A long time ago, I was caught in the grips of an unrelenting monster. Like a thin bellied leech, it would suck my vitality until there seemed to be nothing left. Caught in the throes of my misguided pleasures, I threw dirt atop the wounds, and got dirt in return.
External forces—mental wards, rehab centers, and dead-bird-cages—were never enough to jolt me out of my own ruin. Neither were the bridges burnt.
I went on like a blind man in a porcelain palace, waving my arms and staggering my feet. I must have also been deaf too, because I couldn’t hear the wreckage.
My gait carried me to the other side of the world—Peru—where I volunteered with poverty stricken communities, and met medicine men in the Amazon jungle who’d give me brews that’d force me to confront my obscure shadow, for the purpose of stepping through it. But I’d only shake my demons just enough to gain a laurel to latch.
More hardheaded than a nail, I carried myself to Alaska and Hawaii, where I learned what it meant when people said, “when you live on the streets, the streets start talking to you.” I also learned what it meant to be part of the living dead, gasping for air.
Yet in between all of this carnage, there was something guiding me—Destiny’s end will always justify her means, and it may seem at times she has a cruel sense of humor.
And here I am today, in China, teaching English to children, and using my finger tips atop this keyboard, as a mode of transportation into dimensions that meld and mend and heal. I’ve recently payed a generous sum of hard-earned money, to have the manuscript of my memoir, Losing My Mind In America, professionally edited. What you will read from this site, doesn’t fall far from the tree of my own dreams—I hope to give you a taste of that guiding something; bread crumbs sprinkled upon the gravel, smoke transmitted as a signal. Please, don’t be shy and do come in…something awaits to be shared.