After about three weeks in on my “Ignorance Is Bliss Tour”, which involved no national news and very little TV and Social media time. I was giving my mind a break from the amount of dopamine it was receiving. Till last night when I fell asleep just after dinner. Even as I spent the evening listening to the latest political novel, it didn’t seem to bother my rest at all. And do you want to know why? Because this clown show we call politics hasn’t changed a lick since I started voting in the early 1980s. What has changed is our insatiable need for hits of dopamine, that natural little drug (for lack of a better word) that fires up our pleasure sensors. I’ve been doing my damnest to pull myself away from that little booger. Allowing my mind instead to focus on silence and interesting conversation. I started going to the local Senior Center, if for nothing else but to soak up the atmosphere of community. For far too long for those of us on the left and the right, we have isolated ourselves into our own little tribes. Unwilling and frankly, unable to break free. The last few weeks have taught me that the world doesn’t care how you are as long as you're functioning in its ecosphere. And when you quit participating, it ignores you. Focusing instead on the next big hit. Maybe I’m just talking out my ass when I say what I just said. But when I hit upon certain truths, like right now, my heart literally skips a beat. That in itself tells me I am not wrong. So as I take this quiet time to reflect and heal, maybe you too can take some time to search yourself and ask, is this really what I think? Or am I just listening to bad seeds, planted by those that don’t care? #Dopamine #SocialMedia #TheFix #Addicted #Fear
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 I am one pathetic sight, for one I’m laying here with a heating pad across my shoulders and an ice pack across my forehead, other than that my hair looks great. A new little friend of mine sent me a beautiful note, asking if I was okay. They had read a poem I had written for someone else, and they may have felt I wrote it for myself. Now while anything I write does have a little bit of me in it, the focus of this one was my suffering friend. Still it was a lovely gesture that I haven’t take lightly.
Sometimes us “tough guys” like to pass-off voices of concern, as if it somehow violates our Bro Code to acknowledge suffering. Over the last decade of my mindfulness journey, I am slowly learning to accept grace when it’s given. Now when I speak of grace, I don’t mean a path to salvation. As much as accepting someone’s help when offered. Or at the very least acknowledging that you appreciate the gesture with humility. When I write, I write for an audience of one, usually myself. I don’t publish work for the sake of likes or any kind of fame. In my heart and mind, I’ve moved beyond those things. I have a steady retirement income. And while piles of money would seem grand, whenever I’ve had any, it only got me in trouble. I suppose what I’m trying to say is that I’m learning to accept grace as it is given. And for the few that do follow me, I appreciate each and every one of you. I love reading your interesting little comments and your genuine voices of concern. #AcceptGrace #Humility #Pride #Appreciation #Humor  So I sit here a bit congested waiting for the tropical storm that I was promised two days ago to show up, hyping up my already weary senses for that sort of thing, ever since our old house was nearly blown down by Hurricane Helena in 2024. We lived like squatters in our own home for over a week after the storm, while the city and county crews cleared the roads just to get to us. With no landline or cell service, we were on the bottom end of the ladder to get the help like the larger towns were already getting. So with the local EMC maintenance shop sitting next door, their lights burned brightly through a backup generator, while the rest of the town sat in the dark. We burned cardboard and broken branches to cook and heat water. A few state agencies later stopped by to bring us bottled water and ice, but for eight days we sat in the dark with no communications other than what the lineman told us, not knowing if anybody else in the state was safe. After a few weeks with the power and the internet back on, we came to find out the hurricane carved out a destructive path through our state rather quickly. But slowed and lingered over the Carolinas and carved up the mountains of those states. But our old rental kept us safe other than tearing off some of the tin roof and busting out some windows. What I came to find out later was the foundation had shifted, and since our landlord, who carried no insurance on the old house, kicked us out with just two weeks’ notice and sold the land to the church next door, they had the house bulldozed down. So where a 110 year old farmhouse once stood, now lies an empty lot; even the Sycamore Trees I photographed for the past ten years were cut down. But outside our new apartment the skies are sunny, as I wait on the front line winds to eventually show up. Funny how things like that can still haunt you even after all that trauma and the good that eventually came of it. #PTSD #Trauma #LingeringAffects #HappyEndings  Reflecting on the thoughts on the morning's work, I again listened to David Crosby’s What’s Broken for the one thousandth time. Peeling away at the words written by James Raymond and the intricate guitar work of Mark Knopfler. Still the words speak to my heart, to my soul like so many angels cooling me with their wings.
Just so much to be said about this age, the confession, the panic, the simulation. I thought things were bad enough when the President got caught getting blowed by an intern, but at least the budget was balanced. Now a look outside and see kids placing bets on when it all will end. Where did I go wrong? What turn did I take to make us all think this way. While these are questions that should haunt people for years, in today’s climate I doubt it ever will. Considering we have become even more selfish and self-centered than we ever were. And like I said, maybe it’s my fault and yours bringing up children to focus on themselves rather than the rest of the world. But as kids we never had to think about the rest of the world. I mean we didn’t have massive global communications or real-time video with someone across the ocean. Even when we did, we were so optimistic and hopeful, until we all figured out how to make a commodity of time. Then that’s where the whole thing turned on its head and went wrong. Now we feel trapped by it all, in a mere 20 years we let our dependence grow even stronger. Till we are now afraid to let it go. But that’s not the end of the story or the song. For we are the reflection of change that needs to take place. So go out there and tell your story. #LetItGo #Confession #Grace #SecondChances #TellYourStory  My Hometown I have spent the last half a week either being probed, driven, dressed or experimented on by somebody other than myself. And frankly I was getting tired of it. So after two days of being locked in a beautiful prison, I planned my escape, managing to drive myself 125 miles due west back to Telfair County. Avoiding log trucks, farm tractors, and people picking cabbage I actually made it back to the apartment without falling over. Although if you were to ask, how was the trip? I could not give you an answer, it sorta reminds me of my younger days driving back from the clubs. I suppose it was my burning desire to be back in my own bed that got me here. So while as a kid, I would end up waking up in all sorts of locations, like sleeping on someone’s lawn furniture or a complete strangers bed. I always managed to stay out of reasonable trouble. But enough about the old days of dumb-fuckery, let’s talk about the new ones. Every day we compromise with ourselves to get things done. Whether it’s to fix a sink or set an appointment to have a procedure done. We tend to avoid things. And much like the Apostle Paul, I am the chiefest of sinners. Although with my surgery it was the hospital that kept moving the goalpost. It’s kinda hard to set a plan into motion, when the very people making the plan change it…four times. But it’s nice to see how considerate your feelings are taken into consideration, when the whole system itself has a huge God complex. And they wonder why us mere mortals put off getting shit done. So is there a point to all this you may ask? Maybe not, but compromise is a two-way street. So while I am grateful for the opportunity to get this procedure. The assembly line process which we have adopted to healthcare leaves something to be desired. #Venting #Aftermath #TheMachine #Compassion #Zen  I am about as clogged up as the sky this morning. My ears feel stopped up as well as my throat and chest with phlegm and cold. But I’ve taken my medicine and drank my coffee, hoping that it will clear it all away, as I tentatively plan for my upcoming visit home. It’s been a while since I’ve driven there, I assume all the new settlers there have claimed the pieces of the city I once called my own. Back when it was nothing more than a quiet garden of good and evil. Where persons of a certain taste prowled the squares at night. But now she’s a big port city, no longer smelling of the once great paper mill, that slowly killed my father and plenty of other Moms and Dads that opened its gates. But it did feed and clothe me, it would proudly say, while the cemeteries in Bloomingdale and Garden City would spin a different tale. But I don’t dwell on such things too long, for I now live my life among the ignored people of the south central part of the state. We live at a different pace and apparently different tongue than the newly found city folk. Clinging to our folksy ways, fearing any hint of change, that makes us tingle just a little funny. Politely disagreeing, till we snap back, taking off a fingertip like a snapping turtle. So I live among the natural things I once did as a child when I escaped the burbs and lived in the swamp. Not much like a Geechee and not much like Paula Deen, I hovered somewhere in the middle. Pleasing anyone I met with a bit of southern charm. Till one day I couldn’t anymore, shedding my skin and becoming someone totally different. Now I sit here spinning my little tales of glory and defeat. Lying to no one, especially to myself about a man of too many faults and not enough redemption. Sitting somewhere between the person I was and the man I am today. Wanting to be better than the man and his story from yesterday. #Storyteller #WhereIAm #WhereIWas #WhereIAmGoingToBe #Zen  FD Thornton The clock is ticking; soon it will be time to pick up my bride’s prescriptions from the pharmacy. Then I will be able to refill her pill caddies for the week. Outside the window, there ain’t much going on. An occasional bird flies past and not much else. I got the call from the hospital in Savannah; we went over my instructions for what time to show up, what medicines to take and not take, and the whole schtick I’ve heard a number of times before procedures. For a moment, I try and remember just how many “procedures” I’ve had over the years. But I don’t want to put that much thought into it at the moment; I just want to get this one over. I assume this particular cardiac surgeon enjoys cutting me open, considering this will be the fourth time he has. I like to think of myself as his favorite lab rat, considering two of my procedures were for a trial study for a new heart procedure. By the way, it was successful. You may wonder how I can speak so casually about all this? I guess much like any other patient with a long-term illness, you just learn to compartmentalize things. To put every little problem into a bright shiny box and store it away. Considering every little thing I’ve gone through, both physically and mentally, you just grow a thicker skin. Sorta like the way a practiced musician develops calluses on their fingertips. So I take each moment in stride, while my wife still worries about XYZ before getting through CDG. So I take a deep breath, while I come up with a conclusion. So I guess all I can say is practice makes perfect. And having an over-analytical mind comes in handy when you're responsible for everything, including picking up the medicine. So I practice what I preach, laying aside the practical emotions, just to get the job done. #ThickSkin #Caregiving #Crisis #MovingOn #Awareness  Beholden to the wretched beauty of shame, my mind wanders to all sorts of places, when I feel particularly vulnerable. And today being no different than the rest, I stumble through my morning, just to make it out of bed and into my so-called life as a caregiver. But not every moment is as miserable as it seems, for the armor that I wear may be rusty, but it’s tight. Deflecting every blast from the foreign blades that brush against me. Leaving me no worse for wear when the day is done.
But once I pull the armor off, there I lie, an old man. Nearly crippled in my own skin, pushing myself to do the things that were easy to do in my younger days. But now they take a lot more effort and from my glaring, gruff exterior I dare not depend on others, for they have troubles all their own. So I limp through life, not nearly as tough as I used to be. Dreading every new procedure, every new suggestion that promises life, but only delivers solemn news. Which forces me to keep my mouth shut, just to hold back the fear that the flood waters force up through my skin. Till it finally bubbles up just as it has done a hundred times before, through the silence of my tears. Hidden in the wee hours of the morning, while other heads rest peacefully beside me. But with the break of dawn, the unknown energy of resilience wakes my bones like everything’s okay. Still, how long can old armor expand and contract till it finally breaks. So be with me spirit of compassion, be with me spirit of faith. For the forces of doubt and loneliness come to call with their faces of indifference and contempt. Raking over my soul once again. #OldArmor #Time #Caregiving #TakingCareOfYourself #Truth |
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July 2026
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