zenon-stones

[zenon-stones]

Making Time

I have lived a whole lifetime, since an event, that only took a few moments, had changed the way I live my life in many ways. You go through life not thinking that almost every decision you make, every turn you take and every word you speak could affect those around you, quite possibly for the rest of their lives. All I had to do that day was to make a little time to do one simple thing.

               Most of my life I have been in a rush, even to this day. I feel that there is not enough time to get things done and you would think, that after all these years, I would have time to just sit down and enjoy the time I have saved.  If I could only just slow down, then time would as well, and I could enjoy a sunset again and even watch as the leaves on a mimosa tree, slowly close for the night. Sadly I have given that advice out a thousand times and rarely have heeded it myself.

               As I stated earlier, a lifetime ago I had an incident that had altered my way of rushing though every single aspect of my life. I was trying to be more efficient and get as much done as possible with the distance and daylight I had to get my job done. I was traveling out of town and that was narrowing my window to get finished before dark. On the way to the job, I realized that I had forgotten something that I desperately needed and decided to stop at a lumber store in a small town along my route. I whipped into the front of the business and something caught the corner of my eye. There was a pup on the edge of a curb, only a few yards away. And just a few feet from there, was a fenced in yard. I told myself that as soon as I finished my business, I would place the pup over the fence for its own safety. You already know where this is headed.

               I was but a few moments in the store and rushed to my truck to place the item inside, when I saw something I was not prepared for, and my heart sunk. It would have been devastating enough to just see a dead puppy in the road, but no, I had to see the destruction I had inadvertently caused by not taking action. On the curb where I first saw the puppy, a little boy was sitting and holding the dead pup in his lap. He was overwhelmed with grief and his sobs ripped through me. Yet, that was not enough. Standing directly behind the boy, was a mountain of a man looking down at the heartbreaking scene and he himself was uncontrollably crying. I know he wasn’t just crying for the boy, but the incident had tapped into a memory that took him back to same feelings. This was the first encounter with death and guilt that a child feels upon losing their first best friend.

               I myself was thrown back to when I lost the dog I had raised since the day of his birth, when his mother abandoned him. I was reliving it and remembered the sheer pain, anger and guilt. That was the first time I wanted to kill. I was 13 and that was a bad year for me. I knew the man that purposely ran my dog down, and at my dogs last breath, as I held him in my arms, all I could think about was that man’s last breath, at my own hands. I had to leave immediately. I wanted to apologize, but would only bring confusion to the already emotional situation. I had built a wall around my heart and today a chunk of that wall was torn down.  So I departed to continue my exceedingly long day of work

                I had to return through that same small town, return to the scene of the crime, as it were. I knew that I would never pass there again without another small piece of my wall being removed. I know my personal experience had an effect on my life and hoped that the boy would come out stronger and not the way it changed me. I still find myself hurrying in the course of life, but I have tried to slow down on occasion and take in the beauty of my surroundings. I have slowed down as well to listen and give advice. I have even pulled over a time or two to remove a turtle from traffic. I have missed so much trying to make time.

[zenon-stones]

The Meaning of Life in a Bologna Sandwich

When I was a very young boy, I did not see the limitations of life as I see them now. My mother never told me that certain things were impossible, for, as she lead me to believe, nothing was, as long as I believed. The stories she told me, today sound like myth or bedtime stories, but to her, were actual fact and part of who we were. She told me with all her heart and soul and I never doubted for many years.

Aside from the mystical part of my life, the reality was that we were dirt poor and as children we had no idea to what level of poverty we were surviving. We were happy (or what we perceived to be happiness)  for the most part and had our typical family disputes, which for me and my brothers, attempt of murder of each other, was typical. We did not question as to why we have several meals in a row of beans and rice as being anything but a gourmet meal, because we had plenty and Mom made anything taste great. But then there was bologna.

Do you have any idea of the ways that one can eat bologna? I won’t get into that right now, but trust me, you can really get creative. My brothers and I, along with our best friends, would grab a pack of bologna and a loaf of bread and load up.  This was even better if we had chips to crush between them which really added that special touch.  We would then head out on an adventure, primarily the park that was several miles away by which we had to travel down railroad tracks and cross a field that was occupied by and evil horse that hated everything. I never really saw the horse, but the stories got better and scarier each time we crossed the field. Then we would drop down to a narrow stream that we crossed by way of large stones spread across it and through a wooded area. This was without fear or knowledge that we should fear being abducted. Miles from home without anyone’s knowledge of where were, because our parents were at work. We were masters of our universe and a bologna sandwich was our feast of warriors and champions. How glorious it was, once we reached our destination.

That was our world and had no knowledge that we were less fortunate than others. However, as years went on, we were judged and ridiculed. Eventually we had to have what everyone else had, at whatever the cost. Even our bologna sandwich was only a symbol of what we did not have. All that I was taught, of how we must be grateful for what we had, only seemed to be a way of accepting that fact that we had nothing. That lead to other things that finally put some of us in prison, in trying to obtain whatever it was that was supposed to fill the hole of emptiness we felt of being less and having less than others.

Many years have passed and many failed attempts at reaching a goal that we never really set. We had no idea what we really wanted or needed, just that we had to have it and more. Now I eat steak, which holds no special meaning. I long for a bologna sandwich like the ones we once made, but know that the feelings and thoughts that once made me feel at the top of my world, are long gone. Yes I know this sounds ridiculous, but I know you have your version of a sandwich that once held your innocence and dreams. The feeling that everything would work out and you were at your best.

I miss who I was and what I believed I could be.

[zenon-stones]

Less Than Zero

I spent a good part of my life believing I was less than what was considered normal. I was an invisible man, who had no reason for even existing. I could walk through crowds and not even be touched and be in a room and not a soul knew when I came or left. Sometimes I would speak up and be the only one that heeded my advice and be the only one that got it right. For the longest time I felt that this was a curse of some sort, to walk the Earth as a shadow, without light, to even show myself. It was as if I were nothing, nobody, less than zero.

I eventually turned that around. Being invisible had its perks. People would reveal things in front of me without even realizing I was there. I was constantly being underestimated, which got people to try less at something, and I quickly took advantage. I became a man to be feared, however, I was more of a ghost or legend. They never associated the stories with me, the invisible man. I learned to embrace the fact that I was ignored and walked in and out, not be seen or heard. Then unfortunately, that all changed.

I was at a party doing my usual wallflower thing in the background, when an individual approached me and remarked, “So you are alive!” My brother being curious came over to get an understanding of the conversation. The individual called me by my name and for the first time my brother realized that I was the person he had heard so many stories about. He asked, “Are you really him?” I nodded. His mind was blown. For years he was considered the black sheep and realized he was only in the minor leagues, compared to me. He later told me how confused he was at that revelation . He wasn’t sure if he should be proud or scared. It was if he never knew me. I explained that I had watched over him for years, sort of a guardian angel, with darkened wings. We became even closer as brothers.

I can’t say I didn’t enjoy all of what I did. There is a dark side to us all, I just accepted that fact and took it to a whole other level. I protected my family above and beyond. I provided for my family, above and beyond. I have regrets, but don’t we all. I eventually retired from all of that. I couldn’t rationalize everything I did anymore. I moved half way across the country to get away from myself, and become the person I should have been.

I became a person that everyone noticed when I walked into a room. I became a friend that people respected, but not out of fear. I am now seen and heard. I know you are wondering how. I used the skills of the invisible man and heard the stories from all sides. I was able to use that information and help those involved. I became a great listener and people watcher. I already knew much about the human condition by observation from my invisible world. I no longer took advantage in a negative way and spoke up even more persistently, until I was heard. Then the hardest part of all, I learned patience.

[zenon-stones]

Friends Forever

           In a couple of my posts, I have mentioned a friend that had an untimely departure from this world. I feel that I have neglected to give him enough mention in my writings and want to tell you a little more about him. It’s the least he deserves, and I want to keep his memory alive, but from now on, in a more pleasurable way, than the dark past, kind. I need to let this go, it’s been so long and maybe I feel some form of guilt, but not completely sure of what I could have done. Because, like most people in our lives, we just tend to drift apart, and then we wonder how things could have been.

           I mentioned before, that my first awareness of him in my life was when I was about 5 years old and knew that we were friends, or least were thrown together by being placed with the same babysitter. I believe that I also mentioned that our first day in school was marred by the fact that his mother left him and he immediately started crying. I moved to another table, so as to not be associated with a cry baby. Here I was dropped off by my Godmother, and asked if I remembered how we got there and that I was to retrace those 2 or 3 miles back home, alone. Also consider that I did not speak English. Moving on.

           I remember the two of us collecting the rubber seals in coke bottles that had amount of money written in them, anywhere from a penny to 25 cents. We collected enough to buy an airplane with a rubber band, that when wound up, would soar. I don’t remember having feelings towards him until he wasn’t around much anymore. I would see him from time to time and he was always alone. I had heard that his parents got divorced and that his mother eventually moved away, only taking his sister with her. She left him with his grandparents, which really didn’t have much use for him.

           This boy had to fend for himself most of the time and he spent lots of time in pool halls. He started selling drugs and eventually got hooked on them himself. It got to where I really didn’t want to be around him, because of the misery that surrounded him. I had enough of my own and didn’t need to compound it to the point of us drowning in it. He was a thin little guy and seemed to me to be helpless at times. There were rumors that he started prostituting himself to support his drug habit. Then I really didn’t hear much after that, but always considered him, my first best friend.

           One night as I was sitting on my mother’s front porch, as I did quite often, he happened to be walking down my street, and not doing a very good at that. He recognized me right off and came over to talk to me. God only knows what he was on and how much.  I decided to walk him home to make sure he got there safe. My mother overheard us, and tried to talk me out of it, because of his condition and the neighborhoods I had to traverse to get him home. I said, “He is my best friend Mom, I have to do this.” And we left.

           When we arrived at his grandparent’s house, I helped him onto the couch, which had been his bed for the past 7 or 8 years. I found a blanket and covered him. He looked at me and asked, “We are best friends, aren’t we?” I replied, “Friends forever.” That is the last time I saw him. Two weeks later, I heard he had been knelt down in a field and shot in the back of the head 3 times. He was only 16. At least his pain was over.

[zenon-stones]

A Boy and His Dog

           One early morning, I believe it was a Saturday, I woke up and knew it was going to be like any other day. Bored with nothing to do, it appeared to be a nice cool morning, and that was a good start. I got dressed and skipped breakfast which was usual, because I really don't like to eat early in the morning. I just wanted to get a good spot on the front porch to take in the cool morning air. Much to my surprise there was an individual already on the porch. It was a short, matted, curly haired dog lying on the porch, against the house. She looked exhausted and hungry.

           My mother stepped out as well and informed me that the dog was pregnant. She looked underweight to be pregnant, but nonetheless, she was. My mother had come out to send me on an errand to the store, so off I went. By the time I came back all the drama had been dealt with and I was left with a decision. Apparently the dog had given birth while I was away and given birth to 5 pups and ran off. All but one died. My mother had disposed of the other four moments before I arrived and she was waiting for the fifth to expire. I of course as any 10 year boy would ask, “Mom, can I keep it?” She sighed and told me that it would not live out the day. I still asked if I could at least keep it until it passed, and little did she know that I was taking this as a personal challenge. I would not let this hours old pup die.

           I fed it using a small rag and milk. At night it slept next to my head after my mom went to bed and I would promptly remove it from its’ shoe box. I would feel it suckle on my earlobe and would get up and feed it again. After school I would rush home, praying to find it still alive and everyday my prayers were answered. He grew to about two foot tall and did not look anything like his mom. He was short haired, slender and handsome as dogs go. He was my best friend, my companion, the keeper of my secrets and my son. He was the only one that saw me cry and would die to protect me.

           I have hundred of stories about life with him, but the next three are the most important. Story number one goes as follows. My dog had another best friend in the dog world, known as Butch. This dog was a massive German Shepherd, but was the follower of the two. My dog was a very dominant alpha male. I had wrestled with him many times to show him how to protect himself, however I left one thing out and he paid the price. I was on my porch hanging with my buddy, when Butch's owner, another kid my age, ran up to me crying that his dog was being killed. As if my dog understood, he bolted in the direction, he had come from. I couldn't keep up with him. By the time I arrived, my buddy was licking Butch as he lay on the ground bleeding. Butch was delirious, and ripped at my dog's throat. God, there was so much blood! The gash went vertically, the entire length of his throat. I was angry and desperate. I snatched him up and ran home. My mother was so calm. She stitched him up and put a cloth baby diaper around his throat in the shape of a bandanna. It was a rough couple of days, but once he was up he looked cool with that hanging from his neck. The neighbors that had witnessed the incident, informed me that there were three dogs attacking Butch and that my dog had torn them apart and ran them off. My buddy was brave, fearless and protective. I couldn't be prouder, or so I thought.

           Story number two. That same boy, who owned Butch, had a father that was an abusive drunk. We all avoided him as best we could and he was hated by everyone, especially his own family. Not sure what he did, but the youngest of three daughters ended up in a mental institution, for a bit. One fateful night, he ended up on our porch. My buddy was an outside dog, much to my dismay, but worked out this time. When my mother answered the door, that drunk tried to attack my mother. Well he was quickly dealt with, and my best friend became an inside dog. Life couldn't get any better. My mother finally got to really see his true nature and how much love he was capable of and she felt safe.

           Story three. I was now thirteen and was what I considered the worst year of my life. Many things happened that year, one being that my mother was diagnosed with cancer. She survived it, but that is another story. I came home from school that day and noticed a trail in the dirt as if something had drug itself or had been drug up to my house. My heart dropped as I saw him lying on the ground gasping for every breath. Everyone was gathered around him, waiting for my arrival. They knew nothing could be done. He tried to get home so we could fix him. It looked as if his neck was broken, which made it even more miraculous. I knew his time was over. I lifted him and laid him on the truck of my uncle's car. I held onto him until his last breath, as he looked up me and opened his mouth, as if to say something to me. My world as I knew it came to an end and I was no longer a child. A neighbor told me that the drunk, mentioned earlier, had purposely driven across the road and into my yard to hit my friend. I wanted to kill. As I headed to his house, my mother stopped me and said, to let it go. It would come around, and I had to just let the universe deal with him. I never knew I could hate so much. I did as she said. Ten years later, that same drunk, was walking across the road and got hit by a car. None of his family visited him in the hospital. He died alone and I was told, that no amount of medication could ease the pain.

           I didn't know how to feel. I wished this and so many other scenarios upon him. But to die alone like that. Even my friend was surrounded by several people as I watched him die, and everyone felt my pain. I still don't know how to feel.

[zenon-stones]

I Should Have Listened

   It’s been a minute since I posted and wish I had more time to do so. My entire life, I have been much of a storyteller, even conveying stories of others I have known. The thing is that most of my stories have been on the dark side I have felt that I was a magnet for negativity and maybe that was somehow my purpose. That maybe, if I would take on the pains of the world, many others would not have to deal with it. I know that sounds a bit crazy, however, through stories mother told me, my family, more specifically my Grandmother, was considered an electric healer. Nevertheless, I have had darkness and pain around me as if it were my reason of existence. Now, for my next glimpse into my life.

   As a boy, I was extremely fascinated by magic. which at the age of 8 or 9, I was certain, that not all of it was fake. I believed that if I studied  and practiced long and hard enough, i would eventually be bought into the society, where real magic existed. So my beliefs were a bit more intense than most children at that age. For such a young child I had become fairly talented considering I didn’t have all the tools of the trade and had to discover how a lot of it was done on my own. You can imagine my excitement when a magic shop opened within blocks of my home. I started spending lots of time there even though I couldn’t afford most of what that had displayed. 

   My mother became concerned, not so much about my interest in magic, but that I was spending way too much time at that store. She finally demanded that I not go there right after school anymore. However, I could not see any reason why i couldn’t just stop for a few minutes since it was just a block over on my way home. I could get home before my mother even knew I had ever disobeyed.

   I got there quickly, so I would have more time, before it would be too late to get home before my mother. I did that for a few days and most times found myself the only would be customer (actually window shopper) in the store. The owner saw how sad it made me to not be able to afford even the cheapest of things. I felt that he understood me, because as a boy he had the same dream, but only was able to get a shop and never progressed beyond that. A kindred spirit of sorts. So he taught me some easy, no frills magic tricks, then of course one day he had one that was a secret and was in the back room.

   I had immediate concerns, but was too physically small and naive to protest much. He took me to a back room that only had a bed and he proceeded to hypnotize me, or so he believed and hoped I would believe. He laid me down with my eyes closed, then he heard the bell at the door as a customer came in. He hurried to the front and told that person that the store was closing early and locked the door behind them. I built up enough courage to get up and found and alternate way out the back. I ran home as fast as I could. I never told my mother, and sometime afterwards, passed by the store, across the street of course, and found that it had closed for good. I am ashamed to this day that I disobeyed my mother, and more so that I never told out of fear. Not of him, but of my mother. Who knows how many children didn’t escape and how far it went.

[zenon-stones]

NEGATIVITY

   There are those that believe than mankind is born with original sin and that we have to have it washed away at birth. I was born at negative 1000 and added to that, throughout most of my life. Whether thru my own intentions or by those I was around, which, other than my family (whom I couldn’t avoid), was still my fault. Somewhat like the Marvel character “Mr. Glass”, I was born on the negative end of the spectrum. I have mentioned before, that sometime between the age of four or five, I had thoughts of suicide and tried reaching into a drawer, that was to high for me to look in, and felt for a knife to complete the deed. To be aware of such dealings at such an early stage in life, reflects the influences I was surrounded by on a daily basis.

   For awhile I embraced the negativity, when I decided to adopt the old adage of “If you can’t beat them, join them”. Then I became the best at what was expected by those of that caliber. People respected me and those that didn’t, feared me. I became the embodiment of negativity and it flew to me like I was a supercharged magnet. After so much pain and misery and finally the murder of my mother (which I did not commit, jut so you know), I had enough. It was time to remove myself from all of this. I put away my instruments of destruction and left myself open to those whom had always wanted to bring me down. So the battle begun. Both with all the wannabees and myself.

   Not until I discovered that I was being cheated on (by the one whose name we will never speak and no longer with), and a girl pulled out in front of my truck; totaling it and much of her own body, my dog jumped the fence and hung herself to death, and finally while I was taking a shower, one of the walls collapsed on me. Oh, and I did i mention  that this all occurred in the same week. I took this all as a sign from a higher power, and said,”Screw this! I’m out!” I ran half way across the country. It took years to wash the negativity away, basically because I wore it like a protective shield. Do unto others, before they do unto you, kind of thing. I never read the news or watch news, I feel that if it is important, I will eventually be told. I walk away from bad situations and have always had the knack of knowing when one was brewing. I once was drawn to them and gave me a strange or corrupted sense of joy and purpose, however now I use that for good.

   Stones have been in my life from childhood and have been there for a reason. Over the years, since my escape, I realized how much they had been there for me. The comfort in those bad times, and direction from what they represent individually. I am now surrounded by them and feel protected. No more negativity, however, the residual scars it left behind are fading. I receive bad news all the time from those around me, but have detached myself from those feelings to allow myself to come up with logical solutions and protect my inner self. I embrace stones as a prayer I can hold. 

[zenon-stones]

Avoiding Me

   Believe it or not, I once was the topic of discussion in one of my Junior College classes. I was literally brought before the class and asked, “How do we avoid someone like you?”  I wasn’t sure if I should be offended or proud of the fact that my reputation had preceded me. I decided on the latter and began to have a meaningful and informative Q & A.  I had never thought that I would be put into such a situation, however I rose to the occasion.

   I gave only a few common sense rules, or at least they were to those in my neighborhood. 

Rule #1:  Stay out of my neighborhood. Why in the world would someone as themselves be in my world, unless they were looking for something not quite so legal, suicidal, lost or just plain stupid.

Rule #2:  When in my part of the world, show me respect. Don’t walk across the street to avoid me and look away, so as not to make eye contact.

Rule #3:  Acknowledge my existence. Wave or at least give a head nod. This also goes with speak when spoken to. Smile, even if what they say is rude. (Was never really my thing. I just watched people). 

Rule #4:  Never come alone.

Disclaimer: Following these rules does not guarantee that no harm will come to you, so just stay out of my neighborhood. Our powers of evil tend to waiver when we leave “The Zone.” ( I now live 1000 miles away from there and my evil meter is running on empty).

   The rules were simple and we respected those rules (I can’t vouch for other neighborhoods). However, those that knew me or my people, knew where I hung my hat and needed to make alterations to their travel route. If you tried to ignore us, we were like dogs, smelling fear, and then the fun would begin. It was about respect. We did not enjoy being made to feel inferior or like monsters in our own neighborhood, except by our own. We had a pecking order and lived or died by our own set of rules. 

   It was interesting to know that the entire class feared me. All I wanted, was an education and a better chance at life.  Nevertheless, I was being judged without ever causing a problem (at least not at school.)  Again, I really didn’t blame them. They heard so many stories about me and some of those stories, even scared me.

[zenon-stones]

Try Looking Up

   I was fairly poor as a child, if you can call being poor, fair. In order to get money, other than asking our mom for it, we would try and just find it. We were too young and small to get jobs and everyone else around us was poor as well. So my brothers and friends spent much of our time looking down at the ground for soda bottles, cans, pecans or anything we could sell and occasionally we would actually come across some money on the ground. 

   We searched for years and as we got older and able to get real work and life caught up with us, I noticed that I wasn’t just looking down for scraps, but that there was a weight, as if tied around my neck forcing me to mentally and physically look down.I never really made that connection for some time. I rarely looked anyone in the eyes and it felt safer not to look at my surroundings. After all, I had found many good things looking down. My dog was on the ground and he was the greatest. I found rare coins and a critter or two, such as snakes, lizards and horned toads. 

   One day, as I was walking to school, a day like any other day, I heard something. It was above me in the trees. It was a bird and chirping like there was no tomorrow. I think it was pissed, because I was fast approaching its nest. Regardless, it made me look up. I was almost in awe of what I saw. There was a beautiful blue sky, partly cloudy and rushing along ahead of me.  The wind was cool and moving the branches in almost what looked like a choreographed dance. I stopped and wondered if the world had always looked this beautiful. How had I walked this path for the last two years and never noticed this. My mood changed immediately and have rarely looked down since. I look people in the eyes to the point of almost making them uncomfortable. I see so much in their eyes. I have also seen many bad things, but was able to face them head on and maybe even avoided some issues by paying attention. 

   Now, I feel that I am loosing what I first gained when I looked up. I go back to that day on occasion to remember that feeling and try to hold onto it, to get me through some of my less than favorable situations, and of course there is that dancing dog (https://youtu.be/sg0aARl_U88) that gets me through others. Try looking up, sometimes. 

[zenon-stones]

Day of Awakening

   I have memories way beyond what most people would normally have. Unfortunately, they are because of unfortunate events in my life. However, I do have a nice one I would like to share. I call this day, my Day of Awakening. I was 5 years old, and do not know how I got to be where I was or even remember physically waking up that morning. Nevertheless, my first thoughts were of how bright and orange the inside of my eyelids looked as I faced the sun with my eyes closed and enjoyed the cool morning breeze around me. The warmth of the sun was pleasing and I was lost in the beautiful world of color and and coolness and warmth at the same time, with birds chirping and the sound of the wind surrounded me. It was all shattered with the sound of a woman, with her son tagging along, while she pushing a baby carriage down the alleyway gravel. My birth of emotional bliss was brought to a screeching halt and I was thrust into the real world and have seldom felt that way again.

   Now I was aware of my existence and that across the alleyway, is where I supposedly lived with my mother and others. I proceeded to go into the house and saw an elderly woman that I knew was nice to me and apparently watched over me while my mother was away. I also knew that the other 5 year old boy in the next room was my friend, but knew nothing else other than he existed. It bothered me though, that he watching Mickey Mouse on television, and that it seemed childish to me. I knew I was supposed to be there, but felt completely out of place. I was trying not to say anything bad, but my life is like a vortex, sucking darkness in towards me. That little boy, I have mentioned in other posts. He is the one that was executed at the age of 16. I tried looking up the events in old news clippings and began to believe that it never happened until I spoke to my brother. Well, I got off topic again, Sorry. 

   From that moment on, I knew how I felt about myself and how I felt about those around me and sometimes believed that all those thoughts and emotions would consume, or overwhelm me. I became aware of the pain as well as the joy. But I do not remember feeling love or being loved as much as I saw others receive. I really didn’t feel that I belonged and that I was out of my time of existence. Like I was born too early or too late. I spent years trying to get those first feelings I had. The pure, untainted feeling that everything was right with the world and that nothing was out there to hurt me. No loneliness, no pain and just me floating on the wind surrounded by light.

[zenon-stones]

RECAP

   I mentioned in the previous post that I decided to not allow innocents to be hurt and that I decided to take action. Well, if you have read any of my other posts, you know that I failed. I made that choice at the age of 13 when a friend of mine was being beaten down to protect me. I stepped up, and swung and hit one in the face for the first time and was immediately knocked out with a padlock for my efforts. From then on, I never backed down and in that same year I allegedly threatened to do severe bodily injury to a man my mother was dating, for the way he treated her. I never saw him again. My first failure was when I was 16 when one of my friends was knelt down and executed with 3 shots to the back of the head. I failed to protect him and even to this day not sure if I could have. That pushed me to be more aggressive in my efforts and had a few minor mishaps that I still considered fails, however was able to make up for in the end.

   My last and worst failure of all, was to protect my mother. I warned her not to go out, but she said she would be protected and surrounded by friends. I knew better, yet I let her go and I went in another direction. After all, she was an adult. I was an idiot. I knew that nobody could protect her like I could, yet for some damned reason, that I have yet to forgive myself for, I let her go. Then I got the call. She had been shot. Five time to the chest, yet I still in my heart believed she would pull through. My mother was a fighter and I couldn’t accept any other outcome. 

   In the hospital, my friends tackled me to the floor when I received the news that she didn’t survive and that I was not allowed to see her. I was headed for the door, when half a dozen people pulled me down. I looked at my brothers and said, “Take care of it.” That was my final failure and decided that, the life that I was given to bear, was done. I had to run away and never look back. It took a hand full of years and many other such events along the way, but I made it. I made a choice and stuck to it, no matter how hard and long it took to accomplish. Now I look back on my life and it seems more like something I saw in a bad Tarantino movie. I sometimes wonder if it really happened or was it just a series of bad dreams and false memories. I write this down as a sort of therapy and was just trying to let people know a bit about myself (maybe too much).

   I mentioned before, that I was a survivor, but I didn’t do much in the way of manifesting the life I have now, or the fact that I am alive today. I felt that I had a protective shield around me and sometimes went out of my way to prove it. There was a higher power at work and for whatever purpose, I am still here and hopefully be around a bit more.   

[zenon-stones]

Choices

   We are all plagued with choices throughout our lives. Why do I say plague? Think about it for a moment. Other than the mundane, should I watch this show or skip church this weekend; we are tormented by most of what we must decide to do next. There are those that go through life like that no matter what decision they make, it’s the right one. And for the most part they are right. Why is that? For one, they are confident that they are right and even if not, they have adapted to roll with the punches and make it right. I for one have not been that fortunate except for the most crucial of decisions. I made the right ones, otherwise I wouldn’t be here to tell you about those decisions.

   I’m not saying that I was always right in my decisions, however I learned to live with the consequences of the bad ones I made. I wish I could get into detail about some of my most tense situations, but I have not been offered immunity and some things need to hidden way in the past. I do know that I am a different person than I was, but then again, I might be the person I was intended to be. My mother brought me up to be non-violent and to follow a spiritual path, but when I witnessed my friends get literally beaten down to protect my values, enough was enough. Not only did I succumb the ways of my environment, I contributed and eventually came into complete control of my surroundings. I would never allow another soul be hurt because of me or innocents be taken advantage of.

   I gave up opportunities to provide and protect those I cared about to the point of almost having to lay down my life on many occasions. I say “care” because I really lost the ability to love or be loved. My position as the oldest male, it was not only my responsibility, but my predestined assignment in life to do the things I did to “care” for everyone. I was called upon and eventually, feared, even by the ones I protected. Family would only call upon me if they needed me and avoided me otherwise. 

  I finally made the choice, as a full grown adult, to take my children and run away from home. I would go somewhere nobody knew me and I could reinvent myself or actually the person I was intended to be. I still don’t know for sure who that person is and am wondering at times if I made the right choice. Don’t get me wrong, I am happy with my personal life. Yet the person I am now is so nice that people see that as weakness and I feel that I am getting run over all the time. The old me still lurks in the shadows of my mind, and it worries me. When will enough be enough? When will I have to step up again? Will I wait until someone I am truly able to love now is hurt before I react? Will the years of holding back, burst forth and go to far? 

   I know you feel my pain. I know you are plagued as well. I know you hold back and heaven help those when you make the choice no one else is willing to make.

[zenon-stones]

Winner?

  There was a time that I practically lived in bars. I really wasn’t so much  a social person, however all those around me begged to differ. I was the one, that the party started when I arrived. Nonetheless, I was more of a loner that liked getting lost in a crowd. I liked being alone, but not by myself, if you understand what I mean. I lived a double life that had many layers upon themselves. I had much pain that I had suppressed, but even that, I was in denial of having, since, big boys don’t cry, or something like that. I would hang around those bars to watch and listen. I could shut off all sound other than the conversation I was interested in. Somewhat eves dropping, but how is a conversation private in a loud bar when you practically have to yell to the one you are conversing with. Then I heard a topic of interest, that I had to get in my two cents worth.

   I heard a woman speaking of all her hardships and how that had molded her and that is why it was hard for her to have a good time. I eased my way into the conversation and decided to have a competition with her.  We decided that the person with the less worse life would buy the next round of drinks. She started with, “My daddy left us when I was thirteen and haven’t had a decent male figure in my life since.” I countered with, “My father left me when I was six months old and I didn’t know of his existence until I was thirteen, and along the way, I had a stepfather that beat me every day, almost beat my mother to death, kidnapped me, and made me suicidal at the age of five.” Ding, ding, I win first bout. She swung at me with, “i was a lonely child and didn’t have any friends, even all the way thru high school.” I swung back with, “ My childhood best friend, at the age of sixteen, was knelt down in a field and shot in the back of the head, three times.” Ding, ding,knocked the wind out of her. You get the rest If you have read a previous post. I won, a drink, if you call that winning. 

   Years later,I now realize that her pain was as real as mine, I should have never made a game of it or made her feel that she and her problems were any less significant than mine. We all hurt on different levels and deal with in different ways. Here’s a drink to all of you that have hurt and know that I have felt your pain.

[zenon-stones]

Loss For Words

   When I started this blog, I really wasn’t sure what my goal was, other than for customers of our site to get some insight as to who we are. Then I thought that it was just therapeutic on my part. And what I found to be bothersome, is that I am at a loss for words. I generally don’t speak to people when I meet them, until I get to know what they are about, then I am an open book. My better half, says that maybe I share too much. That is why I don’t get too specific with certain details in my posts. Once the flood gates are open, I feel it is my opportunity, or rather my responsibility, to tell everyone interested in what I have experienced and maybe save them from what I know will happen. It’s no guess, because I have seen the situations many times, with the same results. I have lost so much, including those close to me, from death that could have been avoided. I have a thousand and one stories to tell and not a one comes to mind. I feel that there is someone out there right now that needs one of my life stories in order to save them from certain catastrophe. I once could sense certain situations and was able to give very specific advise, which of course, was not heeded, then their lives were changed forever. Including my mother, who was murdered, on a night that I asked her not to go out. It is something that has haunted for years, seeing that I knew something negative was about to occur, but I went in another direction. Even I didn’t listen to my own advice. They guilt almost destroyed me. But, then again, maybe it was destiny or fate, if that is part of your belief system. I have nothing further to say, today. 

[zenon-stones]

CHANGE

   I have always heard, that people can’t change. I have mixed emotions on that subject. I look at others and can see that they will not, and others, that they are just waiting for a good enough reason. However, nobody changes completely, because there are the residual scars that you just can’t cover up. Myself, for example, I am as night and day of who I was back in my birth state. I refer the place I was born, as my birth state considering I never considered it home. I always knew I didn’t belong there, and at the age of thirteen, my mother explained, that i was Native, and generations ago, we had been moved. Sorry for the change of subject. Back to change.

   I still hold within myself, the monster, I truly was and at the time seemed perfectly normal. I adapted to my environment and took control of every detail and individual in my path. I had absolutely no fear, remorse or needed justification for my actions. It was somewhat expected of me and I rose to the occasion. Even to this day, I only have a handful of people I have been reaching out to for forgiveness and have accepted that there were others that deserved what justice (in whatever form) came to them. And as for as regrets, I wish I had spent more time with my family, than just protecting or endlessly and fruitlessly searching for a way out. I have heard that you can’t save a person from drowning if you are drowning yourself. 

   We are human and are victim to our own thoughts. Even the saintliest of people have their moments. There is always that one person that pushes to our limits and our true self emerges. We are closer to our animal instincts than we like to admit. People call it daydreaming, I call it therapy. If I were ever to do or actually the correct word is, commit the acts that race through my mind.....

   I give my greatest admiration to those that control the beast within themselves, and I do mean beast. We are all capable of doing things we think we can’t do, and the only thing stopping most, is that thin vale of fear. We don’t change, we adapt and suppress. Sometimes that is the best we can do.

[zenon-stones]

SURVIVOR

When I think of a survivor, I think of Tom Hanks in “Castaway” and how he went beyond, what he believed were his limits. He survived, yet with scars and emotional ties to what happened to him, represented by the volleyball he carried in the end. It was so ironic that at his welcome home party, they served seafood. That is what I carry, except I have a home full of emotional ties and have little by little been discarding them. Not all are bad, but some of those still have to go.

They call you a survivor if you have made it through something bad in your life and haven't gone on a killing spree or found DOA with a needle stuck in your arm. Sometimes you only survive because, like in a shipwreck, a real survivor drug you along and kept you alive or you just floated until someone showed up and pulled you out of the deep. Then again, there are those that just got use to the pain, and kind of blended into their environment, to the point of vanishing out of existence. Sometimes you have to realize that you are a victim and break thru some walls of fear just to feel a little bit of something, anything, other than the black hole, that is your life.

I am an older male, and have been a victim for most of my life. Yes, men can be victims and in more ways than you would think. I have been following the pattern that my mother followed most of her life, that eventually ended hers. I'm not sure if it's in our DNA or if it is just doing what we have seen most of our growing years. My mother kept looking for someone to love her and take care of her and was willing to take any kind of abuse to get some feeling of acceptance. I saw her beat down, drug by a car down the street, called every name in the book and watched her cry sitting by the window at night waiting for someone. All these events were from different men. It wasn't until I was 13 and big enough to finally threaten a man, that I felt I was able to protect her. But, I eventually I moved out and I couldn't be there 24-7 and the last man she was with, gunned her down in a parking lot.

I have followed the same pattern in relationships, including those at work. I lived somewhat of a double life, in the fact that I controlled my neighborhood with an iron fist, yet let the women in my life and my bosses run all over me. Almost every woman, I had any real relationship with, cheated on me and when we finally got past it all, they admitted that I didn't do anything wrong; they just wanted to have something or someone other than me. I was never abusive or needy, and was supportive and a provider, however it just seemed to be the thing to do to me. I always picked people that would eventually treat me like crap, and usually for no reason, other than they just felt like it.

My life has been one tragedy after another and yet I'm still here. I can't say that I never gave up. I believe that I was, that guy, that bumped into something that was floating in the water and happened to live long enough for someone to care enough to pull me out. I know that I have been a victim and still am inside. I tend to let that make me too cautious, when doing anything new. At least now I am trying. I'm in a boat with another survivor.

[zenon-stones]

Product of my Environment?

Am I a product of my environment? I know that none of you have a clue as to who I am or the life I have lived, however I will attempt to explain a few things about myself without giving out too much detail, as to avert any possible litigation, or possibly having the past catch up with me. The people around me today would never believe that I could have been the person I once was, and still have lurking inside me. My first memories were of pain and suffering, so much so, that I believed that it was the norm. I had no clue that people actually enjoyed even the simple things in life. Even to this day, I can’t have a single happy memory, that isn’t clouded by some sad or even horrific event attached to it and blacking out what light might have shined, at that moment. I lived a double life in the fact that by day, everyone saw me as the good boy that wouldn't hurt a fly. But, in my head and by night I was a totally other creature. I could have blamed it all on the things that happened to me and the neighborhood I lived in, but I knew better. There was something broken in me and I didn't care if it got fixed. My existence did not matter to me, so why would anyone else. The one thing that kept me sane in my early years, was my mother and the way she treated each of her children as individuals. She could never bring herself to say that she loved us or even get a hug. A hug might come if we were ill and things weren't looking towards a good outcome. I felt that I was always fighting mentally and physically just to get by each day. I was harassed, bullied, beaten and shunned at every corner. Either my skin, my culture, religion or maybe it was that time of day, there was someone there to show me just how worthless I was to them. I could have become a statistic, but after years of the struggle, as grown man with a family, I finally ran away from home. (Family in tow, of course). A couple of them were too use to the life and went back, only to end up detained for their efforts. I moved away and reinvented myself, or actually found my true self. I am a good person, with a dark side I keep at bay. Like the Native story of the two wolves inside each of us, I feed the good one. MJ, has on many occasions, told me that I should consider having a book written about my life, and my response is always, who would care and especially who would believe it. I can't even believe I was that person. It's like looking back and remembering an old movie, where I only played a character in a cheap Quentin Tarantino knock off movie. Now, with MJ, what my mother taught me and our stones, I am headed to a much better place.