Tag Archives: enlightenment

The Strip Down – How to Examine Yourself & Still Have the Guts to Leave the House.

Posted on by
1

There’s a point, a crossroad, a series of moments that lead to peace; when you feel nothing much is left to take. There’s nothing more to lose. You’re naked, so naked, it’s almost like you’re see through. It’s like nude-squared. X-ray naked?

Oh, you get the picture.

xray

I’m staring into the reflection of pure humility and seeing the other side. The transition. Saggy gut, disappointing genitals. Hair growing out of places I didn’t realize could grow hair.. That’s something, right? I wince. It’s all for a reason: I’m beginning to understand.

As I lay flat on my back, “fed”,  thread through the rotating disk of an MRI machine, wearing one of those flimsy hospital gowns, ass hanging out, unable to tie the thing to make me at least appear decent, I feel oddly, at peace. Deep.

I allow the calculated movement of the mechanism, the delicate whir of science, embrace me. Take over. A moment of raw acknowledgement.  A revelation of sorts. An exposed butt meeting the road of human.

Whatever it was, whatever it is, whatever it was going to be, was what it was going to be. And there was not a damn thing I could do about it. So?

I smiled. Genuine. Best in years.

Closed my eyes. Allowed the present moment to swallow me like one of those strong undertows that lurk in the waters off Coney Island.

Humbled. Stripped down. Like the Winter Warlock (just call me Winter) of the vintage Rankin/Bass campy claymation Christmas pop-culture hit – “Santa Claus is Coming to Town.”

There’s a point where “winter” loses his blustery, icy facade. Warmth releases. A simple gift triggers a  positive reaction. Suddenly, the frozen image melts away, he’s transformed into a white-bearded, frail old man with a Dowager’s hump and pigeon toes. Actually, he’s sort of hideous physically once his menace dies off.

How will you look when your menace melts?

winter warlock before Winter before.

Not good. I’m fucking sure of it.

Some people will indeed experience enlightenment in a lifetime, others will eternally walk a path, their minds chained within a constant prison forged of intimidating bars of webbed, thick ego. They’re not as blessed, I guess. I  can just feel bad for them now.

Random Thoughts:

1). How will you re-define yourself? When all that held you together from the past is stripped away -how will you re-emerge? If done  wisely, you’ll blossom – smarter and stronger than ever. Most important, you will have enhanced the present to the point where the world stops spinning, mental fog lifts and thoughts begin to make sense. Empower you. For the first time in a long time.

2). Find the right words to get you through. Kamal Ravikant in his new book “Live Your Truth” have provided the right word triggers for me. His wisdom allays the tensions of what I call “the transition” mind – a boundary between the present road and a path to inner peace.

He writes:

Somewhere along the way, you do your best, and then, you surrender. Let go. Of attachments to outcomes. Attachments to what you desire. Like a paper lantern you light and then release into the night sky.

Create those triggers that return you to the present, the moment. Because when you think about it, that’s all you got. This moment. The right now. For me it’s 5:03pm. Sunday.

Letting go is not powerlessness. It is freedom. It’s not giving up, it’s accepting. And the light will enter. Always does.

Use music to form the rope that pulls you back to focus. To the present.

3). Understand how behavior affects your investment performance. Making investment decisions out of fear or greed can dramatically long-term portfolio returns. When in the present, before you seek to make a portfolio change,emotion is removed from the process.  And that’s not easy. To be an astute investor, you must get a handle on your emotional makeup.

According to Michael Pompian in his book, “Behavioral Finance and Wealth Management,” you most likely fall into one of the following psychological camps. Each has its own pitfalls or “money traps” as I call them.

Are you the “Adventurer?” Impetuous, overconfident, volatile. A real gambler type. You drool to financial media porn. All over the board when it comes to investment ideas, and usually with no homework. It’s fire, ready, aim. You won’t face it – but your returns are probably downright embarrassing.

What about the “Celebrity?” Well, you’re afraid of being left out. Celebrities follow the herd; they do not possess an original idea. They’re prone to fall for “hot tips” which rarely work out.

Some are “Individualists.” These types forge their own paths. They’re typified by the small business pros or independent professionals. They’re careful, pragmatic and methodical. This is a level-headed bunch who most likely experience the greatest investment returns since they rarely make knee-jerk reactions based on short-term stock market movements or news.

“Guardians” are older and careful. They seek to preserve their investment assets and lack confidence when it comes to investing decisions. They’re also prone to be so conservative they have the potential to miss out on gains because to them, risk is narrowly defined to fluctuation of principal. The slightest price movement may be too much for a “Guardian”.

“Straight Arrows” are gifted at being well balanced. They fall nearer the center. A composite of the other investor types. If you’re a Straight Arrow” then you’re a rare breed – a truly rational investor.

4). Relish the accomplishments along the way. Don’t rush. Take your time. This shit is tough. A small step towards living in the present can wreak big havoc to the creator of illusion – your egotistical mind. It abhors your past, discounts your present, and fools you into believing that happiness exists somewhere in the future (good luck ever getting there).

winter melted Winter after – Stripped of his cold.

“You can get dressed now, Richard,” the MRI tech said. You’re done. With that she walked out, closing the thick wooden door behind her.

I was grateful to remain on my back a few more seconds. Looking up at the ceiling. I thought I heard something I never experienced before.

Quiet.

In the pain.

In the frailty.

I saw the paper lantern ignite.

Fly away in the wind of a whisper.

A deep breath.

I smiled again.

Twice in one day.

And I was thankful.

Just call me “Winter.”

God Knows Where You Belong (Even When You Don’t).

Featured

Posted on by
1

September 1970: “Shut the fuck up back there!”

Image

It was a cavernous black-on-black metal beast out of Detroit. A 1969 Cadillac Convertible with slick leather seats. With each turn, lane change, interchange between brake and acceleration, my little body was slung from side to side in the backseat (we weren’t fans of seatbelts back then) like an amusement ride just for me.

Every year, it was an adventure I looked forward to. A chance to escape the urban filth, the smell of incinerated used Kotex pads, the endless mounds of dog shit. A daddy/son adventure.

To upstate New York.

Where trees survived in packs and the air smelled sweet. The Catskills, specifically. The plan was always the same: First, the Catskill Game Farm (now gone), then Carson City (gone too), and last, a small retail establishment named “Roy’s,” which only sold stuffed animals.

Hundreds of them. I’ll never forget behind the front plate-glass window sat a monstrous black stuffed gorilla with a five-foot yellow banana. And I mean huge. With arms open wide, this cloth beast spanned the entire length of the store.

Image

I couldn’t sit still for the entire trip. I loved to read the billboards, especially the quirky homespun wooden relics as we traveled farther north. It was only a matter of time before the iconic Catskill Game Farm billboard appeared. I mean it was “America’s Greatest Zoological Playground,” for God’s sake.

The radio stations would ebb and flow in on crackles and frequency farts. Most important was dad to turn up the volume when my favorite song hit the airwaves. It was a song my dad hated. It was a song Brooklyn hated.

“Beneath this snowy mantle, cold and clean.”

“What the fuck is this kid listening to?” Dad.

Anne Murray sings again in that memorable, soothing tone:

“The unborn grass lies waiting, for it’s coat to turn to green.”

“Oh, I’m changing this shit!” Dad again.

It was a song my friends hated. It just didn’t belong in an urban setting. But to me, it represented something clean, natural, open.

Like when I watched my favorite early Saturday morning television program, “Agriculture USA,” a show about farming that unnaturally appeared on New York City 6AM television.

“The snowbird sings the song he always sings…”

“What the f**k is this snowbird?”

And now we’re swerving. In a tank. On a dysfunctional family adventure.

Dad was always up early. He sought to be out the door before mom. He’d walk into the living room. See me sitting cross legged, staring up at the old black and white TV screen, watching the farm report.

                                       “Who the hell are you? You don’t belong here.”

He never meant anything bad by it. I sort of knew that. And he was correct. I never felt like I belonged in a dirty city. I hated people living on top of people. I longed for something more quite, desolate. Even at six years old I sought escape. Dad was indeed correct. I often wondered if God misplaced me. Must have been some celestial joke.

Oh, the song:  It was “Snowbird.” Lovingly recorded by Anne Murray in 1970. Written by some dude in Canada (where I always believed there were lots of trees).

The opening was distinct. Later I discovered it was an electric sitar. Soothing.

The first lyrics. Hopeful. Let’s play it again. Or as a DJ on WABC radio in New York would coo in a broadcast – “Let’s hit the instant replay!” Exciting.

Beneath it’s snowy mantle cold and clean,
The unborn grass lies waiting for its coat to turn to green.

Cold and clean. Not dirty and hot like the grime on a New York City street. No dog crap in “cold and clean.”

More refreshment. Get me out of here:

Spread your tiny wings and fly away.

And take the snow back with you where it came from on that day.

Yes, spreading my tiny wings would have worked.

Flying away would have been terrific.

Random Thoughts:

1). Our  souls must be from somewhere else and occasionally dropped into the wrong vessel. It took 40 years for me to be comfortable in my own skin even though I believe (still) it was not my own. Who has mine? Please contact me. I’d really like it for my second half.

When your country spirit is placed into a city kid or vice versa, shit is gonna happen. Your self esteem is going to be battered. You’re going to be on the outside looking in most of the time. And then it happens. You’re grateful that you’re a square dropped into a circle.

The experience formed something unique, a way to interpret life different from everyone else’s. It gave you the appreciation of people’s faults, to see the beauty in them. If you were “misallocated,” have you become aware of your gifts, yet?

2). You’ll be a better investor. If you’re comfortable in your own or someone else’s skin – you’ll better understand your very human pitfalls and realize how they will kill your investment returns. Turn your clean virgin snowbird into yellow and black snow; nature’s afterbirth stuck to the bottom of a NYC taxi.

Individual investors aren’t “dumb,” just humans not equipped to handle the skin of investments. Morningstar, the mutual fund “gurus,” completed a study  that fund investors are indeed good at selecting funds (imagine that). They just are not “in their own skins,” when they allocate. In other words, they consistently buy HOT categories and sell  COLD ones. Can you believe it?

We like hot and sexy instead of cold and sterile? When it comes to investing some of your best returns come from COLD. And cold is cleansing.

3). Your home is your home. And that home is in you. Until you’re comfortable with who you are in the housing you’re given, you’ll never feel secure, confident or stand for the people you love or the convictions you hold dear.

Never.

Those Catskill locations are long gone.

Carson City, a simulated wild west town, is now home to a bunch of condos.

Yet somewhere in a room, in my store of memories in whoever’s skin I’m in, those places are as real as they ever were.

And even if the rightful owner of my shell comes to return it, there are some things I refuse to give back.

Because for now and going forward, I’m home.

Are you?

Image