If you’ve ever wondered, this is my story of the last half-decade of my life. Some may have heard versions of it and others have lived through it with me. This is not for cynics, not for pessimists, not for people who sit with four fingers pointing back at them. This is my story. A personal journey and part of an obedient call toward *truth* - a place all cynics, pessimists and the pretentious are sooner or later drawn to. ‘Less think, more ink’ has been a personal motto for the past two years as I’ve searched through half a dozen of my journals and scraps of paper to find the applicable stories, anecdotes, passages of writing and song lyrics for this collection of short stories. It is thus more an Art-o-biography than anything else. Stories from space is a commissioned work as part of my calling to fill in the lost time with valued friends while adding a different and valuable perspective to people’s lives and herein lies the true intention. This collection of words is for my friends that haven’t seen me for a while and for new friends I have not had the pleasure of walking with yet. I’ll start off by admitting my own pretention by this quote, from myself:
“This earthly body may have a certain look, but the well behind these walls, oh the well runs deep and flows the distance’’
By going against what’s been ‘done before’ in terms of a careless writing style, gross ambiguity, verbose verbosity, sloppy editing and the intentional unintentional continuous mixing of metaphors, I Hope I prove my inadequacy as a writer and my stance as a humble human being. In other words from already committing multiple grammatical suicides and errors of style this piece, it becomes one wreck-less opener*. Nevertheless, it hopefully shows more of my colours as one honest and hard-working independent*. Which unknown would dare to care to write an autobiography? Let alone adding to it intermeshed prose and lyrics! Additionally, for someone to arrogantly quote their very own words in the first paragraph is just, well, unintentional but realised literary suicide which masks itself in the overused, hack-eyed, scape-goat known as artistic licence. Well I guess the answer to this rolling question of who would do this silly thing is ME. As I yet again quote on myself I am actually fulfilling the purpose of saving the environment by recycling words. By recycling jokes I feel I am perfect for this kind of thing.
Perfect as a vessel, a vehicle, a body, an example and perfect as a martyr. So choose one of those descriptions you like and then tell them. Tell them that from my own decisions over the past few years, all my pride and most of my imagined fears have fallen along with my house of cards I built on the sandy-land. And tell them because the personal conquest and far-reaching consequences of these few pages meeting two covers is an undeniable feat for a flawed human being. Tell them I left and I ran from what was handed to me on a golden plate in a gathering of believers and at the time seemed too good to be true as I assume will keep on happening throughout my life as part of the human condition. What you read on these pages may offend, may dishonour, may defend and may befriend. Again, you use your free will and choose what you see and what you share. To my friends, I am sorry for leaving for a while. Your prayers and wishes and the effort of a very special few has been deeply felt. I love all of you. This is dedicated to you.
DISCLAIMER: TO PROVE THAT THIS COMPULSION TO WRITE AND TO LOVE IS OUT OF NOTHING OF MY SELF BUT FOR THE ULTIMATE EXCUSE GIVEN FOR MY LIFE, GRACE, I WRITE THIS OUT OF THE EXPERIENCES THAT I HAVE HAD FROM 28 years - NOT FROM 45 OR 53 OR ON ANY SUBSTANCE. I WRITE OUT OF NAIVITY, INEXPERIENCE AND OUT OF A PASSION FOR TRUTH, THE TRUTH THAT WE HAVE SHARED.
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“...and confess to one another and forgive amongst your brothers...”
When I had so much given to me in the form of spiritual guidance and love made visible, I chose to take a break from the spiritual life and ended up falling in love with the person I thought I was. This very simply led to an eventual self-destruction and depression with no money, no home, no job and no self-respect. One person that I remember chasing hard after me when I had left the building was someone that had been walking a road with me and I had led in a small group at church becoming a dear friend only once the dust had settled, Jared, agonised over my leaving the community for a life of glitz and glamour and superficial fame with a band that was headlining most shows it played. Thank you for sticking around when I gave you no reason to.
So yes I took a break and fell in love with the person I thought I was. Being 23 and the freshest member in a band that was touring the country, the focus of many nights, instant respect and instant fans, being led by an influential and talented songwriter who had a dying living habit – who was to blame me for giving it up? Gaining the image I had always secretly lusted after: man on stage with all his ducks in a row; the VIP who never showed weakness and always had a dismissive answer for everything; well I don’t need to say much more than that my life changed rapidly after the notion dropped in my thoughts that I no longer had any need for spiritual and personal guidance from ‘church’ mentors and wise peers. The intimate times of prayer and worship were replaced with drinking and smoking, and later, when my house of cards I had subconsciously built came crashing down, it was those vices to which I ran. Somehow I believed that a cigarette was the only thing that I could be myself with or that could accept me for my mistakes. Without much thought I became so proudly bowled over by my achievements (opportunities that, in hindsight, I wasn’t ready for) with the underlying conclusion that because God doesn’t pay my bills and because it was so much effort to have a fruitful relationship with Him, (the creator of the Universe) that I didn’t need Him nor His followers. Wow. How wrong I was.
Yes I still believed that He was the God of everything and He has given me unimaginable gifts-natural and spiritual- but why did I need to put in so much effort in? You see I used to attend a prayer meeting once a week, a small bible study once a week, a worship band practice once a week and play one or two Sunday services a week, roughly. The motivation to serve the living God was undeniable because of the fulfilment I received from being part of a team and being a worshipper – which in my definition is being part of something bigger than yourself, like a whole other spiritual world where I felt on many occasions that when God was present it felt like I was surrounded by cement that was loving me. I mean to be able to see a restless spirit in someone and feel the hurt and pain of someone’s loss in those immaculate moments of group prayer in the front of the church on a warm Sunday evening (no matter what the weather was doing outside) was a very very trippy experience. To be horizontal on the floor after someone had prayed for me in the name of Jesus was not a hoax. It was not psychological manipulation. It was not the power of suggestion nor was it some radical pushing me over forcefully *as seen on TV*. I prayed and I saw change. I once remember spending an hour and a half rolling on the floor with laughter for days after someone prayed for joy and laid a hand. There were a few of us still rolling after the lights were switched off and we were given the task to lock up. This was bliss and my intentions were pure and my fruit was present.
But in this Christian life, wasn’t it supposed to fix everything in me while blessing everyone around me? Yes it did to a certain degree and yes it was tangible and proved itself time and again how truth is real and present whether inside or outside the church walls. However, after spending long nights debating the intricacies of theology and ‘going the extra mile’ for a brother, I became tired. I wanted, needed a break.
So that’s what I did, I took a break. This started with irregular attendance and loss of interest in a small group that I was leading. I became cynical and critical of the music team I was playing in and found better things to do with my Sundays. Yes I was possibly previously overcommitted and needed a break, but I used this as an excuse and ended up becoming distracted and drawn into plans and dreams that weren’t for me. It evolved so far as to me forgetting who I was.
Tell you, trying to live daily not knowing who you are - it’s like plugging a low-batteried cell phone into a temperamental multi-plug adaptor that you just can’t seem to keep connected when you are not shoving it into the wall socket. When negotiating the plug around in the socket becomes a shouting episode it filled me with more frustration, despairs and drained my love for life. We all have those days in life like when things you try just never stick and you find yourself never really breaking through that proverbial wall of identity, security and satisfaction. Added to this was the underlying knowledge and experience of a previously very fulfilled life without the ‘party scene’. How do you know you are in this place? Well for me it was when I got that half-worried, half ‘WTF ru talking about’ response from conversing people. Although you’re not really conversing are you? Something feels broken inside. It just seems like you can never really say what you mean and mean what you say which inevitably leads to more confusion, frustration and guaranteed inadequacy. This is not a cool place to be. When your family says they don’t know who you are, your schoolboy friends write you off, and your God is silent then you start believing the lies that you’re not worth having true friends and you make it impossible for people to love or care for you. I became this metaphorical island in the middle of the ocean, which conveniently inconveniently provided the necessary amount of sand in which to bury my head in. I ended up dating a concept. I was living a cliché and denying that I was absolutely petrified of the true hue of my heart for fear of disappointing others that were revelling in this disarray. They say ‘’It’s lonely at the top’’. Well I wasn’t nearly half way there and all I felt, when I felt, was like a useless loner.
Now I’ve learnt that seasons come and seasons go, but God remains the same.
One of the saddest things about this time from 22-25 years was not that I had left organised religion, nor that I had picked up some nasty self-deprecating habits, but it was that relationships with beautiful caring people had deteriorated due to my own foolish agency. On some occasions I chose things of my man-made dream over reality. And I chose my only lonely reality over God’s over-abundant acceptance and love. Fail! Which is why I have the advice to offer: that when you feel something that can be subtly described as a gentle tug on your heart, and that it excites you in a scary way that requires goose bumps or a deep breath to bring you up to consciousness : listen to that message because it needs to come through. It can be a hint of direction which shows you’ll be better off with the counsellor of counsellors negotiating the intricacies of life for you and with you than your own worldly self tells you so. This moment when the sense of purpose outweighs the impending hurt it requires to go through with the task, it somehow converts the impending doom or painful experience into a mere uncomfortable but necessary experience. It’s like going to the dentist – when you feel your tooth shift slightly or niggles a little then travel to the dentist before permanent damage is caused. Ask me I know, one tooth removal and a near root canal gave me the wake-up call of my life. Now I’m learning to floss my gums and flow with my heart so things can stay well with my soul.
Just take a moment to wonder: how do you know what your heart wants, and how do you know which direction is right for you? These questions may be linked to other questions like what happens when you’re off this earth. “To Hell” the pessimists tell us; “nothing and anything and everything” the optimists say, “no one can be sure” cynics say, “back to earth in a different form” say the so-called reincarnated. But me - I say if you have chosen the spirit of God then it shall be wherever He leads your heart. It’s our job to listen and I guess this is the reason why I’m writing this now. Wherever God leads your heart, trust not your heart but Him.
As original as I can get is potentially as far from the truth I can go – so what is the point in trying to reinvent the wheel?
Now I’m not suggesting that what has stood in ages gone by is fully correct merely because it is age-old, but what I am sharing is that if you’re so right about what you believe – in a higher calling or reincarnated beings or nothingness, then why the hell are we not acting in accordance with our hearts’ convictions. Does ‘home is where the heart is’ not mean anything to us anymore? We’re still killing ourselves, inside and out and we’re still responsible for physical death, disease, genocide, corruption, impurity and hurt since we are choosing actions which lead to these results. Ask me, I’ve been that person. All I needed was to realise.
Well after this rant of a paragraph, I have realised something so crucial and worthwhile to share that I learned it theory years ago - life is all about relationships. Everything is about relationships between us and our surroundings, and I humbly take this moment to remind us all. Nothing exists without relationships. They start our day and they end our day. They are the single most affecters in life. So much so that being a musician, my trade, has become more about relationships than music. Yes you may disagree because music is art, and art is very simply, well artistic / subjective / personal / preferential / con abrigado, but we do not survive without relationships and not one true purpose can be achieved without firstly a respectful relationship between the elements of creation and ourselves.
Relationship, friendship, relationship, friendship, courtship, forlorn-ship, spaceship, worship.
Sometimes I’m a space-cadet.
Sometimes I’m a sanguine.
Sometimes I’m your best friend.
The other times a-wait-ing
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