over knees. I sat on the curb, where suddenly I was bathed in the piercing brightness of a police officers light. They walked me the 200 yards or so to my house, or carried me, I am not quite sure. The world was spinning very fast, all the colors of the world swirling together, in a constant kaleidoscope. The last thing I remember before I surrendered was the cop leaning over me and yelling "you think this is funny boy?"
A warm wave of calm, such as never I had felt before converged at once, as if bathing me. As if I had immersed myself in warm olive oil. No smell, no light, no touch no taste, just warmth and calm. And total absolute darkness. Infinite.
I came back from the dead around 3 weeks later. It was tough too wake up,as if my mind and spirit were bound in mosquito net. I looked around the room, so overwhelming all the gadgets scattered about. 'who is that sitting there?' I said to myself "or is there really anybody there" "what is this in my nose? I cant breathe..where am I" Gradually the haze lifted enough where the ethereal walls and sounds of the room took a more real shape.Enough so to where I knew I was in a hospital.
The person who was in my room was a psychiatric nurse, there to watch me. Apparently they knew I was going to wake up. It was a surreal experience to talk about my death with this stranger. I asked "did anyone come to visit me," to which she replied no. I would later find out that my fiance' had indeed visited every day, but had instructed them not to tell me. I understand why, but it was very profound and somewhat sad, to wake up alone. But I had always been alone.
I spent a week more in the hospital, then was released to an Inpatient Psychiatric house where you could transition back to the 'real world'. I stayed there for a week and then went to my friends who had so kindly offered his couch. I was very tired and very weak. My brain felt like I had ran it through a blender and my whole digestive and endocrine system was way out of whack. And I was still very sick, yet I managed to manipulate myself through the cracks that were always there. My life had been a life lived within the cracks of society, briefly climbing out, only to lose my grip, life just within my grasp
The country was fighting an unpopular war and seemingly every second of airtime was devoted to instilling fear in the populace and to justify the means. To me it was almost criminal in which the way the media behaved during the Bush administration. Every single night hate and fear spewed forth from the tv and the pulpits. The seeds of hate and intolerance took root all to quickly and spread like kudzu. America stuck its head in the sand, and spit at anything that came near.Hiding behind fears bars, hate and intolerance will always fester.
Ways of life changed, the car that used to cost you 25$ to fill up, was now 75$. Overburdening many families,some who had no job now. Their phony golden parachutes based on an overvalued housing market were now dwindling away right before there very eyes. Record Foreclosures, Iconic American Insititutions dropping seemingly everyday. Bad news and more bad news. Topped off with a seemingly clueless administration with a megalomaniacal imbesol at the wheel; completely out of touch with his constituents. Christmas was a little subdued this year. The message seemingly lost amidst a trampling death to start the season and sluggish retail sales throughout the rest. Why do we give gifts anyway?
Everyone pointing fingers of blame, accusations fly through the air like fireflies; pompous postering politicians prioritizing partisan values through parted tongues assuring then public of their place. Every evening the politicians dotted every channel with their perfectly coiffed hair and brooks brothers tailored suits. The campaigns for the most powerful office in the world, once again went petty. The old spectre of racism loomed large this year. Meanwhile jobs and homes continued to be lost, retirements wiped out. I seemed to be moving further and further away still, while society seemed to awkwardly in. Fear reflected from the lonesome strands of tinsel.Yeah, christmas was a lot different for folks this year, but not for me.

I puttered around for a week or so, the grip of depression, always looming just over the horizon. He would grab ahold of me and test me. He would exploit my weaknesses, and crack apart the facade of strength I had so boldly worn before. He would take me down once again. He would start once again to work his tendrils of suffering and pain, encircling me, pleading with me. "Just get it over with man, it sucks!!!"Look at us."

I was so tired and my strength was still so depleted, But in a last ditch effort,I shook him off. I scrabbled up enough money, pawning my Gourmet Chef Knifes,to get to Galveston TX. I had saw that the weather there was really nice, for wintertime, and I longed to get out of the cold. It was life or death for me,my brain screaming 'stay here, and you die'. But there was just enough left of me that said "go, run, you will be ok and live to fight another day" With a small sense of rejuvenation I boarded the bus for Texas, stopping only to throw away my medications. I had found a new sense of determination, and by the time I had made it Galveston, I had a goal. I would do the PCT. I had done bits and pieces of it all my adult life, as I am an avid outdoorsman . The trail was 2650miles. Daunting enough just thinking about it. I needed a success though. I needed to achieve something. I had to make a goal and do it.
Galveston Island was little slice of paradise, tucked away in the armpit of Texas. It is an island as rich in Heritage and Culture as it is in Money. The beautiful oleanders lining the wide lanes and huge Victorian mansions, some proudly displaying that they were a 1906 survivor. The communities on the island are very tight. The BOI's quick to put you in your place lest you get too comfortable. There are people that are born on the island, and in fact never leave. I myself did not the leave the island either, except when I left. Strangely enough, there was a lunar eclipse the night I left my new beloved city.It struck me funny, because at the time I felt like I was running away from everything I was looking for. Little did I know it was because my Galveston would never be the same again.

More about Galveston....community....race....descriptive....

I had picked up a job waiting tables at a Local Italian landmark. It was right on the seawall, and afforded the bustling crowds with ample ocean view. I rented a room in a house that was very affordable and diligently began planning my trip. Each day I would walk 15 miles of beach carrying burden of idols in my backpack. Hardbook editions of my literary heros. Kerouac, Jack London, Vonnegut and Steinbeck.They were the ones pushing me, whispering in my ear"You are almost there" Back and forth we walked, sometimes reading, sometimes not. My body began to heal itself. My mind began to clear from the fugue of my pharmaceutic nightmare I also spent time retying family ties, even if it was a flimsy slipknot. I began to assimiliate myself into the Galveston life. I went on a couple of dates even, but every day for me was a reaffirmation. Stick to the plan. I was offered a management position. A girl wanted me to stay. The island called to me "stay, play amongst my shores, littered with treasures and wonders" Stick to the plan.
My time had come. It was either shit or get off the pot. I had been hiking for nearly 2 months on the deep sandy seawall of Galveston Island. My brain was getting sharper everyday. I had made some good friends in Galveston and watching that hurricane barrel towards her was very hard to watch 2500 miles away. I had gotten to celebrate a fantastic Mardis Gras, and managed to save up nearly 3000 dollars, for my hike. I felt pretty strong but knew that it could and probably would end with a simple wrong turn. A turn which would aggravate the several discs that I had ruptured while working in Alaska. Even so I still planned, plotted, calculated distances. I perused the online stores for the best deals on gear. As time went on my mind cleared even more, to where I began to feel normal.
As I slowly pulled on my joint,I whistled "what a long strange trip its been" into the cool Northern california air. It had been a strange trip and as the medicine kicked in, the images of the past year began to play in my mind. How did I get here? I thought about all the other divergent paths I could have taken which would have led me to a totally different location. The days and nights on the trail had been hard and alone, yet therapeutic and rewarding.My back and my money had finally give out at Mount Shasta, but I had learned what I had come for.
I had finally caught up with him after chasing him for so long and now I understood. I had realized many inspirations and came away with aspiration. And it had been right in front of me all along. I walked alone for 1200 miles. Me and Preston,my dog, whom I would later 'lose' to a child with autism. In a strange twist of fate, Preston was meant to go to that boy, because Preston changed that boys life., In that grief and the sorrow of missing my dog who I loved so much was a secret, if only I could get hold of it.
As I watched the ruby throated humminbird effortlessly gliding his beak in and out of the stunningly orange salmonberry blossoms, I looked at his patch.I wondered if he lived his entire life in that one little patch. I thought about how small my patch was. I had travelled, literally, around the world. I had served in the first Gulf war, the legal one, and fell for the sea instantly. The ocean seemed monolithic in its size, taking this small town georgia boys breath, as I gazed at my new playground. I was a jack of all trades, blessed with a quick mind,and a solid work ethic. My patch had taken me all over the country and the world, reaching my 50th state at age 32. I worked in alaska as a commercial fisherman for over 10 years. Constantly pitting myself against myself as well as Mother nature. I worked in countless national parks and ski bummed all over the country in search of the next stash of fresh powder. Those were the good years, when the body was strong enough to handle the forces necessary to placate my neverending neurons. My brain has long since left my body in the dust.It was a life of throwing off a culture tinged with the smell of racism, and finding myself anew,a person of the world. One cant run forever,and eventually rust sets in on us all.

2008 was indeed a momentous year within itself. It was a year where I would answer the calls of my own wild, spending a year outdoors. Reveling in the simplicity of the mundane, living off the grid I came to call it. It was year of living without, without all except compassion and love in my heart. It was a year of putting it all together, asking myself those questions you fear to ask of yourself, for you may not like the answer. It was a year of lifetime experiences and achieving a longtime goal, even if I was a little short. It was a year of affirmation, accepting the gifts given to me and harnessing it so that I may share it with all. It was a year in which the realization that we are just blinks of an eye, and just like that you are done.I made a pact to myself "live life with no yesterdays". It was understanding that each day must be lived preciously, yet righteously. Humility was the course this year, but a lesson most valuable. I would find new friends amongst the smiling faces in the lowliest places amongst the lowliest of people. It was a year that started so darkly, yet ended with a message of hope and change, both for me and the world. It would be a year where I would learn to give selflessly all that I had and more. It had been a year in which I chose to live for myself.These are the days of this life.....

Part One The Early Years.....
Chapter one "Sunshine Daydream"
My time in this life began accidentally in a time of days gone by, as it was to be for the rest of my life. Long had I felt I didnt belong, that there was something more wholesome out there, that there was a better way somewhere, someway. The nation was upset over Vietnam, and the counterculture revolution had sparked a bored, tired youth into action and in doing so starting a cataclysm of events that even to this day shape our lives. It would be much later in life that the bravery of so few was so profound. Looking through pictures of life gone by, I thought my parents look just like them. They were young, energetic and had smiles not yet scuffed with the sands of life. They wore cutoff jeans and sun dresses. Steve Miller will inextricably be linked to marijuana, for it was blaring from the Cassette Player the first time I smelled mary jane.
I grew up in Georgia...

02-21-2009, 07:12 PM	#1
KerouacDaBuddhist New Member Join Date: Feb 2009 Posts: 11 Grams: 736.80 Thanks: 1 Thanked 2 Times in 2 Posts Stock Portfolio Total Value: 0.000 Gain/Loss: 0.000%	making lemonade Here is another story I am working on....please feel free to comment...thx XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX MAKING LEMONADE BY D.B. milner prologue: 'What a long strange trip its been' The ball had long since fallen on 2008 when I bid death adieu, her siren sound serenading me for nearly three weeks. I had put myself in a coma after overdosing on Benydryl and anti depressants, 1200 of them to be exact. I had danced within her infinitely warm darkness once and twice again, only to be cast out as the circle gained momentum.Her absoluteless answering the question pondered since the dawn of time. In her deep folds, the secret laid, there for the taking for all who dared. I had inadvertantly stumbled into her path, the everyday suffering of so many weighing my soul to its very foundation,The sadness ultimately breaking me.Out of her comforting embrace would i learn, that my capacity for pain and suffering were mere life exercises, preparing me for my chance at coincidental destiny. Yes,twas indeed a fantastical year, for me and the world. As I puffed on my joint, 2008 passed away. I breathed deep, partly to get a bigger toke, partly out of relief that it was over. I began to ponder my path over the last year. The year had started with me weak and weary, confused and alone; unfortunately,as usual. I spent a few weeks couch surfing after being released from the hospital. It had been a long downward spiral, culminating with the aforementioned pill cocktail. I had finally admitted to myself, "ok something is not right here". I went and screamed for help from the tallest peaks,"Please, someone tell me how this all works? I am lost and tired of being alone." Every where I looked I saw nothing but Hate. Our country seemed to be hellbent on destroying itself. The middle class vanishing right before eyes. The country was as divisive as I had ever seen it and the mainstream media all to willingly fanned the flames. There were days I would sit and cry "what is wrong with us?" Still noone listened. I put my faith in a healthcare system gone mad. A State healthcare system that literally told me "I functioned at too high a level to help". "What the hell does that mean?" I asked. A system that, simply put handed out pills in the hopes that it would be ok. And you cant blame it all on the system. They are constantly overburdened and underfunded. I thought of a conversation I had with my "doctor" who I saw once every 6 weeks for about 20 minutes. "So, Jay. How is the lithium working for you?" I replied " Well you know Doc, I dont feel anything. I cant tell what is real anymore. I dont feel anything. I dont laugh, I dont cry. I dont know what is real?" The Doctor professionally feigned understanding and compassion as he listened to me basically breaking apart in front of him. I had been on at least 6 different medications in the last 2 years, all with some sort of problem side effect. "well jay that is quite common with these types of medications. Your lithium levels look ok, why dont we go ahead and up your dosage. I will see you in 6 weeks" I left the clinic absolutely dumbfounded. It was not long after that, that I woke from my bed, with my fiance' sleeping inches away, her deep breaths punctuated by discreet snores from her tiny frame. I found her cell phone and removed the battery. I removed the headset from the phone, and hid them under a couch cushion. I sat down at our Dining room table and wrote a suicide note. I then used that note as a funnel to take all the pills I had scattered on the table. 800 tiny little benadryl. I had gotten the idea for the benedryl from a Montel Williams show about pills that could harm children, the irony was not lost on me. I also had a whole bunch of antidepressants. My fiance' seemed to appear just as finished downing my pills with a big glass of water. Someone would later chide me for taking water as my last drink. She was in shock obviously. She began frantically looking for her phone. I watched guiltily, not understanding what I was putting her through, but later realizing how much anguish I must have put her through. I ran out the door and hid in a new house that was being constructed just down the street, and waited. I watched as the cops raced up and down the street, to and fro they passed. I smiled "you aint gonna find me,copper!!" I eased out of the house with great difficulty. The pills were really kicking in. I began to lose my basic motor functions, laughing at the wobble now taking over knees. I sat on the curb, where suddenly I was bathed in the piercing brightness of a police officers light. They walked me the 200 yards or so to my house, or carried me, I am not quite sure. The world was spinning very fast, all the colors of the world swirling together, in a constant kaleidoscope. The last thing I remember before I surrendered was the cop leaning over me and yelling "you think this is funny boy?" A warm wave of calm, such as never I had felt before converged at once, as if bathing me. As if I had immersed myself in warm olive oil. No smell, no light, no touch no taste, just warmth and calm. And total absolute darkness. Infinite. I came back from the dead around 3 weeks later. It was tough too wake up,as if my mind and spirit were bound in mosquito net. I looked around the room, so overwhelming all the gadgets scattered about. 'who is that sitting there?' I said to myself "or is there really anybody there" "what is this in my nose? I cant breathe..where am I" Gradually the haze lifted enough where the ethereal walls and sounds of the room took a more real shape.Enough so to where I knew I was in a hospital. The person who was in my room was a psychiatric nurse, there to watch me. Apparently they knew I was going to wake up. It was a surreal experience to talk about my death with this stranger. I asked "did anyone come to visit me," to which she replied no. I would later find out that my fiance' had indeed visited every day, but had instructed them not to tell me. I understand why, but it was very profound and somewhat sad, to wake up alone. But I had always been alone. I spent a week more in the hospital, then was released to an Inpatient Psychiatric house where you could transition back to the 'real world'. I stayed there for a week and then went to my friends who had so kindly offered his couch. I was very tired and very weak. My brain felt like I had ran it through a blender and my whole digestive and endocrine system was way out of whack. And I was still very sick, yet I managed to manipulate myself through the cracks that were always there. My life had been a life lived within the cracks of society, briefly climbing out, only to lose my grip, life just within my grasp The country was fighting an unpopular war and seemingly every second of airtime was devoted to instilling fear in the populace and to justify the means. To me it was almost criminal in which the way the media behaved during the Bush administration. Every single night hate and fear spewed forth from the tv and the pulpits. The seeds of hate and intolerance took root all to quickly and spread like kudzu. America stuck its head in the sand, and spit at anything that came near.Hiding behind fears bars, hate and intolerance will always fester. Ways of life changed, the car that used to cost you 25$ to fill up, was now 75$. Overburdening many families,some who had no job now. Their phony golden parachutes based on an overvalued housing market were now dwindling away right before there very eyes. Record Foreclosures, Iconic American Insititutions dropping seemingly everyday. Bad news and more bad news. Topped off with a seemingly clueless administration with a megalomaniacal imbesol at the wheel; completely out of touch with his constituents. Christmas was a little subdued this year. The message seemingly lost amidst a trampling death to start the season and sluggish retail sales throughout the rest. Why do we give gifts anyway? Everyone pointing fingers of blame, accusations fly through the air like fireflies; pompous postering politicians prioritizing partisan values through parted tongues assuring then public of their place. Every evening the politicians dotted every channel with their perfectly coiffed hair and brooks brothers tailored suits. The campaigns for the most powerful office in the world, once again went petty. The old spectre of racism loomed large this year. Meanwhile jobs and homes continued to be lost, retirements wiped out. I seemed to be moving further and further away still, while society seemed to awkwardly in. Fear reflected from the lonesome strands of tinsel.Yeah, christmas was a lot different for folks this year, but not for me. I puttered around for a week or so, the grip of depression, always looming just over the horizon. He would grab ahold of me and test me. He would exploit my weaknesses, and crack apart the facade of strength I had so boldly worn before. He would take me down once again. He would start once again to work his tendrils of suffering and pain, encircling me, pleading with me. "Just get it over with man, it sucks!!!"Look at us." I was so tired and my strength was still so depleted, But in a last ditch effort,I shook him off. I scrabbled up enough money, pawning my Gourmet Chef Knifes,to get to Galveston TX. I had saw that the weather there was really nice, for wintertime, and I longed to get out of the cold. It was life or death for me,my brain screaming 'stay here, and you die'. But there was just enough left of me that said "go, run, you will be ok and live to fight another day" With a small sense of rejuvenation I boarded the bus for Texas, stopping only to throw away my medications. I had found a new sense of determination, and by the time I had made it Galveston, I had a goal. I would do the PCT. I had done bits and pieces of it all my adult life, as I am an avid outdoorsman . The trail was 2650miles. Daunting enough just thinking about it. I needed a success though. I needed to achieve something. I had to make a goal and do it. Galveston Island was little slice of paradise, tucked away in the armpit of Texas. It is an island as rich in Heritage and Culture as it is in Money. The beautiful oleanders lining the wide lanes and huge Victorian mansions, some proudly displaying that they were a 1906 survivor. The communities on the island are very tight. The BOI's quick to put you in your place lest you get too comfortable. There are people that are born on the island, and in fact never leave. I myself did not the leave the island either, except when I left. Strangely enough, there was a lunar eclipse the night I left my new beloved city.It struck me funny, because at the time I felt like I was running away from everything I was looking for. Little did I know it was because my Galveston would never be the same again. More about Galveston....community....race....descriptive.... I had picked up a job waiting tables at a Local Italian landmark. It was right on the seawall, and afforded the bustling crowds with ample ocean view. I rented a room in a house that was very affordable and diligently began planning my trip. Each day I would walk 15 miles of beach carrying burden of idols in my backpack. Hardbook editions of my literary heros. Kerouac, Jack London, Vonnegut and Steinbeck.They were the ones pushing me, whispering in my ear"You are almost there" Back and forth we walked, sometimes reading, sometimes not. My body began to heal itself. My mind began to clear from the fugue of my pharmaceutic nightmare I also spent time retying family ties, even if it was a flimsy slipknot. I began to assimiliate myself into the Galveston life. I went on a couple of dates even, but every day for me was a reaffirmation. Stick to the plan. I was offered a management position. A girl wanted me to stay. The island called to me "stay, play amongst my shores, littered with treasures and wonders" Stick to the plan. My time had come. It was either shit or get off the pot. I had been hiking for nearly 2 months on the deep sandy seawall of Galveston Island. My brain was getting sharper everyday. I had made some good friends in Galveston and watching that hurricane barrel towards her was very hard to watch 2500 miles away. I had gotten to celebrate a fantastic Mardis Gras, and managed to save up nearly 3000 dollars, for my hike. I felt pretty strong but knew that it could and probably would end with a simple wrong turn. A turn which would aggravate the several discs that I had ruptured while working in Alaska. Even so I still planned, plotted, calculated distances. I perused the online stores for the best deals on gear. As time went on my mind cleared even more, to where I began to feel normal. As I slowly pulled on my joint,I whistled "what a long strange trip its been" into the cool Northern california air. It had been a strange trip and as the medicine kicked in, the images of the past year began to play in my mind. How did I get here? I thought about all the other divergent paths I could have taken which would have led me to a totally different location. The days and nights on the trail had been hard and alone, yet therapeutic and rewarding.My back and my money had finally give out at Mount Shasta, but I had learned what I had come for. I had finally caught up with him after chasing him for so long and now I understood. I had realized many inspirations and came away with aspiration. And it had been right in front of me all along. I walked alone for 1200 miles. Me and Preston,my dog, whom I would later 'lose' to a child with autism. In a strange twist of fate, Preston was meant to go to that boy, because Preston changed that boys life., In that grief and the sorrow of missing my dog who I loved so much was a secret, if only I could get hold of it. As I watched the ruby throated humminbird effortlessly gliding his beak in and out of the stunningly orange salmonberry blossoms, I looked at his patch.I wondered if he lived his entire life in that one little patch. I thought about how small my patch was. I had travelled, literally, around the world. I had served in the first Gulf war, the legal one, and fell for the sea instantly. The ocean seemed monolithic in its size, taking this small town georgia boys breath, as I gazed at my new playground. I was a jack of all trades, blessed with a quick mind,and a solid work ethic. My patch had taken me all over the country and the world, reaching my 50th state at age 32. I worked in alaska as a commercial fisherman for over 10 years. Constantly pitting myself against myself as well as Mother nature. I worked in countless national parks and ski bummed all over the country in search of the next stash of fresh powder. Those were the good years, when the body was strong enough to handle the forces necessary to placate my neverending neurons. My brain has long since left my body in the dust.It was a life of throwing off a culture tinged with the smell of racism, and finding myself anew,a person of the world. One cant run forever,and eventually rust sets in on us all. 2008 was indeed a momentous year within itself. It was a year where I would answer the calls of my own wild, spending a year outdoors. Reveling in the simplicity of the mundane, living off the grid I came to call it. It was year of living without, without all except compassion and love in my heart. It was a year of putting it all together, asking myself those questions you fear to ask of yourself, for you may not like the answer. It was a year of lifetime experiences and achieving a longtime goal, even if I was a little short. It was a year of affirmation, accepting the gifts given to me and harnessing it so that I may share it with all. It was a year in which the realization that we are just blinks of an eye, and just like that you are done.I made a pact to myself "live life with no yesterdays". It was understanding that each day must be lived preciously, yet righteously. Humility was the course this year, but a lesson most valuable. I would find new friends amongst the smiling faces in the lowliest places amongst the lowliest of people. It was a year that started so darkly, yet ended with a message of hope and change, both for me and the world. It would be a year where I would learn to give selflessly all that I had and more. It had been a year in which I chose to live for myself.These are the days of this life..... Part One The Early Years..... Chapter one "Sunshine Daydream" My time in this life began accidentally in a time of days gone by, as it was to be for the rest of my life. Long had I felt I didnt belong, that there was something more wholesome out there, that there was a better way somewhere, someway. The nation was upset over Vietnam, and the counterculture revolution had sparked a bored, tired youth into action and in doing so starting a cataclysm of events that even to this day shape our lives. It would be much later in life that the bravery of so few was so profound. Looking through pictures of life gone by, I thought my parents look just like them. They were young, energetic and had smiles not yet scuffed with the sands of life. They wore cutoff jeans and sun dresses. Steve Miller will inextricably be linked to marijuana, for it was blaring from the Cassette Player the first time I smelled mary jane. I grew up in Georgia...

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