Samson and the Pirate Monks

God is a trip. Sometimes you can pick up a book and you don't know why. You may even try to read it. But it doesn't click. So it sits on a shelf. But sometime later you pick it up and at that moment it is exactly what you need. I have lots of books like that.

But sometimes a book crosses your path at just the right time. You know it. You may not know why but you just know.

Nate Larkin's Samson and the Pirate Monks: Calling Men to Authentic Brotherhood is one of those books. It is one man's journey through addiction, specifically sexual addiction, and his way out. For those of us who have suffered silently, independently, stubbornly alone, this is a refreshing book. He taps into the experiences of men who share this worldview.

Traveling through life alone, living to share the adventure stories of what he calls his "persona" with arm's length friends, all the while slipping from "deprived to depraved" he bares his soul as a mirror of our own. I can't recommend this book enough. It isn't just a vomit blog of horrible escapades. No, these escapades are a premise, a mirror against which to reflect the saving grace of the Gospel message.

It's real. The grace is not the hard part; the hard part is the surrender. The ego, in all its guises and trappings, is a tiger that does not go down easy. But it can be tamed. Nate Larkin is an excellent guide on the Path we all travel down.

Here's a snippet from the first meeting of the Samson Society:

"Welcome to the meeting of the Samson Society...We are a company of Christian men. We are also natural loners, who have recognized the dangers of isolation and are determined to escape them, natural wanderers who are finding spiritual peace and prosperity at home, natural liars who are now finding freedom in the truth, natural judges who are learning how to judge ourselves aright, and natural strongmen who are experiencing God's strength as we admit our weaknesses." (p. 115)

It is in sharing, in openness, in honesty, in accountability that freedom is found. It may be painful, it may expose every weakness, flaw and shame you've ever tried to conceal but these are all "persons" (in the sense of character masks) that we've created. They are as big a lie as the counter-person created as antithesis to these things you hide.

Nate Larkin describes these well: Church Nate. Date Nate. Mate Nate. All Alone Nate. We all have these personas we create that keep us disconnected and far removed from the present.

You are not alone. Your story is not unique. We are all in this together. The body of Christ is the entire human race, though not all realize who they are in the body. The body of Christ, in harmony, is the most powerful force on the planet. Even if it just a portion of the body, those who believe, there is power in communion. And communion requires laying aside the ego and dying to self so that Christ in us may shine.

Don't be fooled into thinking no one understands, no one cares or that you are the only one going through what you are going through. It is the silence that is cancerous. This book is a great starting point. But then take it somewhere. Do something with it.

The depth of darkness...

When I was in high school I used to write stories. Aside from the "porno stories" I used to write in middle school (!), in high school the escalated. I used to write stories about blowing up the school and killing I don't remember who. I don't know that I ever named names nor did I ever necessarily have anyone in mind, though it's quite possible.

But I was so detached and everything so external I tended to categorize and label rather than personalize anything. It led to a certain form of schizophrenia. I was able to get along with pretty much everybody and didn't really dislike anyone (though my middle school yearbooks tells a different story) and had some really good friends. I had many "girl" friends but didn't date much and this, of course, is also a pretty curious detour to travel upon.

But there was a growing darkness, a gap between who I was and who I perceived myself to be. I don't remember when I did this, but below is an image of an artistic creation of mine.



And the reverse:



It's kind of bizarre looking at these things almost thirty years later. Creative? Certainly. But pretty disturbing.

Would I have ever really gone off and done the violence I fantasized about? I may have. I found enough outlets, negative as they may have been, to distract this impulse. Perhaps this is how copycat killers evolve. Perhaps these dark dreams lurk in the shadows and are brought light when seeing others pull it off.

Perhaps that is my ego rising up again, the flare for the drama to attract attention. But in digging up this past I am seeing the signs, the answers to those drives that seemed to mysterious and so compulsive. I also see it now through the eyes of love. True healing will be present when I have worked through this darkness that seems so clear now and begin to look back and see the good. When we live in a state of anger or despair or depression, we either idolize a past golden age or we filter everything through these lenses and thus only see those things that align with how we feel.

The obsession now isn't that my past was bad. I have had a good life. But right now I have become obsessed with laying these ghosts to rest. In uncovering the source of these wounds I will be able to close the door for good, heal up the gap and live in the present with no denial, no distraction and no imitation of life.

The reality is that I did have a strong support system growing up and I did have a strong sense of right and wrong, some sense of hope, that there was a future, even if that future was only dreams of escaping the stifle of small town suburbia. In hindsight, I don't know that I ever contemplated the reality of it.

There was always a part of me that was longing, love buried deeper than the hate that covered it.

Think Christ is for sissies?

Any Korn fans out there? Brian Head Welch discusses what led to his leaving Korn.



The paradox of Christianity is that it brings the toughest of men to their knees. It is then that they realize true strength.

Freedom from Addiction

If you struggle with pornography, this video is a must see:



If you think Christ is for lightweights, think again. Below is a great site for some testimonials of what Christ has done for people.

Gospel Theology for the Real World

There is help and there is hope.

I am sorry...

The worst thing about addiction is ultimately self-absorption. In the case of a damaged soul, the damage, that rupture, the leak in the dam, is the black hole of selfishness. Everything gravitates toward that vortex.

In reflecting back over these past few weeks I've realized that I've left a trail of damage in my relationships. This may just be my perception, still self-centered, narcissistic, dramatic. But, as kind as I may have been toward people, and my general temperament is kind, when it came to relationship and the deep things of being with others, the facade crumbled and I ran, or faked it.

So I feel compelled, when thinking back on my life, to say I'm sorry. I don't see the joy, at least not yet. I am at a stage where I want to look at those I've hurt and apologize. It's quite possible that I am thinking too much of myself and that I really didn't have that much of an impact on others. Perhaps it is vanity again in thinking this much of myself as addicts, even former addicts, are wont to do. Paranoia is the same thing. So full of ourselves, we really do think the world revolves around us, albeit in a negative way, and the feelings of being watched, or hated, or lied to all revolve around this self-absorption.

Vanity leads to the incessant need to apologize to others, to have others tell you that you are ok, to have others tell you positive things about yourself, to filter out all those things that don't have anything to do with you. It is that need for attention, for approval, for love. Addicts become emotional leeches, the vortex in the soul, the gravitational pull of emotion, sucking the life out of those around you.

This isn't necessarily malicious or intentional, though it can be. But the greatest horror of it all is that it is unconscious. This is the disconnect. And it is this disconnect that leads to all the damage, taking away our ability to be real. It's always as if there is "something" wrong, that something is nagging at us, pulling at us, taking us away from reality. Even in a crowded room, we feel lonely. In a crowded room we may even feel more lonely, more frightened.

Yet there is an innocent desire at the base of it and that desire is to be loved. Beyond the pain, beyond the attempt to cover it up, beyond the desire for healing and wholeness is the desire for love. To love and to be loved. Addicts and people with mental illness do not intentionally become selfish, do not set out to live a life of narcissism and vanity. But the force of that which drives them leads to this behaviour. And it is incredibly difficult to break free from it, to be come "other" centered, to stop giving in order to get back, to stop hiding and putting on a front out of fear.

Addiction is rooted in fear.

Hurt people hurt people.

Healed people help people.

There is help available. If you look around, there are many offering to help, many proposed solutions to our addictions, to our wounds, to those things that keep us disconnected.

As long as there is still breath in our lungs, there is hope.

There is hope...

In looking back at the distorted filter through which I perceived my life, I realize that there was a moment where hope burst through. It had always been there; I couldn't see it. I was not abused at home. I came from a very loving home, well protected, solid roots. But I was unable to receive nor give love except out of lack. I created a persona that was real on some level but there was a soul sucking force beneath me that bled this persona, a constant battle waging in my soul, depression, sarcasm, cynicism all protective barriers, ammunition against anyone seeking to get in.

Yet there is hope. I entered the stream, to use Buddhist parlance, in early 1994 at a Youth Hostel in Kellogg, Idaho, light bursting through my soul at the top of Yosemite Falls in Yosemite National Park. It fell upon deep, dark soil. However, the thorns and the weeds surrounding this seed was choking the life out of me, trying to prevent the seed from growing.

But it took root. I now had a new frame of reference, an experience to which I could refer that was positive, uplifting, ultimate, blissful even. It was a pivotal moment.

I am an...

The photo shows the inside of my high school notebook. Actual beer cans, cut in half and inserted. Actual Jack Daniel label. This whole shining a light into my past thing is a bit freaky because I'm beginning to really see it from the inside out.

The title of this post refers to one of my book jackets that I transferred from book to book. Remember when you had to buy (or were they given?) the slipcovers to protect the books? The photo below is mine from my sophomore year. Yes, I still have it. Even in the midst of the madness there was creative outlet.

Here are some of the sayings:

"Blow your mind. Play Russian rhoulette."

"Sit on it and rotate" (with a drawing of a hand flipping the bird)

"Life is massive confusion."

"Kiss my ass."

You get the picture.

Somewhere on there I had written "I am an asshole." I remember showing this to a girl in trig class. She looked at me as if I was insane. What would possess me to do that? Attention? Certainly. A frightened child crying out? Certainly. These are the things that preoccupied my mind.

The other things that preoccupied my mind were music, stories and my addictions.

I do know one thing. I was well aware of the smallness of my white bread, suburban existence. Though I am now grateful for it and realize the insulation provided me the luxury of wallowing in self-imposed despair and provided me a foundation to function in the world, at the time I knew something was wrong. Didn't know what, but knew there was a smallness that was too confining.

I took the time to cut this comic strip of Bloom County (one of the best comic strips ever, retired way too early...) and paste it in my notebook:

Milo Bloom: You know. I can't seem to shake the feeling that Charles and Di are too...something.

The way they walk, talk...dress...sit...laugh delicately...it's vague...abstract...I can't put my finger on it -

They're just too...too something. Just too...too...

Oliver Wendell Jones: ...white.

Milo Bloom (slapping knee): That's it!

A great cleansing is occurring. I am relaying my foundation. Shining the light on all of these things and what they represent helps me to let them go. No longer does my past have this hold on me, this black hole filled with infinite darkness, the cancer sucking the life blood out of my soul. Healing is taking place.

I see why people write memoirs, why people join AA, why people feel the call to preach. I go back to move forward. This healing is an amazing process.

Being born again is much more than just a metaphor, more than just symbolic.

Faith, hope and charity are so much more than just wedding vows.

Dealing with the past...

When a wound from the past takes you back thirty years and when that wound is exposed, opened wide to the bright light of day, and then healed, there is a long process that comes because there are thirty years of scars that have had the band aids, those former identities, removed.

It is incredible to look and see exactly how that impacted every decision I have ever made, perhaps not directly to each situation but, due to the frame of mind and state of my soul, decisions were made through a distorted filter, stemming from a bottomless darkness.

Hurt people hurt people.

But once light enters and exposes the depths of that darkness, displacing it, suddenly everything becomes clear. No longer does the mystery have a hold on you, no longer are decisions made unaware. Decisions can be made from a positive place, rather than a no place.

Rather than consumers, takers, users, we are able to give, to share, to love.

Debt to income ratio...

Debt:

Four times my income. Whatever your income is, multiply it by four.

And this does not include the mortgage (with taxes and insurance) nor the daily living expenses (auto insurance, utilities, food, fuel, etc.).

Think about that.

Wow.

Worst (or perhaps best) case scenario, assuming nothing changes:

As it currently stands, debt one will be paid off in the year 2015.

As it currently stands, debt two will be paid off in the year 2024.

And we live simply. Modest house. Modest car (one of which is paid for...). Simple clothes. Simple diet. Rarely eat out. Pizza is a luxury.

How does it get to this? And how, at 40, does one not look back and think, what is the point?

And a Springsteen song pops into my head...

"Now judge I had debts no honest man could pay..."

From the song "Johnny 99", a song about Johnny...

"...wavin’ his gun around and threatenin’ to blow his top."

For some, fairly obvious reason, there is resonance there at an uncomfortable level.

But hope it not gone.

It's just that faith is messy.

And I have this illusion entrenched, indoctrinated even, that some day life will be comfortable, kicking back on easy street, living off the interest of my ever ascending IRA.

But life is never easy. And this illusion of kicking back is a destructive one. It's a myth. It's a lie.

The reality is that we all struggle. Some more than others. The reality is that the figures above are probably representative of many, the silent majority. The deeper reality is that we are well off. Very well off. What we often see as complaints are in fact the luxuries of many.

Our debt (personally and collectively) is symbolic of a deeper problem - selfishness. I want what I want and I want it now, consequences be damned.

The way out is not to make more money (even though it will certainly pay down debt). The way out is to give out of what we have. Not sure how that works but I can see it, though dimly, blurry, vaguely, ok, darkly.

So has my faith really gotten stronger? If so, it it simply out of desperation? Or has my faith gotten stronger in spite of my circumstances?

Better yet, am I finding true faith, faith that comes in the midst of the circumstances, the source of strength and not a default?

So I remain grateful, trying to see the debt thing not as the end of the line but as a puzzle, a mystery, a challenge to overcome, to rise above, to conquer.

And the key is to find joy in the midst of the storm. If in fact happiness hinges upon the 'comfortable' life, upon things external, then we will never be happy. Ever. But to find joy, not happiness, in the midst, therein lies the key.

"For where two or three have gathered together in My name, I am there in their midst." (Matthew 18:20)

Faith may be messy, it may often be mysterious, but one thing is for certain - it is relevant.

Life, faith, love, health, sanity. Blessed are we.

Addiction...

10 years old.

Friend's basement. Older brother. Abusive home.

Flashlight. Laughter. Humiliation.

Penthouse. Playboy. Innocence lost.

Introversion. Anger. Rage.

14 years old.

Confusion. Identity. Self-hatred.

Video games. Dr. Pepper.

Vivarin. Unisom. Neo Synephrine.

Pornography. Alcohol.

20 years old.

Drugs. Eye drops.

Numbness. Darkness. Despair.

30 years old.

Struggle.

Internet. Image. Seared.

Pain. Scarred. Scared.

One moment. Thirty years.

40 years old. Light. New life...




© 2009 Art Ort Ink

Day 1

I can't believe I'm actually doing this. Blogging. I suppose it was inevitable. Got thoughts, lots of them, lots of thoughts that won't come up in normal conversation. What to do? Publish them for the anonymous masses to peruse, displaying what McLuhan hinted at when he said that our media are really our insides turned out.

I have come to realize that I am a mutt and proudly so. I tend not to be bound by convention. I'm no longer trying to be rebellious as a rebel is often slave to the very thing from which he rebels.

I am currently immersed in the midst of a spiritual/religious phase that has been ongoing most of my life, though more intensely so since circa 1996 as at that point I committed myself to (attempting to) be a Christian. But, as with most things, it wasn't too much longer after that that I found I had issues with the group think required to belong. So I'm on the outside of the inside looking in.

If I were to trace my interest in spirituality it would probably go back to hearing of God from childhood and living the majority of my life with fear, not reverence, associated with the word, as if "God" was out to get me, to punish me for being the mischievous person I was. In hindsight I realize that my self loathing and self absorption were manifestations of a narcissism that led me to believe that God was out to get me.

Self loathing and its manifestation as, in my case, depression were and are ultimately egoistic grasps at attention, sucking life out of the universe to satisfy in insatiable inner need, a bottomless vortex, akin to arrogance, both cries for help, both self-absorption to a distorted degree. I'm not sure when it started but at some point I found myself drawn to the eastern (from my western location) religions. This was probably more out of the appearance of being exotic, the hippy-dippy kind of thing I found myself gravitating toward.

In the late 80s I began stepping out of my comfort zone, aching for opportunities to break free from the suburban cultural Wonderbread in which I had been living. I was introduced to "New Age" music which, at the time, was a far cry from the big hair bands as the approved form of rebellion in suburbia. Such artists as Jean Michael Jarre, Kitaro and the Windham Hill catalogue became staples. In hindsight, these were as white bread as the big hair bands.

Eventually, circa 1991 or so, I would find the Dao De Jing, purchasing it because it seemed exotic, mysterious, enigmatic, cool. I would carry it with me, read it on the john, never really getting it. It was during this time that my drinking got heavier and I rendered myself an alcoholic, going cold turkey, substituting various chemicals in its stead. This would lead to a break with reality (i.e. leaving a $50,000 a year job to hit the road...literally). The little DDJ accompanied me in my travels.

Sitting in a rocking chair on a balcony at a youth hostel in Idaho one evening, the sun setting, in a moment, the entire book made sense. It was truly an epiphany. I can't remember which chapter I was reading but it was as if a flood gate opened. Quite literally, in that moment, I "got" it. The book suddenly made complete sense. I would be forever changed, my struggling in the confines of duality rendered asunder.