President Obama

We have actually elected a human being who is cool, calculating, brilliant and able to speak passionately from his heart.

What were we thinking?
He might actually ask us to think differently, act differently - even change.

Maybe we are America the Brave after all.

My prayers will be with him every night.

We don't all have children....

But I do.

Mine is beautiful ...

... intelligent ...

... endlessly creative ...

... and lazy.

Just like me.

Hurricanes and Politics

I don't know if major hurricanes have disrupted national politics before. I can only watch what is happening now and wonder if we really are going to have to watch two PR teams duel on behalf of the candidates. Already the "Donation Wars" have begun. The RNC launching from the platform of their convention, asking delegates and the nation to text donations (don't ask grandfather, it's something new) to the Red Cross. Obama doing much the same via text messages to supporters and his website. I know why the PR machines are telling me this is the right thing to do... I mean I get the giving part. I'm just not sure that suspending the convention and campaign activities makes any sense.

We as a nation are in the last 10 weeks of what feels like the most important presidential decision in my lifetime. I have compassion for my fellow Americans as they suffer through the hurricanes. But, life goes on. Am I to believe that both candidates are incapable of multi-tasking? Really what are the campaigns doing during this time? Posturing. Are we going to postpone the election if this fertile hurricane season continues? I don't think so. 

If you were My Valentine...

If you were my Valentine
Oh the things I'd say...

Thank you for your lovely lips
That kiss away my fears
Smiling, laughing, gasping
When I kiss your ears

Thank you for the time you share
Thoughts and dreams
Love and fears

If you were my Valentine...
I'd sing of passion in your arms
Waxing poetic of your charms

Moaning whispers linger
A memory without end
Blood follows fingers
Nerves without end

If you were my Valentine...
Your eyes alone I'd see

I'd swear my love undying
Words so warmly witty
Without even trying

I'd breath you in
Scent magnetic
Lips grazing wanton
Soft skin a blaze

If you were my Valentine...
I'd understand my place

Walking, dancing, driving
Flying through the clouds
Rushing home again
Just to see your face

If you were my Valentine...
I'd softly pull you near

Eyes warm pools o'er flowing
Without words of meaning
I'd whisper soft and slow
I love you..Thank you
For you love

It's all too soon
And way to much
From someone whom
You haven't touched

Dreams yield
Words define
Actions will create
My dreams

Won't you be my Valentine?

It’s about time.

Everywhere I look the world conspires to remind me that time is short. Obituaries of people my age or younger jump off the page.  Photographs of school friends, who look like their parents, cause me to stop and check the mirror in a panic: “Dear God! Do I look that old”?  Watching a younger sibling build a retirement home and then freaking retiring!  Seeing Minnesota friends and contemporaries, begin to winter in Phoenix.  Although, this may just be proof that old dogs can finally learn new tricks… it’s flipping cold during the winter in Minnesota people, and it happens every year. Really.  Realizing that when my mother chooses to go home (a euphemism for dying, yes), I will be the oldest in my tribe.

Age has always befuddled me.  Society has rules that are adjudged severely.  I was forever too young to be old enough, to do everything!  Then I was too old to be cool, and now I’m too old to ever be young again!  And yet, other than the occasional… OK, regular, and often annoying reminder from my body, I don’t feel old.  

Am I going to die?  Yep, I believe the evidence is irrefutable, this body will at some point leave this mortal coil.  As I write this I’m sitting in the lobby of a medical mall in Beverly Hills, watching people escort their hobbling relations to and from the myriad body shops.  Why did “planned obsolescence” ever surprise anyone?  It’s the way we are built!  Nature.  Has anyone ever considered filing a grievance about the poor design of this body?  Hell, even Toyota had to recall vehicles recently!  And don’t start telling me that if I’d take proper care of it, yada, yada… even Jack LaLanne’s body gave up, and that sucker could pull a boat with his teeth while swimming! 

Where was I? Oh yeah. I don’t feel old.

The only thing that has changed perceptibly for me is time.  While I believe time is infinite, I’ve become acutely aware that on this plane of existence, it is a limited commodity.  I realize there are many of you who figured this out at a much younger age, bear with me, I’m an Aries, and a man.  How I use time, has become a priority.  Who, Where, What or Why I use or spend it: is now a conscious part of my life.  I’ve become selfish with my time.  It really pisses me off that now that I’ve finally figured out this little secret of life – time has chosen to move faster.  No really.  Just trust me.  It has.

The good news is that I’ve started, well restarted a career as an actor.  And surprise, surprise, they say it takes time!  Time to hone your skills.  It takes time to build relationships with people, Casting Directors, Agents and Producers.  Time to shoot and market a film.  It takes time for your audience, to find your films.  It takes time.

I saw a quote attributed to Adrien Brody recently, “My dad told me, “It takes fifteen years to be an overnight success”, and it took me seventeen and a half years.”  This made me want to start desperately negotiating with the Time Police.  Listen, I was here for 11 years kicking it, 25 years ago.  Do they count?   Or, does it have to be continuous time served?  If you count those 11 years and then add the 3 I’ve been back this time, that’s 14 – so I’ve only got another year to go before I hit, before I’m an overnight success.  Right?  Please!  Right?  Wait!  Whoa Nelly!  Screw Adrien Brody’s father!  What does he know?

Excuse me if I sometimes sound impatient, self-centered or rude.  Excuse me for laughing when I hear people complain that it’s taking to long.  Excuse me when I choose to spend my time with people who are in the full bloom of creation and possibility; who choose to live with energy, action and hope.  I forgive you your age. Please forgive me mine.

I’m new at this and all I’ve got is time, and I’m spending it fast.

I’m ready. I’m prepared. It’s time.

Namaste,

Lon

Signpost

I never thought that divorce would feel like a destination, something to be achieved. After eight or nine long years its finally done. The judge signed the papers.

I wish my former spouse a happy life. Her adventures are well begun as she follows her heart working in Europe. We raised a beautiful daughter who is off on her own married and thriving. We had beautiful homes. We had many good times. We grew and learned to honor our own truths. We struggled to reconcile our lives with who we were as individuals. We weren't right together.
Bon Voyage.

How do I feel reaching this point, this destination? Empty, the crying is done. Moving on has long since started. Kind of like getting older. It's just a date, a marker, a point in time that while legally meaningful is personally meaningless. Life goes on. Possibilities infinite.

Namaste.

If not now, when? If not me, who?

If not now, when? If not me, who? Blessings to us all. Prayers for the families of the children of Newtown.

Reasonable dialogue needs to start in this country about what we can do as responsible citizens to prevent gun violence. Our votes need to be utilized. It is insane that rather than address the issue head on, we are talking about "gun violence drills" and installing gun scanners in our schools.

This is not our children's responsibility to deal with, anymore than rape is a woman's responsibility to prevent. We need to talk about mental health, conflict resolution, gun registration, control and training.

Humans are capable of horrendous acts of murder and violence with a myriad of weapons. Current and past history bears this out. We are also capable of stellar and infinitely compassionate acts of love. We have a choice. Nothing has ever been created in this world that wasn’t first a thought, an idea, or an intuition. I choose to love.

We must love each other as brothers and sisters. The culture of fear's time has past. It is time to give peace a chance. Love is the answer.

Namaste.

I remember now.

I'm 56 now and graduated from high school in 1973,  college in 1977. I mention the dates because after listening to the news today, I realized that I should start recording my memories of high school. Apparently in 10 years or if I ever choose to run for president (not gonna happen, I promise), I will lose my memories of that period of my life.

So here are a couple of things I remember - I was regularly called a faggot and a homosexual through-out high school and college. Well actually it was more like "fag" and "homo".

I figured at the time it was because I was tall, had long hair and loved music, theater, singing and dancing. I was a little outside the norm during my school years, particularly after having accelerated in fourth grade. Nothing like pushing your desk down the hall in the middle of a school year to tag you as different. That in combination with my reaction to my father's death in sixth grade certainly made me feel different from others....or at least so self involved that I didn't care or have a clue whether I was like them or not.

I remember being regularly singled out and challenged to fight in junior high, at the bus stop, at my locker, surrounded by a half a dozen of my class mates. Apparently I was particularly scary in my polyester bell bottoms with matching neckerchief. The words I remember more than the fists.

I remember the verbal baloney got so bad during my senior year in high school that when I was cast as the lead in our high school musical, the theater and music teachers insisted that I forgo any other activities that put me in front of my schoolmates until after the musical was performed.  Huh.

In college the words continued to be used through my freshman year. Yeah my hair was down to my shoulders, I wore a fedora and an ankle length car coat with a fur collar when it got cold.

Now I'm sure that my behavior - particularly my mouth attracted some of this abuse. I have a tendency to say what is on my mind. Although I've never understood what having an active mind and exercising it in concert with my mouth had to do with my sexual orientation.

I was coached to brush off the words and the insults, reminded that, "sticks and stones will break your bones, but words will never hurt you." So I created a facade. You can't get to me, I don't care.

What colossal rubbish.

I remember.

I choose to not remember who said what, but I do remember what was said.

I remember how I reacted to those words and what I chose to make them mean.

I'm fine now.

I do care.

I remember.

I learned.

Words. Are. Important.

Namaste,
Lon

One step at a time.

Peace

9-11 remains one of the most heart wrenching memories of my life.

Broken hearts - shattered lives - souls adrift. We took care of each other.

May we continue to offer our hearts and hands to each other as brothers and sisters. 

Peace and love to you and yours. God bless.

Is no news, good news?

I am turning off the news more often than not these days. The only legitimate reason I find to read or look at whats happening in the world beyond my own backyard, is to determine who is in need of my prayers the most. What is up with that?

A beautiful place in Australia.

School taught me that an informed citizen was a responsible citizen. I can remember devouring newspapers and news magazines. Journalism was a fascinating subject to me and was practiced by many excellent organizations.

Today, I believe there are very few organizations that allow their writers to be journalists. We are being informed by a generation of writers who were not given the time or experiences to develop the skills to truly investigate a story. In a culture that often values speed over accuracy; profits over integrity; our writers rehash what they are told. Told by messengers who work on carefully crafting the message of their masters, governments, corporations or [fill in the organization of your choice].

We have devalued journalists so thoroughly that the organizations that used to develop and pay them are disappearing. Rapidly. Our Fourth Estate is dying a not so slow death.

A Tribute to my Father

Posted at Gratefully Yours, Lon.

Gratefully Yours, Lon

The other day I began to write a piece about gratitude. It ended up being about Angels and Teachers. I realized as I kept remembering more people from my past to express my gratitude to;  it was likely I would meet more people to thank in the future; so a separate space should be created. So welcome to Gratefully Yours, Lon.

Beauty and Truth: All You Ever Need To Know

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. This saying has been traced back to the 3^rd century BC, with many writers including Shakespeare restating it in their works. Its current form is attributed to Margaret Wolfe Hungerford from her novel Molly Brown published in 1878.

I believe that not only beauty, but truth are found in the eye of the beholder. We simply can't see things in anyway, but the way we see them. 

My world is colored uniquely by the way I've experienced the world, and what I've made those experiences mean about, and to me. It's a circular construct that continually evolves. My truth ain't growing no moss.

Be a Queen! (Bee) or I Am One with the Cannoli

Someone told me once that if I felt huge resistance ( fear ) to taking a particular path, I might as well start walking down it now, or I would simply have to face it later.

Damn them.

THE JOURNEY:

Nothing scares me more than to imagine, a life lived alone. Living without companionship, intimacy, love, family or friends. It might appear to some, that is exactly where I am putting myself. Alone, in plain sight. Maybe...

I've started down this path a few times before in my life, every time going a little further, but in the end always turning back. Why? 

Umm...cuz I got scared maybe?

On this journey, there is no one but myself to talk to, listen to, or reason with. ( I know I made all of these rules up, but somehow they were important for me to learn, to own. ) There are only my opinions, my voice, my actions, and my wants and desires.  I am the one responsible for, loving and respecting who I am.  Yeah I know, cue “I've Gotta Be Me”.

Trust me I've had HUGE resistance to the idea that I'm all I've got. Are you kidding me? Look at the evidence. I'm pretty sure that a fourth grader could build a convincing case that I am a disaster in progress!

OH, OH, HE THINKS HE'S GOD

I Stand on the Side of Love. Join me.

There’s no bad reason to love someone. Do you love people only because they love you back?

Enjoy this beautiful piece at Thinking Too Hard.

The End of Fear

I woke from a dream, knowing that I was born in the presence of pure love. Clear that I was that presence. That I was, I am, at my core, pure love.

I am pure love. You are pure love.

We are pure love.

Though born knowing, I opened my eyes, saw my parents and decided that love was coming from them, not seeing it was a reflection....forgetting what I knew with certainty, a brief moment before.

Every Day a Little Death

People tend to be uncomfortable with endings, because every ending is a little death. That's why in many languages, the word for "good-bye" means "see you again".

Whenever an experience comes to an end -- a gathering of friends, a vacation, your children leaving home -- you die a little death. a "form" that appeared in your consciousness as that experience dissolves. Often this leaves behind a feeling of emptiness that most people try hard not to feel, not to face.


If you can learn to accept and even welcome the ending in your life, you may find that the feeling of emptiness that initially felt uncomfortable turns into a sense of inner spaciousness that is deeply peaceful.

By learning to die daily in this way, you open yourself to Life.

Eckhart Tolle, Stillness Speaks (New World Library, Novato, California and Namaste Publishing, Vancouver, Canada 2003), 106-107. 

It Isn't All About Me?

In conversation today with a lovely new old friend, I learned the impact that my father's death had on a mutual friend, who lived up the street from me.  In my own myopic view of the world I've never considered how other people were effected.  It is after all, all about me.

If you asked me the date that my father died I would hesitate, struggling to do the math in my head before I came up with the right year and maybe month.  The day... I could guess. 

My friend up the street has the date down cold, it was his father's birthday, and in the storm that injured my parents, he watched giant trees topple like twigs as the roof was blown off of his home.  Quite a memorable evening I imagine.  The next morning he heard that my father had been killed.

He remembers my father taking him and me to a Fathers and Sons function at school the year before; when his father couldn't get off work.  I don't remember this at all.  He does.  I envy him that memory, even if it isn't necessarily a happy one for him.

On the other hand, I now know I was with my dad and my friend when I learned about the birds and the bees.  That makes me smile.  Thank you for sharing your memory with me.

I wonder who else in my life has been profoundly impacted by a shared experience, that I've only considered from my point of view?

Light more light.

Namaste.