“Intimate relationship” with "God..." by THOR

I have been under a new insight or understanding of an intimate relationship which I have been experiencing for over ten years. If one were to categorize relationships I would say they start at a simple introduction, an acquaintance, a working relationship, a friendship, a family member and finally an intimate relationship, and each one having many levels. I have learned I have a very special and intimate relationship with God. I will expand on this concept by giving a correlation between our daily experiences and that of a person within a faith based relationship. I say faith based for I truly believe no matter what religion or form of spirituality a person indulges in a higher understanding and enlightenment leads a person to a closer relationship with God. I don’t want to split hairs with what religion is right. I feel that is just presumptive and incorporates us judging each other and on some levels judging, whose God or scriptures are correct, and whose are wrong, and most of all my strongest argument is the expansiveness and greatness of the concept God that we as humans can conceive is unable to understand and comprehend the vastness and infinitesimal entity of God. If all religions build a better person, community, or relationship with a spiritual path; who are we as humans to judge what is considered holy by a people?

I digress but that being said let us create our comparison of relationships. An introduction to a person may take the form of a social surrounding meeting, a work meeting, or a gentle passing through which we may learn the persons name what they do, where they are going or maybe what they like what they did; for, the forms of human contact and communication are many and varied. In comparison a person who does not know a spiritual path or an inclination of social religious community when first introduced may have and ask a simple question.

Little Todd a boy of maybe five asked me once. “Thor. Who is God? I just don’t get it.” I looked over my shoulder to Todd his father and Wendy his lady and partner in their new relationship. One that now included a new and blossoming spiritual path of Christianity and waited for a response from them; for , I would not answer such a question without a parental approval. They gave their okay, and replied in the simplest answer I could. “God is love, he is everything and everywhere’ He is in your parents and in the air and even in this table.” as I rapped my knuckles on the coffee table. “He loves you and I and wants us to be good people, so we can share our and his love.” I waited a moment while he figured out what I said and gathered his own understanding, and then asked, “Does that make sense?” He screwed up his face like only a little boy could and said, “Yea I think so.” What Little Todd had just gone through was a move from his introduction of God through going to church with his parents to an acquaintance with God.  

            I find a friendship requires work a sharing of experiences, and emotions that take many forms. I could be grown from a work relationship, a common goal, or a close proximity like family or community. I could be based on shared ideas, feelings, or desires. What is does require is a personal investment from an individual reaching out to another individual, pet, or entity in this case we speak of God. To become a friend of God one must communicate with God through prayer, read scriptures to find a spiritual path, or become God like in human form by such acts as charity, service, or expressions of our own love. In doing this one creates a personal connection to their higher power. People may strive to become part of a religious community, to follow others in this quest, and emulate through this understanding a way of life that brings them ever closer to them selves, and to God. This is a friendship with God and can be seen in patriarchs and matriarchs of given church families or by the holy persons or priests, that give their lives to such an endeavor. The friends we have in life may range from passing to life long depending on circumstance or involvement, and directly proportionate to how much personal investment is made in the relationship. A friend from work may be a comrade in business, but not in community, or a parent maybe a friend in your life giving love and investment through childhood and beyond. I find this relationship can be very full filling if God is the friend and creates assurances of faith and love. This is in essence and understanding what a friendship with god is and I can sum it up by repeating a very well known poem called foot steps.

   Footsteps In The Sand

One night a man had a dream.
He dreamed he was walking along the beach with the LORD.
Across the sky flashed scenes from his life.
For each scene, he noticed two sets of footprints in the sand:
one belonging to him, and the other to the LORD.

When the last scene of his life flashed before him
he looked back, at the footprints in the sand.
He noticed that many times along the path of his life
there was only one set of footprints.
He also noticed that it happened at the very lowest and saddest times of his life.

This really bothered him and he questioned the LORD about it:
"LORD, you said that once I decided to follow you,
you'd walk with me all the way.
But I have noticed that during the most troublesome times in my life
there is only one set of footprints.
I don't understand why when I needed you most you would leave me."

The LORD replied:
"My son, My precious child, I love you and I would never leave you,
During your times of trial and suffering,
when you see only one set of footprints, it was then that I carried you."

Faith is the substance of things hoped for the evidence of things not seen, and is the first line of Hebrews chapter eleven. To maintain a friendship with God requires a heavy devotion  and faith and can lead to an intimacy equal to a best friend, a brother or sister, a husband or wife who shares this commitment, joys and sorrows to a higher level never leaving your side. This person is building upon an intimate relationship with another human or their higher power. We reveal our inner selves without a façade, raw and visceral, learning giving and changing in tandem over the years. A life time is revealed and so with it the shared grace, enlightenment, or blessings become part of the relationship. I would say most of these relationships have evidence of the path spiritual and to some extent material signs of growth in their nature. An individual who has expressed, nurtured, and devoted their faith and spiritual energy into this arena with God begins to see the results in life by developing eye and heart to recognize the cause and effect of the spiritual path. At this point intimacy is attained by mans toil and work, and by our own spiritual growth.

Another way intimacy with God can be attained is through direct evidence by our higher power within our material and spiritual world. It could be by miracle, intervention, a message or as in my case a path likened to destiny. I say this not to gloat or raise feelings of pride within myself but more of a realization of the many steps of my spiritual growth that have blossomed within me in a very short period of time. I was barely an acquaintance of God or a spiritual path and more over a unbeliever of direct interaction of a spiritual form on this world and even further from the concept of God in my life not just ten years ago. I often have herd Pastor Bolden of my church Grace Memorial say, “We found God because he wanted us, and if God calls you. It is your time to come to him” Most would see this expression as cause and effect. The cause being looking for a spiritual path or turning away from a less noble way of life thus finding a higher, better, or religious way of living and then, finding God as the effect. A very small amount of us truly believe that God came and interacted within our life so we could follow a path to him. I find myself in that group for I wanted no such expression in my life. What I did want was a way to let loose my pain and there bye find a way to help others who might have had experienced the same suffering that I had. At that point of despair and lack of faith I reached out my heart and asked for healing. What I got was ever so much more. I received an experience with God and knowledge of him working, leading, and preparing me for his work, by overcoming the shortfalls in my character, and the troubles of my life. I began to have direct evidence of good and evil, of the spirit world, of the powers of not just light and God but also the darkness and the cohorts of the devil. This applies to this material world and my inner world as each one changed with every experience and tribulation I underwent. God became as real to me as the rain falling from the sky and the wetness it lay upon my hand. God is not something I can dismiss or explain away. God has become concrete and real in my life. I realize I may have put myself in company with saints and prophets. I do not deny or assert this as correct. I often wondered why others of faith did not act in the same way as I when it came to beatitudes and spiritual affirmations and was at a lost when I could see clearly what others could not in vision. What I do come to realize is what I have is very special and is very personal, and for that I have realized how blessed and graced I am.

Thor

"Grandpa's Toes"

(I got a face book question from one of my cousins so this story started from the letter I wrote her) Yes. (in rely to her question, if I was one of her forty five cousins, Jerome’s boy?). I just started my chapter in Minnesota in the book I'm writing.  I asked Dad, Jerome Ernst for the listing of who's who of my 16 Aunts and uncles and forty five cousins just last night in an email. I remember a lot. Grandpa's funeral was the last time I was there. I kind of knew then I wouldn't be back for a long time and haven’t been since. The year was 1987. I was 19 and the life of childhood kind of ended with the lowering of him in the grave. Bobbie Ernst and I were both on the ground on our knees with tears streaming from our eyes attempting to fill the void and hole that lay before us. My father stood behind me and Uncle George stood behind Bobbie.  There hands resting on our shoulders in gray understanding in the gravity of our moment, the change that we were weathering and holding us up as long as they could. We were silently, reverently, flowing our grief out long after everyone had left at the side of Grandpa’s grave. I think we both knew something very significant was happening. I had been chosen to be one of the pole bearers and had stopped at the hearse saying, “We can carry him.” breaking the great silence that thundered from the shuffling feet of over a hundred people, punctuated by the sound of someone’s grief in a small cry or loosed whimper, or wail that came from the hearts of the gathering outside the church where Grandpa had played the organ for over forty years. As if by shear will and strength we could hold back my growing up and keep my boyhood summer alive again, forever. The answer given by quiet words and gentle gestures was no, and we loaded Grandpa into the hearse and followed him around the building. I was one of the ones who had place at the funeral, and five other pale bearers my cousin Ritchie beside me with aunt Cathy leading the voice in our hearts as she struggled through tears to speak when her turn came upon the churches pulpit, and Bobbie. Bobbies “Grandpa’s Fingers”or "Grandpa's Toes" was the name he gave to the song or something the like with love written into the title he skillfully picked out on his guitar echoing the laughter and smile in Grandpa’s way and face. We had lived in the world of boys and were stead fast friends on my visits to Uncle George’s farm. Kneeling side by side, hands loosely at our sides while our frames wracked by unanswered grief and sorrow. We shared for the last time, a moment as boys again on the side of Grandpa’s grave. I remembered his laughter, his devotion; I remembered his working hard and his knobby hands. I remembered playing in the back yard on the metal swing set and slide as our parents visited inside making plans before I would be off on some adventure to Aunt Ireans to play with Mark and goof with Mary. I remembered getting in trouble for blowing up eggs with fire crackers and Bobbie and I having to scrub the pole barn clean. I remembered being locked into the washing machine out back of the barn when Ritchie and Mary asked me if I could fit into it. I remembered having to gallop Ginger and Buttercup when Michael and I went riding in the evening to keep the mosquitoes away. I remembered the way Grandma’s apple pie smelled when she had been baking all day. I remembered the great meals and boundless food when we all gathered for reunions filling the house chosen that year with more than people but with laughter and great whoops of joy. I remembered catching a croaker fish, one that voiced its displeasure for being caught with verbosity one cold morning when Grandpa, Dad and I went fishing, and how that was the only fish we caught all day except for a mini perch which Grandpa said was to small. (We took it home and Grandma fried it up anyway.) I remembered the chorus of this song that year that seemed to be repeating itself in my ears with the same chorus line repeating over and over as in some inner mockery. I looked up at my father as he held on for those few more seconds and said through wet checks and blurry eyes if by these words alone I could chase the dread away and repeated the line bright and cheery as I could. One last humongous herculean effort daring anyone to stop our boyhood, I put on my best smile with teeth drawn back and said while turning my head so all could see my defiance and said, “Don’t worry be happy!”

Thor

Divine Address requested

Letter to my Angel,

I wonder about how I should react in certain situations and find my self looking backward to find an example or lesson that may give light to the present situation. My current situation is that I am injured and praying for healing and humbly accepting things that are coming to help me, for all things can be seen in that way with proper vision. So the fact that I have been in ill health over the last several months of body and experienced a taxing upon my mind; I find security now comes from acceptance to achieve and hold a state of peace. Living in the now is allowing the healing to come whether it is by hand or heart for it is my job to be as well as possible. I would think that cancer survivors, patients, or wounded soldiers would well understand what I just said. “To have unshakable faith is a powerful ally” in the holy way. I look back now after your last correspondence and think what does it mean and how should I take it?

   Several years ago I was doing a short four day sanction from my probation officer when I lived in Florence Oregon. In the Municipal center the internal cell structure is bleak and void of communication, recreation, and even a view outside. The only time of day is measured by the three meals or day and night which filter through clouded glass far above your head. Four days in this vacuum is like being in a segregation cell. On the way into this cell I stopped at the table and quickly grabbed two handfuls of books from this table where a short supply lay for those incarcerated who numbered a few at most. Out of the eight books I chose three of them left there mark upon me. Two of them were about prisons and the central characters existence within their struggle one was a young Catholic lady from Norway who traveled along a line up of prisons each one getting more and more destitute until finally landing at Auschwitz. In the beginning of her journey she was allowed guests home food and pleasantries far exceeding my situation and I listened with yearning of the lax conditions and could almost taste the sugar cookies she was eating all nestled with chair, quilt, and candle. I read on and soon found myself hasty in my ascertaining of her plight, and quickly gave in in mournful pose to her dilemma. She lived, barely. The next book had me engaging in a tour, of one day in the life of an eastern Siberian prison worker. Our “Man” in the tale spends all trick and favor to wriggle and wrangle situations often incurring insult and danger for his next step, while maintaining his work to the satisfaction of his overlords, and upon the end of the day he is a well fed person who has an extra potato and a scrap of bread. This story left me thankful for the TV dinners and the sandwiches that I survived off of on my four day holiday. The next book had its deepest impact for it spoke about a simple man of god and a community that I am invested in, and a part of. The book was the “Cross and the Switchblade”. In it David Wilkerson begins a campaign to help inner city youth with a couple of sandwiches, money for a hotel, and his car which he drives several hundred miles from a small one parish town in rural Pennsylvania to the Barrios and Ghettos of New York City. His charge is the gangs, the lost youth, the addicts and the girls lost in the shuffle. The book continues on involving him in a life long process of creating a place of merit and of gods love in the heart of suffering. As I read on I find his stories about last second financial hurdles and instant cash where he needed it dubious after it kept happening. I don’t like my leg pulled if I’m reading a story. I continue. I would like to say at this point, I have no idea of the fact I am reading a non-fiction book. I had one of those moments when you’re reading the back page giving extra information about the story and have a little epiphany followed by chills and my hair standing on end. The information told me this was a true story. I have had the opportunity and blessing to witness to several instances where a divine power has made its self apparent over the last eleven years and each one leaves me amazed and has profoundly changed me. I was released, yet the message and lesson never left me, from those four days, seven years ago. I now am not doubtful about the ability of blessings, praying for what is needed, or the hand of Gods or his saints in the community to give reprieve or help when needed. David Wilkerson was commemorated upon his death April 28, 2011 just a short time ago. I caught part of the show on television. Wilkerson’s Teenage Challenge and World Challenge are now in several of the largest urban areas around America and have been helping the lost and suffering children since he started the program. In that way of hope and faith that is represent in the David Wilkerson’s story; I know, I will find the ability to become healed.

Thor

Letter from the Grave prelude to Peace-UP Dragon

“Letter from the Grave”

End Game 

“Oppressed people cannot remain oppressed forever. The urge for freedom will eventually come” This is a quote from Martin Luther King Junior’s “Letter from the Birmingham Jail”; his words were like thunder across a stormy sky daring our humanity not to listen. The legacy he left, a reminder to the community, too always do what is just no-matter how off the society and his idea conflicted at the time. The booming references to the solidarity in an oppressed people who are in the action phase of their non-violent issue pushes forth a raw ethos in Dr. King’s letter.  The struggle he is in the midst of is one that has become rife for change, and one of which he has become the chosen leader thereof. Dr. King’s investment and loyalty in his work was reflected in the steadfastness of his spirituality and compassion for his fellow man. Ending in his death; I bet you he was smiling and cursing.  I too have aspired to be a voice for those in our community, my brothers and sisters who have kept silent during their time, a message from beyond the  grave for some, the telling of their suffering in a chaotic world labeled, pursued, attacked, and buried everyday. In this country which would not have them, for they had lived off the grid fending off the inevitable run in with the Authority while keeping enough motivation to find serenity and satisfaction on a day to day basis.   I do not liken or compare my self to Dr. King for his shadow far diminishes any that I have created. I will say the voice of those people being oppressed is still there, that the need for justice is still a noble goal, and that the oppressed will eventually cry out for freedom. I have just been making that cry heard. Let the truth out. The game is full of pain, pleasure, suffering and, cycling or ending with rebirths or deaths. The numbers tell the real story. Remember each one is a life, a life that is going on or passed. I think of all the years I have seen in this war, all the lives that have been forever changed by the infiltration and introduction of crack cocaine and symbiotically the drug war in 1984’. A generation has passed with no end in sight for the epidemic or  the oppression of all who exist, have ventured into, or speak openly about. I shake off these chains of self doubt that betray my fear and embrace a change that inevitably will come about. Once again good men have stood by to long while the wicked have bared the way for a peaceful end to this conflict on our streets so we can begin to heal those who are struggling and suffering with their disease. America communities can rebuild, refocus, and enjoy dinner around the corner and just down the street from the “Promised Land”.

He opens his letter which is addressed to a select audience, an audience whom which he considers his equals of for they are all men of god, and pillars in their community. Firstly, he lets his audience know why he is in jail; furthermore, why he is in Birmingham. The answer he gives is simple, injustice. At one point he gives the four social steps to creating a non-violent movement. 1. The injustice must be present. 2. The need for or attempts at negotiation must be made. 3. The purification of those who will take part in the final step. 4. Action.   He continues to give responses to the allegations of being an extremist by relating his actions to extremists of the past such as Jesus and Paul, who he feels to be in fine company with. A special dissertation which takes several paragraphs’ is then relayed to his readers; it is about the churches doctrine and teachings which call for speaking out against suffering and its removal wherever it exists. He furthermore calls them to action as good men; for, he says it is their duty as men of god. Dr. King speaks of the brutalities suffered by those with him in vivid fashion dispelling any falsities’ portrayed by the media and puts the truth front and center. His call for action was evident in his own stance and of those who suffered and toiled by his side. The letter many pages long says over and over there is need for change and supports this fact with all forms of argument logos,  pathos, and ethos each driving home his intent repeatedly like a great sledge hammer.

Again I am not Dr. King. The story I tell and the voice of those who live in the world I give insight to are real. The oppression of our fellow American in the counter culture or any one associated with the Drug world and as well the squandering of the massive amount of funds used to fight this war is a on going blight on the American people. Peace-UP has graduated from just a message to a movement. Dragon is a call for the purification of self. For ten years I have been an ardent voice and an active player in the message and movement of Peace-UP. My action is my personal evolution, my tribute, my song to the American people.

I give you Peace-UP VI Dragon, may Dr. King’s letter from Birmingham Jail be resurrected to serve as a seed sprouted of his words.

I have waited a year. Results take time to measure. The results are well defined and prominently give heed to new strengths. The aspect of addressing the mind while using…? I will tell you later when I have spent some time in my recovery mind, clean.

Peace-Up “Thor”  

I dedicate this writing to all those who have suffered in their pains, prisons, and disease over the last 25 years. Most of all this is for those who died in this world may we as a community remember their sacrifice, AND

      Do something different

                                    For different results.

                                                          Reconciliation.

I am about four in “Dragon Years” now. The changes I have under gone and the speed that I accomplished them has been amazing to me at times. I have newer and more detrimental fields where my battles are now being fought. I have a grand amount of faith at this point. I wish I could just reach out and share it, yet at least I will give a picture through my eyes of what battles are won for me on this final battle field. I know I am in a fight for my life. In a way I have already won.

Present day THOR

Peace-UP Family V

I had written Peace-UP Thunder during the Summer of 2006. The writing was I felt the end of the work I was doing. I was entering into Lane Community College full time during the Fall term and wanted to be able to concentrate completely on my Career. I came to visit my sister Kelly who was my next door neighbor when I lived a 488 Blair. I was still baned from the property, so I had to meet her outside. She came at me arm extended with a medicine pouch hanging from her hand. She looked into my eyes with a strength of one who has a very important message and said, "The Kalamath Tribe say they want you to write Peace-UP Family." as she said this she handed me the medicine bag. I reached out to take it, and she added a line to her message as my hand touched the bag, "They said let no harm come to you" This was the first time any group had ever asked me to write a concept down. I took great honor in doing so. Every time I get the idea for a new writing it takes time for me to complete it. I must go through some form of experience and then gather what I have seen and formulate what I wish to say. I really think that the Elders in Kallamath Tribe expected me to write was Peace-UP VII Generations which is my next writing yet I still followed the path that was place in front of me. I had to see some more, feel some more, and experience something that I had not yet reached. Total addiction.
I give you Peace-UP Family V. 2007

PEACE-UP V

Family

Genesis

No place to run

No place to hide

Angels ride.

Fighting to laugh

Gangster path

Straight up

Hometown wrath

     Hustling just doesn’t pay the bills, time to put business into operation. “In order to remember, in hopes to retain, a moment spent staring, standing close, as quiet as the air hanging, only to move. It matters to slow, to stand still and take in the small things. There is a place within place and I want to understand nature; the space, the growth, the layers, and the natural way of expanse” This is a quote I found in the book I grabbed off of Nicole’s collection while at the free spot in the Whitaker neighborhood after we had left the chaos at the President Apartments one morning. “Thanks, love you.”  The book, “The Tao of Physics” was the template for the first pages of, “Peace-UP Family”; it continued on in a, “Winnie the Pooh” book that had a push button recording. It would say in Pooh’s voice “Boy! Am I glad to see you”; this would make Lynn jump out of her skin every time I pressed the button. It is time for this nation and all the, “Families” and “Clubs” to see the truth and join in solidarity for the future and the stake of our children.

     The dictionary defines family as follows; people living together, a group of people living together and functioning as a single household, usually consisting of parents, their children, and close relatives. Blood is thicker than water, law is lighter than flesh, and love is stronger than hate when fueled by passion and truth. I will do for my children at the cost of all or none, so to say I honor my mother and father by being the soldier and guardian of all our siblings is a reflection of my honor. Americas’ ability to become the world leader was always driven by the “Manifest Consumer”. The taking of a raw piece of land and, creating the richest and most powerful nation in the world is a direct response to capitalism and the, “Manifest Consumer”. The underground or outlaw factions required the highest alpha rating of the Manifest Consumer to maintain solidarity, growth, secrecy, and most of all implement plans for the future while a war was being waged against them. I will now give an inside look to the many truths that have been hidden and express a lifestyle not understood.

“Lost Girls and The Guardian”

     The Hells Angels call me the, “Guardian of Thirteen” I am the one who takes care of the, “Lost Girls” and finds those whose souls are on the edge or lost. The title of, “Guardian” is for one who goes above and beyond to ensure the welfare of the one he cares for, often above and beyond his own welfare. He is protector by invisible means or with lightning strike proficiency checkmating all opponents with strategic maneuvering. His physical peril and that of the girl in question leads to an alertness that is likened to a military state of mind. At the same time his energies are focused on directing the lady through such events safely and allowing her to see enough so the experience becomes one of growth. I took up this yoke as a penance and redemption for my actions against my own soul and that of a woman named DeLoyce who I was to marry. I was a weak and abusive man and had lost my own way for my sins against my own soul, which was shared with my lover. The penance to alleviate the weight burdened upon my soul maybe directly proportionate to the internal, “Conscience”. Using the conscience as a guide the positive force growing within may gather speed and become a lasting tribute; totally cleansing the soul and providing a template for a bright future. Lau Tzu states, “Those who are loved greatly gain strength. Those who love greatly gather courage.” I grew in strength and courage pledging my self to help other girls in need; only in doing this could I regain my honor. I have faith that some day one of the scores of women I have helped will give the message to DeLoyce that I have given to them. The story I tell is not just of my own life experiences, but also one I give those Lost Girls who I see in defeat and in complete misery. It is a story of love and redemption, what I would say, I will tell you later when you better know these ladies. A Lost Girl is often a top hustler in the game who is adept at finding and working situations to their advantages; be it for money, drugs, sex, or power plays, pitting foes against each other. They most often come from broken homes, are addicts, and have experienced some form of abuse, sexual or violent. The man who finds these girls in trouble must put aside pride and accusations of conduct towards her and must focus on being there and expressing unconditional love. Since all of these girls come from abusive or broken homes they most likely have not experienced this love that a parent or a or a life partner will provide. They are the most beautiful and longed after women by men. They have a light and energy that is almost tangible. Many of them feel that they have gone too far and have given up on the happiness and joy most people achieve. They are on the brink of real danger physically and spiritually. They readily do harm to them selves by cutting, addiction, burning hot showers, or allowing them selves to be a tool in acts of violence or sex. To do this they must mentally and emotionally break from themselves, so as to do which, for most of us, would be the unthinkable. I spent seven years in the game on a spirit walk; learning the ways of the underground, homeless and attending to the Lost Girls wherever I found them. I even went with no money for a while; during this time I became very close to the ladies, for I had no money or drugs just wisdom, love, and unseen power. I often became their only true friend, for I would give them advice based on what was best for them not my benefits or others. In turn they would be able to open up to me showing me the little girl inside of them that they show only to one, or divest their fears and dreams in me knowing these things would not be used against them, When I became close enough to them or felt the spirit move me to speak one; this is the story I tell. I look into their eyes past the tears and pain getting their full attention and begin. “There were three women at the base of Jesus’s cross when he died. Three very special and beloved women; they are Mary, the mother of James an apostle, Mary the Holy Virgin, mother of Jesus, and Mary Magdalene, a whore who had seven demons cast out of her. Three days later when Jesus rose from the dead. It was Mary Magdalene who the Angel spoke to announcing the miracle, and it was Mary Magdalene Jesus first spoke to on the road. She was the first to receive the gift of salvation.”  If you are one of these ladies reading this all you have to do is ask for your soul back. I have seen it many times and that is a blessing for, I would have given my life to have seen it just one time. Lost Girls, “LADIES” I got your back and so does Jesus.

“SPRINGFIELD, OR”

     There are three factions that ran the underground in Springfield, but soon the sale of recipes came to fruition. Several people were killed, one I knew and used to come to me to speak and gather wisdom.  The result of these actions was a break in the rules that had kept the seed of the, “Meth Epidemic” from being born. It is now in full tilt across this country unchecked; furthermore,  many roads lead back to here. The summer of 2000 was a turbulent time those who were her and in the know will remember who came with instructions to set their house right.  Springfield is now a town in dire straights as I write this in 2007. There is no form of strong community but many small factions all fighting for power and destroying the basic principles that give a community it’s cohesiveness, which are respect of you neighborhood, daily pleasantries, welfare for the common good, and freedom from molestation. It has become a battle ground with the children, elderly, neighborhoods’, businesses, and even it’s future growth taking on collateral damage. Family dysfunction is rampant and unchecked. No one is being there to referee this problems and, by the time the police or state agencies get involved it is to late for those involved. They must pay the greatest price, dissolution of their family. The ironic point is this; things are so bad that the people in Springfield will accept any solution that will put an end to the disruption of their community. Now I come back to the FS and the Familia; these are your people, your families. your hearts, your homes, your community, and  at this point your honor at stake. I have a deep respect for the MC and the Familia so I put this great challenge to you. Fix it! Begin by becoming the beacons and mentors of the community allowing others to learn from your wisdom, honor, and family values. BE first on the seen in disputes to referee, teach, and implement solutions; you have a greater pulse on the heart beat and actions within your neighborhoods than the police do. The Familia’s Hispanic origin gives lead to a strong family structure and respect that could be reflected in the community.  I have just come to give the message of truth; you will change the, “Valley of Death” to the Valley of LIGHT, LUCK, LOVE, and LIFE fulfilling the name of the, “Rainbow Valley”

“Tweek House”

     I have found passion, suffering, confusion, truth in silence, and life in music. Boy, these people are brave, and the base love that keeps them together is not of necessity in material things and pleasures, but of the present solidarity of a people who are in a civil imposed segregation camp, for their daily routine is of test, trails, and fortune. I came here without them truly knowing who I was, and in the ploy of a player. I was led by Tania who was gifted with a financial premonition of what is to come. Here I found; one man, who I suppose does his best to be giving, though his tongue gets overly twisted, with friends and a special relationship with the girls who live and pass, though that allows him to be the corner stone of communication. The ladies I must say “Oh, how much strength, Oh, how much strength, fortitude, cunning, and predatory instinct that is tempered with all the best that femininity provides.” The hustle and flow of the game has accelerated in all avenues. There are twists and turns; make head way or gather an objective with diligence, while in the midst of the daily chaos, for chaos influxes upon itself keeping all participants full of doubt, robbing them of faith and stability. In this place a family unit has been created with no blood ties. It is a non-compassionate liaison where one is fully expecting to find your friend, lover, or confident has strayed. The flesh is weak and easily sated with pleasures; the commanding of these pleasures leads to abandon, or desperation; love truly plays no part except as a passing fancy. The worst thing in the world is to be withheld affection. Why is love the one commodity we put the highest price on and are so will to give the very least? This house with it’s function, preserves the notion that love even in the most adverse conditions can out weigh suffering, and the hopes that a change can be motivated, coaxed, and brought to fruition while not draining the communities resources or piece of mind is evident. Their allegiance to outsiders is based on drugs, power, prestige, sex, or money. They may wish to convey more, for I do not blame them for being bad people or weak. The game rules their lives; consequently, their control is very limited to what is right in front of them, and how much the cops using fear, delegate or ignore.     

“Whitaker Neighborhood”

“The Hood”

     The cultures of rebels, whom for the most part are outlaws, are focused around which drug world they inhibit and where they get them. Since this area sports all the illegal drugs and prostitution most players don’t make it out of the “Hood”; no need to. The “Tweekers” are the most prominent and resourceful. The leading group or core is based around the girls and male figures that posses “Alpha” male attributes. Though their numbers are not that large; they only can be truly living and sharing by small groups; which are plagued and torn by doubt, lies, and drama. Since most of these fringe personas are derived from broken homes; the truth of family is lost on them. I used to ask Jacob, a six year old boy, whom had adopted me as his Dad “What does “Ohana” mean? He would reply, “Ohana means family; nobody gets left behind.” I spent a lot of time patching up problems in the under ground community. I give what most of them don’t get honest hard hitting truth from the heart. If you’re going to be in the game be in control enough to make a name for yourself. This comes from dues from the street or in lock down; it derives from a respect earned by maintaining loyalties, rules of conduct, and the term being “Solid”.

     Imagine the Whitaker area of ten years ago….to now. Then the days of Ickies Tea House, “Hippies” were every where; no one was out in cold; no one went hungry. Weed was more street prevalent than dope. No-one ran when the cops came and being homeless was livable. The Socio-Community of the Rainbow family, whom still is the largest faction in Eugene, maintained Whitaker like their own which it was. Things sure changed. All the Hippies got jobs, went to school, bought homes, and went behind doors. They are still there though I must say they’ve changed society will do that to you. As a general the outlaws or anyone connected with Meth or Heroin are shunned and treated like they were during the 70’s and 80’s. Their family structure is missed on the streets of Eugene. I sure would like to see them, “Back were they once belonged”.

     The teen outreach is located in The Whitaker neighborhood as well. At night when the agency shuts down the kids have to fend for them selves especially if they can’t go home due to abuse violent or sexual. Some of them are just traveling; the Eugene area is a good pit stop for refueling. Adolescents often don’t know what to think of me. They hate missing their parents, whether they admit it or not, and often this hate extends to anyone that involves themselves with their parents if drugs are involved. I don’t fit any model in children or adolescents’ eyes. They seem to know right where you belong, and I find this hard to argue with. I find being real with them is the best way to communicate with children and with adolescents it’s the only way!

     There are many people in the “Hood” who live off of SSI, disability, or V.A. pensions; they range from well adjusted persons to those on medication battling mental illnesses or P.T.S.D. They are often mistreated or misrepresented. These people need the community to watch over them for they are often pray for the game. Often the “Families” or “Clubs” take special interest in these people especially if their veterans and keep them from harm. These people that the state have labeled as mentally ill are truly gifted persons. Properly directed and used as a commodity their contributions to the greater whole would be monumental.

    

“Florence and other Small Towns”

     Small town U.S.A. has a battle for the basic family unit going on, and the children and adolescents’ are the ones who pay the most. In larger towns and cities where money from the community is more prevalent more activities are available for the youth to join even if they come from impoverish homesteads. In a small town like Florence, Oregon such is not the case; furthermore, most of the families in this town live just above the poverty rate. This town which lies on the Oregon Coast is also a tourist town and many of the families workers only work for six months out of the year and collect unemployment the rest of the time. The youth of this town have little choice in activities especially during the summer. Their choices whittle down to games with local children, or rebellious activities which lead to underage drinking, sexual activity, and eventually drugs. I spent the night in the abandoned middle school in Florence awaiting court the next day when an idea dawned on me. I began imagining the place as a youth outreach center for all the children of Florence and surrounding coastal towns. Each class room would be filled with instructors for the type of arts, crafts, computer technology, music, acting, and such. If you asked a child you’d get more idea answers. Outside animals of all sorts would be housed right next to the farm section where you would find a garden being tended by children who were being taught how to grow the many different crops planted by their own hands. Most of all in this day dream, everything was paid for by donations from the “Clubs”, “Families”, or other outside contributions: from the art supplies to the musical instruments, from the rent to the lights and power, from the chickens to the horses. All a kid had to do is show up. I bet you could get a whole community and more to put forth an effort to donate time, funds, and services on such a noble venture. Years ago I had the idea of creating a recreation department at Miller Park for the children in reminiscence of my home town Takoma Park, Maryland where I was a coach of a junior league Disc Golf team. If I was 8 – 15 years old and had a choice; I would go to the Activity Center instead of getting involved with rebellious illegal stuff. Well at least that’s what all the kids I asked said. I am a very poor man yet, I have a lawsuit against Lane County Jail and other involved in the amount of 125,000. I don’t expect the settlement to be that much but I will donate 20% of my settlement to this cause. I keep my promises. I ask my own “Club” and the other “Clubs” and “Families” to do the same. I bet if we make a stand on this issue others will follow.

“How Do We Affect a Change?”

     So far out from tomorrow is yesterday. The investment of time, good times and bad will lend it self to the growth of solidarity. No individual’s life or group can really tell the whole tale, of hardships, high points, and experiences. What I can say is the, “School of Hard Knocks” if survived, will place the graduate above the common man’s ingenuity and entrepreneurial abilities; furthermore, the struggle to be a leader or a loner will be honed to a razors edge. I consistently strive for an easy answer to the re-creation of the Socio-Communities; beyond the entire community coming forth; I still feel the awakening will be slow. I have laid the ground work and path home, for all those wanting a better life. The ending of the,”War on Drugs” empire, will insure the healing of the family unit. The rise of the family unit will grow and survive sharing what one used to own; content with the security of survival, and their passions sated by the removal of the yoke of fear, shame, and seclusion.      

“PEACE-UP” Family

THOR

Peace-UP H2O

Peace-UP H2O

            This was written in the summer of 2005. The arena it was written in is most interesting; I will give you parts of that arena, yet I withhold others for I shall talk about them in my book. I will say this; I was on the side of the Willamette River and in a full blow methamphetamine psychotic break after experiencing a PTSD attack fostered by police surveillance. The fact that this writing came to me at that time was a way of rising above the tumult and controlling behavior that had so gripped me. I had a book that I had gotten from the Eugene Mission for witting notes in. I never looked at the cover or had read any of it, so the fact that the title of the book of the book is “Where Roots Grow Deep” is quite astounding in contrast to the analogy I have created within my essay. Even more so is the way each idea came to me and then placed in this book. For instance each idea came one by one not in a steady flow, and as each new concept came I opened the book and wrote it down, not with a regular pen but with a large Sharpie felt tip marker. The book now which I still own holds the results of almost a divine channeling. If opened and a page is picked to view one of these thoughts the story of the book echoes the words in my essay. Case and point when I make my statement to the legislative, judicial, and the people the corresponding chapter of the book is Endurance. I will say not many people have seen this writing for I typed it on an old fashioned type writer. I still have part of the original first page. I start by speaking of the Hispanic community because most of my writings concern the reestablishment of a community that was broken down by the drug war. I gave them a hurrah due to seeing them returning to the park as a strong community inviting others to join them and making a place for them selves to gather and share ideas, fun, and even their culture. I now present to you Peace-UP H2O as it was written. I just remembered I typed this from the template of the book while I was tripping on mushrooms.

            I am very proud of the Hispanic community and its internal and steadfast strength. All Americans of all back rounds could learn a great deal from watching and emulating their family and community values. Family means more than mom, dad, sister, brother; that is only a small branch of the limb. A tree grown from seed; more than one generation thirty years to seed and twice that for maturity, and four times that for strength and wisdom. The Hispanic world countries have kept their family tree strong without missing a stride in its care, nurturing, and pruning. So diligent has been their vigil; sickness, bad weather, and drought have not damaged it severely. Today their community is first to the park. A social community or socio-community is a concept, a living being of a community that shares their lives good and bad. I liken it in comparison to bark covering the tree of our families. Thick bark, safe tree, leading to strong roots which will insure good fruit for the season in this case the generation. They stay united with a deep sense of family values often corner stoned in a spiritual base. This combination provides for a consistency of natural growth which harvests good fruit for their own race. The Hispanic socio-community consequently is able to thrive while living in positive harmony with the fast paced, insensitive, and stressful American culture. I wish more Hispanic Americans would speak and use English with more proficiency. I say this because their beacon which is so bright is also silent. I implore the, “Familia” to turn up the sound so we all may hear your trees great music.

So white America, did you hear that?

“White America” I never though I would get an honest opportunity to say, “Your out of line”. WWII was the template for what is know as the “Greatest generation”. They fought and died for what we threw away; the American family and consequently our strength, understanding, wisdom, our greatness. Americans fought and died for our tree, our allies’ tree, in short the world’s diverse trees. They came from the depression. No jobs, no money, often homeless and starving, a state of poverty had reigned ten years before. Poverty is saying your tree needs help often in the form of big changes. Now and looking back, we see, we got greedy and complacent. We now pay the toll from one generation to the next in blood and tears for over a quarter century. We as individuals and as Americans must return to our roots, the family, and further more to our socio-community. A great and noble tree is born of good earth, warm sunshine, and a clean water environment. We are blessed with fertile land which if cultivated will yield good fruit.  Weak trees only harvest fruit sparingly often of low quality. The limbs are small and unable to maintain a proper yield. Too long now we have had our tree in overdrive. The immediate results were big juicy fruit and plenty of it for “White America”. If one thing is for certain if you want it faster, stronger, for less or a whole lot more, American ingenuity can fill the bill. We pushed our land, our selves, and our trees ability without following the basics which made us great till today. The taking too much for one and not leaving enough for all is eroding the vital soil leaving our roots exposed to disease. The American tree is in jeopardy. In other words, “White America”, slow down. Good things take time and effort. We need the family strength back; our socio-communities need nurturing our bark must grow thick, and our soil given proper nutrients. Truth, love, and patient frugal living will get us there. You may not always get what you want, but all will get what they need. Heavy pruning is in order.

If you are not, “White America” you are the reason and the cure, with lots of honor, and truth; be real.

We need some old school hippie, flower child love, mixed with some soul brother get down, biker raging, red neck paging fun…Peace-UP!

Police, judges, and legislative, the “The People” if there are people partying having constructive fun, LET THEM! It’s better than them using violent or destructive behavior and self abuse. Wouldn’t that be okay if everyone got home safe, secure, and happy?

The Afro-American has a spirit which is felt in and manifested in all they allow their passion in life to move them. Brothers and sisters, I want to hear your soul. I want it felt like passion and pain. It time for you to rise above the past. Enjoy your time to shine, you know how.

Passion and soul

Rock and Roll

Hip hop and Motown till you die

Singing Jazz and Blues at the sky

Peace-UP is a concept that speaks of peace, unity, and a return to lost values that assure the end of the lie which separates our races, our families, our homes. The return of honor, pride, common sense, and increased freedom will pave the way for tomorrow. We as a people can not live and flourish in a community were we are torn by terror or war which is directed at part or all of the American people. The seed has been planted, the American tree will flourish or continue to die it’s up to you. One voice singing is loud when it’s the only song in the night.

Brothers in honor; the battle is met. It is time to change the game. I told you what the key to ending the war and turmoil in our communities. The door is the incorporation of the key. Expand and specialize, sweeping your communities and utilizing the abundant stocks of capital. Saturation will divert stigma. One people, One love, One heart.

THOR

"A Touch of Genocide, We killed In Ocean City."

A swarm of bees showed at my apartment complex. I found it amazing to watch them. I found it such a unique sight I told my neighbor. Bad idea. The first thing they do is call someone to come over and response is to kill them. It seems there was enough poison from last year to kill this years swarm. With a shortage of honey bees I can't see how people think its okay to kill them, but that seems to be the twisted thinking of American Suburbia. I guess after the boy and the clam story I should know better. Every time I share something unique to people it might be death sentance.  2nd edition, My bad. its my birthday spent it alone. no excuse. THOR oh and I'm 43.

“A Boy and a Clam”

     This is a story about a nine year old boy who grew up on the East Coast and was visiting the beach on Ocean City Maryland. Ocean City is the closest beach resort to the Washington D.C. area, it is fourteen miles long and four miles at it’s widest, and during the height of the summer there maybe up to a million people vacationing at one time. On the beaches there was nothing but skin and sand from the boardwalk to the surf. The beach was broken up by large jedies to keep the sand from eroding every two-thirds of a mile. Within these areas, groups of children gathered to play. This is where we find our little boy playing in a group of boys around his same age. They spend the day; body surfing, building sand castles, or digging sand crabs. Today our little boy is out beyond the surf doing something not many people do; he is swishing back and forth digging his heels into the sand under his feet. When his foot hits something hard, he does something which no one does; he flips upside down diving to the bottom. Now there are only two things under the sand a crab and a clam; furthermore, a standard practice for the dealing of each one. If it’s a crab which only the most boisterous of personalities would bring it to the surface, letting out a great roar when rising above the water, and tossing it the unfortunate terrified crab out into the surf. A clam is handled in much the same fashion. The clam is shown to the diver’s fellow swimmers the thrown far out into the sea. This little boy does some thing that no-one has done before. He takes the clam in, pausing where the water reseeds, and the sand is at its hardest. He raises the clam above his head, and drives it down with all his might smashing the clam on the sand. Suddenly he is surrounded by sea gulls winging, squawking, and diving in their mad rush to retrieve the flesh of the clam. In this frenzy they approach much closer than they ever do ever do even when baited or pursued. All the other boys are fascinated by this display, and ask the boy to show then how to do it. The little boy who is normally a loner or outcaste is the center of attention and the resident expert on the surf digging of clams. People of all ages begin asking for information, and he displays his knowledge with great pride. He’s on top of the world. After a while he tires and sits to take a snack. He sits in the sand eating cheese puffs and gazing up and down the beach, still in his euphoria from his great triumph. As his gaze wanders farther, he can see the gulls from every corner of the fourteen mile island now hovering over the coastline. The feast of their lives is being served by the crowd. The boy is suddenly horrified. He realizes he has created a mass slaughter. He begins running up and down the beach yelling, “Stop! Stop! You’re killing them all!” The people just laugh at him or ignore him; for he’s just a little boy. Finally, exhausted, frustrated, and crying he goes to find comfort with his father, yet he himself does not understand his son’s change in mood. The boy is left in his private misery, only he knows what he has done. Later that day when the beach begins to clear the boy and his father go out to dig some clams for dinner. Hours before you could find a hand full in a few minutes, now it takes them both forty five minuets to find a dozen. In fact, most of them are large Quahogs found under six feet or more of water. The clam population has been decimated in one day all in the glee of destruction, spectacle, and the ecstasy of feeding the gulls. During that winter hurricane Agnes rolled up the coast. The beaches which had long rolling breakers were swept of their sand; for there were no clams to hold it in place. The beach was now a steep incline. The waves crashed against the beach without the gentle slope that had been there for centuries. Maryland spent the equivalent of 200 million dollars today to push the sand back in place with great giant bulldozers to no avail. The power of one idea is great. This one a mere whim was one of destruction. This story is true. I know, I was that little boy. I now have another idea, one of creation and just as powerful.

“Peace-UP!”

Thor  

To the Homeless of Eugene Oregon, and America,

                                    “Down but Never out”

            I would awake in the dark some mornings with frost on my sub-zero sleeping bag and start getting ready for school. I lived on a stoop at the corner of 4^TH and Monroe where the big mural is in the Whitaker neighborhood for the beginning six weeks of my first year in the culinary program at Lane Community College. I remember this cat that would wait for me every night and crawl into the bag with me; he defiantly helped keep my feet warm. I would take two busses and be at school by 8:00 am. I would make my classes and spend extra time studying or working with other students on assignments, or I would stop at the Eugene library to have a warm place to read if it wasn’t sunny and warm out. I had a few friends, who weren’t homeless and they helped me by letting me cook food at their house or using their laundry room to keep my uniforms clean and white. I found a home in November of that year, yet found myself with an alcoholic roommate who I thought I could live with. When your on the street some times you make compromises; this was one that came back to haunt me when we had a falling out. I became very ill for three weeks during the winter term missing school and to top it off had not found a new place to live. In short, by February, I was homeless again fighting a resurgence of the flu which took me out of school for the rest of the term. I filed for a reinstatement and refund and was awarded both. I found a new home and was back to school by spring term. I learned two very important things. Those who succeed never give up, and to believe in myself; not just that I could make it, but that I merited and deserved to succeed.

After that I went to drug court graduated, started using again 17 months later, walked away from my home Last Easter. I was homeless again for a few months. I stayed in school got back off the street. I have earned credits amassing enough for an A. A. in General studies, and A.A. in Culinary Arts. My Brothers and sisters Stand up right now and say, “Yes”. Never give up. Never quit. Never believe you are not worthy; for, I love you. I got your back.

 THOR

Peace-UP Fire III

I am doing my best to get thing's up to date with my writting of Peace-UP; for, I have repeadly said It's not about me. IT's not about me.

 I wrote Peace-up fire in 2005 during an ice storm.

Peace-UP III Fire

“The Breakdown”

           

            The unrelenting finger of media hysteria, pointing at the atrocities and dysfunctions that plague our community by the culprit “Drugs,” as they deem, is still not addressing the cure, only a symptom of the sickness. This sickness has two sides; the other and most deadly side is the fall out from the “Drug War.” The greatest casualty has been the “Socio-Community,” or the community that used to lie right outside our doors. It consisted of our neighbors, our families, and those leaders of our communities whose ears listened, whose wisdom and compassion were respected, and whose voices were heard. This all-so-important part of our community which, recognized and was a first response to the improper social actions in our daily lives, died the summer of 1984 in the surrounding areas of Washington D.C. The only deterrent needed to check, hinder, and vaccinate against the actions that led to dysfunctional behavior was attacked and removed from the American cities.

Most people were too close to see what was happening, or too far away to care. They sure care now; for the repercussions of that summer and the demise of the Socio-Community, has allowed the greatest breakdown in our community to thrive unchecked, taking with it the cornerstone of American culture, the family unit.

 I was there. I remember what happened. This, the greatest community breakdown, ever to assail the American people has for thirty years been kept a secret. I will now tell its story.

            In 1984, at the age of sixteen, I began making forays into the projects in Langley Park, Prince Georges County, Maryland. In the beginning of the summer a person could make a run with little concern for molestation. The Socio-Communities were in full swing, gathered together by ethnic groups and living right next to each other. The windows, doors, and drapes were pulled back, so the women, ever vigilant of the children’s activities, could monitor them from in their homes. The women, as always, had an ear for the goings on of their neighbors’ and consequently were a vast communication network for their community. The stoops were alive with music, and the children’s laughter and intermittent calls filled the air. The men, posted in groups, reviewed local events, shared drink and conversation, and aired their opinions in the manner of an open forum. The weed dealers stood by the road and did business like a street vender.

Things were peaceful. The racial tension from the ‘60s + ‘70s had given way, in the late ‘70s and early ‘80s to an unprecedented sharing of cultures within the projects, barrios, and ghettos. The leaders of these communities had the ear of mainstream America, and their voices and wisdom were heard and respected by all classes of people. A great breakthrough was imminent. Then the whole game changed.

            Did you ever paint a room a different color? After awhile, you acclimate to the new color and don’t really remember the feel of the old room. This is what happened on a vast scale. A “Blitzkrieg” if you will. The cocaine/crack hit the streets just in time for the “Drug War” to begin. The Socio-Communities went inside, shutting their doors, their windows, their drapes. Seclusion seemed the only answer to the “War on Drugs” The menace was all too evident, for the game was now a dangerous and unsure playing field with the possibility of violence all too real. The violence came in many forms: from street thieves who wanted the fast score, to “Crack-heads” overpowered by their addiction, who would jump through windows, open or smashed, if they saw an item of worth, to “Gang-bangers” fighting for the new costly turf and soldiers recognition.

One of the scariest things I witnessed was conducted by the “Police.” The projects were set up in a horseshoe. The police shut down the entire area not allowing any person entry without being questioned and providing I.D. This would go one for an hour or more at a time. Because most of these people were minorities or poor, their plight was quiet and considered of no consequence. I, being mullato, was chosen for runs to get smoke, for most of my friends were white and would be instantly stopped and harassed by police. The price of smoke doubled in one month. My garb had changed to shorts, tee-shirt, and tennis shoes with a ten dollar bill hidden on my person. To carry anything else was inviting trouble.

This change happened over the summer of 1984. I remember, we all thought that next year, when it got warm things would get back to normal. They didn’t; in fact, the situation became more permanent. The “Drug War” began to divide our families, our communities, and our nation. The Socio-communities whose growth and communication would have led to a distribution of power which eventually would of led to a system that catered to the diversity of American culture had been, exterminated. The social vaccine to dysfunctions and hidden addictions was gone, and the family lay prey to this disease.

            Let me put this in an example that we all can relate to. Let us say, before the breakdown, Bob, a married man with children, has an affair with June, on his wife Mary. The community, with its social network, finds out about the affair. There is a confrontation. The Socio-community’s women band together to help both Mary and Jane with the problem, and the children are cared for as well. The men of the Socio-community speak to Bob and remind him of his family duties and responsibilities. This attention by the community allowed for immediate action and greatly insured a positive outcome for all those involved.

After the breakdown, however, the course of events, would be far different. The affair would continue unchecked because no-one knows. Mary starts drinking and becomes an alcoholic because no-one knows. In her pain and anger, from her failing marriage, she begins hitting the children because no-one knows. Bob and June begin smoking crack cocaine because no-one knows. June becomes addicted and Bob can’t afford her habit. She begins selling herself because no-one knows. Bob is angry at June and finds bruises on his children. He beats his wife because no-one knows. In so many different forms, places, and homes, this story became a reality to the family and neighborhood. Why? NO-ONE KNEW!

            Well, here we are, thirty years later, still suffering the repercussions of a war that has been directed at the American people. The creation of an International police force and the “Drug War” was not supposed to hit the American home, yet it did. The dysfunctions, addictions, and broken homes still continue to sweep the nation like a plague, driving us further into suffering and seclusion. It is time for us to wake up, open our doors and lives to our neighbors, thus erasing the imposed fear that has a stranglehold on the nation. “We the People” in order to form a more perfect union, must not allow this” “Breakdown” to continue.

PEACE-UP

THOR

rm.

Incident on the White House East Lawn

            The year was 1977, and I was 9 years. My father was invited to the “Easter Egg Hunt” that was being held on the East Lawn at the White House, and took me along. I remember the other children who I saw dressed in their best clothes wearing a sport jacket with an emblem of their Ivy League private school. They seamed more concerned with whose children they might meet of heads of state, congressmen, or foreign dignitaries. The clown, who was hired for the event, tried as he may to fulfill his duties of being the entertainment for the children. I being a boy of the natural order was there for the fun and candy. I saw a small spaniel sitting on the lawn, and I ran over to pet him. Naturally little boys love dogs. As I sat there a little girl with blond hair wearing a pink frock, white stockings, and the black buckle over shoes that were popular at the time sat down on the other side of the pup. We were suddenly surrounded by News people. They asked me “Do you know who that is?”

I replied while petting the dog feverishly “Yeah. It’s a dog!”

They had a good laugh at that. Again someone pointed at the girl who sat next to the pup and asked “Do you know who that is?”

            I scrunched up my face while looking around the dog for I thought these people were just plain silly and said “Awe that just a girl” while sneering. Naturally little boys don’t like GIRLS.

            They really laughed at that. Nobody I guess had ever called Amy Carter the Presidents daughter “Just a girl”

One of the News people straightened me out on the fact that I was sitting next to the Presidents daughter. All in all she was still just a girl to me. I think maybe that is what really drew her to me, for nobody ever treated her as just a girl before. We spent the day playing together. She took me up into the West Wing where she and her family stayed and showed me around. I really wasn’t too impressed though; I thought the kitchen in the basement was cool and so was the man in the elevator who waited there just to give rides up and down for whoever wanted it.

I often look back on such experiences with the wonder of an adult who sees himself through the eyes of a child.

Happy Easter Megan

“THOR”

Peace-UP Earth

GOAL

No man, woman, or child shall live in poverty of terror.

     I have a dream that my sisters and brothers shall live in a world where they are not judged by race, religion, or caste, but by the content of their character. These words, this dream is alive; no man, woman, or child shall live in poverty or terror is a reflection of the reflection of what unity promises. Faith, hope, and love are the bridge with spirit and courage the driving force for our children’s future. NO more can we stand idol while the Medias dis-information and lies rule our life. Our government is waging a war against our races, our families, our homes in the name of the law. We have been driven into complacency by the status quo and the fear of reprisal. I am one voice singing a solo of hope and freedom in a silent choir of poverty and terror. I will not go quietly into the night. We as a people shall, will, and must over come the lies that have torn us apart as a nation. Our children who look upon us with eyes of wonder and love need not live in the prison cells of our past mistakes. I shall never leave or forsake the cause or way that shall assure the end of poverty and terror.

BELIEFS

(Creative in nature)

HONOR

To do what is most feared because it must be done, an expression of duty and loyalty.

FREEDOM IS PARAMOUNT

Never let the colors run. For over 200 years soldiers have laid down their life, so we as a nation and individuals could continue to live in freedom. Greater love hath no man than this; that a man lay down his life for his fellow man. Have we forgotten what founded this great nation? Do we belittle the sacrifices our for-fathers made? NO! Look to the sky and see our flag on high. Blue is the great expanse of our nation holding strong the states as stars. The white is the purity and peace of our ideals and dreams. Red is for the blood of every patriot who fought on the battle field of freedom. We the people in order form a more perfect union declare our independence. We are still the people, who this government is built for, yet we allow our civil liberties to be eroded away. The stealthy removal of our civil liberties and freedoms is in direct growing proportion to the fear instilled upon us by the, “War on Drugs”. We have been cajoled into shutting our doors, windows, and eyes allowing our government to control our thoughts and beliefs by the Medias voice. Americans live in fear of the, “Jungle” right beyond our doors. Proper understanding is much the same as power. We must inform ourselves of our families, neighborhoods, and communities; in doing so, we gain strength and courage by unity. The insight this provides us with, opens the truth which implores and empowers us to check ourselves, the mass media, and the paths we choose for the future through our government. Why do we allow our government to divide our races, communities, and families with the, “War on Drugs”? We must have the strength to face freedom, and the honor to see all people treated with compassion. Loss of rights, more and more prisons, cops, and laws; just cause hardship and sorrow, while we quietly persecute our fellow Americans. Our government is continually gaining power over us. We have begun living in a police state where the régimes goal is money, control, and forced terror. Poverty is the final result. Ghandi said, “POVERTY IS THE WORST FORM OF VIOLENCE”: poverty of the hand, of the heart, of the spirit. No more escaping from fear and sorrow for it is knocking at your door. I shall open the door and invite in my honored guest. Only by abandoning our lives of safety and creating change can we live on the ideals that founded this great nation. There is no safety from the, “War on Drugs” being waged on our races, our families, our homes. There is blood on our hands, the blood of heroes. They fought for our freedom; we have to keep it. I’m a patriotic American and freedom is paramount.

Spirituality over the Flesh

     The code of the Roman gladiators was, “Strength and Honor”; the gladiator’s life, his flesh was strong, yet the spirit that drove it into glory or death was far stronger. I wish die in glory of spirit not weakness and death of flesh. I live in what I have done, not what I can gather materially. “Love, hope, and faith will see you through.” I would say to those who were lost. Sorrow and pain not faced with courage and faith will render the spirit weak. To live and die in the flesh is a lonely place. Live in the spirit, and be master of your flesh.

All Beings are Sacred

   

Life is precious in all its forms, seek harmony.

Mother Earth is a Being

Mother Earth is our gift to our children. Intend to give as much as your parents got. The Earth is not only maternal, but also the child of our lives. Earth is the being that we live our life in tandem with, to be treated with the same reverence and love as another life.

Nurturing of Children

To look into a child’s eye’s is to under stand our own greatness; what they become is the measure of our greatness. Endeavor to provide of your self when a child can grow from your wisdom and love. Help them to find out who they are and prepare them in their responsibility, for they are the next generation. It is their world not ours.

Respect of Elderly and Wisdom

If we do not learn from history we are doomed to repeat it. The time for moving forward to the promised land is now. We are on the cusp of a panedendrum, which will change the world as surely as Prometheus giving fire to the people.

Act without Anger or Fear

     Use temperance, patience, and compassion to guide you through the greatest storm. Only then will you not lose the way, for the slightest divergence may grow to rule you. Have courage to face your fear, for fear leads to pain, pain leads to anger, anger leads to hate; hate is failure and loss of self. Do not let your fears cripple you in this way. Confront your fear, embrace your anger, and have faith in humanity; it will show itself truer than the finest blade.

To Thine own Self be True

     Know they self. We are feeling humans who think. The forgiveness of self is the realization of our own humanity. You are who you are; unique and alive with a fallible freewill.

We Must Make Amends

     If we are to prosper and have forward positive growth; the nearsighted self gratifying for the progress of the few with no plan for the future must change. I implore you to put back more than you took. BE A GIVER NOT A TAKER.

    

     Peace-UP is written creatively and grows with every new reader. The life it shall have shall be its own. I am just a man with a vision. Measure it not against the man, for the man measures himself against it.

      A GOVERNMENT, WHO IS RUN BY THE PEOPLE, WILL NOT WITHSTAND A GOVERNMENT WHO WARS AGAINST ITS’ OWN PEOPLE. SUBSEQUENTLY, THE PEOPLE SHALL REMOVE SUCH GOVERNMENT AND REPLACE IT WITH A GOVERNMENT THAT PROMISES AND DELIVERS LIBERTY, PEACE, AND FREEDOM.

“PEACE-UP”

THOR

Dedicated to:

My Son David Wiley

My Daughter Megan Rose

Kyle Ames and Ashton

Jacob and Jesse

Mystical Rose

Alicia, my children’s sister who was named after my sister.

AND ALL THE CHILDREN OF AMERICA