One Little Christmas Tree

Have a wonderful change in perspective and humble nativity.  As I prepare my heart to become a manger, so that Christ may be born again, I realize so much of my past has been denying that, me, a little Christmas tree can light up the world so that some might find their way.  I accept today that I withhold the qualities and traits necessary to stand tall enough.  If you find that believing that a child was conceived to a virgin Mother challenging, then believing that you can stand tall and light up the world with be just as challenging.  I know from experience that my doubt can be powerful and critical perceptions of me can be discouraging.  Despite all that keeps me from shining bright, I am.

Feliz Navidad!

Te Amo Mucho

Michele Coleman A Spiritual Artist

Molding a Soul

You invited me into ideas that I have embraced.  Ideas that now seem simple, kind, gentle, and curious.  You have taught me how to look and see how I am lovable.  It seems silly but much of my arrogance, selfishness, and defenses I believe were created to hide the feelings of inadequacy.

 You have taught me to believe that I am worth understanding when misunderstood.  You have masterfully helped me see that I am not always communicating what I am trying to say.  This is helping me see that there are softer words that are better heard by those I love. You have guided me into my projections.  You have pointed to the light when all I expected was darkness.  You have watched me like a life guard splash in my pity, reminding me there is a way to swim or to stand up because I am in shallow waters.  When I have become angry you open your eyes curiously and focus in on mine then ask me to not be scared to be sad, but without words.  You remind me to consider that signs and omens point to my soul, when I so badly wish to interpret them in selfish ways.  The focus on healing me, helps me to see how impatient or eager I am to be loved by others.  I am nervously believing that the work to be done is mine.  I say nervously because there is much of me that never felt lovable or maybe acceptable.

Mostly I have realized that I am learning to love by loving me.  I am more patient because I have become curious to finding ways to accept me.  This spills over into accepting others.  I still have my temper but I have started to see the needs that flare it up.  I have anger but can now reflect and find the sadness.  I still escape and fear rejection.  I have not fully dealt with the fear of loss or being left.  I am still trying to understand how to accept the loss of love.  I still don't do well with good bye.

I cry now when I used to vent and write.  I am losing my competitive nature and gaining a contemplative nurture.  I am gaining tenacity and strengthening my foundation.  I watch a TV show instead of adding an extra workout.  I am still vulnerable, and maybe even more vulnerable.  I am no longer needing to pretend to be a bad ass.  I am no longer needing to feel powerful.  I have accepted that I am less in control than I have ever been.  I feel raw, foolish, and like an outcast.  You taught me about animal spirits, and I can see that I am a pit bull.  The belief systems I use are still a bit reckless but when the temperament is harmonious I am effective.  I am still an angry young boy at times.  I still use vulgarity, but understand it as an expression more than a language.  I am pronouncing my availability to be great.

I still rummage through sadness, but it feels more like a mist than the slop it once did.  I am realizing my sadness is like a big fluffy cumulus cloud, that looks more intimidating from a distance.  As I progress through it, I can see that it is manageable.

I find myself on a new path.  My past is still in view and I am still wanting some habits, but I hear your voice telling me I am ready to step into my greatness.

My Father's House

I was asked one evening, after describing how insecure a man I can be, something to such a degree as, didn't I have any good men in my life?  I believed the pointedness of the question or wonder.  I have been answering this question since.  The question or wonder helped me find a warrior spirit, to be less silly, my dignity.  The lucid definition may sound like a silly concept, "Warrior Spirit".  But the soulful, scary, and grounding definition isn't scary.  I look back at this evening and smile.  It is embarrassing to say, but I have been in a vulnerable and spineless condition for most of this year.  Sadly, I have held a hate for my "father's house".

My father's house is the mythological location in my soul.  It is where the men in my life store wisdom and wounds.  The wisdom can be represented in numerous ways.  I find wisdom mostly when I am having to do the right thing.  The wounds are the perspectives that leave me victimized and motivate me to victimize.  The wounds are their mistakes.  All these are stored as memories, instincts, and habits.  I have painted the men close to me with disdain and failure.  This has caused me to look beyond them for examples of how to live.  I have betrayed my lineage.  I have committed treason against my familial army.  I have belittled the decedents of the Garcia and Estrada warriors.

I can't help but notice the pain I still haven't dealt.  I see it now that I am reflecting on the past year.  The joy on the horizon makes me think this is my lagging grief.  I keep revisiting the disappointment for not having enough guidance through my adolescence and young adulthood.  The last 2 year's circumstances have me question my integrity and proving my dignity.  I am moving my disappointment into a better view.  I am opening my line of sight and realizing that it is not that there weren't good men in my life, but rather my shortcomings can be better explained through focusing on the complexity of people in my life and their scattered contribution.  I am more to blame than any one group in particular.

I must take more responsibility for my lack of fidelity, emotional irresponsibility, and narcissism.  This is the dominant message that I have refused to recall from my "Father's House".  I am the reason for my choices.  I am the captain of my ship.  I must be a man among warriors and ask to take the test that will help me learn to be accountable for my choices.  That test will credential my valiance, endurance, and love.  The men in my life love, each in their own way.  I see how important it is to remember that looking for how someone loves is critical to receiving love. I must put on my battle gear, protect my heart because it is sacred, and open my soul's eyes to observing more ways I am loved.  The role I play in my life has become more pinnacle than what has been looking for reasons.

I have finally seen how cynical I have been towards the men in my life.  My failures with relationships has angered me.  I have unfairly put the responsibility for my behaviors, choices, and feelings on my role models.  This can't be.  Their example must become a learning opportunity and not an example.  I am knowledgeable enough to be considerate, compassionate, and patient without falling back on excuses pointing at my "father's house".  Equally the same conversation helped me release my disgruntled attitude for my "mother's house".

That evening was a bitter sweet acknowledgment that I am not beyond the pain I like to think all my introspection and health should have freed me from.  I love to be challenged, I struggle to be corrected, and I am proud of how willing I am to look inward.

Joy of punishment

I don't remember writing about joy.  I have so much joy in my life but never write about it.  I have so many joyful people in my life but I never write about that.  I have so much that I keep from this blog that it is unbalanced.  I often wonder why I feel so misunderstood.  I don't really understand or demonstrate myself accurately...with balance.  I am a joyful person too and I can't tell from reading this blog.  I talk of love, but it is a sad love.  I have a joyful love.

I think as part of my own punishment for my part in destroying a marriage, I worked really hard to forgive that part of me.  Oddly it just turned into hating that part of me.  A big part me that was joyful died with "Ronnie".  I kept my humor, I regained my romance, but up until now I refused to let myself feel joyful.  It is unfortunate that during my forgiveness synthesis I forgot to include joy.

Maybe I didn't forget the joy, I might have just completed the process now.  I think of all the music I have chosen, I think of all the failures I have had with loved ones, I think of all the pity I have collected, and I think of how many more serious talks I have had than fun ones.  This has helped me realize that I don't write about the joy in my life.  I will start with the joy I get from seeing those near me happy.  That is the greatest joy, and now it won't be forgotten.

Forgiveness isn't really forgiveness until joy fills the void left from the pain.  I am joyful how life has evolved after the end of my marriage.  I am joyful about the father I have worked to become.  I am joyful for the friendships cultivated, created, and released.  I am joyful for the comfort of my family.  I am joyful for the hospitality of society.  More to come about joy.  More to come about what makes me smile

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I have stumbled into greatness, not so much this man, but the example he demonstrates, the healing quality of the expressed word.  I have found myself in my writing and I find myself writing more.  I am a work in progress and like this film there is the final cut still pending.

Please support this film if you feel drawn to a grassroots project.  Its message is a message that I hope will soon be publicized because it inform of the struggle that Chicanos bare.  It is information into the machismo that has corroded the buen hombre.  It informs how the vato loco grows from innocence into being seen as a menace to society.  It shows the effort needed to undue a lifetime of discouragement and inferiority.  It highlights an example of dysfunction that steers true.  It is commonly asked among people in New Mexico, where are the good men, and this is fertilizer for preparing the soul where better men can grow.

I have been fortunate to sit with Jimmy, talk with him, and open up to him.  I see how important it is to be limitless and dream big.  I have had an opportunity to erupt with ideas knowing the chances for success are unimportant because the passion to steer in a grand direction is the consequence of hope.  God is foolishly wise and I see that quality in Jimmy.  I had grown to tell myself all the ways I cannot dream, and Jimmy reminds me in his actions to dream in community, speak with grace, root it in advocacy, and to believe it will happen.  One day I will have my own project, and I feel I will have a carnalito advocating for prosperity in the same way I am right now.

Out of the Darkness

With every shadow there is a source of light. When all you can see is shadow, it likely means the light is at your back.  If you can picture how cold and dark this might feel, then you can share in the lifestyle of cynical dreams, pessimistic truths, and half-hearted passion.  The shadows are not a place that can be avoided.  We all live here for some time.  What might be avoided is a departure into the light.

Hope is the acknowledgment of light. I have spent a majority of this year accepting and listening to how people recognize me by my shadow. I have spent an equal amount of time defending it, explaining it, an pitying it.  I learned to ask permission from my shadow, I asked to be invited to share its borders.  I asked my darkness if we could make an adjustment towards the light. 

I submitted to the tensions that inspire my shadow to darken.  I worked to listen to judgment.  I reflected on circumstances that irritated my ego.  I became fragile.  Much of it was unintentional.  This year, I did what it took to turn myself towards the light.  It was to turn further and further into the darkness, eventually I turned 180 degrees.  Now I can glimpse the light breaking around the obstructions in my life.

Turning is a metaphor for learning to listen, accept, and own.  Turning was a difficult collection of actions, events, and emotions.  It ranged from working to put down defenses to simply identifying defenses.  I became weak, physiologically and emotionally.  I embraced resting.  I was lazy, while being responsible for actions I would normally avoid.  I was sad for a lot more circumstances than I would normally allow myself to grieve. I find myself crying more.  I became needy and notice how much of a whiner I can be.  I can still see my arrogance and behind it how scared I am.  I owned my perverted ways, allowing me to see my shame.  

I did a lot more discomforting activities than normal.  I resisted my addicted nature.  I drank less, rested more, just sat, I watched sitcoms, I stop reading, I let my weeds grow, and I tried to be less selfish.  I used the muscle movements that I had never trusted.  I expressed my jealousy.  I reached out for help more often.  I allowed myself to be spread thin.  I visited places I was judgmental about.  I trusted people more. I listened more often then finding contradictions.  

I embraced a lot more emotions than I let myself in the past.  I was able to really feel perplexed, confused, and worried.  I revisited what it feels like to fear losing a lover.  Then again I really embraced trying to love and be loved.  I did more things for others that were because I wanted to versus out of reciprocity.  I realized what it feels like to be let down.  I learned how difficult it is to love like a friend while being in love.  I learned the difference between being seen as a lover and seen as a friend.  I had the heart wrenching struggle of once again being rejected.  I am different, and see the shadows with curiosity more than fear.

 I behaved in ways I would have normally avoided.  I found myself feeling taken advantage of.  I felt myself being valued less.  I found myself walking on egg shells more often.  I found myself spending more money on extras.  I found myself drinking more when obligated.  I found myself reminding myself of past trespasses.  I was beginning to lose hope entirely.  I began to question my heroes, mistrust my lover, become jealous of my friends, and shut myself off from the activities I cherished most.  I lost myself in my victimization...gently and with care.  

I had the courage to be defenseless enough to feel the pain when the coping tactics of the shadow kicked in.  I tried my best to keep myself in the places that brought on fear and my shadows.  I resisted the urge to protect myself with so much tolerance refusing to allow my ingrained warrior's protective nature to argue for my internal cause.  I fought hard to hold the words that are usually release with anger, sending my blood from my torso up toward my head.  I may be more patient but also defeated.  It didn't give the gifts I thought it would give but it gave me gifts.  

I did not regain sight of my hope, my light, until I could have a full 360 degree scan of who I am capable of being. The term "come full circle" fits the analogy.  Who I am is who I have been, complicated by who I am seen as and who I think I can be.  None are completely accurate or an expression of how undefinable I am.  I feel my hope growing and my future brightening.  I am excited about the last year.  I am excited that I can be flawed, weak, and misunderstood and still thrive.

I know more about the lesser me than ever.  I like to be liked and have a difficult time seeing how unlikable I can be.  I believe now that I hold on tighter to trespasses more often than I do successes.  It feels like towers of stacked successes can easily be wiped out by a visit from tragedy.  And now I can see that tragedy is not random or spontaneous.  Tragedy is a build up of the sewage.  The subtle collection of toxins from unregulated evil or suffering that eventually erupts, boils over, and reacts.

So when tragedy rears it's head, my shadow tries to convince me that I should be surprised, but having gotten to know my shadow, I can testify that my pollution has created or contributed to tragedy's growth.  I am an equal reason for the tragedies in my life or how I allow them to impact me.  I am liable for the reasons that those that don't like me have.  Where before, I might have believed it was all their problem.  I can be open to listening to the noise coming from my messages.  I can be present to fear... in doses.

With this journey into my shadow, I have a new respect for pessimism.  It is a currency that I don't really need when I can use hope.  Because hope was so absent, the only resource I can conjure in my shadows is pessimism.  I now have an analogy that pessimism is like a two way street.  If I turn down that street I realize that the paved path, with a street sign displaying Pessimistic Avenue, will always put me in traffic and dangerously into on coming traffic.  The pessimism I have about others, will and has eventually cultivate pessimism about me.  I am glad the intersection between life and pessimistic avenue is a four way stop.  I no longer see the value in pessimism, but I am still learning how to bank on hope.

This encounter with my shadows is not my last, but it feels like a time has come to look for more light.  I see the shadow as a coping strategy for extreme stress.  I realize how intense introspection can be required in order to notice shadow qualities.  I became disheartened and discouraged by seeing and being asked to see myself in undesirable ways.  I have grown to readopt and respect the influence of my victim role.  I have sat with my loser concept.  I have revisited my abusive tendency.  While trying to accept these qualities I found myself immersed in discouraging moments of identity struggle.  I was believing and becoming absolutely my shadow. 

I was starting to identify as my shadow.  I was convincing myself that there too much to overcome to go beyond my shadows.  I was working overtime to reconcile events, ideas, and values that I no longer needed to synthesize.  I was putting myself into environments that were holding me and binding me to my shadow versus aiding me back to my light.  I found mercy again.

I was a prisoner to my shadow.  I may still be a prisoner to my shadow.  What I can tell is that there is a forgiveness that I am trying to recognize.  I am trying to tell the story of my shadows from their wounded perspective.  I am trying to see my shadows as crying infants that have yet to be held and soothed.  I am trying to tell its story from the circumstances that evoke my coping strategies.  I came up with a few shadow qualities that I can forgive.  

I am fallible.  

I am guilty.  

I am dangerous.  

I am careless.  

I am rude.  

I am vulgar.  

I am prejudice.

I honored my shadows. In a symbolic way I gave them the necessary attention they cried for. To everyone who wants to blame, punish, criticize, compete, prove, license, regulate, corral, judge, and hate, I join you. I bow to the pain and frigid shadows that have hoarded our attention.