he is you

Someone said, take him by the hand and guide him, he is yours, in fact, he is you. Do not tell him for he will not understand that, but he is you. Do not try to protect him anymore than you would try to protect yourself. Allow him to grow and knowing what you know now, change him where appropriate, but remember he will fight you, for his map was map was predestined and any change will not only alter him but all things around him, ALL THINGS.

You may tell him what you wish and although he will not understand, someday he will remember. Spend as much time with him as you want or as little as you want, just remember once you enter his life, he will depend on you. Once you give him something he will offer something in return and a thank you from him to you will not be good enough for him. He will want to give more and will not understand when you refuse him. He will give you the look of rejection and contemplate as only a grown up can and YOU will feel what he is feeling, only worse because you can understand it too well. Shower him with material things, all youm wish to bestow upon him but just know he will pick and choose as you did and sometimes his choice may not be yours, for he might be his own person, where and when you were not. Be gentle with him and he will treat you the same.

And most important, love him unconditionally, because it is this, love, he will yearn for always, search for until a last gasp of air has been breathed, and fight to have, simply.

Having the knowledge that my future is 'terminal' and I am actively dying can BE a literal end to living, if you allow it.

Life around me continues to move forward I watch people and friends and acquaintances less tolerate looking at my demise,

And I remain planted, but completely unsettled,

knowing that if one physician would change his or her perspective on my diagnosis

I would move forward and uproot and still appear worthy of an investment to others.

Now, I am seen as a calculated risk, a reminder of what all people try to ignore,

their own mortality.

I live knowing this is my new reality .

It thundered. The was lightning. It poured.

saturday 06.05

I awoke with no thoughts, which must mean I have quite a few stored, so many so, that I am not sure which one or ones I feel like thinking about. It is this time in the morning , on a saturday, that I can, if I want, reflect on the week, reflect by myself on how I am doing and what I need to do to feel a sense of accomplishment not just for a day's sake, saturday, but for the sake of my day's past, a week past. Sometimes I will think further in the past, only briefly, forcing myself back to the moment on hand and the thoughts present.

I look at the clouds, rain clouds, awaiting to pour, the dampness already projecting dew on the ground and I wonder when they will open up with fury and drop an inch or two of rain as expected by the papers and now all those living around me. I too wonder when I will open up and pour with fury and allow my emotion(s) to run raw, my internal silence deafening to my surroundings and to me. I follow my regiment, with disgust and take the required medicine to keep me functioning. And I say with disgust as it is a large quantity of medicine to be taking, in my humble opinion, and I know, having asked and researched even further, the medicine itself is somehow fooling my body into more days of life while causing more damage to what it is fooling, simultaneously. And as I separate from my body, I understand this metamorphosis and also understand that when my body discovers this phenomena, my organs will fail, not one but multiple.

So when I ask as anyone would, I think, how much longer and what I can expect, another smile is tossed my way, caught of course and cherished, and I smile back and the question is ignored and the answer is muddied at best, reminiscent of a puddle outside our house, stepped in and remembered but easily forgotten as an unwanted mess too.

Like the clouds I too wait and think and wonder and continue forward about my day knowing inconvenience, perhaps will 'dampen' spirits but that, like my thoughts, inconvenience shall pass for another day.

...'I’m also very grateful that I stumbled upon your blog, Eric. After only knowing you a week, you’ve been a catalyst in changing not only what I think about, but how I think about a few things. I hope you never take for granted the impact you can have on another life, even if it is only for a short while.'...

friday 05. 05

Happy Cinco De Mayo is in order for this day, having just finished ready the historic nature of today I learned that margaritas with extra salt, shots of tequila, blue chips with hot salsa and tortillas, lots of tortillas and not exactly celebrations of 'proper' decorum. Mariachi bands and parades are more traditional, but considering the holiday is more popular for Americans than for Mexicans, it really doesn't matter anyway. Yes, we were involved in the invasion of Mexico, but we like the English pulled back and the French, led by Napoleon refused to surrender and thus, they were defeated by what is now the Mexican army, which surprised me, because I actually thought the Mexican army was more for show than a reality.

Well considering that somewhere in history we eventually fought the Mexicans again and they lost, to celebrate over this won battle, if there is such a thing as a winner or loser when it comes to battle and war, there really is not that much to celebrate, but either way, enjoy. It gives us all some reason, not that we need one, but another reason, as lame as it may be, to celebrate and with celebration comes laughter and we all could use a little bit more laughter in our everyday and it's just an added bonus when that laughter happens to be coming on a Friday.

So I say, for whatever it is worth. 'A drink to all of my friends'.

There was something about innocence when I looked at this photograph of my youth. I then turned it over and saw '2 year old'.

a copied copy of a copy of 'stephen' ,an original piece

On the computer, fellow blogger ben ( now that is funny, 'hello fellow blogger so and so...") gave me an idea, well actually it was his idea and I am stealing it. I do not think he will mind, but BEN, if you mind, I did give you credit for the idea and I totally do not have the same 'loves' as you, although they are right up there; so I guess what I am saying is, allow me to talk about painting, my painting and painting in general sort of, as my love, more importantly, abstract figuratism, now that I am doing it anyway...I am an artist of sorts, one that works with visual work, canvas and watercolor paper; pencil, charcoal, dyes, marker, water colors, acrylic, canola oil and/or gauche; abstract; figuratism; male figuratism; large scale: 6 ft by 7ft or smaller 24by36 or in between 4ft by 3ft, to evoke a response, a feeling from the viewer. I chose the male figure because it was uncommon and more uncommon for a male artist to paint the male figure. I did not choose abstract, it chose me by initially entertaining me with 'the masters' work (Deibenkorn, Picasso, Park, Pollock), but art history bored me; although, I loved to read about those artists that started the firgurative movement, more attentive to the figurative movement in the San Francisco Bay area during the 50's and 60's. I did not invest anything above average in time and memorization and study of theory, color or otherwise. I spent well above average on table books of my favorites and other work(s) that had 'it', but those have all been given away now.

And although art history itself bored me, I was fascinated by the critics and am even more 'drawn' to a piece, if I have that 'find' go off in my mind, that I know not why, but only if it IS good, really good feeling. And any critic, in my humble opinion that wants to take something that is so subjective and try to place value or rationale on it, put it into a category or school of thought and try to tell what the artist was expressing or simply lacking, I tip my hat off to. Personally, it is 'chatter', and nothing more than simple judgment at a given moment.

There is no black and white, only days worth(s) of shades of gray and I applaud you for doing something that causes persons to second guess their 'raw' talent, their 'raw' emotion, their ego or parts there of and even still, to create a self defeating prophecy.

For many of the masters who I have learned of, starved through life, where on the cutting edge of insanity or the brink of, but actually were ahead of their time, only to be shunned and discarded like smelly garbage during life and praised with brilliance in the afterlife as 'great'.

And this concept, repulsive to me in theory, continues today and the term 'starving artist' "tags" many creative minds as society still believes there is a black and white and thinks only inside the box, instead of outside the box, leaving many true artists bohemian, extremely raw and undiscovered for the most part. And art, like athletics, can only be learned to a point, at which time raw talent kick in, takes over and helps the mind create. Good is good.

And the rewards, which I have had, showings, monetary, accolades from collectors, still do not drive me any harder to completion. I make art when I feel art and otherwise the art is forced. I have art that has sold, been shown, won exhibits, won best in shows, been given out of thought, as a suggestion, out of anger, to pay off a debt or my own disregard and unwant of the piece for whatever be the reason, been stolen and been lost over the years and some I know where it is and other pieces I know nothing about, only that I did it and it is missing, but remains in tact in my mind.

I have more to create and intend to, or as I have so UN-eloquently been told, 'your intentions are good, but your follow through is less than desirable'.

thursday 04.05

So yesterday I found myself preoccupied and bogged down with some areas of clutter that needed to be addressed, and I did, to free up some more room in my mind for all I want to do and all I have to say. And as today begins and I reflect, I will take wednesday and file it away, and realize I just didn't have all that much to say or said it through different avenues, other than writing.

I thought a lot about what I wanted to say but ended up taking a long nap instead, and since I usually do not spend much time napping, I definitely seized the opportunity when It felt right and I just crashed out and it was all good. Somehow, Norton has found his way back to my borrowed room and he has decided to re-squat internally, which baffles me considering I threw his ass out tuesday with a one way ticket south, or so I thought. I show him gone, but trust me, he is back and lets me know everytime I login.

I need to start preparing for my trip to San Francisco and have decided that IF offered, I would definitely take the role of a gypsy, Italian preferably, the next couple of months and just explore. I always thought the idea of world explorer was less than exciting as there are many places I probably would end up that I did not desire to see. However, I have re-thought and decided that traveling has a purpose and to travel light, better. And especially if it is going to be less expensive to fly first class than it is to fly coach, I could twist my arm and accept a formal invitation to world explorations, as long as I had plenty of bottled water and a decent pair of olive colored merell's.

And in the event that I returned with some self righteous 'I am better than another for traveling', I would expect no less of someone to hide my passport and travel moneys. Over the years I have experienced one or two acquaintances that took the 'holier than thou' approach upon departure and arrival only to 'project', leaving the rest of the room feeling distant and alone.

So today I will try to 'loosely' plan trip details, concentraing more on the possibilities than the details themselves. As long as I am in the know, somewhat prior to arrival, I will travel fine. And physically, I have been cleared for another trip, although at this point it is fairly obvious the team of medics are not going to prevent me from doing too much that I choose to do. That day of prevention will come and I will hang up my back pack and not wish for more or less, just focus my energy on the larger travel picture. But for today, it is California and I am, without expectation(s), looking forward to some high energy in the city by the Bay. And since this trip already has prompted the airlines to give me a voucher toward another, it has already been a good trip and surpassed expectations.

my ladies and me

my mantra

the only 'things' I keep in life
are those I give away.

'your call will be answered in approximately less than 5 minutes'

AND I HOLD: 'I am in a crack and I do not like being in any crack, especially a government crack'. I AM SORRY BUT ALL REPRESENTATIVES ARE CURRENTLY BUSY. PLEASE REMAIN HOLDING UNTIL THE NEXT REPRESENTATIVE CAN ASSIST YOU.

'I don't know why they transferred you to this number, I will transfer you to the right department, please hold.'

'This is the fourth transfer I have had this morning and all I need is a simple answer as to the status of my paperwork so I may remove myself from this 'crack', government crack.'

'If you don't mind ho'wding 3 or4 more minutes I am going to try to figure out who is paying your premium...' HOLDING

'Currently you are paying your premium, I axed them and they said it was you.'

'This is the problem, the state of Texas should be paying my premium and not me, I qualify due to my terminal status.'

'You are right, I wonder why, well ho'wd on, I need to get you a supervisor in another department.' holding.

'Mr. Lane it is up to the state of Texas to expedite your paperwork."

'I agree but do not have the status nor a contact person in Texas to solve this issue'.It was delivered and signed for on April 19th, 2006.'

'Well, how do you know that?'

'I have the receipt as it was sent certified mail, return receipt requested.

'Well if all else fails, that was very smart of you.'

'I hope you understand I am not looking for failure, simply resolution. I need to know who has my paperwork and since it is approved by federal law, when the state will be picking up my premium.'

'I am leaving them lots of explanation points so that they know it is urgent to call you back. Boy they just really got you in a bad situation, I can't believe, and your poor health.'

' I will be fine. I have a positive attitude and am strong willed, a warrior, and this helps. Now you can understand why I need it resolved 67 days ago.'

'Know I am praying for you.'

'Thank you and know that I am praying that medicare can expedite my paperwork and get this mess settled. I want to be here to use my money, not receive it when I am dead, it does not work well that way.'

'Oh, (long pause) I agree Mr. Lane and have passed along your number. I would think they will call you this week.

'I need to know this will happen. It is important.'

'Well let me see what else I can do, please hold.' HOLDING FOR A RESULT

'Hang on let me get somebody.' THANKS FOR HOLDING. HERE IS A NEW SERVICE I WILL BE HAPPY TO TELL YOU ABOUT...

no storm, no hail, no fury

Severe Thunderstorms Pound Texas, Plains
8:56 p.m. ET Tue.,May2,2006
A disturbance rolled out of the Rocky Mountains and met up with a dry line over the Oklahoma and Texas Panhandle causing severe thunderstorms to erupt Tuesday evening.
article

'hail' haveth fury?

conversation piece

There is an issue with the chair. Not my chair, a borrowed chair, from a friend of the family. A chair to help me remain mobile in the kitchen. I can sit down and cut up vegetables for stir fry and not worry about feeling dizzy and a leg going numb. A chair was the idea of my physical therapist so that I could take some pressure off of my body focusing needed energy on functioning and once in awhile, which burner I have on or how much time left for a batch of oatmeal raisin cookies. I asked for a chair and the request fell, but NOT on deaf ears. And each time I asked, it was mentioned that we did not need anymore oatmeal raisin cookies.

The mention of a chair, similar to this, but my vision was different, created long standing silence and resentment. The chair represented more than an aide. It represented the realization that I was NOT getting better and the spiral had begun. Out of sight, out of mind. No chair, no issue but no comfort for eric. It was thought The chair was to limit me, limit my focus and limit my existence. Strike that and reverse it.

So when I saw the chair sitting there the other morning I said nothing. I listened as the friend told me she wanted me to have it, to borrow it. The chair was not being used and she had mentioned that over again, but NOT on deaf ears. She recommended the chair be placed on the other side of the counter top, less cluttered and possibly more functional. The chair has not moved. My father saw the chair over his cart, 'What's this?' and silence abound.

My mother placed the cushion over the chair, possibly claiming borrowed ownership, for I did not see a scratch in the wood grain. I was asked to put patches of felt, black or brown circles, on the leg bottoms so The chair would not scratch the tile floor. The chair sits...

drawing pictures with my right hand...

I wouldn't change a thing, it might affect my memory.

do they still make paper dolls?

tuesday 02.05

I feel rejected because I am rejection. It surrounds me. I do not wish for it and create it. It follows me and I cannot hide from it. It is part of me now and something I must work through and understand or at least try to understand.

And with all of the life experience, the book taught, the street smart, the drunken brutality of ‘truth serum’, the listening and the speaking and the thinking and the believing, IT is powerful, this rejection, and rejection shifts me away from what I am most comfortable with and toward that which I now know my future to be, away from the here and now and toward my destiny and the afterlife.

As I continue to spiral, however fast or slow it may be, I am rejected and I am rejection as my soul prepares to take flight, my energy concentrated and my gifts carefully packaged, mislabeled and sometimes mishandled, but to be delivered and surrendered to my creator, G-D, upon direct command. Although it is not over, the transition has begun and comfort abounds, strangely, as I know, Not when but why. Not how but what. Where is a forgone conclusion of sort.

She knows, Ashley knows. Her senses are working overtime, I think, or just working and I am watching her as she is watching me, with conviction and a sense of purpose and loss...

She lay next to me and walks on my left, always watching me, always listening for me and always wanting more from me and I give it as she gives to me: more frisbee, more treats, more walks, more chew toys, more brushing. She only wants to be a part of my life and she wants and needs to protect me and she knows that too soon I will come to an end, she knows... And never do I sit in her judgment, she does not judge, she accepts unconditionally my giving, she accepts me.

4,000 yesterdays ...incomplete again

There is no sound and silence is not golden, not this evening. Silence is a sign, a signal and the pathway to worry. It is a feeling I have felt before, almost 4,000 yesterdays ago or longer, I felt this silence and I did not like its representation then and I do not like its representation again.

I buried this silence, conducted a ritual, invited friends and acquaintances and buried it, not in a bottle of Absolute vodka, but a proper burial with sand and a shovel and tobacco, lots of tobacco.

I learned of this passive act of burial from 'the therapist of higher consciousness' and I saw her for 1000 yesterdays and another one for 3,000 yesterdays before her and first him assured me, this feeling was buried, never to resurface, calmed and complete. And after all those yesterdays and those hours within the yesterdays, somehow I convinced myself that they were right.

My feeling has resurfaced and It is starting to spin, controllable I am certain, but spinning within me, and it has decided to camp there, overnight or less I am begging, but I feel its position inside and I graciously beg it to leave, offer a token for it's travel and instead it stays planted, marveling at my internal space it has the idea of taking. I know this because it had the idea before and it succeeded and the scars still remain, embedded under my arm and as a memory of destruction from all those past yesterdays. And it is today I can see it again, and the site is discovered...

calling all photographers

I was thinking, that maybe collaboratively you would be willing to do a piece with me.

You have the camera and I am the 40 year old that is actively dying. Seriously, I think pictures of the dying process, in taste of course, would be unique and definitely something that those around me might enjoy. I know I want to see the slow ‘spiral downward’ that others talk about when they view me, why not have someone capture IT on film and chronologically, the photos could be assembled so that a determination can be made as to whether or not a decline is stagnant, imminent, image altering or my outer shell continues to remain the same, retrospective to how I feel of course and what the hospice nurses tell me, and I do ask frequently.

It would give me a perfect vantage point. That of knowing how I feel on the inside and seeing how I feel from the outside, by looking and I have thought of looking in the mirror, but that idea just seems so mundane when it is put-in with the scenario of everything else that is called my life right now. inquire directly

incomplete sentences

I went and asked my father, why did I ask him?, where my mother went and he replied:

'She went to the Cinco de Mayo thing'.
'the what in the hell?'
'the cinco de Mayo, you know, the big rally.'
'No, I do not, what are you talking about, do you know where my mother is? Did she leave?'
'well didn't you see your mother this morning?'
'yes.'
'didn't you ask your mother where she was going this morning?'
'no I did not, that is why I am asking you.'
'Well, I know where she went and someone is at the door. It is a truck, Fed Ex and it must be more of your medication.'
'are YOU (again) taking about immigration? Why would MY mother go to an imigration rally?
Thank you, do I need to sign for that?'
(silence) 'Have a good day!'
' she didn't, but today's the day.'
'oh for fuck's sakes, I need to breathe a cigarette. Ashley, let's go...'

goodbye NORTON

I locked myself out of my mind today, figuratively, but locked myself out just the same and spent more than a few minutes trying to decipher the code so that I could re-enter what I had created. Finally, after three tries, I gave up and decided my only option was to delete the program.

So when you look in the treasures others throw out, 'dumpster diving', a pretty cool concept that gets too little airplay, look for,
and you MAY have,
I would be honored,
my copy of Norton Password Manager. Give it a good home, as I tried, but maybe since I never did read about it, nor really cared what its responsibility was, the month or two of pure neglect caught up with me, and IT rejected me and by rejecting me, It temporarily, took my mind and all the codes I fed it as my mind could not remember. And by not remembering, Norton laid claim and left me no other option but to CAN it.

If you received a comment back from me this morning and it does not appear to be me, it was not. It was Norton, and for him and from me, WE apologize.

Every morning my father asks me, 'how are you feeling?' and every morning I respond', 'compared to what?'...there are no more good days. It is not sad. It is fact. It is the life I live.

monday 01.05

Good morning from my cubicle. I will go out into the backyard soon and light a cirgarette and smoke and think and then if I still am not tired, possibly think some more, tell a joke to myself and then force my head to the pillow.

It is early on mayday and I still cannot sleep or refus to, either way I am wake and thinking. The new medicine, the one to 'make' me sleep, the one I will ask about on wednesday, the one that might be anti-psychotic, and I clearly stated: NO ANTI PSYCHOTICS, has yet to work and I remain alert whle the others rest.

Mayday. We had a may pole once, when I was young, quite young. And we each had to chose a color and we listened to music and sang the lyrics the teachers' chose and danced (I refused) around the pole with colored streamers and sometimes the streamers broke and the we stopped dancing and the wind blew the reminents of our color down the hill and everyone else laughed.

Mayday. We gave candy and flowers that we pulled from neighbors beds to neighbors we knew. We knocked on the door, with force and anxiety of being caught and screamed happy May day, as we shifted the opposite direction and ran, leaving behind a basket and laughter, so much laughter. ...

'the plight of israel' by Eric Scott Lane, (Nacham Yisrael) prince of Israel.

gifted to Ariel Sharon and placed in the Kenneset, in Israel.

I choose San Francisco instead...

I appreciate your response and will look into the option you provided. And please Brent, never assume what I might or might like or need my friend. Food for thought.

If I had NOT been honest and forthright, you would have never know my situation and would not have worried. I am confident you have and will continue to have guests that are far less mobile than me that check in on a weekly basis. And if you knew their stories, you would have declined their arrival and missed out on opportunities to meet amazing souls. You judged me without merit and chose not to speak with me directly and this is disturbing and troubling, and certainly not qualities I wish to explore further.

Respectfully,


Eric

From: Santa Barbara Tourist Hostel [mailto:sbhostel@verizon.net] Sent: Saturday, April 22, 2006 3:51 PMTo: 'eslane'Cc: BrentSubject: RE: The arrival of Eric Scott Lane

Dear Eric

I have read with interest and respect your email; however I don't think you would get the rest you need at our youth hostel; most of our guests are teenagers and early 20's and like to party too much!

I would recommend the State Street Hotel; they have a mainly European clientele and their private room prices are the same as ours. This is their address: 121 State St, Santa Barbara, CA 93101 - Map and telephone number 805-966-6586.

I wish you well.

Regards

Brent Smith
-----Original Message-----From: eslane [mailto:eslanentx@netportusa.com] Sent: Tuesday, April 18, 2006 10:42 PMTo: info@sbhostel.comSubject: The arrival of Eric Scott Lane
Dear Brent and Louise,

I had the pleasure to speak with one of your associates tonight, Lola, regarding my desire and wish to stay at your Hostel for an extended time period, two (2) weeks, from May 2nd through May 13th, 2006. I understand that my request may seem suspicious and strange at first glance and therefore, I wanted to take the time to introduce the two of you to me, prior to you making a decision regarding my upcoming stay.

I am a 40 year old single man that currently resides in Dallas, Texas. Throughout my life’s path I have been granted many things and I have given back to others never demanding, a simple thank you suits me fine. I graduated with honors from the University of Nebraska-Lincoln and pursued a higher degree and obtained a Masters of Fine Art in Painting from the San Francisco Art Institute. My life work started with the ‘California dream’ and as my life ends I continue to dream and desire to spend more time in California and by preference, choose Santa Barbara as a place of thought, beauty, intrigue, wisdom and higher knowledge.

In November of 2005 I visited my biological family, as illness forced me from my home in Indialantic, Florida back to the nest in Rockwall, Texas after 23 years with some social security money, dirty laundry, and fear of the unknown. I was greeted with smiles and my journey, my life path, altered. I was diagnosed with end stage liver failure as the result of an auto-immune dysfunction and was told I was terminal by the best physicians money could ‘buy’, in Dallas, with family by my side, at the U T Southwestern Medical Center. As a result, I was placed on Hospice care in January and continue to reside with my parents, younger brother and sister keeping close watch.

This past Friday I was to see my board certified physician, Dr. Clinton Childs and after crossing every T and dotting every I, my condition has not improved and although I continue to have a glimmer of hope, I am resolute to the fact that my path will be shortened and my giving will eventually stop and I will eventually experience that which I once feared and now revere as sacred, the spiritual world. My path pre-chosen, and agreed upon hereafter, I continue to push forward with sheer will, determination and that which the soul so blinding yearns for, but often lacks, love, pure and simple.

With this in mind, I write to you to ask for your compassion and understanding to allow me to visit you hospice for an extended stay so that I may continue my path in Santa Barbara, an area where I called home once before, with conviction. I do not want to be pitied nor be a burden to you, however; would be forever indebted and grateful if you allowed me some time to meet others from around the world that travel and seek what I seek, understanding, passion for life, answers to some of life’s most challenging questions and love, plain and simple.

I view myself as a kindred spirit, a warrior of sorts and know my limitations, have been cleared to travel and would not be taking a trip without proper forethought and knowledge. I have more to give, paintings to paint, words to write and good deeds to do so that I may return, ready to rest my ‘shell’ and allow my spirit to soar. I can provide you with any and all paperwork you may need that confirms my intentions, my medical condition and my travel plans. I could make other plans or arrangements for my approaching trip to California, however; I believe in serendipity and yearn for more and with your gratitude, this I will have and the rest will be a moment in time cherished, not only by me, but by those who know me and are yet to know me as I celebrate my life.

I appreciate your thoughtfulness and consideration prior to making a decision and invite you to get to know me a little better by looking at some of my photos of the trip I was granted by the Dream Foundation of Santa Barbara, California. After fulfilling my dream to spend time with friends in San Diego, the Dream Coordinators wanted to give me more and so they flew me back to California to shoot a television spot for them on KTLA so that more awareness and money can be raised to grant other terminal people, like me, a final dream. In a sense I have been adopted and my family is extended and I only want to give that what I know to be real, honest and forthright, that being myself.

My photographs can be found on: www.serendipity2006.shutterfly.com

San Diego photographs can be found at: www.sandiegodream2006.shutterfly.com

I can provide references upon request and would be honored to meet the two of you in person.

Very truly yours,



Eric Scott Lane
eslanentx@netportusa.com

...in passing

Erin,

And just when you thought it was safe to go to sleep, right? Thank G-D for ambien and the plethora of other 'wellness drugs', yes this is how I have it marked on my medical alert, right after it says 'Texas DNR (Do Not Resuscitate)' it says, 'and takes wellness formula'. I found it humorous and figured what better thought to put down for the emt that might find me sprawled out and fallen limp on the bathroom floor...someday, not today or maybe never. Wellness formula for the terminally ill, I love the concept! I figured it went well with the flower child genre I have going on with the band I chose to support the emblem.

The thoughts are deep and In fact, I had to take a slight siesta, not too long, not too short, in order to process how to 'tackle' you question without bruising my ego and all else that is suffering a bout of pernicious anemia right now. It is a constant, but this too is good because the alternative to the constant, well I am yet to experience it, yet,...

The thought pattern does and mine did change, however; I do not believe that I changed as a person. I became more withdrawn and introverted and often, not out of choosing, out of the fear, mortality creates in the mind of another, that fear that keeps the mortal friends and acquaintances away from me. The process is so complex that when I began to think about the translation, I knew not where to begin, how deep to think and where to finish as the end is the end, but in the process of thinking, no one, no book, no person, no any something, writes about death or even death and dying while it is happening and returns to say, 'No man, that was really a trip dude, you should try is sometime. It's a way heavy rush sorta like, but more like, and it's killer, try it...'

So, as I watched chapters of my life close, attitudes change and other chapters deepen and others begin, I thought it most appropriate to blog my thoughts.

I am experiencing it.

And having said that I believe that intelligence is a must.

It needs to be written and published and understood: 'intelligence, a form of intelligence that completes with the Mensa's of the world, is NEEDED and REQUIRED to complete the task of 'actively dying' and there is no instruction manual, but we know you should drink plenty of water, you are going to need it'...

And what are you left with? Take every thought you have had, roll it up into a ball, like balls of knitting yarn and when you are finished, if you ever are finished, this is what it feels like at this moment, and remember in an hour, you will feel parts or pieces, some more intense than others and then it may all begin again or you may chose a different set of colors to work with when rolling your emotions and be forced to juggle two, three maybe seven different balls of yarn, of varying size of course, at once.

The not knowing what was wrong, what is really wrong, has to be the worst feeling of all. It is all time consuming and powerful and not accepting to any fore thought you may have had. It has a mind of its own, grabs hold of your own mind, and takes you on a tireless journey that pushes you to the depth of your being, that I know it is down there deep feeling, that gut wrenching, pinch me when you can tell me this is all a bad dream kind of feeling that everyone knows about, but few people experience and this too, I believe is for a reason.

The mental games that keep feeding in your inner being that break that state of balance that you once were accustom too, are always malnourished and they take from your mind, from your body and from your spirit. And as I sit here today and can say with conviction and a degree of fact, the only degree that is certain for me, I am resolute to my surrender, the mental games continue to feed.

There is little time to cry, little time to think about what if or should of or would of, it is not important and CAN be interpreted as a waste of time, the time you now know for certain you have left.

Destinations change and doctors change and problems change and people change. It all changes. The one constant is that every person has an idea and CHOOSES whether to share that idea, that notion of what dying is, and most, the vast majority, ignore it. It is too complex and too awkward to talk about. I watch people often, taking the lead from me. If I laugh and I do so very often, they too laugh. Those who were confidants and you thought you knew, look different as you no longer are looking at them, you are looking threw them, deep into the spirit and this, my friend, is not easy as you were not invited to go there, it is just something you now do.

There is a separation that happens immediately and this separation is forced. Every living person has a belief, some set of something, that they use to put value on the after life. And your set being unique, open for discussion, but always different from another's, forces silence. People have the ability to walk away at anytime, whereas; you have to continue to deal with the 'actively dying' process twenty-four seven. It does not go away and when it does, you go away. I do not sleep most often not because I am not tired, but because I know time is limited, borrowed, and I am not always certain I am going to wake up.

I still look at people and their beauty and want to meet the pretty girl you mention and the pretty boy. I just want to meet people and be the social person I know I am. The social person that now sits in the corner and has been labeled, often mislabeled, and when you think like I that labels are for soup cans, sitting in the corner and watching is not acceptable, but you realize that people often do not, subconsciously or otherwise, have the want or desire to invest their time in someone who is 'dying'. After all, relationships are all time consuming, and you have not enough time for someone to invest in you. By the time that investment begins and a trust is built, time is gone. And even if you convince someone to cut through the surface bullshit and take the time to know you for you, they still remember who you were, which is still a part of who you are, only you think deeper and are forced to think deeper to comfort yourself.

A date, a stamp, a time frame is a difficult concept for the best board certified physician and many hate to give you a time frame. They cannot give you an exact as doctors 'practice medicine'. But what a doctor can do is tell you, and your health care surrogate, that you are at the end of where medical science can take you and there is no cure. In essence there is no hope. And unfortunately, some days are so intense with physical pain, the feeling of swallowing a can of rusty nails always comes to my mind.

You know, just know, that the end is drawing near. And other days when you feel better, as there never is another 'good' day, people question whether you truly are 'actively dying', even though they have seen the documents a thousand times in BLACK AND WHITE and they know your blood work is the truth and your dying a reality not to question, just the date to debate.

I am always searching for a different outcome and have had to make decisions that I never planned on making. I ask questions I never thought were possible to ask. I speak from my heart, with my heart and through my soul, knowing that very few are going to understand what I am saying because they ARE NOT living my life. They are not even living in my life, only is the time my life path runs parellel to theirs. To speak with a 'Freudian slip' (therapist) is not the best idea as they are book taught, but not knowing and not feeling what the dying person is feeling for they can try to empathize and do, but cannot feel it.

It is lonely and it is exhilarating. It is breathtaking and it is be wonderment. It is mindful and ever present, complicated and simple. It simply just is. It requires a strong willed, stubborn bastard as a participant and rarely preys on the frail and weak spirited. And once it grabs hold, it is destiny and laughter is good. Laughter is great and hope is important and something is better than nothing and complete understanding happens I am positive, but not until I am dead, so I cannot tell you about that and you cannot tell me for I will be gone, but you may be fortunate enough to see it and feel it.

I can request and hope and continue to maintain and pray and beg and wish that people understand, accept and participate on some level, but I cannot expect anything. It is unique, but I certainly would not call it an opportunity of a life time.

It is something I do not wish upon a worse enemy and crook. I want to meet the pretty girl at the beach and I want to surf with the pretty boy at the beach. I want to be more earth conscious to all sentient beings so that I am noticed as my destiny has been pre-written. I want to be alright and I am. But all I need is love. Love, plain and simple. And as I get closer to that pretty girl and pretty boy at the beach I shake my head and smile and know, that the pretty boy likes the pretty girl or someone else for that matter and it makes me smile, a little disappointed, but I still smile and nod my approval to both, in passing.

29 April 2006

confrontational.
3500 hits in one day... wow. it's been a long day with not much to break up the monotony of hospital life. i'm going to take my sleeping pills soon and black out another night where i would be wide awake and talking with friends. i'm not a fan of this kind of medicating, to correct sleep schedules and chemical imbalances. (vertigo is another story.) i'd rather let my body rhythms flow their own way, but instead i'm an inconvience, a protocol deviation. sorry, not a morning person.i've been thinking a lot about the comment from eric and his whole situation. how does one deal with the thoughts that you are simply waiting to die? we all are in the nihilist "who gives a shit" kind of way, but putting a timeframe on it? a specific date? what do you accomplish in that timeframe? do you feel like accomplishing anything at all? what wishes do you fulfill? which do you leave out? what's your list? do you not care about pickup lines with pretty girls anymore and go for the best laugh? how do you achieve inner peace at that point? or is it constant turmoil? accepting or angry? what's the most important to you? does it change from day to day? (none of this is specifically at eric, but i would be curious to know his answers.)i ask all these things because i wasn't able to ask my father twelve years ago. i ask because my own mortality scares the shit out me. i used to be a teenager, completely invincible. i used to say "i'm not afraid of death" but i know now that was premature. i used to be big, bad and fearless. now i've grown up and know that every day is potentially my last. i used to scare people by saying things like "i'm not afraid of death" and now i hear that and i'm scared for the person saying it. ok, ambien is kicking in and the train of thought has kind of gone off track, so i'm going to be done for the night.
posted by erin

Subhuti, do not think that when one gives rise to the highest, most fulfilled, awakened mind one needs to see all objects of mind as nonexistent, cut off from life. Please do not think in that way. One who gives rise to the awakened mind does not deny objects or say that they are nonexistent.

One who gives rise to the awakened mind should know that what is called a self or a person, a living being or a life span, is not so in essence but only in concept. The names self, person, living being, or life span are names only. Subhuti, you should know that all the things of the world are like this, and you should have confidence in their essence without names.

-Diamond Sutra
From "The Pocket Buddha Reader," edited by Anne Bancroft, 2000. Reprinted by arrangement with Shambhala Publications, Boston.

amount tendered, change rendered

I went to the dollar store, maybe the dollar general, I only know that everything in the store is one dollar, and some things are two and three for a dollar, but nothing over a dollar, period. And at first I found the concept hysterical and told my brother that the sole purpose of shopping in the dollar store is to ask the sales clerks how much something is, as I have done before, almost to received the look of 'don't do this to me on a Sunday afternoon, its a sin.'

So although I write about asking the clerks such a dumb question and have done it one time and one time only, I still find the time and the need to remind myself that everything is a dollar and that asking otherwise complicates a checkout process and allows you quickly to meet and greet the store manager.

While waiting in line, with my less than important items, but bargain items, the woman in front studies her soon to be purchases as I do, awaiting her turn and I notice that the clerk is so systematic in his checking one out, that the process itself appears abnormal. The resonance of amount tendered and change rendered did not sound right, too proper and too book taught, I believe.

As the woman put her items on the shelf and gave direction to the clerk, "I have four of these bottles", she placed one on the counter to be scanned and left the other three under the cart. The clerk stared at her and stopped, but said nothing. He looked down at the bottle, again toward her, at the register, over at me and back to the bottle and scanned it through, said the price, "one dollar" and waited for the woman to respond. Nothing, so he took the other two items before him and and placed them through his scanning, saying with affirmation,"one dollar, one dollar".

The total was 3.27 give or take several pennies on either direction when you properly calculate sales tax at 8.5%...She handed him a ten dollar bill which he rang as amount rendered, announced her ten dollar bill as amount tendered and put the difference back in her hands as change rendered. She accepted it and he stared at her, handing her the two bagged item and the bottle of water.

She placed them in her cart and he continued to stare as she pushed the cart past his vision with three waters still remaining in the cart, the one he handed her and the two items in the bag. She stood there, he looked, read her receipted, glanced up at him and smiled...paused for a moment and then rolled her cart toward the exit door. He watched and I knew he was counting the water, awaiting her return so that he could properly ring three more bottles of water, knowing that her inability to place the bottles on the counter fed his inability to comprehend ringing the same bottle four times. The logic was not there and she left with her change tendered, knowing that she received free water, obviously knowing, but continued walking through the parking lot, never to look back.

an invitation

today, with the right intentions, I open the pages of my ongoing thoughts, so that others can view my colors, my montras and watch as I show a work in progress, entitled:

'acompletepiece'.

I do this so that I can allow others to know me and view the world as I sense the world and give people the ability to UNDERSTAND and not question my decision(s). Enjoy and visit often and allow me to 'blog' your thoughts as well, knowing they are ever changing as I paint more, add more colors and continue on my path mind, body and spirit.

I open my pages not with malice, for I know I will be judged, regardless of what I write as this is human nature and critics abound...

I open my pages to be a part of what I will not feel, to my knowledge,

a complete piece.

right intentions

today, with the right intentions, I open the pages of my ongoing thoughts, so that others can view my colors, my mantras and watch as I show a work in progress, entitled:
'acompletepiece'.
I do this so that I can allow others to know me and view the world as I sense the world and give people the ability to UNDERSTAND and not question my decision(s). Enjoy and visit often and allow me to 'blog' your thoughts as well, knowing they are ever changing as I paint more, add more colors and continue on my path mind, body and spirit.
I open my pages not with malice, for I know I will be judged, regardless of what I write as this is human nature and critics abound...
I open my pages to be a part of what I will not feel, to my knowledge,
a complete piece.

arlington 67

every sunday afternoon off of the santa barbara pier, a make shift memorial is displayed, arlington 67, as a memorial, a remembrance and an informal protest for each soldier who lost life in the gulf war. crosses bearing the name of the fallen soldier are added each and every sunday until there are no more casualties, there is no more war and America accepts defeat in forbidden lands and understands the true meaning behind 'history repeats itself'. we are our own worst enemy and the rest is mute

too attached by yellow

attached by yellow

sunday 30.04

spilt paint