Fifteen Years to Find This Moment

It took me fifteen years to get to this perfect moment.

Nobody ever accused the Bitter Spiritualist of being quick on the uptake. Nobody. Fifteen years ago I started to wake up, got scared, attempted to take a nap for the better part of a decade, and now am wide awake. Or I have gone off the deep end, made a complete societal break and will be institutionalized any moment. Either way I am going to share the beginning of my wake up call. My story, the story that landed me in this moment, the eternal bliss of the here and now.

I was the Bitter Performer for a long time. As talented and humble I am as a writer, I was tenfold as an actor. A shy kid, big imagination, teller of tall tales, a lover of movies and television,. They were, and are, a place of entertainment and comfort for me. It surprised me when I listened to, and acted on, the voice inside me that said be an actor. Huh? It scared me to my core, being in front of people was not my comfort zone, more my cringe zone. Through a series of choreographed randomnesses I began my journey in earnest at an acting studio in New York City, Manhattan Edge. Cheesy name, amazing place, teaching actors to work moment to moment, whatever that meant. I would leave work, take the subway uptown, have a casual vomit on the sidewalk, break out in a glistening sheen of sweat, sheen to rivulets, and walk up the stairs to the studio.

My brilliantly crazy teacher, we'll call her The Gambler, stuck by for months as I would begrudgingly get up on stage and freeze up. Reciting lines by rote, automated, autopiloted, the only emotion, gut busting, piss inducing fear with a splash of occasional anger. Maybe she needed the cash, maybe she liked having a full class listen to her sing Kenny Rogers, maybe she saw my courage to keep coming back when any self respecting sane person would run to the nearest saloon for a whiskey or six. Yet I kept coming back, week after painful week, sweat stained and vomit breathed, I would sit in the corner dreading my time to work. Embarrassed, hiding, worried about my poor classmates, how uncomfortably boring they must have been watching me crash and burn, how awful I was. Yet I was young and stupid, a beautiful combination to keep doing what your heart tells you to do. A quality I am reclaiming!

Then one night it happened. I popped. Pop! I was onstage by myself, doing by best robot, teetering on the brink of something. Teetering on the brink of the moment. The Gambler kept nudging me, prodding me with her emotional dildo. Trying to get me to feel, to let go and share myself with the class. And then it happened. Pop! I was a laughing, crying, screaming, yelling, snotty beast, a howling wolf, tapped into a well I knew not existed. In awe at it's depth, it's power, it's freedom. Who was this guy? I want to get to know more of him. I was feeling. Twenty plus years of pent up emotion came flooding out of me. I tingled from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. I had never felt more alive in all my life. I was working, in the moment. The perfect mix of ecstasy and amphetamines. Ahhh Just right. The exercise stopped, I retreated to the recesses of my mind, yet knew that I had had a profound experience. That the veil had been pulled back, my eyes opened, and I felt something more powerful than I knew existed. I was beginning to wake up.

Soon thereafter I found myself at The Gambler's acting camp in upstate New York. Ten days in the woods with a bunch of people that scared the fuck out of me, learning how to act and emote, learning how act in the moment. Intense. I was getting more and more comfortable diving into my emotional well, being in the moment on stage, I knew it was safe, it felt great, and chicks dug it. I still would resist, but The Gambler was there to push me, get me out of my head and into my heart. If felt great to feel, and to give that feeling a voice. And I was an actor, working, and my job was to be in the moment, acting.

Two fellows in that camp really wigged me out. I'd seen them at the studio, they were real theatre folk. Brilliant resumes performing high brow stuff I only pretended to like or read. Shakespeare? Godot? I was more on the movie star track. I will call them Earth and Air, for one seemed just about ready to float to the heavens, and the other to plant roots where he stood. Something about them disturbed my peace, big time. Not a word said to them in our previous meets, I'm sure I mocked them, silently, they freaked me the fuck out. Later I learned they were healers and energy workers.

Yeah me too. Healers? Energy workers? Hippies, they didn't dress the part, but they fell into my category of hippies. New Age phooey shysters, preying on the weak minded. A tarnished Catholic boy, I was convinced that God did not exist. Sure if he came down in his long white robes and talked to me, I may have said hello and did his bidding. And I had my bases covered, I was confirmed for Christ sakes, but from what I'd seen and experienced, God was a genius work of fiction. Pure entertainment for desperate fools and morons. But Air and Earth were nice guys, for hippie snake oil salesmen, so I found myself circling their orbit. More for comic material to laugh about, and they would laugh with me.

After a particularly courageous exercise in emoting, I sat in my chair on the grass, feeling great. Earth and Air beside me, their peaceful serenity annoying as always. And then it happened, I was attacked, viciously, without warning, an attack that would change my life forever. By a butterfly. This menacingly beautiful little butterfly started dancing around my head. Earth and Air, chuckling as I became concerned. What did I have in my hair that was so attractive to this pest? Was I seeing things? I moved my chair, and the little fellow followed me. I was not getting away from him. I gently tried swatting him away, and he would elude me and come right back, circling.

Earth and Air started to share with me about animal magic, animal medicine, and that the butterfly was a sign of transformation. Yeah, yeah, sure it is weirdos, sell your tonics someplace else, this cat ain't buying. It must be my shampoo. But as much as I tried to deny it, that little fucker would not leave me alone. He seemed to have an agenda. I became annoyed and they became amused, the two New Age ooey gooeys assuring me it was okay, I didn't have to believe anything I didn't want to. You're damn fucking right hippies! And which one of you sprayed me with butterfly musk?

So the day went on, more acting exercises and fun. The day over, twilight settling in, the sky begin to reveal her panorama of stars, I sat by the pool alone, unwinding, denying, wondering what the fuck was going on. And it started to rain, a gentle torrent of stars started raining down on me. Sparkles of light flowing out of the sky falling to earth. I couldn't believe my eyes; I was seeing things; Something was seriously wrong with me; I was tired; My eyes were tired; They must have spiked lunch; This country air does strange things to city folk; I needed a cigarette; Definitely someone had slipped me a mickey. I came up with a million excuses to prove that this was not happening. I couldn't be, I didn't know what it was, but whatever it was it couldn't be happening. Unequivocally this was not happening. No fucking way. Then the butterfly came back for one final hello, circling my head, silently whispering in my air that I wasn't crazy, that I wasn't alone. A whispered wake up, that for the first time I was seeing.

Tears flowing down my cheeks, the butterfly flew away, his job done, the door opened, a new messenger to take his place, Air coming out to enjoy the evening air. I attempted to tell him what I had just experienced, attempted to deny what was happening, trying desperately to get some control back, get some proper distance and deniability. He smiled and quoted Shakespeare "There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy."

I worked with Earth for years off and on, learning about this magical world I was introduced to, this being I didn't recognize when I looked in the mirror. Sure I've had bumps in the road, detours, years denying it to myself, building up a layer of protection, letting my ego run the show. Well I am back, another layer of truth was revealed to me this past week. The years lying to myself were perfect, exactly what I needed to get to this moment, the moment that really only exists.

I am learning and loving. And it takes work, it takes conscious intention to remain awake to the moment. Any beautiful garden needs attention, some weeding, and I am excited to roll up my sleeves and get to work, digging. I may have bumps in the road, I know this, or maybe I won't. I know that I no longer need years of retreat, I can transform in a moment. I AM WIDE AWAKE.

I am done with my story! I am excited to let life unfold in each perfect moment. Let's continue with this grand experiment, I'm releasing this story, it's now off to the Universe. I'm going to go play with Jolly - that's my Mom's dog perverts.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh.............

I asked the Universe for Trust in her infinite magical abundance.
And she gave me a rent increase and a blown head gasket.

I asked the Universe for Courage to let go of attachment.
And she gave the "it's not you it's me" talk from my tango mate.

I asked the Universe for Joy to overflow from my heart.
And she transitioned my brother over to the other side.

I asked the Universe for Strength to own my light.
And she gave me the chance to dim it with judgment.

I asked the Universe for Grace as I dance with Spirit.
And she brought a road filled with potential potholes.

I celebrate getting what I asked for, grateful for the inner peace.
Filled with Love, knowing each perfect moment unfolds as it is meant to be.

Bitter Spiritualist has gone Bitter Capitalist

Hello Loyal Masses -

As you may have noticed there's been a few changes to my meanderings. As I've already posted we have taken the The out of our title. It makes for easier listening and more comic stylings.

The second change is in our ever expanding acquisition of wealth without actually getting a real job, we have monetized our website. I signed up months ago to make the change and hemmed and hawed as to whether we should or shouldn't go corporate. Well the coffers are light and the staff was bitching about another week gone by and no paycheck, so we pulled the trigger.

It is my understanding that the more times people click on ads on our site the more opportunity we have to get a few duckets for my words. And we are professionals here, and a professional is someone who gets paid for what they do. We have been called up to The Show and are in the big leagues now.

Am I being a shill? Selling out? Quite possibly, that is what the aforementioned hemming and hawing was about. Yet I am putting in a little time to this blog, making attempts to entertain and inform. Fuck, why not get paid for it? People do far less and get paid far more.

In my ever expanding empire I want you to be a partner in this experiment. No not an equal shareholder, hell I do most of the work so I am going to reap the cash benefits. But I will be letting you know how much we are making. I like the idea of transparency in business.

To date - by which I mean today - we have received (after some advanced algorithms and such) exactly zero dollars. So if you are feeling so inclined, click on to one of our sponsors and it will be registered with the good people at Google.

So click once, click twice, click and win. As always, no pressure, but remember it's for the children. Remember the children.

With pockets full of change, and a song in my heart, I remain, full of it.

My Dad

My father was a fantastic Dad. A man I strive to be like each day. A fighter til the end. I was blessed to spend the last months of his life helping care for him as cancer took his body, but never his humor or his Spirit. My Mom asked me to write something to commemorate the July 10th anniversary of his transition to the other side. A limerick came to me so I thought I'd share it with you, the Bitter Spiritualists' loyal masses.


A man of many titles, husband, father, friend.
Fisherman, footballer, vacationer, gardener to the end.
Hard to believe, gone three years to the day.
Beautiful memories hold the heart ache at bay.

Your humor there to light up the room.
Your laugh, your wisdom chasing away the gloom.
Your generosity legendary, always there in a rush.
Your colorful language could make a sailor blush.

Today we remember not what is gone.
Rather we celebrate you, and how you live on.
Each that knew you, a better person for it.
Our hearts soar knowing the eternal garden you sit.

July 10, a day like any, you bring us a smile.
A tear may be shed, but not for a long while.
You'd want us to laugh, to share in a joke.
Husband, Father, Friend, you were a brilliant bloke.


I miss you Dad, not a day goes by I don't think of you. I love you.

Goodbye Capital T, you've been, well, capital.

Dear Capital T,

This is Goodbye. Don't cry, we are still going to be great friends.

Big T you've been with The Bitter Spiritualist since the beginning. You and me, The Bitter Spiritualist, sharing a laugh, a thought or two, my rabid insecurities; boy we had some fun together. You were right there when I came up with this new idea and moniker and there when I decided to share my words with the world. A fucking thrill a minute joy ride, and now the ride is coming to an end.

I, The Bitter Spiritualist, am feeling a bit sad and would be remiss if I didn't highlight a few great Capital T's in my life, so you and I know everything will be okay. Two T's to make the pain a bit more bearable.

First and foremost, Mr. T, who put the Capital T in T. I met him while watching ABC's World's Greatest Bouncers, breaking through doors and ringing bells, apparently bouncing requirements. Then as Clubber Lang in Rocky. Can't remember if I knew his real name Capital T, but then in seventh grade "The A-Team" (two of you present in the title) premiered and he became Mr. T, and to a lesser degree B.A. Barachus. I'd not heard from him in quite some time until 2002 when some newly minted friends read excerpts from his autobiography. Mr. T was right, no ghost writer needed, Mr. T was back on my map. It might have something to do with the three great friends who reintroduced me to Mr. T, yet he did jump out his bedroom window clad in his skivvies firing pistol shots at two guys who may, or may not, have messed with his Daddy sitting on the stoop. It's a must read, an even better listen in your best Mr. T voice, as it was presented to me at The T Club Mexico in Santa Monica. A fantastic two Capital T pub. A place to laugh, cry, hoot, holler, hear a madman read aloud from "Mr. T: The Man With The Gold", and watch Boston sports. Now, as you know, it has morphed to The T Ranch, another great two Capital T pub, with regrettably readings less frequent.

At The T Club Mexico said friends introduced me to a fellow who I am now happy to call friend. Possibly crazier and more colorful than Mr. T, but smaller, more Italian and, as far as I know, without an autobiography. I have witnessed his genius in action, a small sampling until the autobiography is written and/or published - Came up with the slogan "It's a velour suit, get on Bitch." on the same day he showed us all how to laugh and be repelled with his patented Kung Fu grip; Full disclosure - The Bitter Spiritualist pinched the name The Avid Outdoorsman from one of his lies told to a lady. As The Bitter Spiritualist doesn't name names, I will leave this T's official Capital T nickname untyped to protect his identity.Clearly a modern day Prophet.

The Bitter Spiritualist came along years later. As he and I got to know each other, I realized he wasn't so formal, that The Bitter Spiritualist wanted to be known as the Bitter Spiritualist, or Bitter Spiritualist, or BS. He doesn't need you big "T" to open any doors for him. We appreciate all you've done, being a part of our start and our original title, but I am officially dropping you big T. As you read, there are cool people and establishments caring the Capital T torch.

Not to worry "T" I will use you in many other places; my highly paid creative writing projects; love letter to Mr. T; notes on neighbors cars like, "Your title is now The World's Biggest Parking Prick." And in sentences posted on the Bitter Spiritualist like "The Bitter Spiritualist in now the Bitter Spiritualist. The Bitter Spiritualist realizes the majority of you don't give a fuck and know that the BS is full of BS, but not about the BS name change."

So you'll be used extensively, just not formally on this site or any of the BS writings. And yes BS is so much easier and funnier than The BS.

So Capital T, I thank you. I needed you for a little while, but it's easier this way. I leave you in the capable hands of a Illinois bred gun toting preacher known to have rocked a small Italians world on film, and a Massachusetts reared, Balboa-esque, original Avid Outdoorsman.


Sincerely, I begin being,
Bitter Spiritualist

PS: Forgive the typos, I wanted to get this posted to you from 37,000 feet. Yes my first Airpost to you Capital T.

Reading The Signs From The Universe

I am seeing signs from the Universe more and more, and I am attempting to make heads or tails of these messages. Some signs are easy to understand, others a bit confusing. I'll share a few, but certainly not all of them, my fingers would cramp if I typed them all. And you my reader would be bored, there’s only so much narcissistic dribble even you my loyal masses can take. Full of myself? For sure. Boring? Never! So here's the highlights:

Idling at a light last week, I let a woman pull out (saintly act), giving a school bus the opportunity to pull in front of me. A NPR (Liberal Prick!) story about how dangerous it is to drive a bus in Guatemala on the radio. The reporter mentions the old Bluebird buses imported from the US at the same time the bus pulls in front of me, yup with Bluebird right smack there on the bumper. Later that day a friends post inspired someone to write Bluebird as a comment. Hmmmmm? Am I suppose to go to Guatemala, I have been putting it out there that I want to visit Central/South America. Or is the Universe saying nice work for letting the woman out in to traffic?

That night I was at home watching Season 4 of "Lost", I had been hearing this new noise in my house. A beep every now and then. This was the second night I heard it, after some investigating I discovered in was my Carbon Monoxide detector telling me his battery is low. I took it down to quiet it. I was half watching "Lost" when the sound starts again, the exact same sound. I know I've pulled the battery from the detector, and I'm freaked. It was on the show. It got Jack out of his office so he could see his dead father waiting for him in the other room. Okay, what does this mean? My Dad saying hello from beyond the grave? I'm going crazy like Jack, or are we? Am I Lost?

This weekend The BS had a lovely out of town visitor, she and I have known each other since back in the day. She mentioned an old classmate of mine, what a great guy he was, hadn’t heard his name in 20 years. Then today, quite literally while I was typing about signs from the Universe he made a friend request on Facebook. I did some inquiring and he had not talked with her, he just saw that she and I were friends and decided to ask. His path is through Jesus Christ, from our brief note exchange I gather his teachings helped him from "all the BS". He also stated I should forget about the signs from the Universe and look for answers in the Lord Jesus Christ. I wish him nothing but the best, and am happy for him, but I'm quite taken with my path (and myself) and have no need to be saved. And to ignore "the BS" would be to ignore myself. A bit freaky in the timing, fuck I might not believe that one if someone told me it. But it's true, the lord does work in mysterious (magical) ways.

I’ve also had a couple of great ones recently regarding what I am doing in this world. They could go under the heading Career, or a bit more dramatic, what is my calling. I'll just say that I do believe I am on the right path and I am trusting. The coffers are a little light, but I am trusting that I am in alignment with what I am meant to be doing. And yes, I am taking the light coffers as a message - Get to Work! It also gave me the opportunity to receive some additional feedback from the Universe.

The whole seeing the signs, synchronistic, serendipitous event triggered The Bitter Spiritualist's brother to chime in – he being an integral part of one of the two magical Career signs. In his beautifully poetic way he was a.) wondering if I had a psychotic break - which I assured him I had had a long time ago, and now was bitter but sane(ish); and b.) pointing out how full of myself I came off as, riding my high horse, infused with the power of The Lord, wondering if I could change water to wine (the wine/water bit was mine 2 cents). It is great that The Bitter Spiritualist is, um, blessed with this outspoken sounding board of a sibling who can kick the BS out of The BS. He's a very smart fellow, and his tongue sometimes makes mine look candy coated. I love him to the tips of my toes. His opinion I value heaps, his wrath I valiantly try to avoid. He is one of my biggest cheerleaders. We are very different and quite the same. I am so grateful for his love, his wisdom, his support and his "Are you fucking insane or just a douchebag?" questioning. He helps The Bitter Spiritualist remain grounded, somewhat humble, and keeps things in perspective. He’s my litmus test, a reminder to know and love (fear?) my audience. Nothing can be force fed to him, he is going to make me work for every bite. So believe me, I am not attempting to choke any of you with my BS, I respect us both far too much to make those attempts. That happens when I get some real power and a can be a true pompous arse - a boy can dream.

Do I think the Universe is talking to me directly? ABSOLUTELY! Do I have a case of the specials, that I am somehow better than anyone else, that I can do the water to wine trick? FUCK NO! I am learning and loving. One man's sign from the Universe is another man's coincidence. And I am making neither man wrong. It's all up for interpretation. I’ve detailed my thoughts about having all the answers in a previous post, The BS Disclaimer. Let’s just say the word fraud is used liberally, better yet read it yourself. God I’m shamelessly plugging my writing in my writing – I am a self involved over inflated fellow, but so very delicious, even with my bitter aftertaste.

I am learning. Learning how to live and love and what my operating system involves. And learning how to read the signs. I’ll take the sign from my old classmate that The Bitter Spiritualist is on the right path and that preachy doesn't work for me. The Bluebirds? Fuck if I know, maybe becoming a Guatemalan School bus driver isn't a good career move. The Smoke Detector? Hello Dad, I love you, I miss you and thanks for saying hello. For now I am going to take them all as a pat on the back, that I am doing what I am suppose to be doing.

Thanks for reading. Maybe there was a sign in this post for you. Definitely a clear sign I've gone off the deep end. (Okay that sign has been hanging for a long time.) A sign that you love The Bitter Spiritualist or you have had enough of this nut jobs malarkey. It's how you read them, what you want to see is what you want to see. I can discount anything I want, or not. I'm choosing to believe there is magic, that the Universe does talk to me. If you don't, I'm not here to judge. Your feedback, comments, heckling, stories, recommendations for a nut house, are most welcome.

Keep your eyes peeled and your heart open. There is magic in this world, you just have to look for it and believe.

The Bitter Spiritualist! NOW WITH LESS BITTER GOODNESS?

Numerous accusations have been hurled at The Bitter Spiritualist that he might not be all that bitter. The tabloids have been hounding our home office looking for a response to these outrageous claims. I'm presently meeting with the legal department to sue these people. (It's the American thing to do, and a whole lot easier than getting a job.)

I can see where some of you might read my posts and think that he's not bitter at all. Well truth be told I'm just sparing you some of the bitter taste that is me. It's a flavor best enjoyed alone.

To prove to myself I am bitter I had to look up the word. Sure I am The Bitter Spiritualist, but I'd never looked up the meaning of my name. Before you judge, have you looked up the meaning of your name? I thought not. And if you have, you're a narcissist just like me. We should go for coffee sometime, ignore each other and talk about ourselves. I know I'll be witty, urbane, handsome, charming and humble. I'm sorry were you saying something? Anyway the good people at Websters Online* gave me this:

Pronunciation:
\ˈbi-tər\ (SOMEONE SHOULD TELL WEBSTER HIS "e" IS BACKWARDS.)

Function:adjective (GRAMMAR USAGE CORRECT. CHECK.)

Etymology: (WHAT THE STUDY OF BUGS HAS TO DO WITH THIS DEFINITION, I HAVE NO IDEA)

Middle English, from Old English biter ; akin to Old High German bittar bitter, Old English bītan to bite — more at bite
Date: before 12th century. (OLD ENGLISH AND GERMAN, TOGETHER AT LAST.)

1 a: being or inducing the one of the four basic taste sensations that is peculiarly acrid, astringent, or disagreeable and suggestive of an infusion of hops — compare salt, sour, sweet b: distasteful or distressing to the mind : galling - a bitter sense of shame ( TO THE DOUBTERS OF MY BITTERNESS UNDER THIS DEFINITION, THERE IS ONLY ONE WAY TO FIND OUT. OPEN WIDE AND SAY AHHHHHHHH, HOPSY SALTY GOODNESS WITH EVERY LICK. GALLING I KNOW.)

2: marked by intensity or severity: a: accompanied by severe pain or suffering (a bitter death) b: being relentlessly determined : vehement (a bitter partisan) c: exhibiting intense animosity (bitter enemies) d (1): harshly reproachful (bitter complaints) (2): marked by cynicism and rancor (bitter contempt) e: intensely unpleasant especially in coldness or rawness -a bitter wind. (UM, YEAH, I'M CONFIDENT I FIT INTO ALL THESES CATEGORIES. IF YOU DISAGREE WITH ANY OF THESE DEFINITIONS, YOU'VE JUST EXPERIENCED THE CANDY COATED GOODNESS I LEARNED AS A LITTE GIRL IN FINISHING SCHOOL, NOT THE FULL BOUQUET THAT IS THE BS. COME ON, INTENSELY UNPLEASANT, HELLO! OKAY "RELENTLESSLY DETERMINED" MAY BE A STRETCH, MORE MILDLY INDIFFERENT.)

3: expressive of severe pain, grief, or regret -bitter tears. (OH I GOT PAIN, I JUST LIKE TO BOTTLE IT UP AND LET IT OUT WHILE DRIVING OR PLAYING WITH CHILDREN. GRIEF, YUP GOT SOME OF THAT, AGAIN BOTTLED AND OPENED WHEN LISTENING TO MY CELINE DION ALBUMS. REGRETS I'VE HAD A FEW, BUT THEN AGAIN I WAS DRUNK AND DON'T REMEMBER.)

Phew. I am still bitter. Thank goodness, I feel better, I mean bitter. Now I can continue with my litigation and writing my original post on GRATITUDE. Stay tuned.......

*The Bitter Spiritualist is not sponsored by the good people at Websters and no I am not paying them for the use of their definition. Same goes for the Bitter Booze pictured, I just lifted the images from Google. If you would like to sponsor The Bitter Spiritualist feel free to email me directly for the address. In addition to being bitter, I can be bought.