Wednesday, December 23, 2015



Temecula, CA – Some say time passes while others predict that history repeats itself. Each of these ideas deal with time as an element, a concept, a principle, or a dimension. Some say, as my oldest son did recently, that time is a motherf'er; others, overseas at CERN, are trying to crack the walls of time, and as anyone can read in the headlines of any country's newspapers, we are caught in the grip of some bad times.

What if I told you that time, or Time, is a person or was, but now is three persons who exist as Past, Present, and Future? And how do I know this to be true?

We all enjoy a well written time travel story, like the one from H.G. Wells. Some of us have seen modern time stories that suggest time can be manipulated [Twelve Monkeys] or is manipulated [The Adjustment Bureau].

The above picture taken from a recent story run in the national commercial press about the Greek money meltdown illustrates that the actual construct of time, is the latter. If you're not Greek but are Christian-raised and schooled, this will be truly 'Greek' to you.

First, if you are a very new reader here, the purpose of many stories presented have a hidden theme of moving you away from the 'tourist section' of humanity and over toward the wings section of Shakespeare's Stage. We all know what is happening to tourists these days [Colo, Paris, San Berdo] so you don't want to be a tourist now-a-days even if you attend some church, mosque, or temple six days a week since those are the guys waging destruction, as is written to happen.

So if you have a curious mind about a day of the week being originally named after a handsome Marvel super hero, read on and prepare to move further from center stage concerning humanity.

Most of the events in Memoirs happened in a timely fashion, ie, I grew up in a stable environment, in a stable country, in a stable world. We had the bomb, the biggest fleet, the best country, and the most freedom. But while all that was true, it is true at a distance. Like an apartment the landlord lets you inspect at night, in the daylight things are much more clear.

In the daylight I grew from a child of propaganda to a teen of understanding. I saw the cracks in the wall. Regardless of what the Constitution said, I was a second class citizen in a first class country. I joined with Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr to free our town's lunch counters, cause they would take our money for clothes but not food. Bullshit! Later I was photographed at a demonstration to open an amusement park to the people who lived within walking distance but weren't allowed entrance [ISBN 978-1-935497-36-3, page 189].

What makes this park instance so memorable wasn't that I got photographed, or even appeared decades later in print (though my grandfather predicted that), no, what makes this remarkable to me now as then, it was the first time that my mother blessed my political action, having found out about my other protests in Dr. King's movement by accident. After that it dawned on me that I came from a family which was different and one not understood by outsiders [ISBN 0-8131-1674-0, page 114-5].

When I first left home to be completely apart from my familiar setting of stability in a new city, a week into my move brought forth two incidents that stayed with me, and have to this day. I mixed cultures first. No, not racially though that would come later, this time was even more basic. I smoked a re-rolled Kool cigarette joint, spaced on my recent new beginning and my still hurting past, then knelt to pray my nightly prayers just as I had done thousands of times past.

During those times I had asked for presents, to help pass a test, to offer thanks for a gift asked for and received, and to offer condolences or ask for medical miracles on behalf of those I love, but this night brought something completely different. My life changed forever and at the time I didn't even realize it. It was changed because in the second incident I was approached by the Masters of Time whom I prefer to think of more as illustrated below.

Illustration by Silverwynd

The story of my life is a story of stages. The hometown stage. The political/entrepreneur stage. The culture shift stage. Then comes the path shift stage, Chapter 7, and my life slipped off into the forest and turned a corner to be lost from the normal line of sight. But I wasn't lost. I was on the path these women offered which I accepted.

And what of my George Bailey-style 'Wonderful Life' decision? My Bedford Falls other path meant I would die in disgrace at a young age because I had transgressed an immortal law that I was ignorant of having a typical male ego. I had tossed aside a young girl's love when she offered it with a pure heart. Except this girl was Catholic. Nuff said. Two later future events showed the decision to be the right one as I experienced two footprints in the sand moments.

Still I did not know or know anything about my mysterious benefactors but from time to time they were felt or seen [ISBN-13: 978-1478318217, page 275-6]. My path took a wandering and sometimes a hot wheels course with the side ridges to keep me on track. Like a pinball, every kicker was hit but where others hit illness or stable married lives, signposts of normality, my balls were rattling in rooms where things go bump in the night. Like a hobbit, I had my Bible, my friends, and my weed. The book Memoirs chronicles my hobbit fun.

A journey is always forwards and so the wake of my journey is why listening to Fleetwood Mac songs bring tears to my eyes; lost loves, lost families, lost memories, lost stability, but always a forward motion through life, through time. When I came to Southern California, Murrieta, something said, 'This is your stop.'

Indeed it was and is. Out here came works besides Memoirs; besides a new hope, a new life. It was toward the century rollover that I found out time's identity being the moirai, aka The 3 Fates. Turns out that while we collectively in the states don't know them, they are 'Three Women of Vietnam', the three stages of womanhood, and the inspiration for Macbeth's 3 Witches, among a myriad of other themes we take for granted because they are commonplace, a part of our matrix like Thursday.

For some the question may be, 'Are we alone?' But as you read in Memoirs the query is more, 'How un-alone are we?' On page 293, I share an experience that added to the emotional punch of Charlie Ferguson's Time To Choose, an excellent new documentary on climate change. The fact that we don't think of the earth as alive, or at least many of us don't, is testimony of how well the twin towers of religion and science have hemmed our minds in.

At the end of what should be my journey, given my age, I have come to know the Masters of Time and its two lessons. The first is that there was only one road for my life to reach up to this point, and that is the reason everything played out the way it did. For all the heartbreak, not another second or one more hug was to be allowed. That seems a little cruel until you realize lesson #2, Memoirs is a prequel. As said somewhere in the autobiography, the way to believe what I reveal is to see where the knowledge comes from. What I bring is what they almost succeeded in paving over in Paradise to look true at a distance. Their parking lot. ['they paved Paradise, put in a parking lot']

MERRY CHRISTMAS and don't forget to leave 'no-growth hormone' milk and organic lemon bars out for Santa, he's fat enough – the Crew at the Calendar.

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