And Then the Devil Comes out of Nowhere.

 "The sharp edge of a razor is difficult to pass over; thus the wise say the path to salvation is hard,"

So, I participated in a local ride, a fundraiser for Aids. A very good cause, put on by incredibly motivated and gifted people. It was a great ride, a wonderful day and a lot of money was raised. It was also a day where I was surrounded by alcohol at every turn. Normally, not a problem. After a couple of hours I found myself increasingly on guard... the vibrant colors and the hard-to-define smoke and lime scent of the iced margaritas mixed with that of lemon, orange and sultry aroma of the cheap pinot used to make the sangria were beginning to take a toll.

Sometimes a relapse is that simple. The mine fields present themselves when I am at my most relaxed and unaware.

I could see the noose out of the corner of my eye. A line from the 1984 movie "The Razors Edge" came to me. When, Sophie, faced with the bottle of absinthe, as her old but jealous friend, Isabel, was savoring the amber colored drink before her, extolling its virtues. "It's like listening to music by moonlight" she said.

And I know that is all it would take, just that one. And the truth of the matter is, I don't know if I would come back.

One Simple Word

You have just one word to describe yourself. If you could describe yourself all encompassed, really quickly, sum yourself up, in one simple word. What would that word be? For me? That's easy. 

At this time in my life the word would be: Wanderer. 

My city

The weather is glorious and the beauty of being a freelancer is that I can slide out and get in it anytime I want. Somehow, the mail always gets through and the boss is not going to miss me for an hour or two.

Cyclocross practice started a few days ago and my legs are feeling the deep ache from running for the first time in months... so I took it easy and made some time to look at the sites that surround me on my daily rides. One of my favorite parts of a ride is heading back east on Woodsweather road, past the River Bend Antique Flea Market and up the decrepit old bridge that takes me under the Broadway and up to my pad.

It gives me the warm fuzzy's... being surrounded by all these structures that hail back to the industrial revolution, random art and chunks of old carnivals along the side of the road, street people and vendors who I recognize from months of riding here. The sounds of rail cars coming through and the smell of fall settling in has different connotations for me now than it did at this time last year. It feels like anything is possible and that my turn is coming.

Old Kansas City, at its best.

The genuine article

Serious Mother F*ckers. 

When we see them, we know it. They don’t come around often. They are like the wild second cousins that my mother would not allow in the house because she was afraid of them and their effect on me while all I could do was stare in slack-jawed admiration. I think she knew the battle was already lost. If you are very lucky, you might have one who exists on the periphery.

I’m not too proud to say that I still aspire to this level of badassery in my own life. Every day.

Writing myself alive: The year I said "F*ck it."

 

This is what I have been doing, since August 1, 2014. Daily. Without fail. Even if it is just a sentence or two. 

 

I gave myself the permission to let it come. Sometimes tightly edited. Sometimes in messy little uncensored piles that weren’t much to look at and made me wonder just what the hell I was thinking.
I’d look, close the door on it and move to the next day, and the next one after that, until I had a pretty big pile of thoughts, poems, story’s and mixed up balls of words that I didn’t know what to do with.

But there it was. My year.

I was able to go back through all of it, pick up the thread and see where it was leading to. The struggle, all the sentences, words and ideas were leading me back... to a version of me that I wasn’t quite sure of yet.

Stronger, more sure, able to be still and listen.
Iron, reshaped and fresh out of the forge.
Smoke, still rolling off of my shoulders.

Sometimes you have to travel to places that are unfamiliar and far away in order to do the work that has got to be done. Nobody needs to understand or approve. It’s just you, giving yourself time and attention.

I’m not finished with this chapter yet, but I am coming to the end and knocking the final edges off.