Tag: well being

In the wake of the recent shootings read this – Angry Young Men: 10 Good Reasons to be Angry

10 good reasons for young men to be angry young men:

1. Nobody can tell them about their Soul

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2. They can’t get traction on responding to the stages in life.

3. He has been cut off from Nature.

4. They don’t understand women.

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5. The proverbial ‘man cave’ does an injustice to their abilities and needs.

6. They have no real rite of passage into manhood.

7. Satisfaction and Fulfillment have been usurped by blame and guilt.

8. They can’t find an elder.

9. Their youth and future have been tarnished by lack of vision by weak elders who know fear and lack of resistance.

10. The female instinct is not respected.

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Short Story – Toad part 2 of 3

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The two month delay because of the strike meant the real estate developers were way behind schedule to get 120 townhouses framed on their big Rowntree 3 project.  In order to avoid stiff fines for not having the homes ready for their buyers to move in on time they had to get the project done in a ridiculously short window of time.  As a result they were paying top dollar and brought in any and all guys who could swing a hammer.  Diego could swing a hammer.  He could also stand around with his hammer in his hand and talk while you work.  You would think he was single and had no one to talk with at home and so he used work as his therapy.  Paco wasn’t single either, he just looked that way.  His family was back in Guatemala where he hasn’t been in the three years he has been in Canada.  

“Donde chingados esta mi coche?” said Diego, freakin out. “NO me dices esto,” he says, with his eyes scrunched shut and pulling on his short black hair.  His new-to-him cobalt blue (no sunroof) 2016 Chevy Cruze is gone. He stood still for a few seconds playing a very brief mental movie in his mind called Fear.  

Fear of his girlfriend/mother of his daughter cell-yelling when he wasn’t home by 5:30. If he was driving he couldn’t text but when he declines her call that drives her crazy.  Then he would text her to say he would be another 30 minutes and she would think to herself why is he texting if he is driving.  Or maybe he isn’t driving, he is with una vieja and I’m gonna pull his hair out and feed it to her and pull his hair out and feed it to her.

Then, according to the script, when he gets home he can expect:

‘I told you not to get a car.  You know you can rent a car for like 80 bucks a day so to take my mother to Niagara falls you don’t need a car.   So you can’t say it was for me or for my mom or for the baby.  It was for you because you don’t want to wake up early and take the bus.  

‘Or stand in the fuckin cold at the bus stop,’ Diego, the pudgy whiner, imagines himself saying.

Paco looks at the screen on his cell and sees it’s a call from Diego –  he already regrets recommending this guy to Gus.

“One second Gus,” Diego turns away and sings as much as he talks his greeting. “Que pasa hermano?” 

“Alguien robó mi pinche coche.  Vieron algo?”

“No me dices esto bro,” said Paco without caring. 

“Preguntale brother,” insists Diego. 

“When are you gonna learn English cabron?” said Paco.

“Askem bro, por fa,” said Diego thinking his Spanglish would help his cause.

As Paco drops his hand with his phone to his hip he puts it on speaker.

“Hey Gus, Diego’s car is gone.  Do you know anything?” Asked Paco. 

Gus motioned with a quick flick of his chin towards the side street beside the job site. 

“No idea. Remember. I told you earlier. Tellem – Don’t park there – they will towem. And fuck me.  Looks like they did just that,” said Gus, restraining a  stupid-people-do-stupid-things-laugh. 

“Is that what you yell this morning?” asked Paco.

“Ya. I saw you nod and smile,” said Gus.  “So I thought whatshisface would move his car.”

“Porque no me dijiste pendejo?” Diego heard everything over the speaker. 

“Sorry bro.”

“Where take it, you know?” Diego yelled into his phone so Gus would hear.  His love of his car overcame his fear of speaking English.

“You gotta phone the city. They impounded it.  Shouldn’t be too far.”

“Impounded?   What the fuck,” cried Diego.

“Diego buddy Tabarnak, they towed it.  That’s all I know.” said Gus looking at Paco with wide eyes that asked ‘who the fuck is this guy?’.

“How much pay?” persisted Diego.

“Dunno. Couple hundred bucks maybe.”  said Gus accepting his steaming hot coffee,  “Thanks Dimitri.”

“Couple hundred?”

Gus was a few years older than Paco but both of them were in their 30’s.  Over the past few years they had been on a few projects together.  Gus liked Paco but didn’t make friends on the job because when push came to shout Gus couldn’t have any favourites.  But there was that one time when the concrete guys saw his name on his hard hat and started talking shit like, ‘Paco, where’s the taco?’ and all of them laughing.  Gus in a very calm voice actually said to their foreman.

“If you and your fuckin clowns don’t shut it and say sorry to my guy then there might be an engineering report that says the drainage is not to grade and this whole slab needs to be repoured at your expense.  And I don’t think your butt ugly money grubbin boss is gonna like that.  Are we clear?!”  Said red faced Gus staring the foreman straight in the eyes.

“We are,” said the pissed off foreman.

“I want to see you in the site office now.” Gus yelled at Paco,

At this point Paco had been with the company only a few months so he wasn’t sure where he stood with management.  Once in the trailer Gus keeps talking,

“Did you hear what they were sayin? Calice” Gus swore in French.  His French is still really good but he only uses it for choice swear words.

“Is no big deal,” said Paco.

“I am not going to school those fuckin morons on Latin cusine am I?”

“No,” agrees Paco, having no idea where this was going.

“Guatelmans don’t eat peaches tacos,” said Gus pacing around the trailer with the awareness of his poor pronunciation but in the moment he felt he had earned some cultural credibility by trying to swear in Spanish.

“You are so right Gus,” said Paco wondering if this out-of-character burst of Latino solidarity maybe came from a previous life when Gus was a Mayan curandero.

So now when Gus gave the ‘kill it’ signal with his hand at his throat Paco took it off speaker.  

“Diego, come back and I will help you later,” said Paco and hung up.

“Hey Paco, what did you think I said?” asked Gus.

“When?”

“This morning.”

Paco laughed at himself and shook his head.

“I thought you say, tell Diego he’s a fuckin toad.”

“I said – tell’em if he doesn’t move they’ll fuckin towem”. 

Maritza was gonna kill him.  It was Diego’s first day on the job and he was losing more money than he was making.  He relieves his self inflicted stress by comforting himself they will start receiving the child tax credit very soon. Diego says once the baby arrives she will want a car.  But she says they have a bus stop right out front and the No Frills supermarket is 3 blocks away.  She keeps repeating that you don’t need a car in the city. It’s a waste of money according to her dad. 

Maritza remembered her dad being there in person for her eighth birthday. While he worked in the US for 6 years they would Facetime but it felt weird. It was sad when he would sing Las Mananitas on her birthday. As he sang her mom would bring the gift that he sent money for from Oregon where he was driving a tractor in a vineyard.  He was close to Canada but never went there.  He figured the Americans would grab him at the border before he crossed.  He should have tried, he says to his wife now that he has been sent back.  If they wouldn’t have let him travel to Canada then they just would have sent him back and it is the same result.

He got deported when he got in a car accident in town with a lawyer who had been drinking.  The car accident meant he came back home which made her happy but that is where Maritza got the idea cars were a bad idea.  Plus the maintenance.  But when you get one, if you can’t afford a good one – don’t buy one.

Her dad taught her English even though he and Diana, his wife, knew that meant she would be more apt to leave when she got older.  Also he wanted to prove that being away so long has brought some benefit to the family.  He had sent more money than he could have made if he stayed in Mexico but he hadn’t been there for the childhood of their daughter and son.  Or for their marriage.  At least he came back.  He was faithful to his family – to his wife not so much. Reynaldo, his son, was bad at school but good at soccer.  He was a good striker being tall for his age.  He didn’t show potential so he had no future as a pro player.  It was fun for now but difficult for later.  Maritza was the bright light of the family.  

Before she gave birth Maritza worked as a Cook A in a restaurant for 2 years while Diego would spend about 6 months in each job.  She worked till she was 7 months pregnant and then couldn’t handle being on her feet all day.  The restaurant liked her from the get-go and had offered her a full time job after a few months.  That way she could apply for a work permit.  Diego also got a work permit being her common-law spouse.

She was really scared when she got pregnant.    But now they had to rely on Diego’s income for the whole family.  Maritza knew that was a recipe for a stress fueled, argument filled disaster.  She needed something she could do while the baby was sleeping.

Also she didn’t know,  maybe they would cancel her work permit and it wouldn’t give her enough time to apply for permanent residency.  Rhonda, the manager of her restaurant location was so supportive but it was not her decision – it was the owner’s: Mr. Jackes.  But she would speak to him.  He had various restaurants and other businesses on the go.  Maritza knew Mr. Jackes was a lawyer and had met him briefly once when he came to wish everyone a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year.  

A few weeks later Maritza was tying up her apron and looking at her belly when  Rhonda called her into the tiny, cramped office.  Rhonda motioned to the only chair in front of the desk.

“Have a seat Maritza.  How are you doing?”

Feeling fine,” she said, seated on the edge of the plastic chair rubbing her belly.  “We just had other doctor’s appointment, all good,’ she said, putting two little thumbs up in front of a weak smile.  “But obviously I’m nervous.” 

“Yes, of course. Obviously no heavy lifting.  Get Clifton or someone to help you,” said Rhonda.

“Yes, thank you very much.”

“Listen Maritza, I talked to Mr. Jackes last week.  I explained to him your situation and I told him you were an excellent person and an excellent team member, fast learner and that it would be a good idea to find a way to keep you on board.  And of course for your work status right?” Rhonda looked into Maritza’s dark anxious eyes.  “So he called me this morning and he had a very interesting idea.”

Maritza nodded as if she was riding a bike on a bumpy road and wrung her hands.

“His idea is for you to transition out of the kitchen into an IT role.  Updating websites with promotional materials for his restaurants and stuff like that.  What do you think?”

“Wow,  sounds amazing.  Thank you so much.  Because…”

“Because in a few months you can’t be in the kitchen all day on your feet.”

“Yes, of course,” Maritzasat back and laughed, then she breathed a huge sigh, then she cried as the stress left her body and joy germinated – all in succession over the course of ten seconds.  She looked at Rhonda and smiled  and suddenly she hiccuped.  They both laughed.

Alan: Short Story

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The rain was neither here nor there.  The thing was, which was becoming irritating, Gerry.  How is he going to react?

“D’you check how long the rain is supposed to last?” asked Oddie

“All fuckin morning,” said Gerry.

“Gerry, we’ll be in there,” said Oddie over his shoulder as he ran to the trailer.  “Let us know if you go on a coffee run,” said Oddie from the top step. 

“I’m gonna leave the door open cuz otherwise it gets too steamy,” said Oddie.

“Bro, that guy sucks the energy right outta the room,” said Manuel.

“What room?”

“Jou know what I mean, moron.”

“How do you say moron in Spanish?”

“Imbecil,” said Manuel motioning to Octavo to take a seat in the trailer, “Sientate guey.”

“Imbecil.  I was expecting something with more, you know, meat, less English.  More insulting.”

“Sorry pendejo.”

“That’s more like it,” said Oddie smiling.

They took off their wet hard hats and shook off their jackets putting them over the back of the plastic chair.

“Si nos pagan por estas horas verdad?” asked Octavo.

“He’s asking if they pay us to sit on our asses?”

“For an hour.  Any longer than that and Gerry will panic and send us home.”

“Que tiene en contra del Herry?” asked Octavo.

“He’s asking what you have against Gerry.”

“Nothing really.  It’s just ya know.  Nothing wrong with therapy but the construction site isn’t the place.  He panics, usually for no reason and we always deliver results regardless of what he fears or thinks.”

They broke out their lunches even though it was only 9:30 am and ate to the sound of crinkling aluminum foil and slurping coffee.  

Oddie’s phone pinged on the dirty, white folding table so he picked it up and disappeared into the screen. 

To Manuel rain meant mud which smelled of the minerals of home which transported him fast and far.  He leaned forward in his chair as he picked at the dry skin around his fingernails.

Octavo leaned back in his plastic chair, joined his hands on his belly and closed his eyes, soaking up the peace he got from being on a good team and the satisfaction of working with his hands.  

Octavo was sliding into snooze mode and Manuel was staring out the open door when he heard Oddie talking to himself.

“Yashmal kula shay,” said Oddie.

“What’s that bro,” said Manuel.

“Nothing bro.”

“I’m no exper but was that English?”

“No.”

“So?”

“Arabic, bro.”

“Are you doin an hechizo on me?

“What?”

“Hechizo, you know, like magic n all that.”

“No, no no.  I’m learning Arabic.

“Cool. Are you going to Arahbia?”

“No, bro.”

“Is Arahbia coming here?”

“No, Arabia! Is not coming here. Stop being stupid.”

“But is so easy for me.”

“I’m…  Listen,” said Oddie and he paused as he breathed in deeply.

“Listening …”

“My uncle got me into studying the Quran.”

“What’s that like?”

“Cool.  But ….  I am lost.  It’s so .. big and ..”

“What jou say?  A minute ago in Arabic”

“Oh.  Yashmal kula shay. It means ‘encompasses all things’.”

“What does encompass means?”

“Like include.”

“Does that bring jou closer to God?

“Allah?”

“Less call him,” said Manuel, spreading his hands apart above his shoulders like it was a banner, “‘The big guy, in the sky.”

“Well I want something more than this shit,” Oddie kicked some mud off his boots.  

“I’m with you bro.”

Octavo yawned and stood up, stretched as he put on his jacket and went out to the port a potty.  The rain had let up a bit.

“So, tell me abou the Quran.”

“I don’t know.  Its ancient, is huge it’s mystical and its confusing.”

“Sounds like Gerry,” said Manuel laughing.

“Ya! Minus the mystical,” said Oddie smiling.

“No really.”

“I listen to a couple of these guys talk about their experience and they reference the Quran.  It helps to guide them in some kind of higher purpose they say.  I don’t know if those are my kind of words.  But, anyway, I can feel something.”

“Un impulso…?”

“Impulse. Ya, I guess.  It’s an urge but it’s not mine.”

“Who is it?”

“I don’t know – who else could it be?”

“Is annoying no bro?”

“It’s annoying but, annoying like when you’re in high school there is a cute girl but she is really stuck up, but you still are attracted to her, you want her. Why do that?”

“What is stuck up?”

“Arrogant.”

“Your God is arrogant?”

“No bro, not at all.  It’s the feeling I have that annoys me.  Like I need to do something that takes me beyond. But what?”

“Beyond, that sounds far out.”

“Ya .  Beyond the daily grind.”

“Was daily grime?”

“Trabajo bro,” said Oddie.  “That’s why Gerry is so annoying.  Not him. But the feel of the cloud that is always over his head. That there is nothing more to life than a shitty job bro.”

“Bro you need a anger management session at the pub.”

“That’s the thing.  It’s not anger at anyone.  It’s, it’s frustration that I, there isn’t a person I can talk to, you know, someone to…”

“The church has priests.”

“The church also has lawsuits because those priests can’t keep their hands off little boys.”

“True.”

Octavo stomped back into the trailer, shook the rain off his jacket and took his seat.  His entrance broke the flow of the conversation so they just sat there in the musty yet gritty trailer air.  After scrolling for a bit Manuel spoke,

“I read the bible.”

“You read the bible now or you used to,” Oddie sought clarification.

“When I was jung.”

“What did you get out of it?”

“Well it was the bes way to talk with girls because the mamas approved of bible class.”

“Smart.” 

“Honestly, is like I remember nothing.  But I have this residuo of believe.”

“Resi what?”

“Residuo.”

“Like residue?”

“I guess.”

“Residue of belief.  I like that.  And how does that impact you?  My point is do you have, do you feel an impulse, impulso?”

“For …?”

“For answering the call.  It’s like I can hear my cell phone ringing,” said Oddie, putting his hands in and out of all of his pants and jacket pockets.  “But I don’t know which pocket it’s in,” said Oddie, hunching his shoulders.

Octavo understood very little but the conversation caught him.   He listened to them with his eyes closed as if it was the World Cup finals on the radio.  Manuel pulled on the various hairs in what passed as a beard and sat up straight. He hadn’t thought about this stuff in a long time so it was really clearing away cobwebs in his mind. 

“Bro, is like the daily grime is analog and belief is dihital,” said Manuel. 

Oddie sat there a while with his elbow on the table and his chin on his fist digesting Manuel’s pronunciation and then the concept.

“No.  Is like Defi.” continued Manuel with his next analogy.

“You mean like crypto?”

“Ya bro.”

“What does Defi mean again?”

“Decentralize finance.  And that iss what I think you are talkin about.  Taking control of your shit, your destiny.  That way bro, jou discover what has value for jou, here,” said Manuel as he sent his right hand into the air imitating lift off.  “ And for jour beyon.” 

 Autumn rain fell on the trailer roof as the soundtrack to this episode of connection.  Their phones forgotten, they could hear their own breath as they picked at dirt on their boots for a while, sipped coffee.  

Oddie walked to the trailer door and looked at the lumber skeleton of the house they were framing.   He associated with the wood and the precision and instinct it called him to use.  He hadn’t realized that before.  That was why he liked his job.  Not so much his job but the work: the feeling of building something – and working on a team – and needing vision to complete a project.  

Octavo looked at Manuel.  From behind Manuel looking at Oddie framed in the doorway.  Manuel could tell Oddie was engaged by something. 

The rain had let up.  The air was clean as Andre the project manager pulled his SUV up to the curb.  Gerry jumped out of his pick up where he had been this whole time and said,

“Quit playin with yourselves and get to work,” as he walked to greet Andre.  Nobody in the trailer moved.  Gerry shook hands with Andre.

“Now,” Gerry yelled at the trailer.

“Alan,” said Oddie standing in the doorway as his mind landed back in his reality.

“Who is Alan?” asked Manuel.

“Alan?  I dunno.”

“But jou just said his name.”

“Oh, Alan.  Wow.  I said that outloud?  Alan means now in Arabic.”  

____

Alan – From the Short Story Series: Tool by Kevin McNamara

Burn after seeding and other Black Spruce stuff — bridgesburning

I spent a couple of delicious hours yesterday at my library, soaking up the ambiance as well as a cranberry scone and black coffee, perusing the newspaper and a copy of Canadian Geographic, and came across this article:From Canadian Geographic I did not succeed in taking a ‘readable photo, but the article says that the […]

Burn after seeding and other Black Spruce stuff — bridgesburning

Short Story – Papa and The Bertrand Brew House

Photo by Josh Olalde on Unsplash


Cappy survived the electrocution.  

It was torture.  Not stuff of Guantanamo Bay legend.  The torture was not being able to use my hand, Cappy remembers saying as he turned over his calloused hand and listened to some pencil pusher tell him how the world worked.

The engineer who had signed off on the project, saying that it was ready to remove the old boiler, forgot to disconnect the power in the mechanical room.  And Cappy got zapped with a near lethal dose of 240 volts three years ago.    

“Ok.  Ok.  I will.  Ya, you too,” said Cappy, hanging up the phone.  He looked through the streaked windshield but was talking to his supervisor Sammy on his right.

“They agreed that we can bill them for the extra labour.  The fuckin moron hadn’t even read the contract when he signed it.”

Sammy just sat there.  He could feel it coming even though it hadn’t happened in something like a year.

“I just want to rewind the movie of my life to the day before I get electrocuted and just be there with that dumb ass engineer, and just ask him, ‘yo bro didya double check that the power got disconnected?’  And then when we both see that even though on his little officey clipboard it has his signature with his little P.Eng number right under it, that the fucker didn’t do his job.  And I can see his reaction and look im right in the eye and say, ‘Bro!!?  What the fuck?!”

Sammy had heard Cappy’s rant a thousand times.  The vitriol towards the engineer, the engineering company, against life was on a gradual decline.  Sammy didn’t clench his stomach anymore when he accompanied Cappy down this road.  

Sammy waited a few seconds before saying, “You done?”

Cappy looked over at Sammy, the four days of whiskers slide across the collar of his hi-vis orange coat.  “Ya.  I’m done.”

“Ok great.”  Sammy rubbed his hands together and then cupped them to blow on them.  It was more theatre to break the moment and get a move on as opposed to actually needing to warm them up.  “So now ya think you might be able to throw yer fancy truck into drive.  That will help me get a little bit closer to my cup of coffee and my breakfast sandwich”

“Why in the world are you gonna get a breakfast sandwich?  It’s noon.”

“At this rate I’m not gettin anything if we keep sittin here.”

After fifteen minutes of idling during the phone call Cappy finally started driving and as a joke slammed on the brakes while they were still in the parking lot.

“Whoa, bro, settle down.”

“You’re a fuckin joy to work with,” joked Cappy. 

“I can see why your wife keeps sending you to work.  She doesn’t want to have to look at your irascible face all day.”

“Wow.  Irascible.  That’s a big word.  Do you need to take a nap now?”

Sammy laughed hard as he looked out the passenger door window and saw the temps coming down the stairs . 

The boiler extraction had gone sideways because they couldn’t get the bin up to the loading dock to just dump all the metal. They had to hire some temps just to unload the debris from the indoor cart, carry it down the loading dock stairs and reload it into an outdoor cart so they could take it around the corner of the building because that was the only place they could put the bin because they weren’t permitted to block any of the loading bays.  It was a shit show. 

It had actually been decent weather for February.  Minus 15 degrees or so Celsius.  The temps made a good team and got it done.  A temporary worker wants to impress the boss so they offer him full time work so it can actually work out really well for all parties.

Cappy got a pretty good pay out in the settlement with the engineering firm.  They still do business together but who knows what happened to that forgetful engineer.  

Cappy could’ve retired with his union pension and the payout but what would he have done.  At the time of the accident he was 59 years old and didn’t golf.  Even if he did he wouldn’t have been able to hold a driver properly.  After 2 months of moping around the house his wife sent him back to work.

It made him famous.  They wrote articles about him in construction safety journals and engineering publications.  Even the guys taking down the perimeter fencing at one job site grew his legend:

“That’s the guy …”  

“Wow!  How is he still alive?”

“Much less working.”

“And at his age he should be at home.  Unless his wife can’t stand him”

“How many watts was it?”

“Two watts?”

“Is that a lot?”

“Man, he is livin on borrowed time.”

“I’ve seen him before, what’s his name?  I think I worked on the bridge repair with him years and years ago.”

“They call him Cappy.”

“Like as in Capitain.”

“I guess.”

Sammy visited Cappy at the hospital daily after the accident.

“We’re amazed that Mr. Moravic survived.  And to be honest a little worried that he is so adamant he is going straight back to work after such a massive jolt of electricity lit him up,” explained the doctor.  “We want to hold Mr. Moravic for observation for an extra few days.”

“Ok doc, he’s all yours.

“They don’t make em like that anymore,” said the doctor. 

“Ya, Marty’s old school all the way,”  agreed Sammy.

 I am just so amazed.  And very happy for Cappy.”

“Cappy?  Who’s Cappy?”

“Ya they nicknamed him Cappy”

“Why would they do that?” asked Sammy.

“He shouldn’t be alive much less lucid after getting fried like that so we are bringing all our interns to come and see him so they can have first hand experience with his case.  This group of interns gets a kick out of giving the patients nicknames.  They don’t tell the patients.  I really shouldn’t have told you,” said the doctor.

“But, what does Cappy mean?” 

“Ya, of course.  Well you probably know better than me but capacitance is the ability to hold an electrical charge.   And your boss can hold more charge than anyone we have ever seen.  And lived to tell about it.  So they called him Cappy for capacitance.”

Sammy thought this doctor was a real cowboy.

“And what are the side effects and timeline to recovery and all that?”

“He will need to come back in for revision in two weeks and once a month for 3 months and then we can give him the all-clear to go back to work.  Or not.  Depending on his progress.  We have to ensure there are no motor or cognitive issues.”

“Three months?”

“Well he can do stuff.  He just can’t work for the time being.” 

“He is going to be bouncing off the walls,” said Sammy.

 I can see that he is such a hands on guy that he might get a little antsy.”

“That’s an understatement.”

“Ya he has been somewhat impatient already, said the doctor”

“”Ya, and he is only getting more irritable the longer he isn’t working.  You might see him again.  If he has to stay home for very long his wife will start throwing pots and pans at him.”   

Tomas was Veronica’s dad’s name so she wanted to honour him by naming their first born after him.  Five years later Cappy liked the name Bertrand for his second son.  Tomas is a lawyer who moved to Ottawa to work in government so they don’t see him too much.    Tomas looked for a job in Ottawa because first Sheri landed a job out of law school working on intellectual property law.  Tomas got a job in the Department of  Innovation, Science and Industry.  Veronica doesn’t like such a long name or that his wife took her son so far away.

Veronica tells Tomas, 

“Are you losina weight?  Cherry should start to cook a little for you,” Veronica mis-pronounces Sheri’s name on purpose.  Even though she has been in Canada for over 40 years Veronica still blames it on her accent.  It used to drive Tomas crazy but now he just glosses over it.  He just visits by himself because Sheri called her relationship with his mother temporarily suspended in the best interest of everyone.  Sheri came for the funeral but hasn’t been back since.  

“She is just as busy as me working so I can’t just expect her to …”

“That’sa right.  It should just naturally be what she wants to do.  Anda do it,” interrupted Veronica as she stirred a steaming stew on the stove to prove her point.  Veronica gets all theatrical with her old country accent when she feels she is being left behind by her sons.  By life.

“Anyway Cherry is no a very good cook so maybe it’s even betta, that Cherry doesn’t cook so much.”  Veronica stuck to her one more time.

“Ma, Sheri is a good lawyer and focused on her career.  Plus, Sheri makes more money than I do.” Both Veronica and Tomas know he never says she when he talks to his mom about his wife just so his mom knows he doesn’t accept her mom’s pronunciation. 

“Ti in tvoj denar.  Just like your papa,” said Veronica.

“Ma, that’s totally unfair.  I gave Bertie twenty thousand for his brewery business.”

“Twenty?” said a surprised Veronica.  “Your papa told me you gave only ten.”

“Only ten?!  It’s a lot of money, ten thousand dollars!   Listen ma.  I told papa I gave Bertie ten in case, if papa were to ask Bertie if he can help that you wouldn’t feel pressured to give more if I had given more.   Also I figured if I gave him twenty then maybe he would feel what he brought to the table and that he wouldn’t take money from you and papa.” 

“We gave ten.  I wanted to lend them more money but papa said no-no-no. ” said a proud Veronica.

“Have they paid you back yet?”  asked Tomas.

“Mashee, don’t be like dat!”  Veronica scolded Tomas using his childhood nickname.  But, yes they had.

The other son, Bert, partnered with a friend from college and they started their own microbrewery.   The brewery was just getting off the ground when he died.  Killed by a drunk driver on a beautiful spring night as Bertie rode his bike home after visiting his new girlfriend.

The closure, as a couple, they never had about Bertie’s death has felt like a really bad hangover since he died.  It was the drunk driver who did all the drinking and now Cappy and Veronica feel like shit everyday.    Cappy couldn’t deal with the stupidity of it all. So he boxed up his grief in a strong box and purposely forgot the combination to the lock.    

Bertie had been a really good soccer player in highschool but lost interest after no American schools gave him a scholarship.  Upon graduation he immediately focused on learning about business.    He took business courses at night at the college campus downtown.  Even though it was easy to take on-line courses he liked doing the group work so he could meet girls.  He also met Chad at school.

Chad and his dad Ross brewed beer at home as a hobby for years.  Chad and Bert put together a business plan and took it to Ross.  Ross put up most of the money.  Bertie needed three credits for his diploma when they signed the lease for the brewery. Between working full time, opening up a brewery and his new girlfriend finishing a college diploma took a back seat.

With all the supply chain delays they had to postpone the opening of the brewery so for the last six months Bert worked at Chad’s dad’s accounting firm learning the ropes of corporate taxation.  Bert was more of a numbers guy, Chad was the beer guy and Chad’s half brother Brad was supposed to be the marketing guy.   Brad came up with a cheesy name and logo for the brewery but after Bert died they decided to call it The Bertrand Brew House.

Through the church Veronica tried to get Cappy to go to grief counselling.  Then they tried anger management as a back door to get Cappy to talk.  Cappy stonewalled them all.  Gently enlacing his massive fingers on his friendly belly he would just sit there.  It’s not that he didn’t listen to them.  He actually couldn’t hear them.   He generated a force field to block out anyone who wanted to fix him.  He doesn’t even remember the funeral.  No one saw him get drunk and weep, look at pictures of Bertie or even scream in anguish at the gods demanding to know why.  He just couldn’t deal.  

Almost two years after Bertie was killed, Cappy got electrocuted.

That is why Veronica doesn’t want Cappy at home.  When he’s home it’s like there is a pinata filled with grief hanging from their living room ceiling, slowly swinging back and forth like when the air conditioning is on.  And what Cappy just needs to do is grab the stick and bash, smash and crash that pinata.  Make it bleed sweet grief.  And rejoin the party.

The coffee shop is buzzing with Saturday afternoon millennials typing and talking into their laptops.  Sitting down with his brother-in-law Paulo Sammy gets distracted by all the attractive young women sipping chai latte thingamajigs and just stops talking mid sentence.

‘“Focus Sammy Focus,” said Paulo.

“Bro, I think I am officially old.  The girls are so young and …”

“So you called the ambulance and …,” prompted Paulo. 

“Ya so anyway, I went to the hospital with Cappy.  We’re in the ambulance and I am just shitting myself.  I am practically yelling at him, Don’t die you stubborn fuck. And the paramedic guy says for me to cool it.  So I’m looking at Cappy lyin’ there thinking  Marty, If you are gonna be stubborn – today is the day – now is the time – you’re gonna live.   In those days we still called him Marty.  Cappy refused to die like the stubborn mule that he is.  

“Once I knew he was gonna make it I went over to his house to speak with his wife.  So I go get my truck and I’m driving over there.  Actually I am amazed that I didn’t get in a car accident.  You know when you are imagining something inside your mind and that is where all your focus and your consciousness or whatever goes.   Then you are just totally on autopilot.  Well, that was me driving all the way to his place imagining how I was gonna tell Veronica Cappy was in the hospital.”

“At least you didn’t have to give her worse news,” said Paulo. 

“True enough.  Anyway I was so surprised when he asked me about you,” said Sammy.

“Well, I am happy to be of service if I can help.  I’m pretty sure I met Martin, or Cappy, years ago at your place for a barbecue, a birthday party, something like that.”

“Ya, I think so too,” said Sammy.

“So according to you what would be a good result from our meeting?”

“Cappy needs to talk.  After that if he commits to follow up or something with you that would be awesome.”

“Would you say he is reserved or introverted?

“No.  We have great banter at work.  He’s just, gotta get comfortable and feel that you, or whoever, is sincere.  Not yankin his chain.”

“That makes perfect sense.”

“Ya, and I doubt he will do the whole small talk thing; how are the wife and kids.  I think he will want to … Hey there he is.”

Sammy and Paulo stand up and shake hands with Cappy.

“Grab a seat there handsome,” Sammy directs Cappy who was dressed in his church clothes:  checked button-down long sleeve, v-neck sweater and his navy blue windbreaker.  

“Cappy.  You remember Paulo.  He was saying you guys met at my place one time.”

“Hey Cappy.”  Paulo felt weird calling him that.

“Paulo, how ya doin.”

“Can I get you a coffee?” Paulo asked Cappy.

“Green tea if they have it.”

“Since when did you start drinking green tea?” asked Sammy.

“Coffee is giving me bad heartburn all the time and my family doctor said green tea is good for me”

“Green tea it is,” said Sammy.  “Let me get this.  Paulo, did you want anything?” 

“No I’m good, thanks,” said Paulo.

“It’s one of those March days ya know when the warm sun on your face feels great but once you turn the corner and you are in the shade of a big building it drops like 10 degrees.”  Cappy is talkative because he is happy it’s spring which means the days are longer so they can work later.  

“I guess I should call you Cappy.”

“Ya.  Your knucklehead brother-in-law over there just had to go tell anyone who would listen about that nickname they gave me in the hospital.  And now here we sit.  It stuck like flies to shit.”  

“Cappy it is.”

“Doc. listen. You’re a doctor right?”

“No, I’m a psychotherapist.”

“Sammy told me you were a doctor.”

“It’s confusing, all the different titles.  A psychiatrist is a doctor.  I focus on behaviour change through something called Accelerated Experiential Dynamic Psychotherapy.  All that means is we talk about options for how you are going to grow.”

Cappy was almost stunned by the word grow being applied to him and not referring to his round belly.

“Keep talkin.”

In The Meantime

Photo by Content Pixie on Unsplash

Yesterday walking up the moist front steps Tammy sniffed some mineral earthy air that her memory associated with the white quartz.  

‘Let’s rent a car.  Take the day off.’ Tammy offers Malik to agree with her fresh idea as she walks in the front door.

Malik stands up straight from his work desk, takes in a big breath and looks her dead in the eyes.

‘Tammy ..?’ His voice, simply saying her name, went through a 2 – part process of getting her attention with a strong ’T’ and dipping at the end trying to bring her back to earth.  Her spontaneous whims always threw him for a loop.  What’s wrong with planning? He says with his eyes.

‘Malik ..?’A It’s-all-part-of-the-package look was how she responded to his need for a plan.

After a two hour drive out of town the next morning they set off on a five km hike into the forest following the curving river lined with attentive cedar and spruce.  On the riverbank the cedars’ gnarly roots suction themselves to the iron infused sedimentary rock that frames the river.  On the forest side of the river bank tree roots delve quickly into the forest floor littered with spongy, green rock cap moss.

It’s a good 5 degrees cooler under all the verdant trees where the river quickly narrows and drops four feet through the effervescent rapids.  Just past the brief rapids as the river widens again slightly is a massive white quartz.   Although radiant and striking, it is so ensconced in the place it can be confusingly easy to miss. Tammy can’t remember how they found out about it.  Malik remembers and relishes holding the mystery. 

A mystery that the quartz holds is its size.  The carpet of bright green moss acts like a receding hairline on the top and also grows on one side hiding where the quartz meets the riverbank rock.  The outlines of the massive white boulder hinted that the beautiful crystal extended some metres beyond what was visible.   In his enthusiasm to find out how far it reached Malik confused it with the pockets of snow clinging to winter under the tree skirts; playing hide and seek with the invigorating rays of the spring sun.  

They came to dwell with the quartz, to remain in its presence, seeking to be transported deeper within and higher up.  The quartz made you wonder. Wonder with confidence. Wonder up.   The massive cool fresh quartz engages you as if you were on time and up to speed on your life trajectory.  It draws your truth out of you.

They agreed to eat lunch in an hour and served themselves some steaming tea.  They sat cross-legged on their yoga mats 10 metres apart on the river bank.  Once settled in, breathing and clear of mind Malik found his faculties subtly intrigued.  He was being pulled to grasp what was going on:  it was the rapids.  As the rapids bounced the water all over the place, they were challenging the river, asking the river how important the flow of water was to it.  The river, regaining its composure a few metres downriver, always answered the same:  I may bend but I will never break.   

Tammy didn’t like a sudden burst of her bubble of connection when they were in nature.  Malik knew that.  But the words just popped out.

‘I don’t think nature…,’ Proposed Malik, impacted by the electrical wash of the huge quartz. ‘… knows the concept of: in the meantime.’  Hearing himself speak he realised he had broken the connection bubble but for him this was a pretty deep thought so he just kept going. ‘Nature is always in the here and now…never waiting… endlessly passionate.’  Malik liked how his poetic kites floated into the early afternoon cool air.  Soaking up the moment with his sense of transcendence he sought, Malik breathed in deeply.  

Tammy, chill, aware and reflective in the robust, rewarding afternoon was shaken by Malik’s declarations.  Hearing him utter in the meantime jolted her out of her cozy emotional vacation and dropped her into an unsettling mental state.  Tammy went from cupping the thermos cup of green tea to strangling it.

In six year old Tammy’s mind meantime was what she called the episodes of her parents arguing.  She instinctively recoiled under her bed in her and Shelly (her half-sister’s) room. Her bookshelf was empty.  Her story books were in piles under her bed.  Tammy lay among the dust bunnies and socks turning pages until the yelling and screaming stopped.   She found a corporeal focus that completely blocked out life in the meantime.   Fifteen  year old Shelly wasn’t around so much so Tammy ended up being the flag bearer of her own safety.  It seemed her parents first had to be mean to each other before they could approach her smiling saying:‘Don’t worry sweetie, come out from under there. Everything is going to be ok. Mommy is happy.’  Nine months and two police visits later there was no more meantime.

Final Excerpt of short story – The Coffin

Photo by Roseanna Smith on Unsplash


His husband love got overtaken by business.  In the moment he justified his focus on growing the business.  And his children’s inheritance will prove he was successful – was his mental argument he would have with himself, as he raked leaves or swept the driveway – as a way to  assuage the discomfort of regret.

Gord felt he didn’t have the connection with his children for the same reason as when they were growing up he was growing his business.  Selling plumbing supplies came easier to him than being there for his children.  It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be there. It’s that if he didn’t grow his business no one else would.  Plus this business put food on the table and would pay for university as long as he kept his foot on the gas and didn’t let up. 

‘There are different kinds of love, sweetheart!’  Gord remembers growling over his shoulder at Linda.  His teeth were clenched down hard perhaps in an attempt to not let these silly words out.  He can see it now.  They were in their bedroom one Saturday morning when he was getting ready for work instead of taking Phil to hockey practice and teaching Martha to skate and buying the groceries with Sue.

‘Of course there are different kinds of love.’  Linda was paused by her absolute frustration that her good husband still didn’t get it.’  That’s the point!’  Linda schooled Gord looking him right in the eyes as he buttoned his shirt.  Linda’s abstention from swearing gave her message that much more ummph.  She was no longer in an argument with him but had already transported herself to how it was going to feel in the car later that morning as she drove Phil to Saturday morning hockey practice instead of his dad. Gord could feel Linda’s disappointment but he couldn’t somehow say he was sorry.  Because, he told himself in the moment some 35 years ago, he wasn’t sorry because he was supporting his family.  This memory, and others, were the life recordings that went through Gord’s mind as he would slowly sweep the clean front walk of its minimal weekday dirt.  

In the few years since the death of his wife Gord had this urge to connect with his family so they know their unique value.  Therefore his anchored vision project.  Yes it would have been easier to say he loved them.  And that if he had failed in some ways as a father he was sorry.  But that would have been like the first route he walks in the mornings: short and simple and gets the job done without complications.

Mercifully Gord heard the toilet flush all the way down the hall which yanked him out of his swamp of regret. 

‘It’s all very spiritual and transformative and, and, and earthy.’  Cedar vibrated her hands at her sides as she sat back down to show Gord how she was impacted by their chat.

‘Yes but without the sweat lodge.’  Gord fake laughs quickly. ‘ Or if you want the sweat lodge go for it.  That was never my thing.’  Gord was trying to be funny in case he was coming on too strong.

‘What was your thing GG?’ Cedar asked, using her position as the preferred grandchild to be so direct.

‘I …’  Gord’s shoulders briefly pumped up and down as he gazed out the kitchen window looking out over the driveway and leaned back into his personal journey.

‘My thing would be whatever my thing was at the time.  One thing at a time.  When your grandmother was sick, that was my thing.  When I started my business, that became my thing.  When each child was born, that was my thing.  But, as the years went on, with each child it was less of a thing.’  Gord paused and looked into Cedar’s eyes because Cedar’s mother Martha was his third and last child.  They could both feel that this could be taken to mean that her mother’s  birth and existence amounted to less than the birth of her two older siblings.  

“You mom being the third wasn’t loved less by any means.  There was just, I don’t know, more going on and as parents we weren’t petrified as we were when your uncle Phil was born.’ 

Cedar was the third child as well.  By 7 minutes.  Her twin brother Red went to the light before she did.  

Was I less of a thing? Cedar had never even thought of it.  In the moment she felt good about being a twin, or having Red as her twin because of how it echoed her existence.  Gord saw her face quickly disappear inside of herself but didn’t grasp she was cherishing her birth not feeling any anger for getting the bronze medal.  She was very happy to be on the podium.

‘You and Red were born at the same time so you were a big deal.  A lot of diapers.  Jack loved being your older brother, he was like a mini dad organizing your toys, helping you walk.

‘Actually when your mom told me she was having twins I thought it was great.  But then she said, I have to confirm it with the doctor.  And that always stuck with me.  How did she know?  Now Gord was lost inside his mind where fireworks were going off of beautiful family memories.  And then, as it had come to be a recent habit, it circled quickly back around to Linda.

‘Your grandmother always loved the whole mystery of giving a child a name.  It gave her joy and energy so for me I couldn’t see how others saw it as overbearing or imposing.  Anyway it would be an innocent imposition.  She would bring her little notebook and look into her child’s eyes for a clue – then look to the sky for inspiration. She really loved doing it and thought it was her role to participate.   Martha says it was the only time she saw her mother write.  That wasn’t true.  Martha just felt that they were her children and she, plus her husband, had the ability to name them.’  

‘So how did she know?’  Prompted Cedar for more information on her mother being a young mother.  She wanted to admire her mom as the young, dynamic woman she could see in family photos before she was transformed into a bossy mom.

‘Know what?’

‘That she was pregnant with twins?’  The juicy confessional type of conversation with GG was so novel and satisfying.

‘I didn’t really capture that.  Martha came up with your names before your grandmother could really process that there would be twins and get her motor running, so to speak, on what could be possible matching names.  And truth be told, the names Red and Cedar that your mom had already come up with were so far off Linda’s screen that, well there was nothing to say really.’’

‘So my mom came up with the idea for our names?’  Cedar couldn’t remember asking and hadn’t really ever wanted to get into it.  Her brother had a bit of a hard time because his name was Red but as life would have it Cedar got the red hair of the two.  It confused people that a guy named Red didn’t have red hair but he had a twin sister who did.  So they would get bullied in high school.  That’s what teenagers do when they are presented with something that is beyond their grasp.  They would stand up for each other but he was basically a wimp so he got brushed aside.  Guys would even just hug him instead of beating on him.  Beating on Red was so easy, it was comical.  

As a result, sometimes they would play down they were twins, and a few times even siblings.  There was no abandonment of one by the other.  It was actually an effective teenage social strategy.  It was a way to avoid ridicule.  They would retreat into the fact that they were twins born Geminis.  Twins squared.  It made no difference to anyone who wasn’t them but it just made the route to get to them emotionally more convoluted so it provided an extra layer of protection.  

But in the same breath, in high school her name gave her a way to sound different.  Which she liked because it mirrored the way she felt.  It also spiced up how she dressed and helped her come into her own style.  Tall with her long, wavy red hair she took on a Boho look that seemed to work for her.  

‘I remember your mom saying that she loved the red cedar trees because…’  Gord started.

‘Wait GG.  Actually, I think I will ask my mom about our names.  If you don’t mind.’  Even though she was eagerly soaking up the downloading of family history from her grandfather she stopped him.  

‘We haven’t avoided the conversation, we just made sure we never had it.’  Cedar explained to her grandfather.  As it came out of her mouth she could hear how lame it sounded, but it was basically true.

Cedar was glad she had dragged their good-byes outside because in that way it broke the proximity of the two of them that had grown around the kitchen table.  She didn’t want a hug so Cedar fumbled with buttoning her coat moving toward the door.  Cedar skipped down the stairs and they waved good-bye.   Cedar put in her ears buds as she turned right to catch the bus uptown.   As Gord stood on his front steps breathing the cooling November evening Cedar was reconnecting with the sound track of her generation.  Gord, GG, dad, daddy, hesitated.  He stood on the front steps of his fully paid off house, where 3 beautiful children knew innocence  and joy; where Linda, his wife would bring each of them home from the hospital and nurture them with sincere service that inspired and humbled Gord.

Waiting till after Cedar had turned the corner he then headed back to his garage.   The same garage where he started his plumbing business.  The same garage that was his first warehouse for his plumbing supply business.    This old man was in a negotiation with his own shoulders to determine if he walked back with the hunched shoulders of a defeated man who had nothing better to do than to test drive his coffin.  Or if he was an aging man engaging the role of elder as he addressed mortality with humility/fear/awe/respect.   

Gord was comfortable in his coffin.  It was only the second time he had laid down in it. He kind of felt like a Formula 1 driver slipping into their sleek race car. He had used his yellow measuring tape to get his height and width and depth.  Then he added 6 inches to each measurement.  It was snug, not cramped. 

Burn My Coal!

Photo by Casey Horner on Unsplash

Our collective human race behaviour imposes a pervasive impact on the well being of planet Earth. 

If someone insults us or a loved one we become instantly indignant.  Can we overlay that indignance onto our role in the quality of life of the planet?  Can we use our emotion for how we want to be treated and share it with the planet?  It might cause us to elevate our action of compassion.

If I said to you that someone is really ‘burning my coal’ what does that mean?

It means my past is being made more important than the present and the future.  

Let’s back up a little bit.  60 Million years, more or less.  Coal used to be a tree.  The coal we burn is getting power from dead plants and animals.   That tree died and during decomposition mixed with other ingredients as it was covered by successive layers of organic life.  

Plant Some Trees – Burn Less Coal 
Breathe More Air – Live Your Life

That tree is now participating in the transition of carbon into petroleum.  To us that petroleum is used for gas to run our cars, tires so our cars can move/planes can fly, our plastic pill bottles, synthetic fibres in clothes and vaseline.

To the planet, what is petroleum?  As we keep withdrawing petroleum from the viscera of the planet – her temperature has risen?  What’s the correlation?  Is it the burning of carbon that is the reason?  Well, we can say yes.  

Without diminishing the need to transition to renewable energy sources there is also another consideration.  That the planet had its own carbon offset program – by design.  More accurately the planet had control of its own thermostat by being able to cool itself.

Is it possible that the planet’s ability to remain cool has been impacted by the extraction of her coolant?  Is it possible?  We don’t even know?  

Perhaps petroleum is to the planet what HFC 134 (this gas replaced freon) is to your fridge.  Perhaps petroleum is to the planet what freon is to your air conditioner in your house.  Imagine your car on a hot summer day with the windows up and you have a leak in the hose from the condenser to the vents in your car.  It’s going to heat up pretty quickly.

Perhaps petroleum is to the planet what blood is to your heart. Imagine your heart with diminished blood flow?  That’s called a heart attack.  Is it possible that is what we are thrusting upon the planet?  Cardiac arrest!  We don’t even know?!

Let’s plant some trees so we can breathe fresh air.   Let’s use our past as a foundation for perception about what tomorrow needs.  Let’s align our satisfactions in our current Life Stage with our many communities (family, marriage, business, soul, body).  This way we can translate perception accurately so our actions today are congruent with a human development journey.  By definition a development journey is congruent with respecting the Great Mother, planet Earth.

A Poor Excuse for Real Initiation

To highlight the reality of the ongoing stupidity of hazings that still occur in university fraternities and sororities there is a new TV program just released.

https://www.oxygen.com/true-crime-buzz/from-timothy-piazza-to-jordan-hankins-real-hazing-deaths

Dying to Belong is the name of the program. And it hits the nail on the head. We all want to belong but humiliating people and endangering their lives to generate a sense of exclusivity is juvenile.

Hazing is defined as the imposition of strenuous, often humiliating, tasks as part of a program of rigorous physical training and initiation. So the greater the humiliation then the club you are being initiated into should be that much more exclusive. Or provide a transcendent feeling of belonging. I am not sure that university frats get to that level of, well fraternity. Basically it is supposed to earn you a loyalty towards you when you need it. And your loyalty to your fraternity will be asked for when it is needed. In the meantime you have the status of saying you belong to this or that frat.

The thing is people die in these hazings that new recruits or pledges are submitted to. Why? Why does it have to dip to a level of life threatening humiliation?

To belong to the Jeep driver’s club all you need is to make a down payment of a few thousand dollars to buy your Jeep Wrangler and then keep up with your monthly payments. And as a result every time another Jeep drives in the opposite direction you get a cool and subtle wave as you drive by each other in your Jeeps. It’s silly. But it provides a sense of inclusion/acceptance/belonging in and among all the random traffic. And it is warming not demoralizing. It is simple not nefarious.

Initiation is the process of crossing the threshold into the next stage of life. And in some cultures they can be extremely demanding rite of passage like a vision quest. Or it can be a celebration like a bar mitzvah.

The idea of initiation is to create a mark that a person is entering into a new possibility in their life. Witness it. Make the ceremony and the person being initiated important. Generate in them the concept of upholding their dignity as they pass from child to young adult; or from adult to elder. So when we cross the threshold of death, from elder to ether, we have had practice knowing how to cross into the next realm and what is of value there.

While initiation helps the same person elevate in their development trajectory a distinct aspect of their life is being accessed in this new platform for life that encourages curiosity and perception.

If you are not religious then recognition of the next life stage might not be so ceremonious. It can be conversations to show appreciation of the person for what they have become up to now based on their challenges and opportunities. Appreciation coupled with respect for their version of responsibility as they grow. Reminding them to harvest from their past the milestones won by the vigour of their youth. Merging these lessons with the awareness being petitioned of each person to grow into the unknown.

The New You Series – Advice – Guidance and Wisdom

There is a well known adage that perhaps was coined by Confucoius or is alluded to in the Bible.  Either way it goes like this:

‘Give a man a fish and he eats for a day. Teach a man to fish and he eats for a lifetime.’

It would appear to hold true. This is very much the Rich Dad/Poor Dad juxtaposition.

Perhaps, in hindsight, there is a line missing:

Forget to demand respect for the planet from the man and he will destroy fish stocks and end up giving his children farmed fish full of chemicals. 

Let’s look at the adage through the lens of: Advice, Guidance and Wisdom.

At the level of advice is ‘give a man a fish’

At the level of guidance is ‘teach him to fish’

At the level of wisdom is ‘demand respect, from yourself and others, on behalf of the planet’  

Photo by Priscilla Du Preez on Unsplash

Advice

Is for guys

Application is to work life, guy life, ego buoyancy, for not looking stupid, to the now

Forms of Advice – tips, sayings, phrases, guyisms, answers, encouragement

Advice provides timely ideas for someone to make decisions to get results.

Advice for any person, at any age in any stage in life.  It is useful to daily life and can stand the test of time. 

Provenance – brain

Relevance – bridging the moment with what you want

Photo by Anaya Katlego on Unsplash


Guidance 

Guidance is for men.

Application – Guidance is a resource for learning to deal with fear, for growing awareness, for understanding others, for facing the future.

Forms of Guidance – story, map, the legend on a map, questions, challenges

Guidance hints at the man you become if you listen to it and let it impact your life

Provenance – heart

Relevance – love, the need to love and be loved

Photo by JD Mason on Unsplash

Wisdom

Is for The New You,

Application is for participation in service to something bigger than you, curiosity and reflection

Forms of Wisdom – crystalized, dense yet light in its transmission, mysterious and confusing and settling

Wisdom is the language of the instinct talking about finding meaning and integrating it into life

Provenance – soul

Relevance – magnetizing to the truth and electrifying to action

—

Practice all 3 (Advice – Guidance – Wisdom): Know the difference so advice doesn’t get passed off as guidance; and wisdom doesn’t get reduced to guidance.

Demand advice from your peers, guidance from your parents and wisdom from your elders.

TOWARDS THE SEASON OF HARVESTS: 2021 — contemplativeinquiry

In the northern hemisphere we will soon be entering a quarter of harvests and waning light, starting with Lughnasadh/Lammas. In the south there will be the energy of rising light and growth. In the manner of the yin/yang symbol. a taste of that energy is present here too. As I approach Lughnasadh/Lammas this year, I […]

TOWARDS THE SEASON OF HARVESTS: 2021 — contemplativeinquiry