My Father passed away at a too early age, for both him and me. For years I was bitter and distant about it. I ran into him as he was singing to me on a cold day in Paris one year. We have since reconciled and I now love him for what he is and for what he is not.
My heroes hold pens and paint brushes, shoot with cameras, sling guitars, and wield saxophones and trumpets. They stand in front of tanks, dance in trees, tear down walls, and build bridges. I live for the day that words, music, and images will accomplish what was previously done with lies, machines, and weapons.
I was once (and still am?) a Marine. I was fortunate to travel to many places and spend a year overseas. There are names and faces I will never forget due to the bonds that were formed during my years there. As much as I dislike war and the politics behind it, I am proud of my service.
During a Semester off from UMass Boston, I travelled slowly from Massachusetts to San Diego. I was, by legal definition, homeless for a year. I fell in love with both the place and my future wife and decided to stay.
I followed the Grateful Dead from the time I got out of the Marines until their last show in Chicago. I saw them many times in many places. I danced at the top of Boston Garden, grooved in the middle of a field in Vermont, and boogied at the edge of a cliff in New York City. I grew my hair out until it was down to there. I turned vegetarian on Thanksgiving. I found brothers and sisters I didn’t know I had at Rainbow gatherings. I searched for answers without even knowing what the question was.
For some years, I hiked alongside Smokey Bear putting out forest fires. Sometimes I had water, other times, I was lucky to have a shovel and my wits. At the end of the day, I would lie on the ground watching tiny, orange embers and pinpoints of starlight on the hillside and in the sky. Sometimes, the embers and the stars seemed one in the same and I would drift off to sleep. Often, sleep would elude me and the stars and embers would yield to the day. These were some of the most challenging, exciting, and adventurous times I have experienced in recent years.
I am an unemployed poet currently gathering words and images and inspiration in the forest east of San Diego. Ever since I met Walt Whitman, I have enjoyed writing. I craft poems and scribe short stories that hope to move and inspire people to greatness. I have of late, tried composing in my head. I encounter many seeds of ideas throughout the day, but can never seem to find time to set it to paper.
