Å·±¦ÓéÀÖ

Can’t we all just get along? No seriously, can’t we? I mean, the clique phrase from the hippies of the 1960’s does have some value to it. Is this version of survival of the fittest that we have been living under the guise of actually an outdated piece of evolution? How about the fear-based belief�

There was a time I would get mad about people having fun on Memorial weekend. I resented the fact that they were out having fun! I mean it is the holiday to remember those that have died so that others may live. Why are they out having fun instead of standing in cemeteries crying? Don’t�

What keeps us sane, keeps us moving forward. For me, that is alone-time in nature. Still, I withhold it, withholding our grounding objects is self-sabotage. yet, I know I do it frequently and often! Am I the only one? Doubtful. Can all admit to themselves that this is something they do to themselves? Also doubtful.

This denial is both our best survival tool and our biggest crutch. Denial that something is insurmountable is why some have summitted Everest or endured a cross-country bicycle race while dying of a unsurvivable disease (see an awesome documentary called “The Ataxian�: ).

Denial is also why we stay in abusive relationships longer than is healthy or we don’t leave a job that is crushing our soul.

Do we need to define “we� now? Human beings, that is “we�.

Who here is in denial enough to say they don’t self-sabotage?

For although we can work on ourselves, it is work. Work that can be forgotten allowing us to fall into the old pattern. It is consciousness of that denial quickly, being aware of that shadow of self-sabotage that enables us to stop lying to ourselves and choose to do the opposite.

The more we are aware of our own denial and self-sabotage, the easier it is to see in others, and for some, the less tolerant we become of it.

My wife and I recently had an experience with a landlord, that although they did not fix the electricity for nine months, and then chose to keep our security deposits when we chose to leave, they somehow presented themselves as the victims. “Why did you not fix it?�, “There was an old broom missing from the garage�, “We had to, we could not rent the place because you�(insert random made up comment here)�. Not only are they in denial of their lack of action, we were in denial in our expectation that they would become people of integrity and return our security deposits when we chose to leave after we had given up on them.

Two forms of denial there, ours that they would suddenly step up, and there’s that we were the perpetrators.

The gift in all this to me is we chose to do the right thing by our moral systems and therefore, are in integrity with ourselves. I am in integrity with myself. The question is are they in integrity with their moral self, or are they as they appear, angry and victims in their denial.

What does any of this have to do with my alone time in nature?

It is out in nature that my brain gets its time to banter through what is troubling it, what is keeping it up at night. It is where I allow myself the time that I know I need to come to realizations such as the ones above. Yet, I don’t always allow it.

I know that meditating on nights that I lay down to sleep and my brain won’t shut-off helps me to sleep. There is many a night where I just lie there anyway, letting my brain turn circles around itself, instead of taking the action that I know will help. Self-sabotage? Denial? both perhaps�.

Am I alone in this? Doubtful. Are you? Who is in denial of their denial and is that a question that can be answered when you look into your eyes in the mirror.

If you can’t look into your eyes in the mirror, that may be your answer.

How about denial “in a good way�? When on an insurmountable self-appointed task, the voice that says “keep going, don’t quit�, when other parts of you are screaming to stop.

When climbing the tallest mountain, enduring the body pain and agony, negative oxygen entering your system enforcing eight breaths=one step, and then taking the next step up anyway.

When an entrepreneur and the world around you sees you as an anomaly, when your being wants to quit the struggle and reenter the workforce and your accountant agrees, and you keep moving forward anyway.

When life as you know it has ended, you are alone in the universe, and that part of you is screaming fuck it, and yet you put a smile on your face and wish everyone a good morning anyway.

Is this also denial?

To me, this is the part of perseverance that keeps us going. The positive part of our bodies ability to deny “the reality of a situation� and keep moving forward. It is how those at war live after throwing themselves on a grenade, how unknown entrepreneurs become legends like Steve Jobs, how children survive lost in the woods for days with no training.

The brain’s ability to survive at all costs, at times, takes denial that the evidence being presented to its reality. Instead, it chooses to live and thrive in spite of what the brain’s active message is telling it, knowing the story is message is b.s. and all is ok. The choice to live and thrive in spite of itself is all that is needed.

How’s that for a closing statement.

Feel free to leave your thoughts and comments below!

What keeps us sane, keeps us moving forward. withholding our grounding objects is self-sabotage. yet, I know I do it frequently and often! Am I the only one? Doubtful. Can all admit to themselves that this is something they do to themselves? Also doubtful.

This denial is both our best survival tool and our biggest crutch. Denial that something is insurmountable is why some have summitted EverestÌýor endured a cross-country bicycle race while dying of a unsurvivable disease (see an awesome documentary called “The Ataxianâ€�:).

Denial is also why we stay in abusive relationships longer than is healthyÌýor we don’t leave a job that is crushing our soul.

Do we need to define “we� now? Human beings, that is “we�.

Who here is in denial enough to say they don’t self-sabotage?

For although we can work on ourselves, it is work. Work that can be forgotten allowing us to fall into the old pattern. It is consciousnessÌýof that denial quickly, being aware of that shadow of self-sabotageÌýthat enables us to stop lying to ourselves and choose to do the opposite.

The more we are aware of our own denial and self-sabotage, the easier it is to see in others, and for some, the less tolerant we become of it.

My wife and I recently had an experience with a landlord, that although they did not fix the electricity for nine months, and then chose to keep our security deposits when we chose to leave, they somehow presented themselves as the victims. “Why did you not fix it?â€�, “There was an old broom missing from the garageâ€�, “We had to, we could not rent the place because youâ€�(insert random made up comment here)â€�. ÌýNot only are they in denial of their lack of action, Ìýwe were in denial in our expectation that they would become people of integrity and return our security deposits when we chose to leave after we had given up on them.

Two forms of denial there, ours that they would suddenly step up, and there’s that we were the perpetrators.

The gift in all this to meÌýis we chose to do the right thing by our moral systems and therefore, are in integrity with ourselves. I am in integrity with myself. The question is are they in integrity with their moral self, or are they as they appear, angry and victims in their denial.

What does any of this have to do with my alone time in nature?

It is out in nature that my brain gets its time to banter through what is troubling it, what is keeping it up at night. It is where I allow myself the time that I know I need to come to realizations such as the ones above. Yet, I don’t always allow it.

I know that meditating on nights that I lay down to sleep and my brain won’t shut-off helps me to sleep. There is many a night where I just lie there anyway, letting my brain turn circles around itself, instead of takingÌýthe action that I know will help. Self-sabotage? Denial? both perhapsâ€�.

Am I alone in this? Doubtful. Are you? Who is in denial of their denial and is that a question that can be answered when you look into your eyes in the mirror.

Who is in denial of their denial and is that a question that can be answered when you look into your eyes in the mirror. If you can’t look into your eyes in the mirror, that may be your answer.

How about denial “in a good way�? When on an insurmountable self-appointed task, the voice that says “keep going, don’t quit�, when other parts of you are screaming to stop. When climbing the tallest mountain, enduring the body pain and agony, negative oxygen entering your system enforcing eight breaths=one step, and then taking the next step up anyway. When an entrepreneur and the world around you sees you as an anomaly, when your being wants to quit the struggle and reenter the workforce and your accountant agrees.

When climbing the tallest mountain, enduring the body pain and agony, negative oxygen entering your system enforcing eight breaths=one step, and then taking the next step up anyway.

When an entrepreneur and the world around you sees you as an anomaly, when your being wants to quit the struggle and reenter the workforce and your accountant agrees, and you keep moving forward anyway.

When life as you know it has ended, you are alone in the universe, and that part of you is screaming fuck it, and yet you put a smile on your face and wish everyone a good morning anyway.

Is this also denial?

To me, this is the part of perseverance that keeps us going. The positive part of our bodies ability to deny “the reality of a situation� and keep moving forward. It is how those at war live after throwing themselves on a grenade, how unknown entrepreneurs become legends like Steve Jobs, how children survive lost in the woods for days with no training.

The positive part of our bodies ability to deny “the reality of a situation� and keep moving forward. It is how those at war live after throwing themselves on a grenade, how unknown entrepreneurs become legends like Steve Jobs, how children survive lost in the woods for days with no training.

It is how those at war live after throwing themselves on a grenade, how unknown entrepreneurs become legends like Steve Jobs, how children survive lost in the woods for days with no training. The brains ability to survive at all costs, at times, takes denial that the evidence being presented to it is

The brain’s ability to survive at all costs, at times, takes denial that the evidence being presented to its reality. Instead, it chooses to live and thrive in spite of what the brain’s active message is telling it, knowing the story is message is b.s. and all is ok. The choice to live and thrive in spite of itself is all that is needed.

How’s that for a closing statement.

Ìý

Ìý

Feel free to leave your thoughts and comments below!

The woman enters the diner, a predacious manner about her. Scanning the room, she seeks the object of her desire. Not finding anyone to seat her in an instant, she makes a move for a booth.

A waitress exits the kitchen, “Hello!� she greets the woman.

The woman halfway to her chosen booth glances at the waitress and points at it while taking the last few steps and plopping herself down.

The waitress obliges.

“Hello.� The waitress says, handing the woman a menu, “Welcome, can I get you something to drink?�

“Just water.� The woman says, never looking up. She opens the menu and leans into it, scanning robotically she peruses the options, as the waitress saunters away.

A busker comes by and drops off the water; she is unfazed and continues scanning the single flip menu, encased in its protective covering it protests each flip, clinging to her suction cup fingers every time. Insistent in its incessant persistence, Fffft, Fffft, Fffft. Not once is it flipped without the sound, Fffft, Fffft. . .Fffft.

The waitress reappears.

“Are you ready to order?� she asks

“Yes. I’d like to order a side of broccoli, I need a pound and a half of it, so better make it four orders. And it needs to be deep fried, but not too deep fried, only two minutes, you don’t want to overcook it. I also want, what are your steamed veggies today?�

“Carrots, squash and cauliflower.� The waitress says.

“Ok, I’ll take three, no better make it four, orders of that as well. I need a pound and a half of vegetables. But don’t deep fry the carrots, squash and cauliflower.�

“Bring all of it together, make sure it is a pound and a half, I need a pound and a half of vegetables, but don’t overcook the broccoli, deep fry it, but only for two minutes. You don’t want to overcook it.� The woman says. Matter-a-fact and as if she has done this before, she gives her order to a T, knowing it will be carried out.

A few minutes later the waitress walks by, two plates heavy in her hands, one piled high with deep-fried broccoli, the other with steamed vegetables. There has to be about five pounds of cooked vegetables headed the woman’s way!

The woman sits up, leans back and makes room for the waitress to put the heavy plates down in front of her.

“That looks about right.� she says.

“Anything else?� the waitress asks.

A slight nod of the woman’s head. She is already engrossed in her vegetables. She turns her head to look at the piled plate of broccoli from every angle. She repeats the process with the pile of steamed veggies.

Leaning in she takes a big sniff of her treasure, the smell of deep fried broccoli fills the diner, its essence creeps into everywhere, yet she still has to lean in, in order to breathe deep into it. Everyone else’s noses turn up in disgust, the smell of deep fried green turns their stomachs hungry for meat. It is all you can eat rib night after all.

Satisfied, the visual and olfactory inspections over, the woman picks up a fork. Stabbing the broccoli like a determined frogger, the split fork pronging the object of desire as if life depends on it.

Long before the stench leaves the air, the woman has completed her mission, devouring the vegetables on her plate. When the waitress returns to her table exactly two minutes after dropping off the veggies, she is surprised to see them all gone.

“Wow, you were hungry!� Amazed at how quickly this customer consumed one and a half pounds of fiber, the part of waitress’s brain that remembers high school math calculates to itself the average consumption rate and is impressed.

The woman is becoming more and more efficient every day.

A while back, on a wintery weekend afternoon, a Ìýdesire for a jeep ride managed to bring me out of my nest and into dirty girl (aka the #jeep) for a country drive, in the blowing and still falling snow.

There is nothing like the contrast of red rocks and white snow, to entice me out of my warm nest and into the great outdoors. To be honest, I enjoy stormy weather days outside more than 80 and sunny days. There is nothing more boring weather-wise, than 80 and sunny. Whilst the ever changing views and elements of a blustery winter day, bring out the desire to hike or ride around in my Jeep, while smoking a cigar.

On this day the jeep (aka #dirtygirl) and the cigar win the competition.

As I did back then, I swung through a fast food restaurant to prepare sustenanceÌýfor the drive. Pulling through the drive-thru, I noticeÌýthey have a two for two dollarÌýspecial onÌýtheir name to fame, the big-mac. “Cool.â€� I think to myself, “I can get one at half price!â€�

“Pulling up to the depressing black drive-thru order box, I am greeted cheerfully, “Good afternoon, what can I make for you today?�

“I see you have a two for two dollarÌýspecial on the big-mac.â€�

“Yes we do, would you like usÌýto make you two big-macs today?â€�

“No, actually I only want one. Can I still get a deal?�

“No, if you order one, I will have to charge you full price, and that will be more than buying two for two.� the cheerful voice coming from the big plastic box says.

“For REALS? If I buy one, I have to pay full price! Can I pay for two and just take one?�

“No sir.� the not as cheery voice coming from the black box says, “You have to take both.�

Ìý

Long pause by me, while I express the voices in my head, but keep them in my head.

Ìý

“I guess, I’ll take two then.� I say out loud.

“Great. Thank you sir. Would you like anything else?�

“Yes, Ìýa small diet coke and medium french fries please.â€�

Voice from the box, “Would you like a large drink, they are all the same price.�

“…sure why not.� conversation saving answer.

Ìý

Pulling around, I think to myself, “There has got to be a reason; are they really that corporate, that they don’t allow their people to think? Or, perhaps it is an inventory thing. They need to sell product before it goes bad, and its cheaper to sell it at a loss, than to dispose of it or� “Here you go sir, enjoy. Thank you.� The voice now having a face, a twenty-something with dedication without knowledge as to why.

“Thank you; you too.� Pulling away, before turning out onto the road, again I ponder what I am going to do with the extra big-mac. I mean, I could probably eat two, but even I didn’t need to ingest that many calories while merely driving around sifting in the views.

Before I know it, the fries, one big-mac, and most of the giant diet coke even are gone. Easing my way through the forest and countryside, I admire the snow glazed wind, and the crisp February air, the crunch under my tires intermixing with the sounds of slush in the wettest spots. The sandstone takes on an illustrious orange hew when the shine shines bright, melting the snow recently attached to it. I come to another crunchy area as a motion is caught in my periphery to the right.

A coyote with legs minus one the usual amount, comes a trotting from my right, heading towards the road ahead of me. He scopes about the drifting snow, hoping for something, casting his trained eye across the horizon. Looking for food more than shelter, perhaps.

I think to myself, “How could I not..?�

SlippingÌýDirty Girl into neutral, I apply the brake and open her door. Grabbing the still warm, all beef patties, special sauce, extra cheese, lettuce, pickle, on a sesame seed bun whileÌýhopping out of the jeep, walking firmly, my head slightly down as to come across non-threatening, I walk out in front of dirty girl.

As I bend down, I open the box. Placing it on the glazed snow, I glanceÌýup at the coyote. The coyote has stopped moving and is staring at me, head still at scanning level.

I backpedal my way back and sideways into Dirty girl, closing the door gently I sit and watch the three legged coyote watch me.

Nothing else exists, the snow blows through without notice, the earth turns, but who notices, clouds are moving and life is continuing for all else, in that moment he looks at me. ThenÌýmoves forward with purpose, he nose a detecting whatever scents it can pick up in the perpendicularÌýwind. ÌýThe coyote reaches the wax coated, pliable, two millimeter thick box. The container flaps its top lid, attracting the coyote to the free meal inside.

His eyes move from the contents to watch me inside my metal shell; snatching the prize, he gulps twice and it is gone.

Ìý

Perhaps I could have saved him some fries.

“She sits in her own waste; having no choice, she is starting to get used to the idea. Hands bound behind her with chains that are threaded through a metal ring in the wall, she has no ability to stand up and move. About all she can do it lay down left or right, either way her now ragged dress and its extra contents would come with her just the same. Might as well sit up, it seems to smell less, and be more tolerable in this position anyway. Not to mention any blood that is flowing from her face has a better chance of finding its way down her throat instead of across her face and into her eye.

Knowing nothing about the amount of blood her body contains she is looking at it as a victory over the government that turned against her, and locked her in one of its nastiest prisons. It seems it is their strongest desire to remove her of all her blood, and will, through beatings.

Having been here for over a month now she knows exactly what she is accused of. . .not a good time for it either. France is looking for scapegoats and culprits as to why they are doing so bad in this war against the Germans. She of her frequent travels, and ability to spend time with people of power, and willingness to do so regardless of their nationality. She is driven solely on a monetary basis, not a belief system or nationality basis. This is what made her most dangerous.

So naturally she was a spy, or at least the perfect scapegoat, that no one would miss, to take the fall as one. After all, all of those powerful men will just replace her with someone else; she has no internal lies about her status in societies. Just the best paid concubine they will ever have had is all she is. Unfortunately that won’t be realized until several years from now, and she will be long dead by then. Im visse�, she will be dead by the end of the month if she is lucky to live that long even.

At the top of the stairs, down a long dark hallway, not far from where the woman slumps tied to the wall, a key scrapes its way into a rarely used lock. It screams its protest, and is used anyway. The key turns and stops, a little more pressure is applied and the cylinder reluctantly releases with a click that rings down the stairs, traveling the hallway to the woman. Who beaten severely, and starved of food or any sustenance other than water that was more piss than anything, kinda hears the noise in the back reaches of her brain. Ears swollen shut from a cane’s blows, she feels the sound more that hears it.

The heavy door groans profusely as it is pushed open, the sound echoes indefinitely.

°Â³ó¾±²õ±è±ð°ù¾±²Ô²µâ€�

A scuff of a boot on a step and then another and another, reaching the bottom of the stairs, a pause.

Someone talks, quietly, under his breath, “He said right.� A scuff of boots that turn into

Click

Click

Click, click, click� the sound is moving confidently toward her.

Its about this time she manages to start lifting her head. It takes a minute or so to get it high enough to be able to take a look. When she manages, she sees shiny black boots standing there totally out of place in this dungeon. Working her head higher she sees the rest of the man matches his boots. Totally put together, perfection through effort, she has seen many a man like this before. Most of her powerful customers had at least one of these guys hanging around. They were the kind kept around to handle things that are not happening, and never did. The kind of things that would ruin their reputation and strip them of their power upon becoming common knowledge. Therefore these men do things, that most are not capable of.

He speaks, “You awake?� he cocks his head and looks sideways at her a little bit, waiting.

She manages to nod her head a bit.

“Good.� He says.

I am here to present you with a choice: stay here and die, or come with me, and help redeem yourself in the eyes of France.�

He stands and watches her as her head sways back and forth, half from semi-consciousness, and half as a reaction to her bodies pain. They obviously have been working her hard.

He crouches down onto his haunches, moving himself to her level, he does his best to make contact with her, “This is a one time offer.� He tries to look into her eyes, they are so swollen he can’t tell if she can see him or not.

“If you help me catch a spy, we will release you from the accusation of being a spy and set you free.�

The man waits patiently.

He hears a whisper.

â€Ô¨±ð²õ.â€�

“Yes, I will do it.� She whispers�.

Quieter, almost not out-loud, “I will do anything.� She says.

He watches her fall over on the straw.

Over and over she’s says this phrase, not aware that she has actually passed out and is dreaming this expression over and over in her brain.

He watches her for a moment, trying to see what men see in her, hard to see in this state. Mostly he likes her tenacity, it may come in handy too.

The man calls for the guard. He works his way down the stairs and hall, quickly.

“Yes Mr. Batard?�

“Carry her out of here and get started cleaning her up. I will send my doctor.�

“But she stinks and is filthily and is. . .probably disease ridden.�

“And that is all your doing.� Mr. Batard says. After a thought, “Carry her out of here. Now!�

The guard reluctantly moves towards her and after unchaining her from the wall, picks her up and throws her, rag doll like, over his shoulder. He bounces her a bit to reposition her, some of the waste escapes her dress and falls to the ancient straw.

“Misfortunate suisje.� Escapes the guards mouth as he walks down the hall.

The man, Lee Batard, stands there watching the guard and his half dead package moving down the hall. He then listens to the guards boots scrape as he ascends the stairs towards the fresh air and light above.

“You have no idea my man, no idea at all, how misfortunate you really are.� The man smiles, knowing the guard will be killed as soon as he reaches the automobile. We can’t have any witnesses now can we, this didn’t happen after all. Looking around in distain, he marvels that this woman, this Mata Hari is as tough as she was talked up to be. Surviving in this environment for as long as she did proves it.

Amazingly she confessed to nothing the entire time she was here, not even things they know for a fact she did. This is exactly why he needs her for this gig, no other can pull it off. She is dead anyway, so he can just return her to here when he is finished with her, then she will be able to finish her job as scapegoat to France.

Getting a whiff of the freshly fallen poop, he steps over it, and with purpose strides down the hall, hoping it will be a long time before he has to reclaim anyone from this spot again. Yet knowing this war is just getting warmed up, he is sure he will be here frequently and often over the next few years.�

Ìý

Book two takes us further back in time, a couple hundred years in fact, so far back the repercussions have already been felt!

“She sits in her own waste; having no choice, she is starting to get used to the idea. Hands bound behind her with chains that are threaded through a metal ring in the wall, she has no ability to stand up and move. About all she can do it lay down left or right, either way her now ragged dress and its extra contents would come with her just the same. Might as well sit up, it seems to smell less, and be more tolerable in this position anyway. Not to mention any blood that is flowing from her face has a better chance of finding its way down her throat instead of across her face and into her eye. Knowing nothing about the amount of blood her body contains she is looking at it as a victory over the government that turned against her, and locked her in one of its nastiest prisons. It seems it is their strongest desire to remove her of all her blood, and will, through beatings.

Having been here for over a month now she knows exactly what she is accused of. . .not a good time for it either. France is looking for scapegoats and culprits as to why they are doing so bad in this war against the Germans. She of her frequent travels, and ability to spend time with people of power, and willingness to do so regardless of their nationality. She is driven solely on a monetary basis, not a belief system or nationality basis. This is what made her most dangerous.

So naturally she was a spy, or at least the perfect scapegoat, that no one would miss, to take the fall as one. After all, all of those powerful men will just replace her with someone else; she has no internal lies about her status in societies. Just the best paid concubine they will ever have had is all she is. Unfortunately that won’t be realized until several years from now, and she will be long dead by then. Im visse�, she will be dead by the end of the month if she is lucky to live that long even.

At the top of the stairs, down a long dark hallway, not far from where the woman slumps tied to the wall, a key scrapes its way into a rarely used lock. It screams its protest, and is used anyway. The key turns and stops, a little more pressure is applied and the cylinder reluctantly releases with a click that rings down the stairs, traveling the hallway to the woman. Who beaten severely, and starved of food or any sustenance other than water that was more piss than anything, kinda hears the noise in the back reaches of her brain. Ears swollen shut from a cane’s blows, she feels the sound more that hears it.

The heavy door groans profusely as it is pushed open, the sound echoes indefinitely.

°Â³ó¾±²õ±è±ð°ù¾±²Ô²µâ€�

A scuff of a boot on a step and then another and another, reaching the bottom of the stairs, a pause.

Someone talks, quietly, under his breath, “He said right.� A scuff of boots that turn into

Click

Click

Click, click, click� the sound is moving confidently toward her.

Its about this time she manages to start lifting her head. It takes a minute or so to get it high enough to be able to take a look. When she manages, she sees shiny black boots standing there totally out of place in this dungeon. Working her head higher she sees the rest of the man matches his boots. Totally put together, perfection through effort, she has seen many a man like this before. Most of her powerful customers had at least one of these guys hanging around. They were the kind kept around to handle things that are not happening, and never did. The kind of things that would ruin their reputation and strip them of their power upon becoming common knowledge. Therefore these men do things, that most are not capable of.

He speaks, “You awake?� he cocks his head and looks sideways at her a little bit, waiting.

She manages to nod her head a bit.

“Good.� He says.

I am here to present you with a choice: stay here and die, or come with me, and help redeem yourself in the eyes of France.�

He stands and watches her as her head sways back and forth, half from semi-consciousness, and half as a reaction to her bodies pain. They obviously have been working her hard.

He crouches down onto his haunches, moving himself to her level, he does his best to make contact with her, “This is a one time offer.� He tries to look into her eyes, they are so swollen he can’t tell if she can see him or not.

“If you help me catch a spy, we will release you from the accusation of being a spy and set you free.�

The man waits patiently.

He hears a whisper.

â€Ô¨±ð²õ.â€�

“Yes, I will do it.� She whispers�.

Quieter, almost not out-loud, “I will do anything.� She says.

He watches her fall over on the straw.

Over and over she’s says this phrase, not aware that she has actually passed out and is dreaming this expression over and over in her brain.

He watches her for a moment, trying to see what men see in her, hard to see in this state. Mostly he likes her tenacity, it may come in handy too.

The man calls for the guard. He works his way down the stairs and hall, quickly.

“Yes Mr. Batard?�

“Carry her out of here and get started cleaning her up. I will send my doctor.�

“But she stinks and is filthily and is. . .probably disease ridden.�

“And that is all your doing.� Mr. Batard says. After a thought, “Carry her out of here. Now!�

The guard reluctantly moves towards her and after unchaining her from the wall, picks her up and throws her, rag doll like, over his shoulder. He bounces her a bit to reposition her, some of the waste escapes her dress and falls to the ancient straw.

“Misfortunate suisje.� Escapes the guards mouth as he walks down the hall.

The man, Lee Batard, stands there watching the guard and his half dead package moving down the hall. He then listens to the guards boots scrape as he ascends the stairs towards the fresh air and light above.

“You have no idea my man, no idea at all, how misfortunate you really are.� The man smiles, knowing the guard will be killed as soon as he reaches the automobile. We can’t have any witnesses now can we, this didn’t happen after all. Looking around in distain, he marvels that this woman, this Mata Hari is as tough as she was talked up to be. Surviving in this environment for as long as she did proves it.

Amazingly she confessed to nothing the entire time she was here, not even things they know for a fact she did. This is exactly why he needs her for this gig, no other can pull it off. She is dead anyway, so he can just return her to here when he is finished with her, then she will be able to finish her job as scapegoat to France.

Getting a whiff of the freshly fallen poop, he steps over it, and with purpose strides down the hall, hoping it will be a long time before he has to reclaim anyone from this spot again. Yet knowing this war is just getting warmed up, he is sure he will be here frequently and often over the next few years.�

Ìý

Book two takes us further back in time, a couple hundred years in fact, so far back the repercussions have already been felt!

Would you say you were created with a purposeÌýor are you just a random creation?

Were you created to work in a box factory, negotiate bigger margins, fight wars…or were you made for something else? Do you do these things because it is all you know, or through conscious choice?

Lots of questions, I know.

How many people areÌýcreated to just work. . .is it possible some are here to do other things, and how do we know? When did you know, know you were different, destined for more than you were being at the time, or ARE being now? For me it came as a surprise, a final acceptance. An acceptance that I am suppose to write, to tell stories, to be a creative. It became impossible to hide from it. Heck, I even had an employee, who with a degree in Psychology, who looked and pointedÌýrightÌýat me one day when discussing creatives with a co-worker. She knew I am a creative, even though I was living the live of a “bossâ€�, a “managerâ€�.

I have lead people all my life, long before I was ready for it, and for as long as I remember. As a child, ideas of things to do would come up, and they would wait to see if I wanted to join before deciding. In the military, I was often putÌýin charge of a task or team. In all five careers I had before becoming an author and entrepreneur, I walked in the door as an entry level, and worked my way up to management. They all knew I am leader, long before I accepted it.

As an adventurer and explorer, I was able to go on many types of adventures I had not attempted before. My backcountry partnersÌýknew I had the athletic ability to complete the route, canyon or backpack trip, whatever that particular type of fun! How is it they knew I could do it, even as I was myself, wondering if I would have the strength and endurance to do a rim to river to rim in nine hours, or canyoneering for ten hours in Behunin canyon while dealing with the flu?

How is it others see our strengths as easily as we can see our weaknesses?

Perhaps its because they didn’t see, that I knew deep down inside, I wasn’t living the life I was meant to live; I was living the life I was taught to live, I wasn’t congruent with my purpose. I had a deep passion I was hiding from, I’ve known this since high school, I had a deep want to be a writer, to write and tell stories. Yet, the story I had been told wass, “You can’t make a living that way.�, “Artists don’t make any money.�, “You must provide ($$$).� the list goes on.

Ìý

What is the list in your head that prevents you from pursuing what you KNOW you must pursue?

But, none of that worked for me! I was very successful in what I was taught (and what I taught myself) was the version of success, yet none of it worked for me. I remember being in JFK airport on my 13th birthday, we were headed to England for my step-dads next assignment, this time overseas. I remember seeing these businessmen in suits, carrying their briefcases and talking while walking through the terminal. I planted the seed in my brain, “That is success!�. About 15 years later, I was that businessman, I had succeeded by that new teenagers perspective. I had set a goal in my mind, and had attained it.

In hindsight, that’s how easy it is. Vision a goal, and work towards it!

A few years later, I got redrock fever. It’s a fever, albeit a good one;Ìýanybody who has seen the red rocks of Sedona, has an inkling of what I am talking about. I finished the semester (I was taking courses, working towards a degree in Environmental Conservation), packed up anything that would fit in a Geo Tracker and headed west, never looking back. On a visit a few months prior, I had taken a jeep tour. It was a fun romp over and around Sedona’s red rocks, the guide was entertaining and knowledgable. I said to myself, I want to do that! I was with one of the local jeep companies for eight years. I succeeded in the direction I chose, once again. I made a decision to be a guide andÌýmade it happen. I had succeeded by that 30 somethings perspective.

Who empoweres you to live the life you want, the one you are made for?

Now, I sit and write this as a 40 something. I am using The Tripper Series to establish my brand and am creating a following of readers to devour my works. I am told they are good and well written; it is a craft to be developed over time in my mind. ÌýRegardless, I am going to keep moving forward. Write and write for as long as it takes to succeed by my definition.ÌýThe only difference between my current path and the previous ones: I am congruent with my passions, natural personality type and perhaps to be grandiose, am doing what I am made for. I had the answers and am listening to them. Today I lead in a different way, walking my talk, taking the leap, answering the call, I leave all I knew and move forward to what I know!

Ìý

Do you have all the answers to your questions?

I bet you do, and there isÌýonly one way to find out! Take action on them, at least then you will know one way or the other. Regret is no way to live.

There isÌýlots of talk in the media and on Facebook about flags and other symbols. Symbols are a powerful thing, I admit I have a few I am passionate about. The tough part to accept by me is, why demean and devalue a use of a symbol or object because of ONEÌýuse of it?

The symbol at the top of this blog post is a symbol that has been utilized since the Neolithic period in human history. It can be found in 16 plus cultures. In 2015, the symbol is generally referred to by a word that actually means luck or prosperityÌýin its sanskrit origins.

Indigenous American tribes like the Hopi, Navajo and many others utilize a form of the symbol. To the Hopi it represents the wandering Hopi Clan, to the Navajo it is a representative symbol for something used in healing rituals. The symbol has also been found in archeological excavations in the Ohio & Mississippi river valleys as well.

Hinduism and Buddhism have it as a sacred symbol also. In Buddhism it is a sacred symbol of eternity, and in Hinduism it is used in sacred rituals and as a good luck charm.

Yet, with almost every continent on the planet having a culture that believes the symbol is a good thing; we still focus on the one culture in history that used it as a symbol of power and hatred.

The other cultures did or still utilize the symbol as one for good, prosperity, protection…the list goes on. How many of you have learnedÌýabout those cultures in publications orÌýon TV?

Did the Germanic culture of that time periodÌýdo horrific things? Absolutely! Hard to argue with if you have your blinders off, and if you are open to logic. Even the German education system teaches this. No denial there.

What is symbolic to me, is that we use these images and symbols as a way to continue living the trials of the past. Those that have been wronged, cry foul when the image reminds them of the past wronging, thus continuing the cycle and preventing those living now, from moving on from the wrongs of the past.

Living in the past is a form of victimhood. Perpetuating what has happened as apposed to moving on and living the life you desire. It is a crutch to use in order to blame others for where I am in my life. They did me wrong, it is your fault, you owe me.ÌýOr, they did my ancestors wrong, it is their fault. You owe me.

It would be like me suing the British government for acts of hatred and oppression they performed onÌýmy Scottish and Irish Ancestors. Blaming them for me not being able to. . .whatever it is I am telling myself I can’t do because of what they did!

Asking current generations to pay for acts of the past, is continuing the wrong. A great example: reverse discrimination or reverse racism.

The term reverse racism is a misnomer, if you go to dictionary.com (or other word look-ups), you will not find a definition for it. One must go to popular opinion sites to gain somewhat of a formal definition of the term, wikipedia for instance.Ìý I would define it as making a future generation pay for the mistakes of their ancestors; I would hazard a guess (not really a guess) that all people, from all walks of life, regardless of race or creed, or place of origin, have ancestors that have been wronged and have caused wrong, either by their own culture or other cultures!

Life is not black and white at all, history is written as so, by the victor.

Symbolism is not black and white either, the same symbols mean different things to different people. Just ask anyone who runs a four way stop sign, because no one else is there at the same time as they are. To them it is a stop if another car is there, a slowdown if there is not another car at the intersection at the very same time.

Ok, that is a vent and yet, still an example.

Where was I?

Symbols can be projections for honor, pride and freedom or oppression, depending on the shoes you are standing in. What is important to me, is that we don’t forget that the good comes with the bad. One horrific cultures use of a symbol, does not mean the other uses don’t exist.

Why does the bad outweigh the good? Why is it only one version is allowed? If this is going to be true, lets focus on the blessing.

The good use of the symbol above, for there are 16 plus cultures that use it for good, and only one that used it for bad. Screw those sods, lets move on. Live in the present, heal the past and then. . .maybe we will allow ourselves to pursue dreams and be happy.

Not related you say! Stay tuned, more to come on that topic.