Bumps In The Road

The Bitter Spiritualist is experiencing a few bumps in the road. The Universe in all her beauty has given me an opportunity to get in touch with some anger.

My computer was infected with the trojan virus. Crafty little fellow that creeps around telling me my computer is infected and that i need to download software to fix it.

I am happy to report I am using some of the tools we've discussed. Just wrote a brilliant anger letter.

Please check back, I will posting again in no time. And if you feel inclined send some love to my sickly computer.

Double Digits!

The Bitter Spiritualist is happy to report double digit followers! TEN! Thank you all, and to those countless millions reading but not becoming a follower on record, don't be shy join the fun. I have no idea what that means or entails, but boy does my ego like to be stroked.

Don't fret my faithful followers, another post later today. An introduction to another member of Team Bitter Spiritualist.

The Universe in all her beauty has blessed The Bitter Spiritualist with some technical difficulties, inside and out. I'm going to kick a puppy and steal candy from a baby as in payment to The Universes blessing.

Stay tuned..........

Abundantly Broke!!

Today my beautiful car went on a little field trip to visit her Swedish countrymen.

She had been crying for some attention. Her green tears first noticed in a pub parking lot, on St. Patrick's Day. The IRE sticker was insult, this an outrage. She had had enough. I would refill her ducts and she would cry even more. This went on for weeks. Then the crying became sobs, her reservoir could not be filled enough. I pleaded with her, just stop the tears for a little while longer, let me get a paycheck and then I will seek professional assistance.

Alas her tears pained me so, her temperature rising I had no choice, she needed help. I had no idea where the money was going to come for said help, yet she needed some lovin'. I got the news, she needed a new water pump and thermostat. Gulp! How much? Wow, that much? You can't use some duct tape and sealant? No. Do what you gotta do. I kicked around, feeling poor, feeling weak. Worried how the money was going to come. My focus myopic and mundane. A fine mess I've gotten myself into.

Fucking foreign car! Fucking Bush. Fucking School. Fucking Universe. I hate having no money. I hate being poor. Fucking Bankers! Fucking credit scam! Fucking Volvo! Fucking Idiot. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! The blame game at full throttle. Then a vision came to me, by vision I mean mailman, pardon, letter carrier. Heard him more than saw him. Maybe I can pay for my car today. Off to the mailbox, come on baby, let there be a check in there. Desperation; fear; the cringe as I realize that if there's not a check in there I'm going to have to borrow money. Again. And then I stopped myself. Literally stopped myself in my tracks, took in a breath.

Do I want to attach all this gunk, all these fears to my poor mailbox? To one check? I need to use a few of my tools! What an opportunity to make a different choice or two. And what's all this about being poor? I'm not poor. Broke sure, not poor.

I have never been more broke than I am right now. I could make failed attempts at the blame game ~ See above. Fucking Bush! ~ but I take full ownership of where I am right now. And why wouldn't I? I'm Broke!! Abundantly Broke! I have not been this happy in years, maybe ever. I feel richer today than when I had my coffers overflowing with cash.

In the past I've been poor, which is very different than being broke. Sure they hang out together, yet they are not the same. To me poor is a state of mind, a state of being. There's never enough. The world seems a drab shade of gray. Being poor is not fun. Being broke has it's moments, like today when I worried about how I was going to pay for my car repairs, yet I am light years away from being poor.

Broke is just a stop on the journey of life. Sure I have no money, but I am appreciating all that I do have. Great friends who will feed, clothe, and house me if need be. A beautiful apartment near the beach(Fuck where is the rent going to come from!). A loving supportive family. My health. A fancy foreign car. The list is endless. I'm not poor at all, I am rich beyond my wildest dreams. I just don't have any money right now. What an opportunity to live in abundance.

Back to my great mailbox adventure. With a new mindset, a little more optimism, I strolled out to the front yard. Keys in hand, tune in heart I open the box. Surprise! A beautiful thin white envelope, not a bill this time, an honest to goodness check. Enough to pay for the repairs, and even some left over. I ain't broke, I am rich!

Yes I am ready for some more income. Money doesn't buy happiness, but then again it's not the root of all evil. You hear me Universe?! I'm ready for some currency flowing my way. And I am so grateful for all you have provided for me. I'm ready for more!

I'm not saying that the check wasn't going to be there if I hadn't take that moment. Then again I ain't saying it would have been there if I hadn't.

What I do know is the slightest shift in my focus and I was filled with gratitude, not despair. Full of promise instead of hopelessness. Full of riches, not empty pockets.

Now I'm off to my Yankee voodoo doll. I'm not saying that I'm the reason the Sox are going to sweep this weekend. But then again, I'm not saying I'm not the reason for the sweep. Go Red Sox!

Love, light and a chilly Budweiser.

Bitter Spiritualist Disclaimer!

My people are angry. Angry enough to make signs!

As newbie into the blogging world, I read other bloggers. They are writing of quantum mechanics, how to be of service to your fellow man, Peace in the Middle East, a sure fire way to meet your soulmate. Big stuff. And the great ones touch my heart, inspire me, their eloquent words shared with such grace, wisdom and insight. And some have fancy titles. Fancy degrees. Homes in Malibu and Maui. Teach self help seminars. Are motivational speakers. Scaled Everest, blindfolded. Won an Academy Award, a Nobel Prize, and a Pulitzer all while blogging from an orphanage in Africa. Written 12 books, translated into 87 languages. They were on Oprah man!

And I read some of my earlier posts and it looks like I'm on easy street. I got this life thing figured the fuck out. A man with a plan. A spiritual ninja, a self help warrior. Problem comes up, tool bag comes out. Shazam! Solved. Thank you Universe, I am your vessel! Even more enlightened than before. Happy as a pig in shite. Oh how I need to share this with my people.

My post written. Another day another life lesson. Brilliant! Let me read it one more time. Mr. Positive overcoming another issue. Being supported by The Universe. The Bitter Spiritualist coming to a theater near you. Skipping on down the road, whistling a merry jig. Beautiful. Inspiring. Print it! Oprah here I come sister.

Then it hits me. This overwhelming feeling that I'm a fraud; that I am just talking the talk. Fuck I hate those people. I'm sitting here in my one bedroom apartment. Sucking on a lung dart. Stuffed to the gills on Chinese food. Nary a penny to my name. Debts no honest man can pay*. Two hundred bucks worth of Tony Robbins CDs still shrink wrapped in the bookcase**. Worrying about being liked (loved?). Going to bed alone, possibly after some Internet porn, okay likely. Bouts of doubt and misery. Hours still spent avoiding, in all it's beautiful manifestations. Sox ~ Yankees baby! And I'm giving people pointers on how to live a fulfilling life?

I'm not even original. Even this post isn't original. Triggered in part by my inspiration to start blogging thinking I stole her idea. And looking at it, it does look like I pinched the idea. I can sit here and justify things (times, dates, witnesses, refrences), yet some part of me obviously feels guilty. Fucking Catholics and our guilt! I just want to shut down, hide in the weeds.

And I'm writing a blog? And sharing some life tools? Who am I? This is being done by much more qualified people. Why would anyone listen to me, a piss poor bitter thieving arrogant cunt?

Don't.

Anything that seems like advice, my pardon. Anything I claim to be original, has been done before. I've wrote it once, I'll write it now, I'll write it later. This is an experiment. I'm just arrogant enough to want to share it with you. Come on, why have an insecure moment, a true emotion, a thought and not share it with the world? I'm compelled to do this right now. Maybe I am a fraud. Fuck it, I'm going to revel in my fraudliness.

It's all practice. This post? Practice. What did I just practice? Writing; a little ownership of my fears, my doubts, my joy, that I don't have all the answers; sharing some insecurities, always a good one for me to practice; practiced keeping commitments to myself and to my reader(s); practiced standing on my own two feet; some honesty; a little compassion....I know there's more, those are some damn good ones.

And now let me practice a little prizing. Nice work! Job well done! Nice tie in to the last post. Fucking genius.

Good night.

*Springsteen lyric
**Pattison lyric

Practice?!

PRACTICE.

The word has been coming into my life quite a bit in recent days. Every where I turn it's been in my face. Sports stories, articles, bits of conversation, signs, practice leaps out at me. In the past practice was something I wasn't very good at. Playing sports as a handsome young lad, practice was more about making the guys laugh than learning. Later in life I never really practiced anything. I still don't.

Last night I traveled out of my overheated lair to a flick, "Enlighten Up", and practice was everywhere. It's the filmmakers journey to see if yoga practice can change someones life, enlighten them. An avid yoga practitioner herself, she picks this likable non-spiritual guy to begin yoga practice. Never mind his mother is a Shamanic healer, he's non-spiritual. The pull of his mothers' influence and his attorney fathers' is a nice line through the film.

Midway through or so, the two are in India traveling from yogi to yogi, seeking out answers. And there it was, caught on tape. A sign "Believe". And not just any sign, but a Red Sox sign. And you know I love a good sign from The Universe. The filmmaker is from Boston, she saw the signs, went for it, got her movie into a theater and me into a seat. Not too fucking shabby.

I've taken a few things from that sign. One I want to go to a yoga class, wanted to go for awhile, but haven't gotten myself there. And two, yes, practice. Not necessarily yoga, not likely, yet I'll report back after I do attend a class. The film brings up the idea of practice as way of getting closer to god. I'd never really thought about practice that way.

I suppose I do practice a few things, well at least try to practice a few things. Meditation, prayer, checkmarks, being kind to others ~ I'm reaching here, I didn't say I practiced a lot of things, very well. And I do believe those are ways of connecting to god.

So instead of the ability to knot myself ~ Which I'm okay with not having on my resume. Dating women with that ability on their resume, another story. ~ Why don't I put practice into other things in my life? Things that give me joy; That let me live in abundance; That get me closer to God.

Because it can be a fucking pain in the ass, that's why! And sometimes I just want to fuck off. Get lost in the fog of LA. Whine about my cards. Be hopeless, stuck, lazy, spoiled, shy....blah, blah, blah..... Thankfully those days are fewer and fewer. They were exactly what I needed to get right here. Now I need to bring practice into my life. No brainer on where I'm starting my practice. I've already started it. Now it's time for some serious stretching practice. Sweat puddle, ass crack showing, palms to the floor practicing.

I am a practicing writer! Everything is practice. Just writing it is freeing. This ain't no final curtain call, it's practice. Maybe Allan Iverson was on to something. In the past I'd been a non-practicing writer, a dabbler more than a practitioner. I am ready to learn, ready to fall splat, ready face some fears, some demons and become a practice-er. A committed practioner.

There's a few other things I want to start practicing. One commitment at a time.

Dutch Oven Madness

It makes me laugh every time it is said. Dutch Oven. Just laughed typing it. Love the Dutch Oven. Laughed again.

A few definitions are in order. THE Dutch Oven that makes me laugh is an age old trick. You are in bed with your significant other, or a $25 hooker for that matter. Snug as bugs. Then you pass some gas and pull the blankets over their head. Sealing them in nicely to marinate in the stick that is you.

I am happy to report that I've never attempted the Dutch Oven (laugh). Nor has it been attempted on me.

The other Dutch Oven (laugh), the one I experienced this week is an instrument of magic. Cast in iron for our cooking enjoyment. It's wielders, true masters.

I have been a fan of watching people cook for most of my life. I like watching people do a lot of different things, hence my challenge to actually do, and not just watch. My early television memories involve Julia Childs and Jaques Pepin on PBS. Loved Geoff Smith ~ The Frugal Gourmet, I even liked him after he badmouthed the corn beef at Doyle's in Boston, and was accused of diddling a few boys. Man could that pederast cook.

I loved how much they loved to create, and how much they loved to share their wisdom. They could put all these random things together and come up with something completely different, something magical. I still love to watch. The Food Network is amazing. Yet another reason I don't have cable, I'd get nothing done. They really figured it out. Giada Di Laurentis? Hot chick cooking for me? Brilliant. Genius. Yes I did hate it when she introduced her husband on the show. I'm sure he's a great guy, but it really broke my fantasy.

I have great memories of watching her cook with my Dad. It was an afternoon stop for us during our day. I was staying with my parents, helping care for him while cancer ravaged his body. Never his Spirit! Sure we really wanted to know how to cook pasta, it had nothing to do with her low cut tops. Nothing! My late brother even worked for the network in its early stages. Hmmmmmm.....Maybe I should stop watching, seems a wee hazardous to the men in my family.

Luckily I have stopped! Okay it is my must watch when staying anywhere with cable, but I don't get out much so I think I'm safe. And I have created some amazing cooks that happened to be friends. Sure they are a bit more surly than their on air counterparts, but the love they emanate is the same. Such enthusiasm, exploration, teamwork....A beautiful communion of friends creating deliciousness.

This weekend I was introduced formally to the Dutch Oven (smile). A true melting pot. Chicken? Throw it in! Sausage? In. Along with everything under the sun. Now I'm not the cook remember, so I don't have any recipes. I can tell you two different kinds of fruit juice went in. Chicken, sausage and fruit juice? Okay I'll trust you. What they created, I don't have a vocabulary big enough to describe. Nirvana. Bliss. Amazing. And I don't even like chicken. Then it was a peach cobbler. Cripsy, gooey, sugary, buttery.......Oh I want some now. And a beef stew fit for a king. Everything cooked all day, possibly all night. Slow, an opportunity to stop and smell the dessert flowers.

All done in an archaic cast iron pot. On coals from real firewood. In the desert. At an out of the way campsite. Stews may not be the what you think of in 100 degree heat, but wow.....Ahhh yeah, look up mastery and these cooks will be there, somewhere. Possible under the 10 Most Wanted, but they will be there.

These masters of meat are to me a great example of love in action. The time, creativity, devotion and practice they share is love. Pure bliss, and for that I am grateful and pleasantly plump.

As I sit here attempting to end this, I'm wondering where the point is in this post. Then I realized I just wanted reminisce and savor their creations. Perhaps inspire myself to start cooking more! I'm off to burn some toast.

(Pictures to follow. I promise they are worth checking back for.)

Happy Patriots Day

The Bitter Spiritualist is taking the day off from a proper post to celebrate Patriots Day. It's Massachusetts way of say you are most welcome for our courage and strength. Also a way for us to practice our stellar humility. So humble Massholes can be.

The Red Sox won! The Celtics and Bruins will win later today. And (now this is a guess, I've not checked yet) two people from Kenya won the Boston Marathon. Maybe Ethiopia or Botswana or Nigeria, but definitely Africans. Great athletes from there. Think of them as the Bostonians of Africa.

Have a Happy Patriots Day!

Tune in tomorrow. Dutch Oven madness!!!