Christian Men's Monday

Christian Men's Monday

I had four guys out on my first run. We dropped one close by. Number two wasn’t too far from the first. And that leaves us with the last two a little bit east and quite a bit south and west.

The number three guy is a fairly tall and bald fella from Tennessee. I said you’re not from around here are you?

Nope. Tennessee. He’s a private jet pilot and mechanic. I suppose. Seems unusual. Big bold voice.

And, as a matter of introduction, he jumped right in with how disgusting the televised impeachment hearings are. The impeachment circus. Give it a rest already.

After just a couple moments while that settled, and out of the clear blue, he dragged in Hillary. Something something Hillary.

And then he announced the reason for the introduction.

"As you can tell, you all got a guy with a pretty, southern, Republican, patriot, attitude. And Christian too. He announced. In case we could not tell.

And then, just for fun he threw in abortion. What the hell happened to the 'impeachment circus'?

Well, that abortion talk kind of popped the other fella in the backseat and he jumped in on it, too.

I don’t know where any of this was going at all. I'm just trying to drive the van. I sure don't need a bunch of self-righteous buglers blowing they horns.

Tennessee still wanted to rant about the impeachment hearings. He was just disgusted: "what a waste of time" and "what a circus."

So I said ...

"You’ll notice we don’t have the impeachment hearings on in here. That's for a reason. And before we got in the van they were not on in here either. So we don’t have to turn the circus on now."

I didn’t want to beat him. I didn’t want to tell him to shut up. But…

During the pause after my statement, the little older guy kind of cracked up and went back to abortion and killing God's babies. And I thought, 'Oh my dear God have we got a long ride now.'

I do not remember where in Tennessee's announcement he stuck it but there were guns. Something to the effect that "if you don't like guns, you don't have to buy any."

We let Tennessee out at the private airport north-end area and me and #4 headed down towards Raymond in the Southwest.

Turns out the last guy there, #4, was a young-earth, anti-evolution fellow. Only 6000 years old.  A fundamental biblical literalist. With lots of science to prove it all. Any mutations towards evolution are actually fractions and fragments and everything is not better. Mutations are not better. They’re either worse or they’re neutral. Everything is degrading; getting worse.

And something about genetic entropy. And DNA. And magnetic resonance and The Magnetic Fields around the earth and so on.

Apparently he talks to people, in groups, about these things, possibly with a microphone. I wanted to go in the direction of presentations in general regardless of the subject matter. But he stayed right on the the science of young universe. Anything that’s 14 billion years old, well ... he wasn’t going to be listening to any of that.

He did almost apologize for getting rolled into that abortion thing. It caught him off guard and he just shot from the hip.

I did tell him I was writing a book titled the Beautiful Route. I’ve noticed that it matters when I choose what it is I’m going to see. When I choose what it is I’m going to put in my mind. What I choose and what I’m going to consume. And I would rather consume love and joy and gratitude and forgiveness.

I think he’s a pretty dog-eared, Old Testament fellow. I don’t get the sense that grace has gotten through to him yet. I don’t know. We didn’t go there directly. I’m assuming quite a bit. But for all the foam around his mouth it certainly smells more like beer than root beer.

When I returned to base there was a single rider going east into Oak Creek. He’s Korean. He’s a pastor of a nondenominational church. And for a guy in the communication business it seems like his English could use a little work. I'm very good at understanding lots of dialects in Foreign English. After a little while listening you kind of get the get the hang of it. I had to work to understand this preacher.

He had a church for a little while in Chicago after he graduated from seminary. His church has two distinct populations. Korean, of course, and what he called an English-speaking population. I never did ask him how long he’s been in the United States.

His contract also has him doing youth ministry. Teenagers. It’s a challenge.

He is graceful and careful with his language and his estimation of who is who. And he’s much more inclusive regarding other peoples ideas and religions. He’s more of a New Testament fellow indeed.

Finally today, near the end of my shift, I come back into the building and both the Korean and the scientist require a pick up. There’s only time for me to get one of them. They are in opposite directions. And ... guess where I went.

________________________

“The greatest discovery of my generation is that human beings can alter their lives by altering their attitudes of mind." - William James

Art ist

Sally, on Art and me

In addition to others facets, including healer, Sally the psychic, also saw me as an artist. She was right. I am. Artist.  Incomparable. And that is exactly the only way to have it.

Although I had never really considered it earlier, the artist part is simple enough. I took a bunch of coupons to Michael’s. I bought paper when it was two for one. I bought markers. I bought watercolor pencils, I bought tubes, and hard pans. And honestly it took a couple of years for me to unwrap any of it and push the color around. Oh my goodness … papers. Oh my goodness … synthetic brushes or natural? Oh my goodness … cheap supplies. Oh my goodness ... the good stuff. And even better than everything ... less judgment.

That is how I started. It’s a hobby. No judgment. No stylistic constraints. I’m not trying to be anybody. I’m not smart enough to be able to compare myself to an artist or a genre or a timeframe. Frankly I don’t care. Caring about the definition gets in the way of painting.

If I chose to believe a couple of others, I might think I should make a bunch of paintings and put them in my car and go to venues and sell. Sell. Sell. Sell. What happened to the painting; the art of it?

The only way I was able to start was to suspend judgement as best as possible. It is a think I do for me. It feels good. A couple people think I might have an eye. That’s even better.

Healing? 

Play !!!

Sally, the psychic

Sally, the psychic. Eighty-seven going on seventy. You should’ve seen her skin. Wrinkle free. Radiant. And her eyes? Soft electric blue.

I met her on the morning ride home. I saw her again on the return trip. It was just the two of us both times and not one time since.

Retired now, she had been an office admin for a couple Jungian analysts for nearly several decades. She was also a long-time yoga teacher at the YWCA in Hales Corners. The Y closed and sat empty for a number of years. When her husband died he was laid out for the visitation in the very room she taught yoga. And, she’s an artist. 

She did not introduce herself as a psychic. She simply read me. She told me who I am; who I think I am. And for the most part it was quite right. There were very few of her words I had to toss out as - not true. She told me I was a mystic, poet, cook, musician … and she added that I was an artist. Okay. And a healer. What?

Healer? I’ve been mistaken for a teacher, professor, pastor or scientist or a psychologist. No joke. I’ve had the nickname of Doc bestowed by no fewer than a half a dozen persons who I am quite sure have never met each other … ever. More about Doctor Dave elsewhere.

In the years surrounding my chance meeting with Sally I spent hours, a few minutes at a time, with a co-worker who was sharing snippets of stories of lifelong abuses. She was candid and elusive. I thought she was signaling for help. I was mistaken. When, after years of reading, I discovered there might be a reason she was not leaving her situation, I was able finally to let it go. My growth played a wonderful hand.

On the return trip to the dealer with Sally I spoke a bit about this co-worker. I showed her a picture. Her immediate reading was that she projected a black aura. Well wow.

Oddly, also perfectly, and in those days, I also met a woman in the shuttle, a creative writing teacher from Milwaukee Public Schools system who is also a Reiki master teacher. In mid-July of 2015, I took Reiki Level 1 and Level 2 with Rhiana @ www.bereiki.com

Healing? What does that mean? Healing whom? Healing of what? 

Is all healing physical? Emotional? Psychological?

I’d begun to see that most therapy modalities are not enough. A mix might be appropriate. 

In the fall of 2019, after I had graduated myself from the self-styled healing study, I met Randy the Renaissance chiropractor. He reminded me that the root word for doctor is teacher.

I am not done with healing. I now have a better idea about who is who here.

Mental Health Professionals

I’ve met more than a dozen over time. There's about a 50-50 split male/female. Psychiatrist. Psychologist. And mental health professionals. Social workers of a high-level. Several of them stand out.

One is a professor at Marquette. We talked about mindfulness coming into favor within the cognitive behavioral therapy modality. One is a more senior doctor at 1220 Dewey in Wauwatosa. It’s perhaps the oldest building in Wisconsin dedicated to mental health. The history of the building and procedures include ice picks and electro shock.

I met a young fellow who is also of young father. He had such a good time with our conversation that he invited me to have coffee. HE INVITED ME FOR COFFEE.. But, as I say, he has a young child and even though we traded phone numbers… he hasn’t called and I seem to of lost track of his name and information.

Several of them have recommended books or authors.

And one of them worked at them as part of a team at the county mental health complex. She did interventions for abused children. I think she went with a team member and removed children from danger. Not quite sure on that.

She also had a side gig in assessments. There’s a fellow running a practice and she does pre-screenings for him.

She asked me if I ever had my IQ checked or tested. I said yes. I gave her a couple numbers. She thought so.

Apparently I remind her of her father a little bit she thinks we would enjoy meeting one another. I guess he reads broadly and privately. And she says he’s really not much of a father or family man. He squirrels himself away into his mind and works on things. He’s an English teacher and poet, too. He tried working as a salesman but couldn’t sell anything. That rang a bell with me too.

No one has ever asked me my IQ. It might be a up there a little. Probably not Mensa level. And I don’t really care to compete about that. She and I went out after hours a couple of times. We had a couple glasses of wine. The second time it was coffee and chai tea.

At that time I was reading about trauma. There was someone I knew. And I couldn’t figure it all out on my own. And I read about trauma bonding, repetition compulsion, complex PTSD, borderline personality disorder. I wanted to be of some help. I also wanted to understand. And I think she agreed to go out with me because she also wanted to understand something about me. I didn’t ask about that.

My main interest is how cognitive behavioral therapy seems to be the best new flavor of the day. I’ve read that mindfulness is also a good add on therapy but it doesn’t come from the discipline. It comes from outside. Are they successful in blending it in?

My own CBT therapist has a little helpful input as well.

I’ve read a couple books by Martin Seligman, the acclaimed father of positive psychology. I like the idea of positive psychology. I really don’t know how it works in practice. But that also is a question of mine for these people when I meet them. Traditional psychological diagnostic models want to look at symptoms and the past. The family arrangement etc. Positive psychology seems to want to know where you are now and move forward rather than digging around in the past.

I’d like that idea a lot.

I often think that pursuing a discipline becomes too narrow. It becomes disconnected from the rest of everything.

Sally the psychic told she she saw a healer in me. Randy the renaissance chiropractor reminded me that the Latin root of doctor is teacher. I’ve had a couple intuitive tell me I might find myself in teaching.

I’d like the multi modal approach by using what resonates. Sound. Light. Music. Chanting. Drumming. Essential oils. Crystals. Walking. Breathing. Sharing. Talking. Listening. Touch. Stretching. Nutrition.

It seems that people in mental health, actually any health, are bound to stay in the confines of their discipline probably at the mandate of the insurance companies.

Presence and practice.

BOOKS:

Johann Hari … Lost Connections

Bessel Van der Kolk

The body keeps the score: Brain, mind, and body in the healing of trauma

Martin Seligman
Flourish: a visionary new understanding of happiness and well-being

Authentic happiness: using the new positive psychology to realize your potential for lasting fulfillment

Blessings from Punjab

This morning I met Saqib. A twenty-something young man from the Punjab region of Pakistan. I had thought that Punjab was Indian. It is. Both. Until Britain brought a borderline into the equation there was no line between the people. Even today they are so similar. Language. Customs. Spices. Same. Well, the spoken language is the same. Written is different … somehow.

He was the second rider of two. The first we left off in deep Oak Creek. And Saqib was going to Mayfair. We had 30 minutes together.

The most amazing thing was, when I asked, he said he was blessed. And that’s an interesting thing for a man his age to say. And so we talked about gratitude almost the whole way. We were bouncing off one another like we were inventing something brand new. Finding out when enough is enough can be exciting.

Blessings from Punjab.

Introduction to "Postcards ...

This is a mini intro to the third Drive Time book, occasioned by the meeting of customers, as a driver of a courtesy car at a Toyota dealer. The first book: Drive Time: Real People Stories. The second: Drive Time: Homeward Bound. And now, Drive Time: Postcards from the Beautiful Route.

Generally speaking I am honored and privileged to meet the people that I do as a courtesy shuttle driver at a Toyota dealer. I am also honored and privileged to have that kind of time on my hands. It is a luxury afforded to few.


The first book was primarily vignettes about the people. I called them stories, but as we will remember stories have a beginning, middle, and end. Maybe there’s a moral, punchline or cliffhanger. These are not really stories. While characters are involved their development is curtailed by our short time together. This book also includes things I think about on the way back to the base.

And, this book was not going to be a book. The 'stories' beg for release. I wanted to show process over product. I want to connect via audio. I realized that I had to write the content or I would wander away with the microphone. It seemed as though I needed to write the script in order to read it in the first place. So? Another book and possibly a podcast.

I have met, in the metro Milwaukee area, people representing 85 nations. Here. They own Toyotas, need service, come through our dealership and sit in the seat next to me. I feel as though I am traveling without leaving home. I want to share this because you also may find a benefit in allowing the size of your world to grow.

Originally I thought that the dealer would be interested in short human interest pieces that could organically offset negative feedback online. The idea is to simply bury the negative with positive stories. It turns out that the dealer doesn’t care that much.

The second book, Homeward Bound, also has real people stories as well as short auto-biographical bits as I responded to customer questions. Many think I am retired. They as what I did before, etc.

This book has real people stories and some of the things I think about on the trail. The dealer will take customers 20 miles out. I might have 10, 20, or 30 minutes to think about things on my way back.

I did not think I was going to write another book. The part that hooked me in is to make it more about the process (writing) than the product (book).

Samuel Johnson wrote something to the effect that “The writer merely starts the book, the reader finishes it.”

Soon I realized that model works for artists, entertainers, creators of all sorts. I rewrote the quote to read:

A creator merely starts a project or product, the consumer consumes it.

The next thing I felt is a boot in the butt to perfectionism

Further … books require readers. More people are listeners. Why do I not provide readings?

Away we go. Audiobooks require a word for word replication of the written word. That will not work for me. Youtube? Is a movie really required? Podcasting? What does that mean? We’ll see.

The title, The Beautiful Route, has to do with me choosing to uplevel my intake and experience, choosing to see beauty.

Airport Grounds Maintenance

Every once in a while I wish someone else was driving so that I could take notes. I met the head of grounds maintenance at the airport. And I had other people on board going elsewhere but since the airport is so close he was the first one off. 

And I might’ve said something or ask something simple like 'tell me something interesting about your job or about the airport that we don’t know.' And he jumped off like he had written the Wikipedia post. How many pieces of equipment with blades so wide and how many tons of salt and how many gallons of non-salt because you can’t use salt on the runway because of the aluminum bodies and planes how long it takes to load and unload and how many inches of snow they can move and how much time. And he just came out of it like he had prepped for a quiz. I can’t tell you any of the numbers but it was very impressive. Makes me want to know more.

I’m met another fellow from the airport as well. An air traffic controller. He told me that the tower is 223’ or 226‘ tall. It certainly doesn’t look like a 20 story building. And it gets a little windy up there. There just isn’t time to enter into a discussion with him either since it is such a short throw. It is so close.

Santera

A santera is a high priestess of Santeria. Santeria is an island religion started by West African slaves commingled with Cuban natives and some of the Catholicism that the Spaniards brought.

The first time I met her was in the 11th month of the year of her purification. Purification might not be the exact term but she was supposed to cover herself in white for a year.

Not only was she keeping social interactions to a minimum she wasn’t supposed to touch people or take things from them directly. For instance, I handed her a pen in the van to have her write something. She asked me to set it down so that she could pick it up.

Someone else in the religion has to have seen the spiritual quality of the newbie. We talked about healing. I was highly interested in those days.

I don’t know what it is actually maybe I shouldn’t speculate unless we direct people or I read a paragraph from mom Wikipedia. The images of Santera women snow are wise and little raisin women almost always with a big fat short stubby cigar stuck in the very corner of their mouth. It is comical to look at. Almost a caricature.

So here’s a young spiritual woman who is being picked by her applying people to Santa Rose and Art she has received a call. She is moving into healing.

She works for a big-name local company. They were very accommodating to her in her year long peculiar or unusual requests behavior or requests. Nothing too out of the ordinary of apparently.

And I saw her weeks later. It was warmer. Middle summer. She was wearing a sleeveless tank and her left arm was a large piece of body art. She was smoking menthol 100s and sipping a Monster drink. There’s no accounting for spirituality I guess. I find that part fascinating.

Who gets healed of what?