I met Z after hurricane Ian when we hired his tree service to clean up two trees that fell in my back yard. My neighbor’s sister L is married to Z so they gave us a deal. Allison and I helped Z and his crew clean up the waste. We had nothing to do anyways and it felt good to be around other people. J is Z’s older cousin. J and I started to talk about motorcycles and his ATV, I told him I had a 84’ Honda Magna which I’m sorely missing.
J wanted me to give his 4 wheeler a spin and I did. J is one of the OG’s in the local dirt bike crew that rips around North Sarasota, alone or in packs. No one wears helmets or considers traffic. I’ve always thought that crew was cool and was happy that one of the Old Heads is cool with me. Seeker told me one time I’d never meet someone who hated a white guy more than an old black dude. I agreed and understand why I agree, so it feels like an honor that Z and J are cool to me.
As the day was winding down Z and me got to talking. Z had sunglasses on and a highlighter yellow long sleeve, he wore a gold chain with a large gold cross that sat in the middle of his chest. Z was smoking a newport and telling me about the time he was in a bad car accident.
Z was T-boned by an old lady who ran a red light. They dealt with the accident and he went home from there and took a shower. Z was feeling weird when he got dressed after the shower, like he couldn’t feel anything from the neck down. He was saying this to a friend when Z collapsed.
His friend drove him to the hospital. At the ER he was told that nothing was wrong. Weeks went by and he still felt strange. Z went to another doctor and another, both said that he was fine. Later he went to a hospital in Lakewood Ranch and finally a doctor told him what was up - he broke a vertebrae in his neck and he shouldn’t have been able to walk into the hospital that day or at all.
Z says he won’t get the surgery, he doesn’t want to go through the procedure and he feels fine to this day. While he was telling me all this I had to ask him to repeat over and over certain parts. I was stunned. To me he seemed completely healthy and I would have never guessed he’d had a broken neck. When he told me all this I kept looking at the cross he wore. Z is a man of faith. I don’t know if he had faith before his accident, I don’t see why he wouldn’t, but the story about his injury struck me as an absolute miracle.
Besides Z’s story, I’ll tell you about my grandfather. Dadaw was born and raised in Newport News, VA. His father was a WWII vet and a POW to the Japanese. From what I know Dadaw’s father never talked about his POW days, but he let Dadaw know about it. He beat the hell out of Dadaw when he was growing up.
In 1969 Dadaw was drafted to fight in Vietnam. Dadaw did two tours in Vietnam after he declined his father’s offer to pay for him to flee to Canada. Apparently the old man loved Dadaw enough to want to spare him the horrors of war, but Dadaw served his country and dealt with all that came with that choice. I don’t think he ever considered it as a choice.
Dadaw worked for the shipyard in downtown Newport News when he got home from the war. Years later he got a job working as a maintenance man in housing projects. He smoked a lot of pot which he kept mostly secret and drank a lot of cheap beer and rum which wasn’t kept secret. When he drank he was either goofy or crabby, but never evil. I lived with Memaw and Dadaw from ages six to sixteen and in that time I did everything to make their lives difficult.
About 4 years ago Dadaw got sober and he’s still active with his AA group. Since the sobriety he’s gotten more spiritual, which comes with AA as is the common joke, but it’s not a joke at all. His faith keeps him grounded and clean, which he is extremely grateful for. In the recent years we talk a lot on the phone, which we hardly ever did - talk - when I was growing up and he was drinking and getting high. For that I am extremely grateful and while I’m not sober, I don’t have a problem drinking, more so with pot, I’ve toned down my habits because just through seeing Dadaw’s example I could see that I was covering something up. Living life in a cloud of smoke, keeping my consciousness in a daze. Now that I’ve slowed my pace getting high is actually enjoyable and not an obligation.
There was a point when I had a very bad streak of snorting pharmaceutical meth (adderall) , getting wasted and stoned just about every weekend - ideally by myself. I wrote all of my first poetry book in that time. I took way too much acid at a point for weeks on end. Not big doses, but at least twice a week I’d take one or one and a half tabs, even very bad “acid” which i think was 2cb blotter paper - that sucked. At a certain point acid felt like a revelation, which lifted me out of a life long depression and into a manic creative spree, but quickly it turned dark. To where I was convinced I was being spied on by every person I knew. If you brought up something I coincidentally had read or a song I heard I’d start doing math in my head. Like you were given a dossier on me and meant to keep me occupied - talk about my interests to keep my ego a float - all the while I was being filmed or monitored as a Manchurian candidate. I’m sure I seemed insane, because I was. I was in a state of psychosis for like 3 years until 2019.
When a person over stimulates their upper chakras as I had done, and without a solid lower - that is how psychosis manifests. The chaotic energy is enjoyed by your lower instincts which are very comfortable living in a world of torture.
At a certain point I reasoned with myself that if I was a schizophrenic then I have to compartmentalize the delusions, which kind of helped me ignore it. I’m thankful I was never sent to a hospital because I’m fully certain I would have been put on meds and zombified, which would have made me believe the persecution delusions even harder.
It was the demon of repression having it’s way with me and I’m glad I wrestled with it. I call it the crucible and I would live through that insane period all over again if it meant getting to where I am now.
Facing those delusions gave me a self respect and acknowledgment of my limitations. I felt like a psycho(tortured) for so long, then when I met all these cool people in the hardcore scene so I had to pretend I wasn’t tormented by my upbringing. Most people in the hardcore scene are very well adjusted. I felt like I got my own Vietnam until I was 18 and had to pretend I didn’t. It’s funny that I considered my crazy night terrors to be some far out “realm of maya” and not a product of PTSD, which is maya. It’s funny how the ego will play chess with itself to avoid what really must be dealt with.
I don’t think I should have as good as a life as I do now if there wasn’t someone looking out for me. Sometimes I don’t feel like I deserve it, there are plenty of cases in my life when I feel like I should have died or I could be in a mental institution. I don’t know what has gotten me this far, but I call it God. He speaks to me through other peoples experiences, through books and music, through Buddhism and My Own Christianity, through people like Z and my grandfather. I mean speak as in resonance, faith is trusting the love of resonance. You will live in the scientific and technological world, so having faith and gratitude can only bring more fulfillment. I don’t care for debating about God or who is spiritual or isn’t, because I’ve met people who claim to be atheists, but who I know are watched over by God. I think gratitude and God are tied very close. That’s the kind of place I try to live from these days.
God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
courage to change the things I can,
and wisdom to know the difference.
-Reinhold Niebuhr