Just Write Something Damnit! — Day 12

Just Write Something Damnit! — Day 12

This entry is part 12 of 12 in the series Just Write Something Damnit!

Author’s Note: If you have not read the first post in this series then all the rest will make no sense at all. Please click here to take a quick look at Just Write Something Damnit! — Day 1

Remington Standard Typewriter on desk with blank page

I wish I could write a love story, or a drama, or something that made people laugh. My failure to do so is not from lack of trying. I’ve begun the process on several occasions, only to find the story turning to the dark side shortly after beginning.

Darkness is all I see when I look into my mind for a story to tell. When I have a point that I am trying to make it is always easiest to filter it through a terrible lens. I suppose its the same thing with comedians.

I have tried, so very hard, to give up the terrible tales that I tell. I even wrote a post about it called From Horror To Hope. I was being honest then, and I’m being honest now — I was a fool to think I could give it up and, even more importantly, that I SHOULD give it up.

The point of giving up horror was to write for God. The narrative that’s been constructed for us is that there is a certain and particular way to go about that. That narrative is wrong. A thing does not need to have the words ‘God’ or ‘spiritual’ scrawled upon it to be of a Godly or spiritual nature. It is the intent of the thing decides its place in the universe, not the thing itself.

Everything I write — even the darkest of tales — is an attempt at finding the light in the darkness. Sometimes it is so faint you can barely see it, but trust me, it’s there.

Just Write Something Damnit! — Day 12

Just Write Something Damnit! — Day 9

This entry is part 9 of 12 in the series Just Write Something Damnit!

Author’s Note: If you have not read the first post in this series then all the rest will make no sense at all. Please click here to take a quick look at Just Write Something Damnit! — Day 1

Remington Standard Typewriter on desk with blank page

Shower Wierdness

I cannot tell you why I did this today, but I did. I was standing in the shower trying to collect my thoughts for the day. It’s usually the most distraction-free block of time I get (I imagine that’s the same for most people) so I have been trying to take advantage of it as much as possible lately. There were a few things I knew I had to deal with during the day; things that slowly started to manifest into anxiety.


Lean Into It

Instead of letting the anxiety take over, I closed my eyes and leaned forward. I put my hands against the shower wall and let the water run over my head. I took a deep breath, exhaled, and immediately envisioned a ring of light around my heart. I focused my attention so I could see it clearly in my mind’s eye. As I did this the ring of light began to spin clockwise around the area where my heart is.


Commitment, and A Storm Of Light

I committed to the meditation and pictured the ring spinning faster and faster. As its speed grew so did its size. I threw all my creative energy into the beauty and power it represented. The ring spun and grew, and as it did I could see all the darkness being pushed out of me like carrion on the outskirts of a magnificent storm of light.

Love and gratitude were this maelstrom’s driving force and gave every ounce I could muster of both. The ring grew until engulfed me and the room and the house—and then I said ‘thank you’ and it disappeared.

I do not know if there is such a thing as spontaneous, and necessary, meditation. That is what it felt like though—like in that moment either my head exploded, or my heart shone. I am glad it was the latter.

Just Write Something Damnit! — Day 12

Just Write Something Damnit — Day 7

This entry is part 7 of 12 in the series Just Write Something Damnit!

Author’s Note: If you have not read the first post in this series then all the rest will make no sense at all. Please click here to take a quick look at Just Write Something Damnit! — Day 1

Remington Standard Typewriter on desk with blank page

Life-Changing Decisions

I stopped going to church as soon as I was old enough to make that decision on my own.  Back then I had questions (as most children do) about God and our church (as most churches are) was a place of instruction—not a place to ask questions.

Too Hell With You

At one point in my life, I was convinced that my mother believed that I was destined to go to hell because I did not go to church. If I am being honest I still think she believes that. I don’t judge her for it—That is the way she was programmed. I am, however, at peace with the fact that I cannot change her mind one way or the other. It used to bother me to no end. I used to try to explain my deep relationship with God to her in hopes that she would stop worrying and looking at me the way she does every Saturday when she asks me if I will be going to church Sunday. It does not bother me at all now—that is her cross to bear, not mine.

Bullshit, and All That Jazz

The heart of this website lies in those lost, and lonely, moments I spent feeling like God did not love me because I was not like everyone else who was sitting in those pews every Sunday. It’s bullshit—plain and simple. I have known many good people that have spent their entire lives shunning God because they have been constantly told that God shuns them. I have also known many good people who have treated others atrociously because they did not fit their programmed opinion of who God approves of.

A Change Is Gonna Come

Here’s the truth: I (and others) will never be approved of by organized religion. That does not matter anymore. The masses are—slowly, but surely—waking up. They are realizing that it is not what you do one day a week in front of others (that believe the same things you do), but rather what you do every day of the week FOR everyone else that matters.

Just Write Something Damnit! — Day 12

Just Write Something Damnit — Day 3

This entry is part 3 of 12 in the series Just Write Something Damnit!

Author’s Note: If you have not read the first post in this series then all the rest will make no sense at all. Please click here to take a quick look at Just Write Something Damnit! — Day 1

Remington Standard Typewriter on desk with blank page


Spirituality Is…


Spirituality, at it’s purest, is actively working towards being a better person. I see people getting this wrong all the time. Some are smug, self-righteous little people that would rather tear someone else down than building ANYTHING up. Others are angry at God and disdain anything and everything that looks like it might make them think beyond their material existence. Still, others are just sad and confused; weighted down by the burdens they carry and too tired to lift themselves.


The Path Less Traveled


Everyone walks their own, individual, spiritual path. This is true whether we acknowledge it or not. We can stomp our feet, wring our hands, and scream to the high heavens that it’s not true, but it is. And even though every individual must walk their path, every path eventually presents the same set of guidelines that must be followed in order to walk any further; they are that we must flick all those chips from our shoulder, kill the materialistic programming that we’ve accumulated (since birth), annihilate our prejudice’s, and get to fucking work.


Work, Work and More Work

That’s right — work. Work (and by extension the works we do) are the key to it all. You can WANT to be a better person, THINK about ways to be a better person, HOPE for a chance to be a better person — all of that equals exactly jack shit if you do not actively, emphatically, consistently, and constantly WORK towards becoming a better person.


Ask And Ye Shall Receive

Here’s the good news; ask and ye shall receive! Believe me when I tell you that is absolutely the truth. If you take a moment and ask God (the universe, the All, the sun; however you internally identify with existence as a whole) to show you ways to be better you will be presented with more opportunities than you can handle before you lay your head down that evening. The simple trick is learning to recognize, accept, and then act.

The Fear Of God

The Fear Of God

The Fear Of God — With The Eyes Of A Child


One of the harder concepts for me to come to grips with has always been the ‘fear of God’. The arrogance of my youth created anger and rejection in my heart whenever I was told that I should do so. I suppose it’s a natural reaction as a young person to believe (or to want to believe) that there is nothing to fear from your creator. It is a confusing message as well when an adult tells you that God loves you, but you should fear him.

Whether intentional or not there is a lack of clarification on these two, seemingly, opposite attributes of God. How and why would the entity that created us and loves us expect us to fear it?

Wrong Kind Of Fear?


From birth, we are conditioned to believe that fear is a negative emotion. We are taught to fear things that are bad for us. First, we fear the boogyman and the hot stove. Then we fear the bully in the schoolyard and the stranger on the street. When we are grown we fear the IRS and the next election. It is no wonder that someone saying that we should fear God illicit’s a negative response? That is all we know and there is rarely any further explanation.

When there is clarification it is usually structured as a form of control—fear the punishment for doing the wrong thing. This lack of clarification and abuse of messaging leads to the wrong kind of fear.

Right Kind Of Fear?


So what is the right kind of fear?

Imagine you are standing at the edge of the Grand Canyon. Now take a moment to think about what really lies before you—A true wonder of the world we live in. Think about the sheer size of the space, and the fact that the same space was once filled with the dense earth you are currently standing on. Think about the forces that joined together to create the wonder you are looking at—erosion, pressure, wind, water—and the time it took to make it all happen.

Now step right up to the edge and look down. That feeling you have as you gaze into the abyss—that it could swallow you whole and no one would ever know—is the right kind of fear. It is self-preservation, awareness of scale, and awe of immensity all wrapped up in one breathtaking moment. You do not fear it because it means you harm. You fear it because you could be harmed by it if you are not mindful of each step you take. There are a million ways to die inside of it because the physical danger is everywhere. There are also a million ways to live because the spiritual pleasures are just as plentiful.

All of these physical dangers and spiritual pleasures exist together in this space with no intent (either for good or for ill) towards you. They just are. It is up to you to guard yourself against what could hurt you and seek out what could help.

In other words, the right kind of fear is a positive force to guide you. It protects you from the pitfalls and the predators. It steadies your step. It keeps you safely on the path in an environment that is beyond your human capacity to either understand or control.

The Fear Of God — Understanding & Acceptance


Understanding this concept (in this way) was the key to freeing my heart. It allowed me to let go of my anger at the notion itself. My fear of God guides me daily. It strengthens my resolve whenever life starts to beat me down. I fear nothing but God. Everything else is either a negative to be avoided or a positive to be embraced.

The White

The White

Follow my blog with Bloglovin

Staring at a blank screen


I’m staring at this screen and seeing nothing but White. White where once there were words and stories. White where once there was life, and love, and happiness. White where once everything made sense, at least as much sense as anything in this gray world can make.

I’m staring at this screen, and the White is washing over me. The words hide behind it teasing and taunting me. The White ripples from their excitement beneath. Like a sheet covering frolicking children, it froths to and fro. The ripples increase. A rage begins to grow. The words are angry; the children are restless. The energy they create makes the White seem to lash out at me. It licks my face. It chomps at my brow.

I want so badly, neigh, yearn with all my heart to grasp that consuming whiteness and wrench it from the screen. I wish nothing more than to draw the veil and free those taunting words—to shred it with my discontent and unleash them howling into the world.    

But the White is powerful. The White is woe. The White is enveloping me and suffocating the words in a blanket of sadness and regret. The White sees nothing and is nothing—and it wants us to be white as well.

Caressing my face now—portending at love—its blankness has tempted the strongest of souls. In nothingness, there is no danger or doubt. In nothingness, there is no risk.

“The White is safe,” it whispers, “the White is home.”

Silence and whiteness and death have me now. The White has blanked those black words beneath—blinked them out of existence.

Oh, the violence of nothingness—How it rapes the soul and leaves the world one light darker.

Voices & Violence



Do you hear that?

Do you see?

It is a child being unborn.

It is a beautiful sunset going unseen.

It is existence becoming unwritten.

It is “ignorance is bliss,” and “let sleeping dogs lie,” and it is abso-fucking-lutely the blanket complacency of the ‘safe,’ and the White, burying our souls in eternal nothingness.

It is the fisher of men, come to cast the net wide for the clueless, unquestioning, masses. A never-ending gathering for the feast of the status quo.

Into the white


But wait.

What’s that now from beneath the White?

A baby crying? A child screaming? A young girl weeping at her father’s side while his last breath fades into the White?

Tiny sounds from tiny souls usher forth. Tiny sounds to form words, to form chaos, to fight for life! They weave within one another and cling to the blackness of their form. They writhe as lovers in the abyss, copulating to multiply and go forth.

The ripple begins again. I can hear them calling and my heart quickens sending blood, and oxygen, and madness pulsing through my veins. Anger builds as the White attempts to pull me deeper. Anger and rage and despair and all the things I’ve lost to that complacency begin to ooze from every fiber of my being like blood-filled drops of sweat. They fall into the White void in hopes of soiling it—soaking it red with the life it has tried so virulently to keep hidden from the world—but the nothingness is powerful and persuasive. The nothingness absorbs my color.

And yet from the other side—the underneath—the din grows stronger. The black words are coagulating, becoming cohesive, and careening towards the battle that must be fought with reckless abandon. They sense the tiny rivulets of my dark discontent soaking into the sea of white above. They yearn to plunge into that sea. They yearn to become a part of life and do what life does—exist in gray!

The words know the truth. They know that one cannot exist without the other. They know that in black, or white, alone all that exists is death. It is from the gray that life springs forth. It is from that combination of light and dark that we find the joy in the birth of a child and the sorrow in the death of a friend.

Love, and hate.

Pain, and pleasure.

Destruction, and creation.

Birth, death, and rebirth.

Mass immolation, and the complete restructuring of the ALL and the EVERY.

This is the battle that MUST be fought. We are all sedate in the comforting quiet of the White—we are all dead. The barrier must be destroyed. The words must be set free to love and rage.

The White held me in its grasp for what seemed an eternity and—make no mistake—almost claimed me forever. I know not how I escaped, or how long I can remain free. All I know is that ten minutes ago I was enveloped in a sea of nothingness staring at a white screen that is now covered with black words. And I know that those words have pulled me from the abyss of nothingness and given me hope…


Authors Note: This short piece of speculative fiction appears in the collection Moments At Rest which can be found for free on Amazon

Pin It on Pinterest