Please allow me to introduce myself.
Being real is the name of the game.
That’s a photo I took many years ago at my first nature spot. I used to go there every day for years having it out with myself pacing barefoot on the exposed rocks worn smooth by the never ending crash of waves. Those rocks and I have a bond. I’ve always paced, but there’s something about pacing barefooted on rock that changes a fella.
If you’re wondering about the name, I’ve chosen to remain slightly anonymous because I often say controversial things. It’s okay if one doesn’t agree. It’s another issue altogether though, if one brings it to me as if it’s my problem. I’ve always been, oddly enough, because I shouldn’t be, rather surprised how many people think it’s my problem their not liking something I have to say.
Such as, we are all just monkeys. Primates. I am what they call a Metaphysical Monkey.
I was born in Missouri of all places. I’ve tried many times to escape, and it just never happens. It never works out. All my efforts have ended terribly. I’m landlocked. The beautiful Ozarks won’t let me go. Ancient worn down mountains here. I have accepted it.
When baby me left the hospital I went straight into a trailer. Maybe you know a little about such things since they are not exclusive to Missouri. Trailer fabulous as I like to say. I grew up in small midwestern towns, and there is always a trailer park. As a child my mother moved around a lot, so I’ve had the pleasure of living in more than a few trailer parks. Several small rural towns, and a few a little larger. Larger meaning more than ten thousand, but not ever more than twenty. To city folk, those are still small towns, but around here we know they can get much smaller. I lived in a town so small once there wasn’t even a gas station.
I’ve lived in a couple small cities like Columbia, Springfield, and Jefferson City, which is our state Capitol. If you’ve ever wondered, probably not, but if you ever did wonder, there’s not really any homelessness in the capitol because they put them on a bus, and send them elsewhere. Fun fact for ya.
Springfield though, where I currently reside, has a lot of homelessness. I’ve lived in one of Missouri’s largest cities too, Kansas City, so I’ve experienced that life as well. Just nothing but redneck around here. Even Kansas City is redneck true and through. I’ve lived all over Missouri basically. I’ve never lived anywhere else.
That is one of my goals here; writing about life in this particular midwestern culture. It’s not just my story I’ll be sharing. I have permission to share the stories of many others whom I’ve met along the way.
Over the years I’ve had to do various things for money. I’m a chef. A diesel mechanic now too. A farmer. I’ve worked construction too, of course. No such thing as a redneck that hasn’t spent at least a season on a construction site. I’ve helped people start businesses. I’m generally helping others with theirs. I’ve this weird phenomenon in life of showing up when others are expanding.
As for my own, my low self worth has always kept me near homelessness. Even now I am still on the verge of homelessness. I had a rather severe accident several months ago, and have not been able to work. I’ve come to understand though, that this lack of owning things has enabled me to learn things about life that I could not have learned otherwise, so it’s not exactly my lack of self worth that has prevented me from material gains.
Most of my life I could move all of my possessions in a single car trip. Now it would only be a truck load, but mostly because I own so many books. Because of the poverty, and my own ignorance, I’ve lived most of my life with a disdain for money, and the system that creates it. The things I love to do the most are yet to pay the bills.
I’m self educated. That is to say I acquired my education in a public library. I’ve been to college, but it was massively disappointing, and not really an education at all. I’m not any good at jumping through hoops like a circus monkey. I just can’t bring myself to do stupid things simply because someone in authority says to. That just is not my thing. I’d be the first ape to turn on the guy cracking the whip.
I mainly went to college to learn how to better socialize. I like to think I got a bachelor’s degree in acting like I would have acted had I been raised appropriately. I had to teach myself that too. Not to say I always use that facade, but it’s a good one to have.
If a person decides to read any of my stories it won’t be long before one figures out I was not raised appropriately.
Anyways, one of my greatest loves in life is reading books. Before the age of twenty I had already logged over a thousand books in my journal. Back then it was mostly all fiction. I really loved fantasy fiction. All magic and dragons. I read legit fiction too. John Steinbeck is my favorite still. Man that guy really kept it real.
This love of reading has saved my life more than any other thing I have done. Unfortunately in my mid to late twenties I didn’t really read much because the trauma of my life was just too overwhelming. The twenties for those of us who have been traumatically abused are typically a real nightmare. Mine was no exception. In many ways I followed the exact trajectory of a violently abused male.
At the age of thirty I took a vow of non-fiction and began once again to read prolifically. I’m trying to tell ya; I can really nom the books. For fifteen years now I have only ever read non-fiction books that pertain directly to the situation at hand. In this time I’ve added another thousand plus books to my list. I really wish I had journaled them all.
I call it “read and apply,” I read books then apply them to life to see what is what. Is this true, or not? Does this work, or not? It is unwise to just take anything at face value. If only I owned all of those books that I’ve read from the library: My personal library would really be impressive!
My main area of focus has been Trauma and Abuse; in order to heal myself. I never was able to find a therapist worth a damn, so books were all I had.
God; which means any mystic, guru, or shaman book that I could get my hands on, and, of course, all of the major religions. I was raised Christian, so there was plenty of that, but I prefer the Eastern thought over the Western. Buddhism, Toa, Zen, and the Indian Pantheon.
Depth Psychology; this means the Jungian syntax: My favorite syntax. Carl Jung more than any other human alive saved my life. Hands down. Not only my favorite, but the most important syntax I know of.
Anthropology; to better understand what it is to be human.
And Metaphysics; in order to render spiritual jargon into a scientific syntax. Maybe metaphysics could be under the heading of god, but not all metaphysics is about god. It is simply the study of energy that scientists are yet to learn how to measure. Things like psychic phenomenon and synchronicity. There are many things scientists still cannot measure or even effectively explain like consciousness. We all know we have it, but no one seems to know exactly what it is, or how it even exists.
To be clear; I follow no religion. I have no guru. No living master. I submit to no one. I make my own way harmonizing with the One. I am a compiler of syntaxes. Words and I have a thing for each other. They love me, and I love them. In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was God…Logos on deck.
In the healing of my own trauma I’ve had to help others. It’s only ever been those who came into my proximity of their own account. I’ve always left this up to God, who shows up, and who doesn’t. I learned really quick not to interject into others’ lives uninvited. Who am I to know what is best for someone else?
We heal ourselves by healing others. We learn to love ourselves by learning to love others. One of the most terrible wounds of child abuse is not actually knowing what love is, and let me tell you that is quite an ordeal to be in. It’s nothing but suffering trying to get the love we never received but so desperately needed. It is incredibly difficult trying to figure out just what exactly love is.
Anyone can say the word. It’s rare to find someone who actually embodies it. I’ve found most are only capable of saying the word. Most of my life I have always felt that everyone wanted me to feel this thing, that I had never felt before; what a pickle jar that is. It’s like being told to feel monetarily rich, when all one has ever known is poverty; what does that feel like to be rich? I still don’t know. I may never know that feeling.
My grandmother will tell you stories about how even as a toddler I could not be told what to do. Born a non conformist. I’ve just never been any good at following rules. Pretty much need a gun to get me to comply. Don’t worry though, I only ever harm myself. God cursed me with a pure heart. I don’t have it in me to harm others on purpose. I did harm others as a result of my trauma, especially in my twenties, but I just didn’t know any better yet.
I never wanted that for any of us. Hardened iron exterior, soft as medicated cotton on the inside.
That’s little me! I was born with that grin, and a shine in my eyes. One should worry if I’m looking at them with that grin. One should really worry if my eyes start shining. That means it’s too late. It’s about to get crazy! It’s hard for me to look at this picture, and imagine how anyone could have abused me as they did. I keep this photo on my nightstand, as a way of paying homage to this little guy who still resides in my heart.
I have what seems to be a rather complex personality. There are people who have lived with me for years, and never actually even came close to figuring me out. Always elusive; always shapeshifting. Because of this I’ve always been quite alone in life.
Just like a cat, no one ever knows what I’m thinking. I think some labels that could help a person better understand my nature are the ones I usually tell people who are new to me.
I like to use this metaphor about being attractive. When I look in the mirror I do not see an attractive monkey. I see this crazy apish cave man looking thing. I’ve got a big crooked nose now. Ears so big, by the time I’m eighty I’ll be receiving radar signals from space. Crooked teeth, several of them fake. I was going bald at seventeen, so there’s always some random hair or other way longer than the rest sticking right off the top of my head. I’ve got stretch marks all over from being grossly fat during most of my twenties.
I really hated myself! Scars everywhere from just constantly wrecking myself. Accident prone is an understatement. My head is so big I can’t wear hats without just looking positively ridiculous. I’ve never understood how anyone could possibly think I am attractive, yet, somehow, magically they do. It’s baffling.
My point is that I only know this about myself because others tell me it’s the case. That’s the only way I could have ever known. I would never in a million years thought this about myself.
The same is true with my intelligence. I only know because everyone tells me this. Left to my own devices I’d only ever think that I am quite stupid, and dumb. I’ve read thousands of books, and still I am learning new stuffs every day that makes me feel dumb for what I previously thought to be true. I’ll be sure to tell many stories of just how stupid I am. If only people really knew the massive stupidity I’ve got on deck they’d never think I was intelligent. Yet, they often do; Don’t make this mistake! I’m just only ever a dumb redneck. Don’t be fooled.
If only you could have seen their faces that day. I was in a juvenile detention center at the age of thirteen for my first major crime spree. I had gone on a vandalizing rampage. I had racked up over thirty charges in a four day period.
They were giving me an IQ test in their efforts to figure out what was “wrong” with me. Even I, at thirteen already knew what was “wrong” with me. It’s called violent abuse, rape, neglect, emotional torture, and all everyone did was just blame me. All this ever did was further fuel my rage. How could I, as a child, have been to blame for what had been done to me? For what at that time, was still being done to me?
Oh my God! If only you could have seen the look in their eyes when they had to say that score out loud. Poof! Like magic! Suddenly Monkey Boy was the most intelligent person in the room. My first real awkward off! I loved it! Just sitting there with these supposedly college educated fools, pretending they knew what was best for me!
They were suddenly faced with a real undeniable fact; Monkey Boy was practically a genius. Those few points I was lacking from being considered a real deal genius I’ve made up for in my never ending desire to compensate for what I know to be real ignorance, and stupidity. It’s really true that I do not know anyone that has studied like I have. This wouldn’t be the last time I’d have an IQ test administered in the system’s efforts to figure out what was “wrong” with me.
Honestly though, it’s been more of a curse than anything, because I’ve always been really intelligent about being really self-destructive, which honestly is rather stupid. I’ve been the most intelligent about just absolutely wrecking my life in certain ways, which again, is actually quite stupid. Having a high IQ is not all it’s cracked up to be. It definitely did not help me any at all, them telling me what my IQ was at that young age. It just caused me to be even more arrogant. We all know that arrogance is a struggle for young teens.
Being intelligent renders everything a paradox. Everything! It simply fills one with constant never ending self doubt. It’s a real curse. There have been many a day in my life where I wished it would all just go away. That never seems to leave my mind.
Another appropriate label would be that I am an INFJ. This label certainly helps most people understand me better. What a grand day it was reading the blog posts of other INFJ’s describing their experiences of life. I cried all day that day. I had always felt so terribly alone, because as a male, we are the rarest of personalities. No wonder I had always felt so lonely. It was truly freeing that day, reading those blogs.
One thing though that separates me from other INFJ’s is that I am not afraid of confrontation. Like at all. I actually like it. I rather enjoy a good fight. This little tidbit makes me rare among the rare. A certain level of fear was beat out of me as a child so confrontation has just never really bothered me like it does others.
No one stands a chance against a fighting INFJ either. We can see right into a person’s soul. It requires zero effort on my part to detect a person’s unconscious motives, so I am always one step ahead. They don’t even know what I know about their own self! It drives a lot of people batty having to be around me for any length of time. Anyone who isn’t comfortable with their own self has a really tough time around me.
My sensitivity is off the charts. I was born sensitive, and then given a childhood that caused me to become even more sensitive. My survival depended on being acutely aware of the predatory monkeys in my environment. On top of that, it is something as an adult I have purposefully deepened. I have consciously used the pain and suffering of my adult life to further increase my sensitivity. It’s been my experience that most people do the exact opposite. I’m yet to meet anyone in proximity that is as sensitive as I am. There’s no college degree for a masters in sensitivity.
We could also say I am an alpha male. Socially dominant, yet introverted to the core. A natural born leader, but I prefer to lead from the back. It’s always a paradox around here. Always.
A truth seeker, mystic, shaman. A master of chaos. I am most comfortable in chaos. When everyone else is just losing their shit I shine like the sun. I’m one of those people, that if I put my mind to it, it happens, and if it doesn’t happen it was only ever because God refused to let me have my way. I like to call this riding waves right into the ground. I will just go and go and go until it’s all smashed to bits.
I can’t count how many times now that I should have died. Technically, I should be dead. In this most recent accident I mentioned I was struck by a car doing at least 45 mph while on my bicycle. He didn’t swerve or brake or anything, just drove right through me. Another six inches into the road and I’d not be here.
No one knows how I didn’t die! Yet, here I am four months later with more metal in my arm than the surgeon has ever put in anyone’s arm typing away. How my hand did not get mangled no one knows. He said he had dreams about my arm. Took him six hours to put it back together. There are still fragments floating around in my forearm. I didn’t even want to die this time around! It seems to have been yet another initiation. God has a thing for me, obviously.
So many times I’ve just ran myself right into the ground wishing for death. All I know to say, is that the only thing that carried me through was God. There simply is no other explanation. It’s strange, another paradox, because most of my life I hated God, which actually meant I was always holding to my search for God in my wish for death. All I ever thought about was God. Would I not find God upon death? My rage has been righteous.
Now as I write this, at the age of forty five, it has been mainly my Brothers telling me I am good at writing. They are the reason that I’m doing this thing with the words here, now. There have been other signs, but mainly it is my Brothers.
We can literally say, it was only ever God, because if I’d had my way I’d already have met my maker long ago. I can’t really say any of this has been up to me. My life is not now, nor has it ever been, my own. Even in my rage and hatred of God, I was still only ever constantly thinking of God. No one dwells on God so intensely as the one who truly hates God.
Since I must live, I must find some joy, yes? I must do something, to ease my own suffering yes? I’m not even allowed to mind alter anymore. I’m not even allowed to escape by smashing my own consciousness into bits with drugs. I’m stuck for it.
Well, all that’s left to me, to ease my own suffering, is to ease the suffering of others by helping them place a proper context on their own life. I do this with words. That’s what reading so many books in the particular subjects I’ve read into does for a fella; it gives a proper context. It’s a very real thing.
I call this alchemy; I turn the shit of my life into gold for others. I give meaning to my own suffering, by helping others see more clearly why they too have suffered. So many of us are suffering tremendously. This is a rape culture of normalized child abuse. It’s been happening now for thousands of years. None of us asked for this, yet here we are.
Where I currently live I can’t find anyone who hasn’t been thoroughly abused as a child. I don’t sugar coat it. So if anything I am that; one who was horrendously abused as a child. Because of my nature, and the life I have lived; I am an advocate for those who cannot advocate for themselves. If I must live, and it seems I must; I will roar like a dragon until the day I die; Stop Abusing My Brothers! I’m here to burn it all down.
I mostly do shadow work. It is generally only ever hard work. That’s why I gave the warning as I did in the first paragraph. Taking up disagreements with me will only ever go one way; it will only ever get a person shadow worked.
I do what works, plain and simple. As my favorite human ever, arguably the greatest shaman of our time, once said, “One does not become enlightened by imagining figures of light, but by making the darkness conscious. The latter procedure, however, is disagreeable and therefore not popular.” Well, Jung wasn’t kidding about that, because it definitely does not make a fella popular.
Most run screaming for the hills. The truth is harsh, and it burns going down. Don’t worry though, I won’t give chase. I can’t. It’s against the rules of engagement.
I made this photo once upon a time when I was first stepping into my calling. If anything I am absolutely outrageous. Just straight up ridiculous. Everyone agrees on that. A real deal Sacred Clown as they say. When I created this image I was still working out of myself the raging narcissism just giving absolutely everyone the biz. It’s a long process undoing that.
Still living in a small rural midwestern town everyone thought I was the devil, so afraid of truth were they. They still don’t want to hear it, but I can’t help it. I did the thing. I went off all alone, into nature, and surrendered my life. I prayed with all my might; GOD! I just want to be what I was born to be! Not what these fools have made me! I did that with all my heart; I’m riding that wave right into the ground.
Maybe show me some love. Help a fella out. I know what I write isn’t for everyone, but maybe you know someone who could be benefited by it. I’m over here just bleeding out all over this cheap keyboard, on an antique tablet one of my Brothers gave me. Doing what I must do.
Peace.
