1

The Mala
Moon

John C Sweet

2
3
“Life can be found only in the present moment. The past is
gone, the future is not yet here, and if we do not go back
to ourselves in the present moment, we cannot be in touch
with life.” ~Thich Nhat Hahn

4
 I humbly dedicate this book to my mentors from Cornerstone of
Southern California, without their patience and kindness this book
would have never been written.

5
 Prologue
Born with feet that walk deep within the iris of my mind, miles
and miles behind spin, spiraling out of control into the eternity of
space.

As the dust settles I position myself in the dining room where I

have lived for about the last year. A simple room adorned with
paintings I created along the way. Pulling the pencil from behind my
ear, blowing a curl or two out of the way, I lick the tip like I was a
writer in the past dipping my tine into ink seated next to the fire from
the previous day staring into the candle before the last light fades
with a wisp.
Wisp. Wane. Coming full circle is where I am today. Calm and
peace fill my chest and I breathe, I often find myself in a state of
meditation before I begin to write. Painting. Creating scenes in my
head accompanied with music that I feel deep in my core. A poet I
have called myself for many years, faced with the humility of the
letters that are piled in the corner; “We unfortunately cannot accept
your manuscript for publication due to the lack of a sustaining market
for poetry. Especially an unknown poet like you, we suggest you get
published in magazines and build a name for yourself. However, I did
enjoy your work very much.” What a load of ****
Putting my feet in line I hunker down for what will be an
interesting ride. The pages you will peruse inside this novel will tell
the tale, the tale of this earthy existence I have been forced to
endure. It’s all the same, but not the same, I just have to walk in the
shoes of myself for awhile. Not a bad place to be today, but some of
the situations I dealt with would test the will of any man, sane or sick,
a test indeed.
This is life. My life, your life; the life of all humanity will unfold,
speaking of mortality, the quest for immortality and the harsh
realization that death is imminent. The awakening knocked on my
door one fateful night, a night that shaped my future with delicate
hands. No longer dragging me by the throat as I woke each day to
face yet another one.
Speaking of that day, let’s talk for a minute of this
6
“awakening.”

7
 Chapter 1 The Awakening

A storm was raging inside my soul, growling on a day of

celebration. Father’s day. I was trying to get out of my own chaotic
delusions for weeks, and this Sunday was not forgiving in the least bit.
Let’s take a look.

We were lying on the concrete in a parking lot, behind her shrinks

building. Lord knows how we wound here. Driving down the road,
laughing, drinking, smoking, like her thighs that peeked from her skirt.
She has been my best friend; well drinking buddy for about 3 yrs, my
hands have been further than her thighs, but we close our eyes to that
night, and wake up looking for a drink. The blacktop tries to sear the
skin from my calves right off, so I pour some beer down my knees,
watching it run and pool to the pavement, wondering if it’s gonna boil
creeping along the back of my thighs. Cold. Wet. Watching her lips
move telling me about something, probably about my friend she was
riding in my office early this morning, letting me watch, acting like I
wasn’t there. Maybe I wasn’t. Maybe today when we get to the state
park we can go skinny dipping. Her lips are still moving and she takes
off her shirt, lying there in the parking lot in her bra and panties.
Today is Sunday, Fathers Day, maybe she will call me daddy, not that I
like that sort of thing but could be fun. She asks me for a beer, I stand
up and walk to the car burning my feet off, turning the music up
thinking what if I poured the beer on her. Naw. That would be a
waste. I need to get her drunk. Morning is only a few drinks away.
Father’s day. A day of celebration indeed. I am the father of a
wonderful boy named Forrest Everett Emerson Sweet, who is now 9
years old. He was 6 years old at that time, and I was doing my best to
keep it all together even though I was a raging, lunatic alcoholic, I
tried to be the best father that I could. I couldn’t turn out like my own
father, now could I? Forrest was with his mother, Kellie that day, so it
was a perfect excuse for me to get outta my own head and self-pity
that I often created when he wasn’t around. It was just another one
of those days; really I always pitied myself. Lord knew why at the
time, that was just the way my life was; 36 years old and partying like
there was no tomorrow, I deserved to play. I have paid my dues, hard
worker, years and years of college. I had the world on a string and I
8
swung it over my head day after day.
I can’t really remember too much of that whole day in regards
to what we did after we drove out of that parking lot. There is one
thing that I will never forget, the pulling of the conscience of my mind
telling me that I was in trouble, deep serious trouble.
A few weeks passed and I was listening. Later that evening I
was alone in my condo sitting at the bar in the kitchen. In front of me
lay bottles of my prescription pills; I was like a pharmacist back then. I
would carefully crush my uppers and downers, and pain pills with the
pummel and pestle I scored from the local antique store,
painstakingly grinding them into a fine dust so they wouldn’t burn my
burned out nose. Drunk and stoned out of my mind, it was like my
arm was possessed by someone else, and I found myself taking
sleeping pills one after another. In slow motion the weight of my
hands reached my mouth and down they went; well all but one. This
is where it all happened. I had drunk everything in the house and had
my last beer seated in front of me, I tried to get my hand to my
mouth with little success. The pill slipped from my sweaty fingers
falling, falling for what seemed an eternity into the beer. Stunned I
spoke to no one and everyone in the world. F**k! Standing I started
to wonder if this was it, was I going to die? How many of those things
had I consumed? Pacing, freaking, and panicking. Then it happened.
My epiphany.
Every recovered person I know will speak of their own
personal “epiphany.” And I will listen intently, trying to see if what
they were telling me was the truth. So many people in this life are
deluded and wear their own masks with such grace it can be hard to
decipher the truth. But who was I to question their words, right? I
had my own story to tell, and it was exciting!
Epiphany: a sudden intuitive leap of understanding, especially
through an ordinary but striking occurrence; the manifestation of a
divine being. Divinity, I was the divine creator of my existence.
Having relinquished myself to the simple fact that I was just fine and
that my life would continue on, deluded and hammered. Accepting
my faults in all their disguised glory. The moment I saw that pill plop
into my beer I knew it was over, all over. The party was over and I was
the last one to leave. But it wasn’t too late, I still had a chance, and I
was ready to take that chance. I wasn’t ready to die.
9
Chapter 2 California Bound

Standing, staring at the ground something died in me right

there, and it was the evil that resided in my soul. I watched it snuff
itself out as I dialed the phone to call my mother. California bound to
Cornerstone, a treatment center to rid me of all my ills.
Then a whisper penetrated my soul:

I have heard them say, the eye of the storm is safe, safe they
say and then I wonder-what I looked like before my parents were
born.

Mother arrived in haste, there was a crisis! She was needed,

just the sort of thing she thrived on. Now I love my mother with all
my heart, but I would be remiss to say that she has been the best
mother in the world. Now much of her faults are no fault of her own,
but the result of the heavy burden she carries having been married to
my father. But we will wander that path down the road. Mother was
here! And she had arrived to take care of her son. Now I had pushed
and pushed people for many years, insisting that I was just fine and
who are you to tell me that I need to change my life, don’t you realize
that I am fully in control of my actions? And I know exactly what I am
doing at all times? Not so much.
Tears fear and sorrow racked my body and I just wanted to be
sane again. At the same time wondering if I have ever been sane,
what is sanity? Am I insane? I was to find out that I surely was, not
the insane, homeless type of person that I think of when I think of
crazy. But insane in the fashion that my life was a wreck and I insisted
that I was in control when nothing at all was even close to being so.
Mother and I busied ourselves with finding a treatment center
upon arrival to their home. She was insistent that I go to the “Betty”
because that is where she went and was cured of her alcoholism,
faint truth there; she did go however and has been much better since.
Betty Ford was full up, and they recommended another “suitable”
place for me; my mothers son, to check into.
It really was now or never, my mind would have it any other
way. The pull of my disease was like a choke hold on me, and if I
didn’t take action that minute, that day, then things would shift back
10
to the way they had always been. So, now or never, they had an
opening and I purchased my plane ticket, pouring myself the tallest
glass of wine I could find. This was my last day. The last drink(s) of my
life.

11
Chapter 3 The Recovery

Orange County California. Drunk and confused I exited the

plane and “Jim” was there holding a sign with my name on it. I felt
almost as important as my ego had led me to believe all these years,
for a second. That feeling faded with the reality of what I was really
doing here in the desert, and it wasn’t to dance with the Indians
either, or so I thought.
It was a wild, wild ride. Bringing me face to face with my
mortality and the weight of my burden I had carried my whole life.
We drove down the highway and I tried to relax, trying to sober up.
Jim talked little and drove letting me gather myself along the way.
Mile after mile fell behind and my mind started to purge itself of
booze, pills, and whatever illegal substance I had snorted that day, my
body was another story, which had a long way to go. My mind led the
way and my body fought every step I took.
--my life is an apparition and it’s waiting at the ticket station
crying out for me to say f**k it and go. 39times around the block,
checking the clock to see how much time I got--16 hours to pluck my
flower, watching it glisten in the morning sun, my what a day would
have begun--if I was strong enough to ride into the southern sun. Yet I
sat there watching it all unfold, letting my heart beat-beat,
questioning why is this happening to me, all the years on my knees, all
the years in solitary, fighting not wanting to be alone, can anyone tell
me what to do, where to go, can I see it all coming down, placing an
altar on the crown.
--yet it is all in my head, why am I not right here, to show me it
all, to let life begin again, my feet were screwed to the floor,
repeating the words I had heard so many times before lying naked in
my bed, tossing n turning, weeping heart burning.
--wondering what this world would be like with my face in
position, leaving me buried under you, the one, the details are clear
for me to see, just had to walk away and forget the dead, slipping
control holding it all together, together. Lean into me.
--sun kissed mother fed praying to be led to the door, writhing
all over the floor, naked I do implore, I need to climb into my mind and
roll around on this bed I made, pure as I was created--come back
again where I was found.
12
 Where I was found; that would be an adventure indeed, and it
all started on my birthday. I turned 37years old the day I arrived in
California, June 24th 2005. I found myself thousands of miles away
from home, strangers surrounded me; intimate strangers for sure, all
poised and ready to undertake the transformation of John Sweet
“Functioning Alcoholic”, to John Sweet “No longer insane.” I didn’t
envy their job that day.
First things first, let’s open the door to that treatment center
and shed a light on what happened that day. Now Cornerstone of
Southern California is one of the more progressive, exclusive rehab
centers in the nation, with a fresh approach to recovery and
maintains a high success rate of people that remain clean and sober
long after they say their goodbyes. Typically 28 days is the “term”
you are allowed to stay in any treatment center; at $1000.00 a day I
was lucky to be able to be a part of it all that’s for sure. I wound up
extending my stay to almost two months, either I was afraid to go
home and start over, or I was having too much darn fun with this
sobriety stuff. I think it was both to be honest. So off to the nurse’s
station I went, where I could be properly assessed.
Sitting in the lobby taking in the scene there was plenty of
action and I waited for the nurse to come get me. The setting is one
of a community where men have their own houses and the woman
have theirs, there would be no fraternizing among the sexes, and we
had separate pools; yes pools. In the lobby, which I was to find out
later was actually the dining-gathering room for the “detoxers” there
I sat and I will tell you it was a bit disturbing. People that come to re-
hab aren’t exactly the most normal people in the world, the newly
arrived and the newly captured wandered in and out of the room. I
was getting a little bit nervous, asking myself what in the world was I
doing in a place like this, and these people are crazy man!
At the time I was a corporate kind of guy (today you wont
catch me in a suit unless someone died even then I would have to
think hard about it) working at one of the largest mortgage
companies in the nation, who has since closed its doors due to what
we shall call “unsavory factors.” I had the world by the string
remember, loaded and cocky; literally. My synapses fired judgments
laden with the fear that I wouldn’t fit in, par for the course for me, my
mind kept telling me you aren’t that sick, what are you doing here?
13
Thinking back I really did not fit in that well, I was one of the older
people in the center which I was to quickly find out as I got up and
walked out to the patio to check out the pool. Off in the corner there
were patio tables with umbrellas, seated in groups were men and
woman, chatting and smoking. Young. They were all so young, tanned
looking like they came from money you could almost smell it in the
air.
I sat down in one of the chairs far away from them all and
watched. Fear seeping out of my skin along with the booze that my
body was ridding itself of. I was always the kind of guy that was shy
until I felt like I could get the courage up to go and introduce myself,
and that courage usually was the bottled up kind. It wasn’t natural for
me to just saunter over to a group and say hey, what’s up. So there I
sat, scared, alone and wondering if I had made the wrong decision.
Then I remembered something I had written years and years ago.

Another day come and gone.

To behave and pray
Why don’t I?
The fear of an answer.
Or an ending.

Standing I took a walk around the community, placing my

heart in my mind trying to sort out exactly what had transpired in my
life that led me here. And I prayed for the first time in many years, I
actually prayed for something other than myself, remembering when
I was told that in order to receive the gift you ask for it is imperative
that you don’t pray for selfish needs and desires, but rather pray for
those that you may have harmed and caused unrest to. Pray for
people to find love and peace in their lives, and the energy you put
out will return to you stronger, more powerful, enabling you to pull
from that energy to undertake and overcome what has been put
before you. Understanding that I am not the only person that suffers
in this life; a humble stance enveloped my body and I breathed.
Getting ready with an open mind and heart, I could do this, I need to
do this, and there is no other option. It’s life or death today. I was
feeling ready and walked back to the house hoping I hadn’t missed
the nurse, that’s when I met Jerry.
14
 Jerry was a Cherokee Indian who towered over me; mind you I
am 6’5”, so he had to be at least 6’10”. The energy he emitted was
very sad, like he had no more inside to keep going on. I was to find
out that this was his tenth treatment center in the past 10 years,
which freaked me out. Jerry was a heroin addict and meth junkie too;
he still looked healthy and had a welcoming aura around him. Jerry
took the seat next to me on the leather couch, sinking in. I busied
myself with reading the information, the rules of this “resort”
speaking a quick “hello, how are ya man” to him. He replied, loud as
he was tall, his eyes were yellowed from jaundice, I could tell right
away that he was sicker, much sicker than me. That’s when I started
to feel a little bit more comfortable, maybe I could win him over. As
he spoke to me I heard a man who was wise, had too much life
experience under his belt, and sounded like a friend. This is what he
said after pleasantries were exchanged:
“John Sweet, pray for me brother to have the strength to
overcome my demons. This is my last chance, my liver is failing, my
wife is going to leave me if I don’t get clean, heck I’m gonna die if I go
back out there. I know everything there is to know about keeping
clean and sober and can teach you all the ropes, but I am gonna need
to actually walk the walk this time. Stick with me and we can do this.”
I was stunned. I just met this guy and he is basically telling me
that we are in this whole thing together. I have done everything,
everything on my own. I knew best and was smarter than the rest,
but Jerry was so sincere that I listened. And I accepted him then and
there. We became fast friends and that was a relief. He went on to
say this and I was called away to the nurses station. Listen carefully.
“John Sweet, one of my oldest friends told me this today when
he dropped me off and I want to share it with you too. “
‘Learn to die and you shall live, for there shall be none who
learn to truly live who have not learned to die.’
Laughing Jerry continued, “My friends are all crazy warriors,
but that guy reads everything he gets his hands on, that quote is from
a book called ‘Book of the Craft of Dying.’ Get on to the nurse and
find me when it’s over, then I want you to tell me how sick you really
are and we can talk some more.” I shook his hand and walked down
the hall following this nurse in sandals and a long flowered skirt.
Thinking, this guy is truly one of the nicest people I have ever met in
15
my life. See? Prayers do get answered if you pray selflessly.
“Blood pressure 168/138. Pulse 135. Weight 165lbs. You are
lucky to be here Mr. Sweet, we will get you well. Go see the doctor
and he will get you set up with the detox medications and come back
here so we can get you dosed.”
Man. What in the world just happened? You are lucky to be
here Mr. Sweet? Holy man. It’s no wonder that I suffered from
anxiety and panic attacks, look at those numbers. I’ll be damned if I
didn’t think I wasn’t healthy before she hit me with that sick-stick.
“You are lucky to be here Mr. Sweet.” Indeed I was, indeed.
Valium, Seroquel, Tylenol and heart burn medicine. That’s
how I was detoxed, and I can tell you in all honesty that I was kind of
shocked, valium? I am a prescription junkie, are they crazy? But I was
happy, oooh yes I was happy. I took my pills with gusto! I found Jerry
and the week flew by in my valium haze. The train was juiced at full
throttle and Jerry held me up the whole ride.
Whispers around the corner, the faint smell of liquor
permeates the air, smoke tendrils waft into your nostrils. Shadows
blind your sight, as you wander this lonely night, traveling with your
thoughts, twisting and turning, leaving your heart burning. Breathe on
the nape of your neck; warm and moist with a retching odor.
Whispers around the corner, catching up with you. Drunken
chaos has been unleashed, smoke stings your eyes, shapes loom over
you, and this night becomes crowded, thoughts no longer your own,
spinning out of control. Heart stands still and cold.
Whispers around the corner, you should never ignore.
Sitting in my room one week after arrival, I read this inside my
new AA book they had given me. I had written that down and had
forgotten all about it. Reading it for the first time, I realized that I was
on my way. That if I was able to listen to my heart, able to listen to
the people around me, seeing the earth in all its purity then I would
make it out of this just fine, just fine. Valium time?

16
Chapter 4 9:00pm Sober-Cocktail Hour

Our days began with the sunrise, gathered out in the

courtyard in our pajamas clutching the first cup of coffee, decaf mind
you; we started our days in prayer and meditation. The California sun
was hidden behind the haze of the city, and the air was crisp with
newness.
Now these gatherings were our opportunity to see who had
come to be with us in the middle of the night, or to see who had left.
People were always coming and going, the night cried louder to
some, and some of us cried ourselves to sleep, accepting what will
come. After our meditation and prayer session we would all go to our
houses, I was still in the detox house and would remain for about
three weeks, I was a little unstable and they wanted to keep a close
eye on me. I liked it because I was close to the counselor’s station and
that is where they had all the meds, just in case I had a panic attack or
something, ya know?
Once at our houses, we would start to make our meals, we
were in charge of keeping our houses in order and had to make our
morning and noon meals, in the evening we had a cook come and
prepare some of the best meals I had in a long time, no more bar
food for this guy. Our pantries were stocked to the hilt, some of the
freshest fruits and vegetables were available. We would go
“shopping” at the common garage, which we called the store, “Let’s
go to the store Jerry. “ Every day we got stocked up for the upcoming
feasts we would prepare. I was able to bring back my love for cooking
during those days, and all the guys were very thankful that I was more
than willing to take on the chore of cooking for all of them, there
were about 6-8 men in the house so the time I spent in the kitchen
was enjoyable to me for sure. I will never forget the avocados!
We would all be in the kitchen talking of the upcoming days
events, we were very busy from the get go. We had to be at group
therapy first thing so we always made sure we got up early to start
our breakfast. In the kitchen we would laugh and laugh, telling each
other stories of our lives and becoming like the band of brothers that
we needed to be to make it through this. Our society within society
was forming and working together unlike any other group I had the
pleasure to be a part of.
17
 So, it was off to the races, not a minute was wasted. Therapy
was intense, first group was just for the men, then we had a break
where we could socialize with the females that were present, never
man to woman, it always had to be woman, woman, man in any given
setting. We would hurry to get our coffee, decaf, and books racing
over to the detox house patio where we all gathered. As you would
imagine cliques would form just as in real life and I found myself with
an interesting, loving group of people to share my days with. I will
never forget Lori, Katie, Brian, Jerry of course, well some of the
names I forgot but I can still see their faces. I was still a bit foggy and
have always been absentminded.
Now it sounds like I got settled in pretty quickly. However the
first week was hell. Pure unabated, un-glorified embarrassing hell. I
was a maniac, calling my mother giving her the worst time, calling my
ex wife, pretty much anybody whose number I could remember I
would call on a daily basis. It got to the point where I was not allowed
to call anyone, not until I was off the meds and somewhat coherent. I
would wander around the complex from group to group, loud,
annoying and overall a general nuisance. You would think that with all
of the valium they pumped into me I would be sleeping like a baby.
Not this guy, I was energized and outrageous! Kinda like I was at a
party, yet everyone else in the house was sober. But through that
week with all the commotion I caused, people still accepted me and
understood, they knew, not too long ago they were in the same state
as I was in, and that was O.K.
It kinda felt like this.
Drum beat, slapping meat, grinding feet, slippery street,
twirling hair, glaring stare. Beckoned there, solitary there, hidden
toothy smiles, washed white hearts, twisted calculated control, no will
to forgive.
Crashing bricks, crushing stone, rolling building again,
resurrecting silent hands, waving like a flag, contorted flapping
lag, sagging skin, gagged, licking lips, suffocated by thirst.
Bite my tongue, running lips along gums, taste of nickel, deep
down tickle, waveslolling onto flesh, trailing fingers into down,
dipping petals morning glory, repeated story.
Anchored on the side, riding the tidal waving sheets, gripping
posts legs flailing in the wind, mouth open bellowing loud, unable to
18
let go, wild and crazy show.
Carried into the undertow, whirling into spirals, fleeting virals
into nose, swept around onto sandy bottoms, using cracked knees,
shooting surface breathing, floating grope, twinedwrapped hands,
dragged onto land.
Heaving breathing, only needing, eyes bleeding, startled
testing solidity, rising from the pools into transparent form, still not
seen right here, racing to the clearing, begging ears hearing calls from
home, stomping feet following echoing behind.
toes digging time, hastily rewinding, reaching washed white
heart, slicing veins coloring spreads, feeling not quite dead, quicken
stitched threads, seeping pooling receded, thrilled pulsing into thriving
thoughts, still made and dry, not gaping eyes.
Cracked spreading lenses, frames contorted sticking,
flourescent mixing melding, developing print slide, tucking away into
folded hiding secrets, crouched into self, rocking soles fueling
memory, smoking trails, into skies wafting clouds, thunder claps loud.
Now swirling around in this experience, left barely breathing,
chancing change to be.
Now I think you can understand a little bit more clearly as to
why they kept me in the detox house for three weeks, when one
week was the norm. Once I was freed from the lock down of the
detox house I was able to socialize with everyone and get settled into
the routine. Like I said before we were crazy busy from the moment
we got up, they even squeezed in the gym each day which I quickly
realized that the hot-tub was the best place for me to be rather than
on the treadmill.
Monday through Friday we would all load into the van to
attend outside meetings, it was quite the sight to see all of us
together in that van. When I think of those rides I get a smile across
my face and think of the short bus kids when I was in grade school,
we were like little kids again. In reality it was just like being a kid
again, experiencing life with clear heads, not cloudy with a chemical
haze. Even when we went out to the movies, golfing, everyone that
had the pleasure of coming upon us knew that we just weren’t right.
Imagine that.
The days would wind down and a dip in the pool would be in
order, or a lounge on the bed for a minute before we all gathered
19
back in the courtyard of the detox house. Jerry and I would prepare
fantastic spreads of fruits, vegetables, cheeses and crackers. Jerry
would busy himself with making “The Ultimate Sober Cocktail.” Now
those were something special. The girls had a lime tree in their yard
and they would pick ripe limes for our top secret drinks. Jerry would
slice and prune and preen that fruit like the precious beings they
were. Now, no sugar was allowed in the houses, no caffeine, only
natural products we consumed. All but one. Splenda.
We loved us some Splenda, the mixer in the mixer. Without
that Splenda we would have been lost, and there would not have
been the most hilarious skit in the world performed by me and Brian
for therapy.
By the time we had all of the ingredients for our nighttime
outing, the girls would already be out there, having a smoke waiting
for us. We would talk and talk for hours, our curfew was 10pm, but
soon after the counselors saw how rewarding these nights were to us
they would let us slide until about 12am.
“The Ultimate Sober Cocktail.” Who would have thought that
a group of alcoholics would find a way to re-create life as they knew it
without chemicals or booze. Kinda refreshing in a way, and yes the
drinks were “the ultimate“.

20
Chapter 5 The Burning

When all is said and done, my lighthearted tone telling these

stories shows you a bit of how I dealt with what I was handed. I had
to find a way to have fun, at the same time I took my therapy very
seriously. This was life or death for me and I knew it. There was no
other chance for me, if I decided to drink or use again then there was
no coming back, my soul told me this and I felt it in my bones. I
studied hard, prayed even harder, looked and looked, wandered
around inside poking at my memories, peeling years of resentments
from my guts, and bringing forward the loving man that I had tucked
away so conveniently. Throughout my drinking and using days I
always knew that what I was doing was wrong and there was
something waiting for me on the other side. I just had to look. What I
found wasn’t the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.
Rising earlier than my house mates I would step outside and
walk up and down the street to the painted lines on the poles, that
was as far as we were allowed to go. I took these mornings to practice
my walking meditation and to ready myself for, well myself. I was no
stranger to solitude, having lived alone for the past 6 years after my
divorce. Morning mediation was now a welcome part of my day. One
particular morning one of the housekeepers was crossing the street
loaded with two big buckets of water, the water was spilling over the
side and I hurried over to help. With her broken English she thanks
me and directs me where to dump the dirty water. When we were
finished she turns to me speaking in the softest voice, and I knew I
was in the right place, the dharma is often right under your nose.
The thought manifests as the word;
The word manifests as the deed;
The deed develops into habit;
And habit hardens into character;
So watch the thought and its ways with care;
And let it spring from love
Born out of concern for all beings…

As the shadow follows the body,

As we think, so we become.

21
 Later I was to find this teaching at the monastery I attend in
my home town in one of the books in our library, and I always think of
her when I read the sayings of the Buddha.
Afternoon was soon upon me and I found myself in group
therapy with just the men. I was having a difficult time with letting go
of my resentments and was unable to pin-point the block that was
holding them all in. Digging deeper, I was asked to go outside and sit
to think about what was holding me back. I gathered myself and went
out to the courtyard and had a smoke.
Watching the ash burn and the smoke trail into the sky my
mind started to wake. Smoke, ash, burn, sky, clouds, heaven. Cancer.
Seven years ago my baby sister passed away due to the
ravages of breast cancer. A loving, young, beautiful woman reduced
to skin and bones during her last days on this planet. I never fully
grieved for her loss; I only drowned my sorrow in booze therapy.
After Heather’s passing my alcoholism blossomed out of control, day
by day.
I rose, smashed the cigarette out and entered the meditation
building. Taking my seat silently my counselor turns to me and asks;
“Well?”
I began to tell him about my sister and how she died, about
her life, how my family dealt with the whole situation; or chose not to
deal with it at all, and how I had built my life after her death in the
fashion of a brick house, solid as a rock while a storm brewed inside
with every day that passed.

Cancer blood, nobody cares,

Better beware. Sneaking lying
Under your crying Mind.
Aspirations crashed, hopes dashed
Turn you to ash. Fight sacrifice,
Cry into the night. Defeat your might
In spite of your plight.
Cancer can’t be the answer.
Ears blind, eyes deaf.
Run for the clearing.
Desperate healing, Cleansing blood,
Flowing into soiled ground.
22
 Under the leaves I’m crying above
Lost and lonely without love.
Sister whisper, Father highest
I don’t buy it. Purely deny it.

Ray, my counselor, takes my hand and tells me that it is time

to let her go. He tells me to go back to my room and write a letter, an
honest letter to my sister, and tomorrow at the start of class we will
all go outside and set fire to the letter. Letting her go.
The next day the burning commenced. And I prayed. Walking
just a little bit lighter that day and the days to come. The rage of the
fire, and the silence of the circle; a bonding of men who just met,
watching the paper ash fly into the sky with not one dry eye to be
seen. I set my sister free, and began the grieving process, which I still
act upon this very day, at the start of every day.

23
Chapter 6 Rocking the Cradle

I dreamt that I was a butterfly, flitting around

In the sky; then I awoke. Now I wonder: Am
I a man who dreamt of being a butterfly, or am
I butterfly dreaming that I am a man?
~Chuang Tsu

September 5th, 2007 the middle of the afternoon in post-

summer day’s heat I am no longer afraid to walk next to the memory
of my sister, re-reading the story of the burning, my imagination can
see her face clear in the sky and I know that she watches over me
today; with a smile. She should smile, tomorrow is her birthday and
she will be remembered with grace and love, and today I can smile
when I think of her.
Our paths can be crooked, traveling down into caverns that
are hidden from the light, we can wander forever it seems, and then
one day if we are aware and ready to cleanse the past; while still
never forgetting, the light that was hidden will shine forth into our
days, blazing new roads to travel.
These past two years have been the best of my life; it is
amazing to wake in the morning ready for the coming day’s mystery.
Clear headed and light hearted, taking the time to appreciate
yesterday, prostrating in humility for another gift, alive and breathing
yet another day. Today life is simple and easy, having been freed from
the bonds of my addictions, I can honestly say with a clear mind that
the past is buried, deep under the brambles; down into the streams,
and when I open a new door to the dharma the message I seek is
washed pure with those same streams of knowledge.
Christians will often talk about being re-born, a Buddhist will
speak of a re-birth, there is a thin line separating the two, my re-birth
resembles that of an earth-bound man seeking the happiness that
had eluded him for the 20 years spent feeding the disease of
hedonistic desires. I can find love and happiness in virtually
everything around me today, as long as I am able to understand that
life is impermanent and all sentient beings are connected in all their
beauty, faults and humility.
Walking through those doors two years ago in California was
24
one of the most humbling experiences I had undertaken in my adult
life. Knocking my ego down seems like a daily exercise, I always like to
say to myself and those I know, awareness is the first step to change,
it’s a good thing to walk in the light today.

25
Chapter 7 A Whisper Knocking

Now that I have lassoed the infamous ego and know that my
life will continue on through all the suffering that I put myself
through, I look back on the many days that were instrumental in
developing my spiritual character.

The one who has conquered himself is a far greater hero than
he who has defeated a thousand times a thousand men
~from the Dhammapada

Tanned and now about 40 pounds heavier I waved goodbye to

everyone in attendance at my going away party. Weeks had passed,
one week spent deep in the detoxification of my abused body, hours
and hours spent in therapy, meditation, hypnotization, becoming un
paralyzed letting my fears face my mind, standing taller this time. I
had found my way, blowing the candles out on the cake my new-
sober-friends had made for me, laughing like a child once again.
Good ole’ Jim drove me to the airport, he was one of those
guys who seemed to have it all together and wasted little words on
small talk, he was happy that I was going home and seemed genuinely
sad to see me go, a great guy. Jim helped me with my bags and spoke:
“Rarely have we seen a person fail who has thoroughly followed our
path. Peace be with you John.” And I was on my own.
Freedom, fear and excitement enveloped my brain as I walked
down the runway to the plane that waited to whisk me home. My
mind was spinning; what will it be like to be back home in that house,
how will I be received by my family, will work still be re-warding, and
the big one: what in the world will I do with my time now that I won’t
be spending hours and hours at the bar or home drinking? Then I sat
and thought of my beautiful son, Forrest.
Forrest is an intuitive and loving child, brilliant and wise
beyond his years, today I call him my Mini-B (mini-Buddha) he laughs
and will chant; Om Mani Pedme Hum, so adorable. As I flew home
thoughts of the future painted scenes in my minds eye, nights spent
playing, teaching, laughing with my son. Sober. Happy. Free. I knew
that in order for me to maintain a good life for myself and my son I
would need to stay serious about my spirituality and recovery.
26
 Armed with knowledge and a clear mind my brother picked
me up at the airport, Patrick. We are one month and one year in age
difference, although the personality differences we personify seem
like they could span a lifetime. I was excited to see him and was
thankful that he picked me up from the airport. However, he was in
the middle of his work day and was busy on the cell phone. There
were so many things that I wanted to share with him, with anyone,
but we drove home in virtual silence. Then I thought to myself, well I
think that people will need to see me live the life rather than just the
excitement of the moment at my homecoming, I had a lot to prove to
everyone, and I had many amends to make. My list of amends was by
no means a grocery list, well if you were feeding an army then yes, it
could be.
Work was waiting for me, cleaning my house, getting to
meetings, praying, my employer had given me an additional two
weeks off to get myself settled in, I needed it. There was much to do.
High on the list was finding the AA Club and getting a schedule of
meetings. Waving goodbye to my brother I went into my condo and
stood in the doorway. It was like there were ghosts in there, walking
up and down the stairs, sitting at the bar, in my bed, beckoning to
me. It was eerie, two months away and everything has changed, this
shell of a home was the perfect example of the life I led, it was time
to do some serious housekeeping here for sure. But that could wait,
meeting bound I laughed and wondered if I could still drive, sober.
The East Club, downtown Lansing, an old bar that had been
converted into the gathering place for recovering alcoholics, see any
irony there? I walked through the doors and found a seat, as usual my
fears were in full dress gear and I sat alone and opened my AA book.
For the next year you would find me every night in this club laughing
and talking with my friends, drinking pots of coffee, laying the
foundation for my new life. There were plenty of activities going on,
friends having gatherings, picnics, hanging out talking philosophy,
telling war stories, I found my clique and it was nice to be part of a
group that had a common goal. Yet, I didn’t feel as though this was
the answer; my path, there was something else knocking at my front
door, softly almost like a whisper.

27
 Incense burning, soothing my minds eye
having been cloudy all of this day.
A warmth spreads, an aura to soothe
many of the earthly aches we endure.
The incense still burns, yet not able to
carry away the failures I have been part of.
I have sensed them coming around the corner,
direction can be hard to follow, smoke travels
it’s own path. Conscious thought?
The embers glow.

Through it all I have always been a spiritual person, having

stumbled upon the dharma in my early twenties. Upon marriage I was
baptized as a Catholic at the urging of my then wife, I was always
looking for something so it seemed. Something to sort out all the
thoughts that spun around in my head. While I was at the treatment
center I had a thought that I could get “well”. I just needed to have
absolution and pay my penance. The counselors called a priest and
we did the deed. I remember sitting there, empty. Nothing touched
me like I needed, I wanted that spiritual awakening they kept talking
about in the meetings and books we had been given. Nothing. Nada.
Zip. I closed my eyes and breathed.

It feels good to close my eyes & think of what I know.

Remembering days of when life was easy, I was so free, walking
around with a simple smile.
Then it all came down, like a thunder cloud, sucking the wind
out of my throat. I could barely cope, so I just hid my head only thing I
could do. Filling the glass that was half full, over and over
again…soaking up my pain again twisting some lemons on the rim,
pouring salt in my wounds. It’s all I could do to try and forget about
life, watching the lights go down across this bayside town, walking
around with my head on the ground, pressing my tongue to the roof
of my mouth, taping my hands against my sides, closing my eyes to it
all.
Like a theatre show I watched it all play out, wondering what I
said, wishing I could pull the words back from the air, stick em’ in my
glass and choke them down, again. Lickin’ the tip of my pen, writing
28
with my blood and erasing with my tears, filling the pages up with all
the lost years.
I had scheduled a retreat at the Dhammasala Forest
Monastery in Perry, Michigan. I was looking forward to a weekend in
the woods and time with the monks. Thinking this is exactly what I
needed, I had buried my head in my books studying the dharma for
the past year when I wasn’t in attendance at a meeting and knew that
for me to fully engage in the spiritual practice I needed to be part of
the sangha, and I was only 20 minutes away. After that weekend I
closed the door to the AA Club and walked forward once again on a
new road, shining bright.
That weekend played a large role in my spiritual awakening.
Going back to my roots, digging deep under the brambles limping
around, crawling around on my belly, wallowing in that chaotic
delusion that I called my life. The way to cleansing my wounds I found
was the way of the pen; and taking hold of Buddhism again. Listening
to my memories, sorting them out, and walking into the backyard to
bury them where they belong.
Listening to the voices that have been calling me back home,
turning around extending my hand to the friend that has been so
patiently waiting.
Home.

29
Chapter 8 Blue Jean Buddha

Tires crunched, poppin rockie road, adorned with stooping,

large brimmed silent men & woman crouched, kids sweepin
flashlights,
spotlights on the goddess; she is accepting gifts.
the schedule reads—Meditation & Tea 9pm-sandals on mat
elder raised his eye, pointing me forward
tipping my hand in reply, parking my bike next to the ‘bait
shop’ sign—meditation 9pm temple doors welcome & open
breathing Nag Champa—like my dharma buddies
overflowingmy ashtray—tall like peter pan I shuffle on, sangha in line
behind
---stand still I hear—breathe, lopsided grin, holding things up.
Bows & passings---eyes low---hold breath
drum beat, chant, breathe out-tap tap chime, mantra’s
dancing,
naked feet bent behind, the time is 9 I missed Buddha in line,
serving Me tea, chant, no rant, tink and dink, drum beat,
happy feet
trying to beat the tops I popped in my sleep, soaking
the blisters on my feet, dreaming of days I was purified and
slept
in heat.

The monastery out in Perry is one of the most peaceful,

reverent places I have ever been, it’s similar to a slice of the East in
the heart of the country, nestled between corn farms, condos, burned
out barns leaning to the side from years of harsh weather and
inattention, a jewel in the rough. Driving up the entrance of the
temple the sun shined in the foreground, blinking like one of the
three gems. A weekend of refuge, symbolizing my spiritual rebirth,
my commitment to Buddhism billowing with the dust behind my
wheels, sweeping all of what I have ever known into the air. Acres
and acres of untarnished woods spanned before me, we were to
sleep out in the huts that had been constructed by those in the
sangha, under the stars and at one with nature in all its glory. I took a
deep breath and slipped my sandals off at the front door, bowing
30
before the golden Buddha, placing my gift before his feet and taking
my place on a mat.
Before I readied myself for the weekend I had found a small
book at Schulers Bookstore, an independent retailer in Okemos,
Michigan, “Blue Jean Buddha: Voices of Young Buddhists.” This mini
auto-biography of the young people in the West telling their
experiences as they walked the path of the dharma energized my
spirit and will to undertake with earnest my commitment to the
dharma that was always speaking to me, beckoning to me. Even with
all the clatter that danced in my head I still could hear the chanting,
the wheels turning never to stop.
Today I stopped, taking the time to still my mind and soak in
my surroundings. Tibetan monks lived here in this house, three of
them; one American and the other two of Tibetan descent. The
monks out here at the monastery live a non-sustenance lifestyle, the
community was responsible for feeding the monks and donating their
time and what money they could to keep the monastery running.
Right away you could sense the encompassing peace that emanated
from the walls of the monk house.
Brother John entered the room and prostrated before the
Buddha, his orange, hand made, simple robes ruffled as he took his
place in front of us. I was seated in the lotus position with the soles of
my feet pointing in the opposite direction of the monk in front of me;
pointing your feet in the direction of a monk is a vile insult, your feet
carry the filth of the world, I was sure to point them away from him.
John spoke of the upcoming weekend, and we began to chant
some mantras, a few were unfamiliar to me but with my ears wide I
was able to pick up the resonating sounds from the group and
participate fully, allowing the song to pierce my mind and stir up my
soul, I was fortified and ready for my undertaking.

31
Chapter 9 The Mala Moon

Poised and ready I gathered my pack to head down the path

to find my monk hut that I would shelter down in for the weekend;
the beauty of the trail woke my senses alive. The downward slant into
the forest forced me to pay careful attention to each step I took,
pulling my conscience into the forefront of my thoughts; I began to
walk in meditative from. Landing toe to heel, aware of the ground
beneath my sandaled feet, the muscles in my legs felt young and
strong, and I began to be clothed with the evening dew that was
settling on the grasses, filling my lungs with the scent of wild flowers
that adorned this carefully manicured trail; remembering, the way is
the deed. Cresting to the bottom of the trail, daylight faded behind
with my prints and the forest; with its majestic graceful eyes,
welcoming me with open arms.
Life, nature in all it’s glory unfolded before my sight. The short
walk to the entrance of the woods had cleansed my mind of the city,
the silence was deafening but with each step further into the woods I
began to feel like a maestro listening to the perfectly timed orchestra
of the Mother. I stopped in mid-step and took it all in.
Before this walk I took today, about one year ago, fear gripped
my mind and my ego was pretty relentless, solitude was not a friend
to me and I longed for companionship. Thoughts of the years alone
brought to fold something I wrote on one of those endless nights,
alone.
The mountains and skies tremble and shake. Fearing the day I can no
longer take.I walk the line thin in time, the night I long to see.
You are free to travel along with me being all that we could be.
The light of the moon will guide us tonight.With lips too stern, eyes
too dark, yet inside my heart light is peering through the night.
Inspiration and love to see; come travel with me, I will walk slow and
hold your hand.Thanks to you we can become, not the only one, but
brother and sister,father and mother, lover and friend. Even if the sun
didn’t shine and we walked through the day, the light of the moon will
always show us the way.

32
 Comfortable in my own skin I smile at the reflection, knowing
today that the friend I was looking for patiently waited inside, and
tonight we would come face to face with each other, peeling away
the masks that had hidden him so well.
Toe to heel walking deeper into the woods; off to the left in a
clearing, a leather tee-pee stood alone, chipmunks and squirrels
skittered out of my way as I silently walked through the brush to
stand on sandy ground. Rings of rocks littered the circle, there were
five fire pits carefully laid out inside another circle and the ground
looked as if it had been swept clean with a fallen branch.
I knelt next to the pit that was in the middle of this inner circle
and reached down to see if it was hot, heat rose to the palm of my
hand and I let it hover over the ashes, feeling the warmth. Closing my
eyes I imagined there were men seated around the raging fires with a
drum beat in the distance. The lull of the drum calmed my racing
heart, and the heat of the burned out fire under my palm warmed the
core of my stomach, sitting down I crossed my legs and I began to
breathe.
The music of the forest faded into the background and I could
hear the crackle of the wood and the sizzle of the sap, smelling the
scent of pine, the drums began to resonate shifting into the mantra of
compassion in my mind; Om Mani Pedme Hum. Picking up the notes,
my mind counted the beats and I fingered the mala beads in my jeans
pocket, lulling my body into a trancelike state.
Chanting and breathing I started to practice a purity exercise
that I have been taught, with each inhalation I visualize that I am
inhaling the suffering of the world, the sick, the lame, the hungry, the
emotionally tortured, slowly breathing in what I see to be as a black
substance. Holding the breath deep in my lungs I begin to create a
white light full of love, breaking down the black, destroying it, and
bringing it to life again as pure, loving energy, exhaling this love that I
have made into the air to be carried on the wind to land on the lips of
all those that suffer in the world. This practice not only restores my
energy, but it also centers my mind and the awareness of my body,
lungs, throat, and heart fortifying me with the energy that I will need
to start the healing process of my own.
Rising I prostrate to the fire, tipping my hand to the spirits I
had seen gathered there to guide me this weekend. The retreat is
33
conducted in noble silence, speaking only in hushed tones to anyone
that is near, we would all work together in the kitchen, and gather in
the meditation hall three times a day for teaching and training.
Tonight we were on our own and I looked forward to getting settled
in for the night.
Finding the trail and gathering my small bag filled with
candles, incense and my notebook, the clothes on my back were the
only ones I brought with me. I walked deeper into the forest keeping
my mind aware of each step I took, listening to the crunch of fallen
leaves under my sandaled feet.
The monastery has around 100 acres of land that was
purchased by the elders in Tibet, Michigan itself is an amazing state
with many hidden treasures, and I was pleased to have found this
place on the internet not too long ago. The month is September and it
is winding down with the trees getting ready for the fall, it was still
very lush green and alive today, a slight breeze caressed my face and
the path led the way.
Turning a corner I see a little hut off the trail, I parted the
bushes heading in the direction very quietly as I did not know if
someone has already taken residence in the hut, if so I did not want
to disturb their practice. The hut was empty and I opened the screen
door, the remains of the last occupant sat on a small ledge inside this
4 x 6 hut, burned out tea candles, ash of incense, and an empty pack
of matches lay on the shelf. In the corner was a small broom and I
swept the floor of the hut free of leaves and sand. I spread my
blanket out on the floor and opened my bag, reaching in I placed my
own tea candles next to the used ones, and lit some amber incense
cleansing the hut of any past energy. There was a single chair on the
semblance of a porch outside the tiny hut, going out I sat in the chair
and took in the scenery.
Evening was settling in across the tree tops and the sunset
broke through the branches reaching for me, a small clearing in front
of the hut was illuminated with the last light of the day and I was
brought back to a day when I was with my father at Mackinaw Island.
I was living with my father, being the middle child of three kids
with parents that had divorced and remarried, I found myself living
without my siblings and alone with my father. 16 years old at the time

34
I had just started coming out of my shell so to speak, experimenting
with drugs, mainly pot, and drinking when we were able to get our
hands on it. My brother, Patrick, and sister Heather had gone to live
with my mother and her new husband. I never figured out why I
stayed with my father, but there I was and we were getting ready for
a weekend up north.
My father had worked his whole life at General Motors in
Lansing, he married my mother at 18 years old, my brother and I were
born shortly thereafter, and Heather came along 4 years later. My
parents’ marriage was shortlived, my father was a practicing alcoholic
then and very abusive to my mother, they divorced when I was 5
years old, I think, and the next few years were spent with Mother
trying to take care of us. Dad would come over to the apartment
complex after a night of drinking verbally and physically abusing my
mother. Even though there were many good times, I really don’t
remember much of it all, doing what young kids do best, I retreated
into the safety of my imagination and books. This escapism was to
last most of my adult life, shy and insecure suffering with asthma I
often found myself sad and depressed through it all.
My father, John, and I had little in common as teenagers often
think they do, when we got into the car I was dreading every minute
of this trip and my resentment boiled deep inside. Putting my
walkman on my dad drove and drove, I listened to heavy metal music
back then and had long, bleach blond hair styled in the most perfect
mulett you had ever seen. From time to time I would take off the
headphones and ask how far we had come and my father would try to
talk to me. Talking of cars, the weather, the coming weekend, we
were to go fishing off the pier and I hated fishing unless I was getting
stoned.
Before we moved to the city our family lived out in Bath, a
rural community with many farms and we had acres of land to
wander on which was rented out to a local farmer who planted corn
and soy. At the edge of our property there was the Looking Glass
river, we never went out that far but instead we would hop on our
bikes to ride over to the docking area where they would sell bait and
rent out canoes, it was about an hour ride on our bikes as we
struggled to keep a decent pace on the dirt roads, our ten speeds
back then weren’t exactly built for that type of terrain. Loaded with
35
our tackle boxes and fishing poles we would head out day after day
during the summer, the river was the perfect place for us to get
stoned. My step brother Jimmy had come to live with us, the son of
my father’s second wife, and we were fast buddies doing all the
things that country kids did back then to keep themselves occupied.
Smoking pot with him at the river was looked forward to like a man
lost in the desert seeing that oasis in front of him needing a drink.
11 years later I find myself in the Oldsmobile Calais that my
father just bought, 3 feet away from a man that I hated, stuck in that
car for 4 and a half hours. It had to have been the longest ride of my
life, my father had to know that I couldn’t stand him; I myself could
feel it in the car, heavy like a thunder cloud.
Soon we were crossing the Mackinaw Bridge and I took off my
headphones to take a look around, this was the first time I had
crossed the bridge, and I knew the tales of the building of the bridge.
There were men that had fallen to their deaths while constructing the
bridge, forever entombed in the concrete pillars that supported us as
our tires hummed on the iron slats heading for the Upper Peninsula. I
felt trapped and frozen just like they did.
True to my escapist style to this day I can’t remember what in
the world we did at that island. There are a few pictures of me
standing on the pier fishing, and my eyes looked like they had no life
in them at all. I just wanted to go home.
Sitting on the porch of my hut, I opened my eyes to see that
the sun had set and the full moon had replaced it. I stood to walk
into the clearing where the beams were lighting the ground. Looking
to the sky and at the moon, I wrapped my mala beads around my
hand, looping it around my wrist and between my fingers, and I
prayed.
I prayed for the resentment that lived inside my soul towards
my father to be cleansed, and spoke out-loud to the woods. Father I
forgive you for all the words that you never said, Father I forgive you
for not knowing how to love your children in the fashion that they
deserved, and Father I forgive you entirely and completely for never
once telling me that you loved me, for I love you as you are and pray
that one day you yourself will be freed from whatever suffering you
walk with and learn to love everyone and everything you encounter.
Father I forgive you.
36
 Tucking the mala beads back into my hip pocket I walked back
to my hut and sat down, lighting the candles once again taking my
stance for the night, clearing my mind getting ready for the nights
sleep.
The moon shone high in the sky looking down on me with
purity, breathing out the candles I prayed.

Let your love flow outward through the universe,

To its height, its depth, its broad extent,
A limitless love, without hatred or enmity.
Then as you stand or walk,
Sit or lie down,
As long as you are awake,
Strive for this with a one-pointed mind;
Your life will bring heaven to earth.
~Buddha

37
Chapter 10 Slipping into the Moment

The hut I slept in felt almost as if I was sleeping right in the

middle of the forest, blanketed by the moon and the dew of the
coming fall. The walls were screened allowing the sounds of night to
penetrate and wake me from a very restful sleep. Even though I had
only slept for about 4 hours I felt refreshed and ready for the coming
day.
With each new day man is faced with freedom of choice, of
activities, of ideas, and the awareness that comes with knowing that
the bindings of society can only hold on as tight as we constrict them,
is a feeling of liberation that should not be taken as a God-given right.
For too many years I was one of the walking dead, and I
realized that today, right here, right now I was alive, fully alive and
breathing, and I am not someone else that I had tried to be for all
those lost years. I was happy to meet myself once again with the dew
of last nights cleansing, rubbing my hand through my hair, touching
my bare neck; there is no collar, no constriction of guilt or worry, and
no words left unsaid. Looking at the ground a light fog mist swirled
around my feet, blanketing me in the coming daylight trance.
I headed onto the path that led me here and started to walk
with the dawn of the day urging me forward, it feels good to not be
oblivious to the obvious and to not be afraid to look behind myself,
no longer expecting the wounded to lay in my wreckage waiting for
me to make my amends for my selfish pleasure seeking actions that
caused many of the people I loved so much pain.
Counting my steps I breathe and slip into the moment of the
moment, acutely aware of the beauty that surrounds me, seeing each
leaf on the tree as being connnected to me just as my feet touch the
earth, the ground that supports me also supports the roots of the
trees, and the trees feed from the soil, the soil where animals make
their homes, sheltering them from prey, becoming prey and then
nutrients as they decompose to feed the grasses that adorn the path
my feet tread, and I come full circle. Living in the world as one is
much easier to see when clarity is all that blocks your path;
connectedness, nothingness and isness seperating me from my body
opening my minds eyes; walking as one with one.

38
 Maybe I am just a dreamer, but I am sure that I am not the
only person in the world that dreams of peace, dreams of happiness,
dreams of a better world; but now I know that these dreams will
come true as long as I am peace, am happy, am a better person, and
can look at everything and everyone with compassion and love.
As Thich Nhat Hahn speaks: ”I am peace, peace is me, I am
becoming peace.”
Yes I am. Peace. Peace is me. And I am becoming.

39
John C Sweet also writes under the pen name; beingjohnsweet lives
in Lansing, Michigan. John has been writing poetry, short stories
since his early teens.
As a practicing Buddhist you will find John’s work to be very spiritual
and enlightening, having studied under Tibetan Monks in Michigan.
While still believing in Jesus, John has also sworn his vows as a
Bodhisattva; a spiritual teacher to any who seek to learn about
Buddhist Philosophy.
John has published multiple works of poetry under the name John C
Sweet, and beingjohnsweet:
Published works:
Beingjohnsweet
A Distraction into Reflection
Urge the Last Word
Lettin’ it Be
I Remember the 6th of September
To the Earth We Fall-written with Christie Marie, fiance’
Drumbeat Down
The Evolution of beingjohnsweet
WordSpeakNetwork: Satiatied Sunrise-anthology for the writers of his
community for WSN Radio.

John is a recovered alcoholic and drug addict. 3 years sober John is

living proof and can attest to the fact that life is full of hope and
happiness once one can shed the chains of addiction. Within his
works you will experience many of the trials one is faced with starting
over in life at the age of 30, 39 years old today John writes for
healing, growth, enlightenment, and a personal form of therapy.
Many have said Johns works to read like scripture.

40
Influences include, but not limited to; the beat generation; Jack
Kerouac, Alan Ginsberg, and Charles Bukowski, transcendalists; Walt
Whitman, Thoreau. Lastly you will find influences of Kahil Gibran, a
master poet and philosopher in John’s eyes. John weaves many
aspects of the greats into his own unique form of writing and his
poetry is fresh, inspiring, electic and shocking at times.
John’s latest venture and passion is the writing of lyrics. His first song
titled: Cold Blood was performed by the Indie band: Affirming the
Consequent, a sweeping song that takes the listener far away and
right into John’s world. The next project on the horizon is mastery of
lyrical poetry in the hopes of being recognized as a serious force in
the music industry.
Host of WSN Radio, one of the top radio shows on
BlogTalkRadio.com, inspired many writers and afforded them the
opportunity to reach a global audience, bringing the art of poetry to
the forefront of the mainstream media, with over 50 shows aired
garnering over 120,000 listeners around the world. Johns concept of
live poetry on the internet has spawned many shows that have
enjoyed much success.

41
42