Our friend from Delray Beach raises an interesting question. One that I’m not sure why every single person in America isn’t asking right now. What the literal fuck?
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Remember when Axl Rose stepped off the bus from Indiana in the beginning of that video with an actual piece of straw in his mouth? A voice in the song says “You know where you are? You’re in the jungle baby, your gonna die.” Well, maybe that’s because he walked right into 1980’s LA while the CIA was flooding the streets with crack. This is not a fable, it’s pretty well documented at this point.
Seems crazy, considering the fact that years prior, in 1971, then President Nixon had named drug abuse “Public Enemy Number One” and declared an all-out War on Drugs whose focus was the eradication of illicit drugs from our streets and the incarceration of those involved in it’s sales, distribution and use.
The war continues. Today, the US spends $51 billion per year in this effort. Matter of fact, fifty years into this campaign, in 2021 total spending had exceeded $1 trillion. I don’t know about you, but the wasteland of my formerly addicted brain can’t compute how much that is. In technical terms, I’d say it’s a metric fuck ton of resources.
So, with all of our highly educated lawmakers, law enforcement professionals, and high tech surveillance and tactical prowess we probably have this whole thing pretty well on lock down. I mean, certainly all of these people have our best interest in mind, and with all that dough? C’mon man, game over. Right?
Anybody? Bueller? Bueller?
Middle aged bald man with heavy metal t shirt and tattooed face raises hand: “Um, like, dude. I’m clean like 13 years now, but if I wanted to…I don’t…but If I was like, uh, so inclined, man..I could leave my apartment and buy a crack rock as big as a volleyball right now. Where’s all that money going DEA dude?”
Our friend from Delray Beach raises an interesting question. One that I’m not sure why every single person in America isn’t asking right now. What the literal fuck?
Let’s take a trip down south. Way down south. Last month, Ovidio Guzman was taken into custody in Mexico. You’ve heard of his dad, they call him El Chapo. With dad and son both locked up there is a power vacuum in Mexico. Immediately, the streets erupted with insane violence, the likes of which you and I could not ever imagine. Just to give it some context, Mexico suffered more than 26,000 murders last year from drug gangs. With waring factions vying for control of the drug game, things can only get worse.
Now, if we zoom out here, it looks like on one side of the border people are dying every day to decide who’s gonna be in control of supplying drugs. On the other side of the border, people are dying every day from using drugs. Last year more than 92,000 Americans died from a drug overdose.
Real Talk? The War on Drugs is an epic fail. It’s not working, it’s not stopping the supply. Not even a little bit. So, you kinda have to ask, with all that money, all those resources, again… “where’s like all that money going dude?” Who profits? Who stands to gain from this crisis?
You may find it interesting that 45% of all inmates in Federal prison are serving drug offenses.
“Well, bro when I was in jail they made us work and stuff, is that like…”
Yes tattoo face, that’s exactly what it’s like.
“Bro, not for nothin’ but this whole deal here sounds familiar? Like, wasn’t booze illegal in our country way back in the day?”
Ugh, the burnout keeps making points. Yeah, well, you don’t have to look too far back in American history to see how gang violence was running rampant during prohibition. Gangsters waged war on the streets right here for the right to sell illegal alcohol in your hometown. Why? News flash, people drink. News flash number 2, people use drugs. And when they can’t get it, somebody’s gonna provide. And that person’s gonna be a shady fuck.
At some point, someone had the brilliant idea to legalize, control and tax the sale of alcohol and now, it’s as acceptable to have a drink as it is to attend church on Sunday morning here in the US.
Is alcohol less harmful than other drugs? It is? Ok yeah, I get it. You like to have a nice glass of wine “with dinner.” Well, when I get drunk I like to drive into bay windows and fight an entire bar full of bikers “with dinner.” We are not the same. Anywho…
Countries like Switzerland, Netherlands and Portugal are handling things a whole different way and they are actually getting hard results. The Swiss have decriminalized drugs. Sounds crazy. I picture addicts lying on sidewalks with syringe’s hanging out of their arms. Asleep at the wheel at stop lights. An entire country in economic free fall, as everyone stays home all day shooting meth.
Not quite.
People who use drugs can go to clean injection sites, receive pure drugs and even meet with counselors. It costs their government about $1800 for this type of service as opposed to around $20,000 to lock someone up for half a year.
With clean drugs available and a safe place to use them, you know what they don’t have? Crime. Not like us. Not even close. Not EVEN close. You get that? Les crime. K. Also overdose rate are extremely low, and the spread of diseases common to IV drug users like hepatitis and HIV are low.
“Bro Sweden sounds lit! And Swedish babes are like…babes.”
Our tattooed friend here gets it. He’s not supposed to be the smart one though. The guys in the suits and the uniforms still don’t see it I guess.
“Be a lot cooler if they did…”
Thomas Ramsburg
BEYOND sobriety lies serenity, and beneath all true serenity lies a deep spiritual life through which must run “the golden thread which binds the hearts of men about the feet of God”
-Father John Doe, Sobriety And Beyond - 1955
January 28, 2010 I boarded a flight from Atlantic City, NJ to Fort Lauderdale, Fl. My sober friends back home had arranged everything and shipped me off to Florida like a 220 lb FedEx package. A FedEx package with a beard. And a camouflage jacket. And a headache. The package sat in the bar in Atlantic City. The package may or may not have smoked crack in the airplane’s bathroom over Georgia. An unruly, disheveled package that was not taking any of this seriously.
At the foot of the escalator a man stood with a white sign that said THOMAS RAMSBURG. I almost shit my pants. The last thing you want to see when you’re high on crack is a placard with your name on it, in public. Was this guy a cop? I still needed to ditch the paraphernalia and eat the rest of the pills I had before I got to the treatment center. Anyway the dude said he was there to drive me.
Whoa. Check this shit out. Weird.
He asked if I had any luggage, and I held up the plastic Walmart bag in my hand. Great, all set. We were off. Now, this was going to be my 11th time in treatment and I definitely was not expecting anything different other than the fact that this was the furthest I’d ever been from home.
Florida? You might as well have said we were going to Mars. My entire world consisted of Philly, Jersey, New York and when I couldn’t avoid it…Delaware. Florida was a place, I knew that. I’d heard of it. The only reference point I had was the intro to Miami Vice. So, Ferraris, jai alai, flamingos, white leisure suits. I stepped out of the car in Lake Worth, FL and I saw literally none of that. It was same thing I’d always seen back home. A make shift hospital setting, with a tiki hut out back where you could smoke cigarettes. And there were palm trees. Cool. Here we go again. Same shit, different state. I made up my mind to stay in my room and only come out when it was time for a meal, or to smoke out back. Which, by the way was fine with the facility, as long as my insurance was paying.
But one day they loaded us up on a white van and drove us to the local twelve step recovery clubhouse and I went to my first meeting in Florida. I had a glimpse of what a new life might look like and I made a decision to give it a shot. I stayed. I went to a sober living house. I walked to work at a telemarketing company and I got by. Barely. After about four months I formulated a plan to move out of the halfway house, get a cheap apartment. I had every intention of drinking again, Once I got away from the sober people and just worked my job I’d mind my business and go to the beach, just drink on the weekends. Shit would be sweet. Had the cheap place picked out, a few days from dipping out of halfway.
And then my brother John emailed me. He let me know that my cousin Jeffrey had passed away. Now, Jeff and I were years apart in age and we didn’t run the streets together. But the streets we ran were the same. And our family loved us both. Last I’d heard, Jeff was away in treatment somewhere too. John let me know he’d come home, and my aunt Linda had found him in his room, overdosed. I know how much she loved him and how hard she’d tried to help. Like me, Jeff had been in and out of the program. A vision of my aunt finding her son like that flashed in my mind and something inside me broke apart. A sense of dread filled me. Darkness. Impending doom. A demon lurking in the shadows waiting for me to take my next drink. My next pill. My next hit of crack. A shot of dope. Certain death. I shit you not, a voice spoke to me. “Tom, you’re thousands of miles away from home. You don’t know anybody. You are about to do the same thing you’ve been doing for the last twenty years, and you know goddamn well how this ends. You wind up homeless. You steal. You hurt people. You’ve burned every bridge, and now you’re gonna wind up on the street here in Florida, alone. You’re family has had enough. They love you, but no ones gonna lend you a dime. They’re done. Even your friends from the program back home figured the best thing for you was to fly across the country. This is the end of the road. When the money’s gone, when the drugs are gone and you have no where to go suicide will look like the best option. Dude. You’re totally fucked. These people in recovery have been telling you what you need to do for decades. But you think you’re smarter than everybody. That you’re cooler. You’re tougher. They haven’t read all the cool books you’ve read. They’re square. Nerds. They sit in church basements and drink coffee and talk about God. They’re suckers. They’ve been duped. But you’re wrong. How’s all of your tough guy, street wise, book knowledge working out for you? You’re forty and you live in a halfway house with a bunch of 20 year old kids. And you’re about to start drinking again. Real cool. Real smart. Real tough. Jeff just died.” A vision of Aunt Linda and Jeff again. “You’re next.”
In that moment I fell to my knees and said the first honest prayer I’d ever said in my life. I begged whatever power was keeping the people in the program sober to help me not drink. I promised I’d do anything I needed to do as long as I could live. I prayed for my cousin. I prayed for his mother.
I stood up and walked outside into Florida sunshine and started walking to the meeting house. On that walk I had what I can only describe as a spiritual experience. I noticed the green of the grass. The way the palm trees swayed. I saw white birds with long orange beaks. I saw lizards. The sky was a deep blue and I could smell the ocean. I saw all of those things, but also, I was all of those things. I was a part of this place. I belonged here. I was ok. And that’s all I ever wanted. To just be ok. To belong. I had nothing but the clothes on my back and a cabinet full of macaroni and cheese and that was all I needed. It was a few miles to the meeting house and I felt like I was being carried. My feet never touched the ground.
I walked in and sat down and I listened. I asked a man to sponsor me and he gave me a list of ten things to do each day. I’ve done those ten things daily for thirteen years. I did everything that man told me to do without question. For the first time in my life I was willing. I wanted it bad. And thank God I got it. I got it for free because that’s how this thing works.
I sit here tonight and type this out on a computer my wife got me because she loves the shit out of me. How the fuck did I get so lucky?
The same friend that helped get me on that plane back in the day told me not too long ago that my life today is completely unrecognizable. That I’m a changed person and that he was proud of me. I don’t know what to say to that other than I’m the product of all those recovered addicts and alkies that came before me. They prescribed a program for living and I simply followed their suggestions. My job now is to be the best version of myself I can be for my wife, my kids, my friends and my community. To be of service and help the next guy. To give away what was so freely given to me.
I don’t know why I got to live and Jeff didn’t. But I know I owe it to him and to Aunt Linda to make something out of this borrowed time. After a couple years, she was down here in Clearwater and drove up to see her. I had a whole speech planned out. I handed her my two year medallion and I wanted to tell her it was for Jeff. But I didn’t have to. She knew. I could see it in her eyes.
Every year now she and her friends knit hats that they stuff with socks, gloves, and toothbrushes. These are given away at a needle exchange in Philadelphia to help addicts living on the streets in memory of Jeffrey.
That’s Aunt Linda and Jeff’s brother delivering hats at Prevention Point.
If there’s anything I’ve learned from my time in sobriety it’s that we’re all one. I don’t care who you voted for, what football team you root for, or what kind of food you eat. We’re all out here walking. Noticing the green of the grass, the trees, the birds, the blue sky, the mountains, the ocean. We’re all part of it and it’s all a part of us.
Much love.
Yours always in prayer, meditation, and heavy metal-
Tom
]]>“We talkin’ about practice. Not a game. Not the game I go out there and die for, and play every game like it’s my last. Not the game. We talkin’ about practice, man.”
-Allen Iverson
AI is and always will be my favorite athlete. No one else even comes close. Was it because of his tattoos? Cornrows? His rap album? The fact that he wore hip hop clothes to press conferences instead of a suit?
Yes, to all of the above. I mean, how silly is it to see a guy who earns a living by the sweat he leaves on the floor standing in front of reporters wearing a suit? Where are you going, is there a board meeting tonight at 11 pm? Shouldn’t you be wearing sweats, your knees wrapped in ice? Maybe it’s just me. I have a suit. I wore it to a wedding once. It’s in a garment bag under my bed, just in case I’m ever forced to wear it again. Who knows, maybe I’ll wake up next week and I’ll be a lawyer. Stranger things have happened.
But why I really loved AI was the way he played basketball. At six feet tall, this dude ran down the lane, hit impossible shots over guys a foot taller than him, and got knocked to the hardwood for his trouble. And he did that time after time. Game after game. Night after night. He got hurt and played hurt. I watched this dude get up from the floor and do it again so many times it was staggering. He did it with broken bones, bruises and sprains. In 2001 I think the guy was held together with band aids and duct tape. And he won a league scoring title. League MVP. He put the city of Philadelphia on his back and took us to the NBA Finals. He never did get a ring.
But a Philadelphia fan wants a hard worker. A blue collar, take no shit attitude. A guy who carries a lunch pail and goes to work. We respect that more than all the championship trophies you could give us. Which is lucky, because we don’t have many. AI embodied that hard nosed attitude. Even my dad, grandmother, hell, your grandmother loved to watch him play. He was that exciting. A real life, in the flesh Rocky Balboa was taking the court every night.
Heart. That’s what it’s about for me. There’s beauty there. And a lesson, I think.
Watching Allen play some nights I just knew he was gonna find a way to win. Nights when it seemed like no matter where he threw up a shot from it was gonna go in. Nights where he was in the zone. What they call “flow state” now. Where does that come from?
Well, for me? I have a meditation practice. (Weird segway I know, if you stick with me I just might tie this all back up).
Five years ago I was introduced to a Vedic Meditation teacher and it changed my life. Whoa dude, really? Cliché much? Sometimes even a term pummeled into the ground by internet bro science dudes is the only one that applies. My life is completely different since I started practicing, so yeah…
A simple technique, passed down thousands of years, I was lucky enough to learn from one of the few teachers in the United States at the time. Twice a day, for twenty minutes I sit with my eyes closed and meditate. I don’t have to cross my legs. No fancy finger positions. No app on my phone. No headphones. Simple, sustainable, and I can do it anywhere. Once I learned the technique, my favorite thing about it was how easy it is to do, and that I’m not dependent on any program or setting or special music. Just sit quiet and drop into another state of consciousness.
Ok cool. But why? What does that have to do with basketball?
Well, nothing at all. Or everything.
In the Vedic practice there is the idea of a collective consciousness, an underlying creative intelligence at the root of all evolution and change. The meditation practice allows us to turn our thoughts off and tap into that state. The mind is still, the slate is clean. From there, we open our eyes and we see clearly. Rather than being led around by our busy mind, and all of it’s incessant worry, we can feel our way to what suits us best. What right actions to take. The mind is naturally drawn to what it finds most charming. We can follow that charm and lean into it. We can live our most authentic life.
Like Iverson. Like the heavy metal god Rob Halford of Judas Priest. Like my wife Juliet. Some people shine so bright you just want to watch them do what they do. When they’re tapped in there’s nothing else like it.
I guess I’m saying follow that spark inside, throw some more wood on it and fan that shit. Watch it grow. I want to see it. And when you do that, just know even if you have a Shaquille O’neal sized obstacle standing in your way and you know he’s gonna smash you, just throw up the shot. Either way your gonna have to scrape yourself off the floor. It’d be a whole lot better story to tell if the shot goes in than if you just lay there with the ball still in your hands.
Til then I’ll be be talkin’ bout practice, man.
Jai Guru Deva
Thomas Ramsburg
]]>Which nourishes all things without trying to.
It is content with the low places that people disdain.
Thus it is like the Tao.
In dwelling, live close to the ground.
In thinking, keep to the simple.
In conflict, be fair and generous.
In governing, don’t try to control.
In work, do what you enjoy.
In family life, be completely present.
When you are content to simply be yourself
And don’t compare and compete,
Everybody will respect you.
-Tao Te Ching - verse 8
A friend and I were chatting earlier today. Ok, that sounds weird. I mean, I don’t think I’ve ever used the term “chatting” before. I really just wanted to try it out, and honestly, it sounds dumb. If you could see the two of us, you’d think “chatting” wasn’t the right term. Grunting like apes, maybe. Having a “bro sesh”, again, maybe. And technically, we were texting. So… Ok. Let’s take chatting off the table.
So, we were texting. The idea of having the rug pulled out from under you came up. Like, what if everything is on point, career, affairs in order, the right house, the right situation all around. All of the things that you wanted have come to you. Not magically, but through your very own hard work and determination. Proper planning, foresight, diligence. You look around and say “Damn, I made it.” And then, through no fault of your own, an industry shake up, a hurricane, you get robbed. Whatever. But suddenly it’s all taken from you.
What then? Well, foresight and due diligence would tell us that we should have a plan B. And a plan B to backup plan B. I guess that would be Plan C. Or Plan B squared. Semantics.
Is he not a victim of the delusion that he can wrest satisfaction and happiness out of this world if he only manages well?
- Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous Page 61
My buddy and I are alcoholics. So fortunately, there was a book written about us before we were born. This describes what we were talking about in very clear language. We go about most of the time as alcoholics, even in recovery, trying to control shit. Like it says on page 61, we are victims of a delusion. That delusion says that if we could just get everything arranged properly, we’ll be happy. Finally. But damn, that means we’ve gotta get everybody else to cooperate. That’s always been the problem for me. As much as I want things a certain way, there’s billions of other people on the planet, and guess what they want?
Well that’s not my problem, I’m a man! A man who discovered fire, and built the wheel with braun! I’ll show these little piss ants!
So, we set about our day, making the calls. Doing the research. Shopping for the best interest rate, the highest dividends. We wait on hold. We send the emails, and we check our inbox even though there’s been no notification that a new email has been sent back. There must be something wrong. Don’t these people know who I am? That’s it, I want to talk to the manager.
Take it easy Karen, smoke a bone.
At this point, the to do list is getting longer. The dishes are piling up in the sink. Our eyes are bloodshot and the dog is just plain scared. The phone rings and a friend asks how things are going and we shout, “Great! I’m fucking feeling amazing!” Meanwhile we’re standing on a milk crate in our underwear, and there’s a steak knife in our hand.
Maybe that’s just me…
But you get the idea. We’ll be happy when-
We’ll take time off when-
Things will be perfect when-
I’ll take 3 actual full breaths in a row when-
Dude, how about now?
Let’s not miss out on today, while we plan our tomorrows.
This dude Brad was the singer in a band called Chicken Butt. Their guitar player was later arrested and charged for being the center city bandit. Whoa, that’s a whole other story. Anyway, Brad used to sell carpet cleaner on the street and do all these demonstrations. He even worked the gimmick into the bands live show. Anyway, we used to get drunk and he’d talk about this book called The Tao. I was so intrigued I wound up shoplifting it and it changed my way of looking at the world when I was about 24 years old. I highly recommend it. The book, not shoplifting. I have a new copy on my desk as I write this. I paid for it. I swear.
Taoists believe that all things in nature work in conjunction with each other. Tao can be translated as “way”. There’s a way. A natural order of things. And we all play a role. Our true nature. To push against that is to endure misery. To accept and embrace it is to follow the way. Someone who is in alignment with their true nature is in the flow of life. Like water, when we come up against an obstacle, we find a “way” around, or under, or over. Easily, effortlessly. The path of least resistance. This is the way.
When we get quiet and turn that monkey mind down, when the great creative intelligence sees that we are at our most authentic. When we are living our true nature. The path lights up before us and we see the way clearly. I think that’s the way to do it.
Maybe when we feel like we’re paddling upstream and life’s tossing us toward the rocks, we should just toss the oars overboard and let the river take us where it wants. That’s kind of what’s gonna happen anyway so why fight it? I’ll take the path of least resistance. Like water.
Jai Guru Deva
Thomas Ramsburg
]]>Okay Boomer.
Read the comments.
“Why can’t she wear whatever she wants. It’s self-expression. Who made you the fashion police?”
Aaaaand, the person in the comments is right. It stopped mattering a long time ago. Let it go.
What we’ve got here is a guy who grew up in a time when the music you listened to defined who you were in pretty well-defined terms. Let’s jump in Bill and Ted’s phone booth and punch in November 23, 1981.
There are two reasons I remember this day as clear as Scott Russell’s mind after meditation.
For one, it was my thirteenth birthday. And second, it was the release date for AC/DC’s For Those About to Rock We Salute You album.
Yard work, snow shoveling, money saved by any means necessary. I rode my bike down to the record store and pulled out crumpled one dollar bills, quarters, dimes and nickels like a wino at a craps game. Pushed it across the counter and took the album home.
In my room, lights off, headphones on. I was transported to a sold-out stadium and I was Brian Johnson. For the next year I’d lip synch every word to every song to a standing room only crowd. Don’t even be riding in the car with me when that title track comes on unless you want to hear me scream “Fire!” louder than Beavis all hopped up on Jolt Cola.
So, when I pulled on my AC/DC shirt and walked into school. It was a suit of armor. A flag. A signal to all the other kids that they could have Boston and Reo Speedwagon. I was with the burnouts and headbangers. When the punk kids wore Black Flag and Misfits shirts, it was to tell the rest of us that we didn’t even have a clue what was going on. They were on some shit we didn’t even know about.
This was when having purple hair or a mohawk guaranteed that somebody was gonna pick a fight with you. When the only people who had tattoos were old war veterans, bikers and guys who’d been to prison. Today you can have all three of those and be a bank teller. Things have definitely changed.
I knew a guy who’d ride the train to New York City once a month and come back with punk records we’d never be able to find anywhere else. Then we’d all pile in cars and go see those bands somewhere in Jersey. At the shows we’d buy the shirts right from the band members themselves. It was like being on a mission. Like that guy in that movie where he’s going up the river in Vietnam? Except we weren’t dodging bullets, and nobody died. Thank God. But we wore those shirts with pride and reveled in the fact that most folks had no idea what that skull on our shirt meant. But we knew. And when you’d see some other random kid walking down the street wearing a 7Seconds shirt and he saw you in your DRI shirt, you knew you had a friend. A kindred spirit. Someone else who’d been there, done that. Another guy that lived for this shit.
That’s where the name 3 songs guy comes from. But he’s goddamn annoying. He’s the new version of the old man who used to stand on his lawn with a hose and spray you down when your baseball rolled on his grass. (Yeah, we used to go outside and play baseball for no reason too.)
Time moves on. Even though I have all these old stories about road trips and aggro male bonding expeditions, if I had an iPhone and YouTube in 1981 I would have been all over it.
A kid today can get interested in obscure Norwegian metal, go down a rabbit hole, and get an education in a weekend that it took me the entire 90’s to soak up. You can learn about Seattle grunge, New York Hardcore and the birth of rap in the Bronx just by staying up all night jacked up on blue light and Monster Energy.
And that’s a good thing. In 2022 the world is smaller and more inclusive.
In an age where every piece of information known to man is at your fingertips, it’s a lot harder to hold on to your “thing” and keep it precious. If a kid wants to wear an Iron Maiden shirt because it looks cute with her jeans then that’s what’s up. If I wear mine for a completely different reason, then that’s what’s up. I don’t look for my tribe at Starbucks.
I see them at the Hard Rock Casino in Fort Lauderdale at the Judas Priest show. A sea of bald heads in denim and black t shirts. Leaning on canes and limping toward the concession stand for nachos. All of us suffer from sleep apnea. With our ever-weakening bladders, we stand in a line for the men’s room that snakes it’s way all the way back to the slot machines. When a random grey-haired dude raises a tattooed forearm high enough for his metal shirt to ride up over his belly and yells “Slayer!” we all yell it back. And we can all name 3 songs.
Jai Guru Deva
Thomas Ramsburg
]]>Let me start from the beginning. I used to have this awesome job working on an Air Force Base. I was a civilian contractor for the base itself. I did not serve. Forever indebted to those who have. Basically, our team was responsible for the function of the base so the military could do…well, military shit. I felled trees, cut lawn, drove tractors, dump trucks, front-end loaders, Bobcats, plowed snow on the airstrip, poured concrete, built shit, demolished shit, painted shit; awesome fucking job. I had that job for a solid 8 years all through my 20’s. In which I was a wayward son. Some good years. Some bad years. Such is life I guess.
At any rate, I had finally gotten my shit together during one of those years and life was starting to level out. I was progressing in my work. I was working toward a degree in Environmental Studies that was to be a catalyst for a promotion. Had a girlfriend. Rock climbing and hiking on the weekends. Shit was clicking.
In lieu working toward my degree I was working with the base’s Environmental Engineer. Awesome dude. Funny as hell! I was taking care of a lot of EPA (Environmental Protection Agency) and DEC (Department of Environmental Conservation) busy work that he didn’t have time to deal with. Enter Earth Day, every year on April 22nd when people post on FB and Instagram about… The Earth… and how much they love it. How we shouldn’t litter and should eat organic. All jokes aside, it is a day to demonstrate support for environmental protection. During this time of my life I may or may not have been on a plant based diet. Big earthy vibe. Hiker, climber, plant based, kale, goji berries, ADK stickers on my rear windshield and I ran in those Vibram Five Finger shoes LOL
Okay okay, back to Earth Day. The way the military demonstrated their environmental support on Earth Day was to get their soldiers out on the streets with trash pickers in hand cleaning up the trash of the immoral filthy civilians. The Air Force has it own “news” reporters squadron. Air Force News. I was outside running point of all the trash picker-uppers. Next thing you know I have a camera and mic in my face and a soldier asking me to say a few words on Earth Day and the importance of military contribution. I can’t recall exactly what I said, but it was something to the effect of “reduce, reuse and recycle.” And “the importance of fulfilling our duty as stewards of the land all year round.” Profound right?! I was big into Aldo Leopold at this time so I did my best.
Welp, they printed what I said in their newspaper! No big deal. There wasn’t a ceremony or anything. It was just surprising. Honestly, to me it was comical. In my mind I’m like “they got the WRONG guy.” I jumped on the phone with my sponsor, who was Irish Chris, at that time. I’m going on and on telling him about this event. Now, it’s important to note at this time in my life I had years of gnarly addiction behind me. I was sober at this time. I Can’t remember how long. Anyways, back to Irish Chris. I’m telling him “Dude, you won’t believe it! They printed what I said in the newspaper! Man if they only knew. If they only knew who I really was.” Next, Irish Chris uttered the most powerful four words that have ever been spoken into my life:
“No no, Scotty. If you only knew”
I am not sure I truly digested what he meant at that time. But, it is certainly in my cells now.
How I saw myself was different than how the world saw me. I didn’t like what I saw and I was barbed wired in it. The world liked what they saw and I was ignorant to it. “No no, Scotty. If YOU only knew”. Damn man. Makes me tear up.
What he was saying was the narration I had about myself was not serving me. It was tying me to a man that was no more. The world, my family, my friends did not see him. To them he was a stranger. To me, he was under the skin. What if the narration we are telling ourselves right now is wrong? Or maybe just a few shades off the right color? What could we be keeping ourselves from? From freedom? From joy? From truth? For me, that was the case. It continues to be the case, for that matter. I am eager to move through life saying “what else am I wrong about? What perspective needs to be challenged?” Irish Chris gave me this principle to walk with. I didn’t hear it at the time. It sprouted years later. Four simple words from an Irishman shifted the course of my existence. Who said that us Irishman were only good for drinking?
Scott Russell
]]>Mr. Freedom, big time talker, oh thank you very much but no.
- Clutch
For real, I can’t.
The two closest friends I have in the world, I have no idea what their political leanings are. And I couldn’t give less of a fuck. As a matter of fact, if I hear someone start talking about it I’ll break out into a full sprint like Carl Lewis in the 100 meter. As long as I don’t break a hip, and I can get my hands on some electrolytes, I’ll be grateful I didn’t have to hear that shit.
I only voted once in my life. I really liked the way that Obama dude talked. Whether he was a good President or not? Ask a hundred people and you’ll get a hundred opinions. But later that day I had to go to work. And the day they elected the next guy? I had to go to work. And the next guy? You get it right? The idea that Barak, or any other dude in a blue suit gives a rip about me or my family never even crossed my mind. I see folks standing on the overpass for I-95 holding up signs supporting the last President. Walk on over to his country club and see if he’ll buy you a sandwich. Not likely. These guys are not from our world, and we are not from theirs.
Which flies in the face of how this thing was set up originally doesn’t it?
To quote the great Philadelphian Rocky Balboa – “Yo, don’t I got some rights or something? The ones they wrote on that paper down the street there?”
Maybe I misunderstood when they explained it to me in school, but I always thought that each state would send someone to represent them for a few years. Then that representative would return to their normal life, family, job etc. That way we’d be represented by a person from our community, someone just like us, with our best interests in mind.
What we’ve got now are these career sheisters bending over for whoever gave them the money to run their campaigns. Big Pharma, Big Oil, Big Agriculture. Big pile of dog shit. Well, I’ll step around it before it get’s on my Chucks Taylor’s.
I try to keep up and understand what’s what. Not by watching the cable news channels I’ll tell you that much. It’s like listening to sports radio in Philly versus sports radio in Boston. You know what they’re gonna say before you even turn it on. And social media is like listening to the callers on those sports shows back in the day.
“John from Northeast Philly, you’re live-“
“Tom Brady sucks!”
“Well John, you know he has more Super Bowl rings than any quarterback in history.”
“He sucks! Giselle should dump his ass! We’re gonna crush him on Sunday!”
Okay… Go ahead and insert any President and First Lady for Tom and Giselle and you get the gist. You root for your team, understandable. Admirable even. I mean, it took a lot of intestinal fortitude to be an Eagles fan most of my life. But when the Cowboy’s had Troy Aikman and Emmett Smith, I never actually thought Dallas sucked, but I sure would chant it at the stadium. This is the type of thing I’m talking about.
There are some independent journalists I look to for an unbiased take on issues that I have questions about. Real journalists who look at both sides and present facts that I can use to draw my own conclusions. People Like Matt Taibbi https://taibbi.substack.com/ or Breaking Points podcast with Krystal and Saagar https://www.youtube.com/c/breakingpoints. But honestly man, the whole thing gives me a migraine.
After of all the reading, all the listening, weeding through the endless slick quotes curated by press advisors, the people in power don’t tell you shit. And they run off behind a closed door and make whatever decision is in their best interest. The one most likely to keep them in power. Then they trot out two ancient, out of touch curmudgeons who never worked a day in their life and you gotta pick one. This is the best and the finest people our country has to offer? Where are all the young, idealistic, driven, sharp, healthy people with their finger on the pulse? I’ll tell you where they’re not: In Washington. I mean, who in their right mind would want that job in the first place?
Listen man, I dig it. There are issues we all feel strongly about. Things we care deeply about. We don’t want our rights infringed upon. Hell, a couple years ago they told us all to stay inside and not come out. And when we asked why, they gave us that response our parents used to give when they were out of answers. “Because I said so.”
I just don’t think electing some blow-dried fart is the answer.
Far be it from me to tell anyone else what to do. Same as I don’t want them telling me what to do. If you like some DC suit and you think they’re gonna solve all your problems, then go vote for them. Wear the t-shirt, tell everybody on Facebook. Have at it man. It’s your world and we ain’t got a lot of time here. I just feel like I want to spend my time and attention focused on where I can actually have an impact. Like my community. The people I come into contact with. My family. My friends. That’s what matters.
So, I leave the house, I do the things, I go to the places. And I live in South Florida. Where America comes after they went too hard with the drugs. Not a day goes by that I don’t talk to someone about the number one most important thing in my life. Addiction and recovery. I’ll buy the eggs and the coffee and talk as long as we need to. I’ll tell my story because I know there’s no substitute for one addict helping another. I’ll listen to your story, and if you’re interested, and if you ask, I’ll offer some suggestions. If I don’t have the answers, I’ll help you find someone that does. I’ll do that freely because that’s what people did for me. That’s the way shit’s supposed to work I think.
Anyway, whether you’re on the blue team or the red team, I love you. I really do. You and I are the same thing, we came from the same place, and we’re going back there someday. All the rest is just stories we tell ourselves.
Go outside, do some push-ups if you can, eat some healthy food. Hug the people you love. And maybe talk with someone on the other team, really try to see them as a person. It’s different in person. Face to face. Without a screen, without likes and comments. Spread love. Try to be kind. Maybe don’t let these creeps separate us from each other, ‘cause that’s right where they want us. While we’re busy trying to win a debate with some nameless, faceless person on the internet, our elected officials are sneaking up behind us ready to pull our pants down.
And no one wants to see that.
Jai Guru Deva
Thomas Ramsburg
]]>Namaste In the Squat Rack
“Bro. That eagle pose was sick bro.” I never get that at a yoga studio.
“Inside, always tryin’ to get back inside. But it’s so hard to penetrate pig-thick skin.”
Cocaine is hell of drug. Some people say that certain smells, colors, textures of clothing, tastes of certain foods, can immediately transport them to a time or a place from their past. That sometimes when they’re upset and can’t identify the reason, it’s because they saw someone wearing a certain color. Or smelled their
perfume, or tasted some food that person had prepared. And their reaction, or overreaction to that person had nothing to do with what was happening in the present, but the memory of some trauma from a long time ago. I guess that’s how powerful our senses are. For me though, it’s always been music. That day on Fitzwater is as alive to me right now as I’m typing this as it was when I stumbled out of my car in my Doc Marten’s looking like the Undertaker. And it was thinking of that song that took me there. It doesn’t have to be bad though. The first time I heard Alice In Chains, my friend Janice and I decided to blow off work one morning in 1991. Made sense, since we hadn’t been to sleep yet. So we called up
another friend and went to her house and sat in the living room passing a joint around. Our other friend put on a VCR tape of some band from Seattle that she was all crazy about. Janice and her friend were always crazy about some lead singer or another, so I prepared to see what I thought was going to be
some pretty dude on the screen. The whole Seattle grunge thing wasn’t my deal, so I didn’t much care to hear the next Pearl Jam clone. But the tape was Alice In Chains’ Live Facelift video. That’s the first time I heard Layne Staley sing, and he was instantly one of my favorite voices. Creepy, dirty, melodic. This was man exorcising a demon in front of a crowd. There was an honesty, and a willingness to lay his soul open in the songs that I couldn’t quite compare to anyone I’d ever heard before. So, when I hear Man In The Box today, I don’t think of the MTV video, but that first live performance I saw with my friends on a Wednesday morning when I was supposed to be at work. I had the pleasure to see Layne perform live a few times and I’ll never forget it. But my favorite memory of seeing Alice In Chains in person happened just a few weeks ago. On October 1st, I got to see them again. This time I wasn’t worried about where my next meal was coming from, or how I was going to explain why I didn’t have a job anymore. I got to see them stone cold sober, with the two very best friends I’ve ever had. I stood in the Florida heat under palm trees and sang the lyrics to every song at the top of my lungs with my brothers in recovery. I sang Layne’s songs, and I sang the new
songs they’ve made with William Duvall. Years from now, when I hear the song Grind, I’ll be transported back that night under the stars with Ben and Scott. Singing, with tears in my eyes. Not a single fuck given. Yesterday is history and tomorrow’s a mystery. Today is a gift, that’s why they call it the present.
That’s a free Dad joke for you. But it’s as real the smile on my face.
Jai Guru Deva
]]>It is on you to make your life worthwhile and meaningful. That is consistently found within. Not, without. If my desire is rooted in your syllables of approval I am in bondage to you. Rather than being free through self approval. It is on me to meet my own needs. The incessant chase for your shower of approval - in my case - stemmed from "Tell me I am being a good son". Which all spun from "performance based Love". Every step was a performance. I was in bondage to your view of me. If I performed well, I won. If I didn't, I lost. No one was doing this to me but me. I was placing an unconscious curriculum upon my self everyday. Unreasonable demands upon myself that I was doomed to never fulfill. We can also cast this curriculum upon God. Performing for His Love, His Grace, Approval etc. Now if that be my God then I am under the scrutiny of judgement. I have found through bitter experience that this is not my God!
What's the solution? First, we have to accept that this curriculum is within our makeup. Awareness is always the first step. Then I had to purposefully challenge this false belief. I had to purposefully NOT perform. All the unreasonable demands I put upon my shoulders had to be slowly thrown off. Here's an example: "I am going to get up at 5am. I will pray. I will meditate for 30 min. I will then write in reflection for 30 min. Then I will workout. Then I will have won and I need to have won before I step out my door for the day or else I will have a shit day and might was well give up. And I definitely should not expect to have closeness to God this day."
Hell of a curriculum to start each morning with right? Sound like an unreasonable demand? It fucking was. In reality I would hit my snooze 17 fucking times, wake up 20 min before I'd have to be to work. Best I had was to pray and get ready for work. How did I change this? I accepted the FACT that in that moment of life I was not a morning person. Nor disciplined in meditation. And I worked out at night. I had to radically accept who I was in this moment of my life and it had to be okay with me; I had to claim God's Love throughout the whole thing. Thus, I set my alarm for 30min before I had to get to work instead of hitting snooze 17 times.
Everything began to change! This was a false belief I had to burn to the ground. You can pray all you want. If you don't begin to move in an uncommon way you will never experience an uncommon result. I don't know about you? But all I ever wanted was an uncommon life. I always want to be in the business of creating the NEW. This is God. Thus, I found self approval via radical self acceptance. I saw the burden of performance. Now, we take that script and apply it to other areas of life that need uncommon results. In my eyes the most important take away is "no one was doing this to me but me".
]]>- Henry David Thoreau
]]>"Rather than love, than money, than fame, give me truth."
- Henry David Thoreau
For a large majority of my life I was caught up in a lie. A lie that said I need something outside myself to make me okay. "This moment is too lousy for me. If I could only get 'this' then 'this' moment would be better"
That script right there led me to all types of pain. Pain that burrowed itself deep below the skin. The pain spun off a lie. A lie that said "I'm not okay". So, I made a life chasing phantoms. They are elusive. How I enjoyed the trickery. The worst magic show I've ever been to. Yet, I just couldn't keep from going. Couldn't stand the Magician. I knew all the illusions. I KNEW they were bullshit. They gave me a lie and I enjoyed the view.
Even Pain is Sweet.
There must be a breaking point; least there was within me. I realized that the ashes of my life were a direct result from chasing a solution outside of myself. For me, that solution was drugs. It was a slow suicide. I think there is a cure for altering your life. That cure is Pain; lots of it. The first breath of Truth changed me: "I designed this moment. I gave up. I ran. I'm living like a Loser." I think when you have the willingness to shoulder the responsibility of your life as it currently is, that life may just begin to change.
There was a moment within me, a decision: "I know longer care about where I live, what job I have, how much money I make, the state of my relationships, car or bus; all I want is peace of mind". I think when you want Peace more than you want your next breath, it will come. That is where Truth approached me. When I accepted the current state of my life with all of its ashes and shades of black; right there it began to change. "I'm okay. My life is a mess. But, I am relatively okay". All I ever wanted to be was "okay". So, when that glimmer of "okayness" comes, our sole vocation becomes fanning that flame. Keeping it alive. The outside circumstances of life take a back seat. "Rather than love, than money, than fame, give me Truth."
The same way that a Lie creates a life for you... Truth does the same. Take your pick.
]]>Abandoning yourself to the stream of life - A radical trust-fall into the hand as of the Universe. The Mighty Rhythm that underly all. You know the song right? “He’s got the whole world in His Hands. He’s got the whole world in His Hands.”
Cute jingle right? I can hear you scoff! “Yeah Scott, that’s cute for a child. But life ain’t like that. It’s cold, rough and tough; mostly tragic. That childlike faith doesn’t apply to ME.” Okay. May I ask, why not? Why can’t it be simple? Why can’t it be found in truly letting go? Why must we make it complex? Why cant we let it come and let it go?
Take a moment. Stop reading. Ask “why”.
If you’re honest with yourself you may have answered “I don’t know”. GOOD! That is the first realization upon which every other wall of your spiritual structure will be built. That’s why God/Life/Universe etc Begs us to stop F**%^&$# resisting and LET GO.
A word from Mr Joseph Campbell:
“We must be willing to let go of the life we have planned in order to receive the Life that is waiting for us.”
/tīd/
noun
noun: tide; plural noun: tides
The tides of Life flow endlessly for better or worse - to rise and fall - to live to die. The current hurls the tide. It is the currents function to move, to throw, to float, to create and the tide to lift the sea. Mother Nature has her function and it is always fulfilled. The Sea, void of tide and current is an abyss of stillness and would be a horizon of glass. It sometimes looks that way!
That’s when we dive in and lift the weight of gravity off our shoulders! Hopefully swim with some sea turtles. How cool that we oppose a universal law - Gravity - in the ocean!? Gravity doesn’t go anywhere. It still has its hold on the Universe. It just simply doesn’t control us to the degree it does on land!
Suhhh hahhh dude. Okay, back on script. Ocean void of tide; remember? K cool. The tide and current lift the sea and the result is a gnarly wave bruh! Now, the best description of Ego I’ve ever heard is this: The Ego is like a wave of the ocean thinking it is separate from its source.
Imagine being lifted up above sea level hurling above your Source, experiencing yourself in a new light, in a new movement, a renewed sense of awe and wonder and saying “yeah this is ALL ME”! How silly! It was our Source that gave us wings - not to be confused with Red Bull.
Unbeknown to us we separate ourselves from the greatest gift we’ll ever know; the current of Bliss, the tide of Self. How silly and devious the Egoic Mind is!
The solution? Enter The Paddle Board! AKA “Spiritual Practice” i.e. Meditation, prayer, self-examination, Yoga etc The Board itself is the PRACTICE. The Paddle is the AWARENESS. Awareness is a byproduct of the practice.
Thus, we get to float the surface, paddle the tide, feel the mysterious drift of the current and surf the Ego! AWARENESS GIVES US PERMISSION TO HAVE FUN WITH THE SILLY EGOIC MIND! So, don’t struggle. Awareness comes in the absence of struggle. Dedicate yourself to spiritual practice. Paddle with awareness and gain some damn perspective on yourself bruhhhhh!
9.30.22
]]>The inner life is sufficient.
What we want to do is dive into and receive from the inexhaustible Source. How do we do this? Why should we?
The inner life is sufficient.
What we want to do is dive into and receive from the inexhaustible Source. How do we do this? Why should we?
What do you have to lose? More importantly, what do you have to gain? There is simply no reason that we should not live in a state of joy. It should be our sole vocation to facilitate this state of mind and heart. True bliss, an unshakable foundation of life exists when your thoughts, words and actions are in harmony. Audio matches the video. Your inner world compliments your outer world and vice versa. Are you walking the line you wish to be? Are you living with the highest version of yourself? Or are you consciously neglecting what you know to be good for you? If you answer yourself honestly you’ll know what direction to take. One hundred percent of the time it means walking through fear; doing the next right hard thing. Bliss is on the other side of what frightens you. At least it has been so with me.
How do you develop a skill? You practice right? You have to learn to swim. You have to learn how to exist with the ocean and leverage yourself to move through it. The same is true of spiritual practice. Meditation, prayer, self-reflection, exercise and seeking counsel with others are ancient practices that have led the greatest and most impactful men and women. Thus, their words are here for us. There is endless spiritual material that can help guide us into the Source within us; the Self that is eager to direct our lives. Few of us have the courage to look within. We run away from our intuition and thus experience collision and discord in ourselves. These things must be uprooted and disposed of. Read, study, meditate and pray. Get serious about your growth. Seek to get in touch with yourself.
Destroy the old man that is causing failures in your life. Build up the spiritual man. Become loyal to the development of your Soul. Loyalty should exist nowhere else. True loyalty and love starts within us and for us. Only then can it be effective in our outer life. Have a good day today. Unless you plan otherwise
9.23.22