therapy.

1.

Therapy. 

Death metal and violent video games style. 

Hey, I spend the other remaining hours of each and every day mindfully, or at least attempt to, so a little mindless self indulgence once in a while never hurt anyone. Sometimes that’s all it takes, all a person needs is some fun.

Getting playfully plastered with your best friend, circulating the wonderful toxin around In your body, enough of which to kill that bug that’s taken residence up your ass, loosen the knickers a bit. 

We’re generally way too up tight; not saying getting drunk is always the best therapy but for someone like me, it is. I’m not a drunk or an addict or a junkie, I just like to get out of my head and have some fun on occasion, alcohol being the best answer, most times. It’s not always pretty, but with the right people and the right place, it can be a thing of beauty. 

It becomes less a social experience than  it is a shamanic one, feeling as if I’m taking part in some ancient ritual, passed down through generations, with its intent in contacting the other side. I feel that way because it is that way. You could look at the science of it and bore yourself to sleep or you could look at the spiritual science behind it, the one our Western minds can’t touch. 

2.

Ritual. Loud music and chalice style. 

A seance of slurred words and liberated bodies, freed from anxious shackles. Psychic bondage. 

Getting freer now, movements become more exaggerated, staggering and swaying. Dancing. Bobbing to the beat either in your head or outside of it, caught up in a feeling, emotion takes over. This is where it gets tricky.

To those who aren’t comfortable with their inner worlds, drama ensues; loud, emotional outbursts of jealousy and anger. One shouting voice becomes two, then three  or more in but a matter of seconds. The fight response dominates and everyone is suddenly very brazen, more so than usual. This is an unusual circumstance. Conversations become passionate, heated; logic gives way to charisma and you see the person behind their mask. Some masks are better left on, however; take heed and pick your drinking partners carefully.

To those who are more comfortable in their inner worlds than the outer, the experience is perceived very differently. Insight deepens, the heart expands and shines bright, healing light on all those it touches. Blood vessels dilate, the pulse evens out and the edginess you carry around as your shield dissipates; there’s no need for it here anymore. You’re free. You’re safe. The negative becomes numb so the positive can come forth. Shy ones and quiet ones experience it this way, the thinkers become the feelers the know they are. Relax, little one, for you can breathe easy now in this acceptance, for we are all drunk here, let that be your shield for the night. Find your security in yourself again, speak your mind and heart, let yourself be truth. 

3.

Theory. Armchair philosopher style. 

For therapeutic purposes, it’s best to choose a partner matching your own temperament, such as two reserved types or two un-reserved types. This lends to greater understanding and appreciation of each other’s thoughts/feelings and lessens the chance of misunderstanding, which greatly improves the positive impact of this work. 

Things always get off to a slow start but there is no need for haste; we have all night. 

4.

It’s now an arms race into slow oblivion. It’s no longer quite known if time is slowing  down or speeding up but is irrelevant, either way. 

barstool philosophers

  You can learn a lot from the time spent next to someone on a barstool. In fact, some of my favorite, best and most intimate talks were under the influence and with the inebriated.

  I have a soft spot for occasional drunks like myself. I don't hurt anyone, and I'm a lot more responsible about it now than I was in my more self-destructive formative years.

  Alcohol is a drug, and as such should be treated with respect and a healthy dose of discretion (and moderation.. sometimes) but it also has its merits, and is not without certain positive attributes. One of which is the lowering of our carefully constructed defense mechanisms, that are often times put up to keep others from ever entering the fortress.
  Now, you can take that statement any way you like but for my purposes I'm talking about letting people in emotionally. So often we're all shut in and shut off from other people; can't trust anyone, don't know who to trust, you've been hurt too many times and are scarred now, whatever the case the story is the same for most all of us in some way. Alcohol gives us a little window of opportunity to let our hair down and open our hearts without fear of judgement and really, when you're drunk you could really give a fuck less.

  Shouldn't it be like that more often?

  The meek grow mighty (and occasionally unruly, unfortunately), the quiet become chatty or perhaps the chatty revert and begin to listen for once. Results are not typical and it's not the best drug of choice for a lot of folks but for the rest of us, it's nice. Just be nice to yourself and give it the respect it deserves and let yourself open up a little. Try it, you might like it.

9.2.13

  Well kids the party's over, it's time to go home. Time to re-hydrate, rest up and recuperate from a weekend of good food that's bad for you, good booze that's worse for you and questionable conversations that definitely entertain you. All in all, sounds like a good weekend to me but now it's back to reality. I think they have that statement backwards, though; reality is what constitutes those care-free days, it's the daily grind that is fantastical and I'll defend that position if it kills me.

   A little spontaneity is good for the soul... Instead of cutting the fun short with some great people by having to be drab and socially responsible to drive back home, my girlfriend and I decided to stay and pitch a literal tent in the grass. Our decision was awarded by cold beer, mountains of food, completely uninhibited yet intelligent conversation and most importantly, love. The epic outdoor breakfast prepared over hot wood coals wasn't a bad incentive, either.
  It's just amazing how you can meet some people you've never known before yet feel like you've known them all your life, and they take you right in. You fit. That, my friends, is a very real thing and having to cut yourself off from that to go back to voluntary slavery is the real crime.

  But, we get through it; rinse and repeat. You go to work and try not to lose your shit and just do what you need to to make it through until the next time you get to go back to the one true reality, that little place where life and celebrating it together intersect. That's where you want to be.

 

drink your bliss

  I wish drinking was like meditation: I could sit there, glass in hand, just gazing out with soft eyes at the life that surrounds me.

  Most times I do.

  More times than not I don't.

  I stare hard at the glass, and feel as if the liquid inside of it needed to be somewhere yesterday. I drink with a purpose.

  Thanks, social anxiety.

  But sometimes, it's just that good. One tasty craft beer deserves another, after all; like potato chips or Pringles, you can't have just one.

  Maybe next time I should bring my cushion and sit lotus on the floor..

More or less..

  I call now to the witness stand my own inner aspirations, because there seems to be quite a lot of inner conflict going on these days...

  The trouble comes from feeling the need to do more versus needing the feeling of doing less i.e. relaxation. Real relaxation, not just sitting my ass in a chair for five minutes, I mean no phone, no computer, no nothing. I need space and nature and a total disconnect before re-connecting again. This argument comes on the coattails of questioning my own yoga practice and how it balances out with my many other fitness aspirations, and furthermore, what those even are.
 
  I like obstacle runs. Spartans, Tough Mudders, trail runs or just regular old mud runs; I like that challenge, and I like to feel challenged and pull through something I didn't think I could. Part of it is just primal, the other part largely ego-driven, I'm sure but nevertheless, it's important to stay active and in good overall physical health, right?
 
  Well, yes. And no.

  You see, keeping a challenging physical routine going is not bad in and of itself. What's perceived internally as being negative is the stress and pressure I pile on top of myself every day to do something, anything, because if I don't I must surely be a failure and am going to be overweight tomorrow. Yes, it's sickening.
  I'm 29, 5'8 and 151 pounds, so I don't have much to pinch and thanks to my diligence in the past I have a fairly sculpted physique; I'm not chiseled out of stone but I look and feel good. I have run a Tough Mudder, a Spartan Sprint this year, a bunch of other 7+ mile trail runs in winter and other foot races of varying lengths. I'd say I'm in pretty decent shape.

  But it's never enough. I want more and be harder and faster and stronger but all the while the cortisol builds and my nerves are constantly frazzled. I thought exercise was supposed to help decrease stress?

  So this got me to thinking: What am I doing? And more importantly, why?

  I'm still not quite sure of that answer but in the meantime, I've convinced myself that I'm not a super-athlete, nor do I wish to be, and it's ok to take a day off. It's probably more than ok, actually. You know, go meditate for ten minutes to clear your headspace, have a nice dinner with your family and enjoy a beer dammit, because you earned it.

  Less is more, and it's a continuous struggle to completely assimilate the teachings of that lesson but it's getting there; like all things, it's a work in progress. Cheers, friends.

 

Eat a Peach.

  Ok. Admittedly, I've never been a huge Grateful Dead fan; I respect the adoration and devotion of their fans but I never really "got" the whole thing. I still don't know that I do but without straining my mind on it, I've come up with that it's just a lifestyle more than anything, the festival life/ roadie life/ hippie life. Doing the tour circuit along with the band, following them wherever they may go.
  That's a portion of them, the rest just like some chill ass music to take drugs to, not that I have anything against that; I mean, it's better to drop acid at a Dead show (or any other side band affiliated with them) than, say, The Acacia Strain (even though I like them too). There's certainly something to be said for any band who has maintained such a devoted following, and of generally positive things. Sure, there's lots of "drug" use there but people just want to escape for a few hours to a place of magic and wonder. Can you blame them?
 
  Coming fresh off a weekend music festival high up on Montage Mountain in Scranton, my faith in humanity and life itself has once again been salvaged and restored, for the most part; there's always a handful of assholes but that's just life. The whole thing was beautiful, though. My girlfriend Rachel might disagree (haha) with me on that because not everyone's idea of fun consists of trudging up a ski slope to your tent site but for me it gives me camping wood, plus the view was to die for. And let's not even talk about the sunsets. Yes, be jealous. Then get yourself a ticket and go next year!
   Anyways, there was a lot of initial anxiety regarding not being able to camp with your vehicle, as I'm accustomed to, and having to grab your gear, head to a shuttle pick up area, load up then be taken to the camping area. The first trip was disorienting and exhausting but we managed to be broadsided by the kindness of strangers, thanks to our neighbor, Bob. I forget what Bob does or where he came from but for a few hours we co-existed as if we've known each other for years. It's that random kindness from people you don't know but who are there for all the same reasons you are that really make me go all soft inside. It's a beautiful thing.
  Now, Bob isn't perfect. No one is. He was a little clingy, got belligerently drunk and nearly inflicted permanently disfiguring oil burns on all of us by his drunken clumsiness around a camp cooker but we survived, and the fact of the matter is he went along back with us on our second trip to the truck to grab more gear. Had we not met him, it would have taken three trips back and forth, easily. The man even fed me beers until I got my own, so he's ok in my book.
  Rachel and I walked around with Bob the first night, got drunk and just wandered, eventually losing him but ending up laying on a blanket gazing up at the clouds on a beautiful mountain night with The Allman Brothers Band as our soundtrack, hoopers and trippers surrounding us, the landscape awash in grooving bodies and lit up by glow sticks and the air perfumed by marijuana and patchouli. Definitely a good night.

  Eventually, we ended up back at the tent, just what time it was exactly was irrelevant at that point, and that's the beauty of festivals. Shit, camping in general or just spending time in nature does the same but couple that with three days of music and no reason to be anywhere soon and you're living, my friend. You're living.
  It doesn't take long for your biological clock to reset itself. Maybe you go to bed early, maybe you stay up late but get up earlier. Do whatever your body feels like without having to strap yourself to a schedule. In that respect, I definitely get the whole vibe of these bands and their fans, that culture. And it is a culture, for sure. Me, personally, I feel very much at home in it, for the most part. I dig the earthy/artsy/eco things in life, and I like to live simply as much as I can, but there's always a part of me that's either ready or at least accepting of the fact that the dream can't last forever; at some point reality has to come back in to play.
    We got to spend one more whole day of just resting, relaxing and exploring on Saturday, which entailed checking out Karl Denson's Tiny Universe's whole set, along with jamming out to Citizens Band Radio later, who just tore it up in that southern boogie style and capped the night off with round two of The Allman Brothers, who opened up with my favorite tune, "You Don't Love Me". Don't let the title fool you, though: I was definitely feeling the love all weekend long :)

  Our weekend came to an end that night, as we sat together in our tent with the "door" open, letting the cool night air in, just taking in the sights and sounds, and eventually turning in, cuddled up together in the chilly night air. The weather was perfect, as was the company the time was spent with.
  We didn't stay for any of the bands Sunday, as I'm ready to get back home and unpack and relax before getting slammed back into the vocational doldrums Monday. I would have liked to see The Black Crowes but there's always another time; I'd say we did pretty damn good with what we did do, as so often it's easy to do too much at a festival like that. Bonnaroo especially, since there's so many good bands that you want to see but you just can't do it all. Times like that you just have to take a minute and breathe, remember that this is supposed to be your relaxing vacation, not work with more schedules and having to be somewhere at a certain time. If you do, fine. If not, even better. It often goes that the best show you see is the one you never planned on by a band you never even heard of.

  It's a little depressing seeing everyone suck back into themselves, packing up and going back to their own individual planes of existence in their corner of the world. You go back to being total strangers but you'll be back, and there will be a whole other completely new and different, yet similar, brand of experiences with people you never knew you knew.

  This makes two festivals for me this year, and as much as I'd love to make it three, it just may not be feasible. I have to be careful not to spoil it for myself though, as these things can be an addiction of their own, and sooner or later it loses the appeal for me. I never want it to because for a few days, I get to live off the grid. I can turn my phone off once I get there (after making the appropriate calls to loved ones ensuring your safety) and not worry about it until it's over. I can feel like a human being, I can feel like myself and not have to answer to anyone or put on a front to appease my employer.
 

   Until next time,
 
   See you there.


-Shane
8.18.13

Hipster Fasciitis

"Standing stoic, eyes like bright statues against an emotional undercurrent; the intellect is what binds."

  Yeah, something like that. I'm standing in a grungy basement surrounded by people I refuse to associate myself with; a very definitive hipster dilemma, I would say. The band my friend and I are here to see is (the) Melvins, but I can't pull myself out of my head; it's a pretty normal thing for me, so I'm not worried.
  Looking around at all the arms folded across chests, these arms covered in tattoos, everyone wearing painted-on jeans and shockingly similar eye wear. There's a couple to my left who coordinated their outfits well, tonight: the ubiquitous skinny jeans on both sexes, tattoos, "hipster glasses" and identical Adidas footwear. I throw up in my mouth a little.

  I don't know, I guess I've always had some sort of issue with conformity in one way or another, and even when I did (conform), I could reason to myself and others logically exactly WHY (I thought) I stand/stood out. Most times, I only have my ridiculous theories tested and dissected, leaving me a bit like a sullen adolescent. It's hard to be original these days, and even when you are you run the risk of becoming a schtick; you cease to be human and instead exist as a living, breathing gimmick. You could wear a meat suit or light yourself on fire but then it just becomes shock and awe for its own sake, a pitiful cry for attention in a world where no one is listening.
 
  But they're talking. And soon, meat suits become all the rage.

  I will try all day long but ultimately cannot deny my interests and tastes are decidedly "hipster". This is my generation, so I guess I might as well stop fighting it and just laugh; at myself, and others. Quietly though, hipsters probably offend easily.

  So now what? Where do I go from here now that I see my fate? Ok, I guess I should get back to being  somewhat present at this show, since I did pay money and drive two hours to see..

  There's always those who have a good time, no matter what, no matter who is playing. And there is always the other 3/4 of the audience (whom I've described earlier) scrutinizing the band howling and gyrating onstage like they were some strange bug caught up in scientific documentation. It's like that for us hipsters; I do it plenty. It is, however, interesting to watch and I turn that scrutinizing eye not only on my fellow audience but myself, as well.
  No one moves. Magically, the Melvins come on and everyone's heads and necks become instantly unglued, teetering and bobbing back and forth to the first four seconds of the opening drum kicks. It's amazing stuff, and if you've never noticed it, well, then just keep reading my stuff I guess.

  The 30-year vets of eclecticism lurch through a set that I have no idea of the exact length; I'm drunk and busy watching hipsters but losing myself in the double-drummer attack all the same. I never see the band once, except for the occasional glimpse of the frontmen through armpits and under chins.

  It's ok. Really. Sometimes its better to just close your eyes and be a hipster like no one's watching.

21st Century Yoga Man

  There's a bit of a stigma attached to being a yogi in this day and age; I guess to be fair, it was that way in all days and ages but especially in this one, only because I'm completely caught up in it. By the way, a great big nod to King Crimson (in the title)..

  The stigma of being a yogi is something I'm not at all uncomfortable with, as I've always walked a different path in my own life, perceived and translated things differently than possibly the norm. So, the social stigma does not concern me so much as the personal stigma I impose on myself.
  You see, I'm a bit of a purist when it comes to things, and am very much an all-or-nothing type of person. I remain a bit cynical of technology (though undoubtedly hopelessly yet willingly bound to it, and recognize its importance, or at the very least, merits, in our modern society) and tend to reject most of what is considered popular opinion in favor of anything "traditional". I'm a bit old-school, in that sense.
  Now, this is really not TOO much of an issue unless you are as neurotic as I am, and insist on tracking down that unicorn of perfection: It simply does not exist and I remain painfully aware of this, further complicating and contradicting matters. So, I have a confession:

  I love beer. Craft beer. I love the culture and the "scene" and everything about it, even the snobby ones who smell grapefruit and buttered toffee in the nose.

  The conundrum is that alcohol is about as un-yogic as it gets. It really does nothing positive for the body or mind or humanity in general, for that matter. But I love it. Ok, at the very least I just highly enjoy it, because I view it from the culinary and alchemical perspective: It's a process to brew it and takes quite a bit of ingenuity, basic knowledge of natural ingredients and definitely an insistence on high quality to make it in this market. There's also a lot of passion in it, and I can speak for myself and many others to say how rewarding it is to track down a long sought-after beer and enjoy it either with good company or good food; preferably both.
  All these things are contra-indicated to the path of the yogi, however, and as I do not like to do anything half-assed, this creates a bit of inner turmoil in me. I generally do not mix the two; I will do my yoga early in the morning or before the last meal of the day, then treat myself to a beer later with said meal, or just abstain altogether, depending on the day. This method generally works but I still feel that nagging in the back of my skull that tells me, "clearly you are not a yogi at all, and don't you dare talk of yourself as one". But here's the thing:

  I AM one, a yogi.

  No one has ever said anything to the contrary or tried to tell me otherwise (mostly because it's not something I broadcast in my daily life) but no one has to because that voice comes out of me, and even if someone else were to, I probably wouldn't hear a word of it anyway.

  The point is, if I have anything resembling one, that the fact remains how we do NOT all live in India, or in caves, or can afford to practice every nuance of a tried and true yoga practice every day, though it is good to read up on your classics to have a fucking clue as to where it all came from and what the original intention behind it is; knowledge is power, after all. (And it's sexy, too..)
  We live in a pretty confused time but I think it's probably always been this way. It's just not practical to give up all our earthly possessions and vices and become strict ascetics. Some do, and succeed and seek what they sought to find but for the rest of us morning, noon, night and weekend warriors, well: It's every bit as important to have a life, too. All considerations taken and put aside, once you start to restrict the things you love, especially that you may only enjoy occasionally, you create more anxiety and resentment within yourself and this can manifest in any number of ways, none of them good.
    Without getting into a long discourse of what a true yogi is and is not, let's just say that it is likely for all peoples' best interests EVERYWHERE, despite belief sets or personal dogma, to take care of their bodies and their minds; this, of course, meaning through intake and output, in all manner of ways. Food, water, air, clothing, expression, emotion, conduct, etc; it's a lot more than just funky postures. No one ever said anything about not being able to enjoy the things you love in life. So, I suppose the age-old maxim "All things in moderation", is really the most practical advice of all (granted common sense is being utilized).


  I'm no closer to an internal settlement with this little personal debate but for now, I will continue to love BOTH beer and yoga, each in their own time and place.