I've never analyzed any of my dreams on the blog but I think this one deserves a response. After thinking about it for a couple days and reading the comment by Lunger I think I will respond.



There is a storm outside and while I'm in the church for some level of protection I can't find it there. I run around checking different rooms to decide if it is a safe place to protect my family. While Tracy, Katie and Christiane are with me I get the sense that Tracy and I are a group and Katie and Christiane are a separate group. Katie and Christiane, not knowing where to run, try to go deeper into church but I tell them that there's no protection there.

Pharaoh is the part of my childhood that I closely relate to. Pharaoh was my childhood. During the years of my youth when I felt I didn't have a place in the house Pharaoh was there. Pharaoh was always Adam's dog more than mine. But when I felt alone at home I started having Pharaoh sleep on my bed. Pharaoh is my fear. I can't afford to be fearful of the storm outside. I have a family to protect. I look down to see Pharaoh trembling at my feet.

Meanwhile dad is outside the church but never enters. He has been running outside the church and is sweaty. I don't know how long he's been running outside the church but he has been doing laps. He is circling my church keeping the danger at bay for me. The tornado avoids the church altogether and it turns out it was just a little one that sounded much bigger than it actually was.

Mom and Katie are in the hallway, Katie is inside Sadie's cage cleaning it thoroughly. Mom is outside directing her with how to clean the cage. Mom is in the church but simply directing others, while keeping them in a cage.

Tracy, Katie, Christiane and myself were in the Arlington church while it was raining. Out of nowhere a horrific sound came from outside and we immediately knew what it was. I looked down and Pharaoh was there. He was trying to run away, as he was always very frightened by storms. I reached down and picked him up because he was trying to run away.

We scrambled around and couldn't find a place that we felt was safe from the tornado. Katie and Christiane started running up the stairs and I told them that higher ground was not safe in tornadoes. I started running toward the back door to look and see if the tornado was even coming close to us. By the time I reached the door it had calmed outside.

As I opened the door dad was standing directly outside, soaking wet. He had been jogging out on the highway when the tornado hit. He explained that it landed out on the service road and went parallel to the church. It was a very small tornado, just a few feet in diameter. I put Pharaoh down and turned to the hallway to my right. There I found mom and Katie with Sadie. The metal crate that Sadie sleeps in was in the hallway and Katie was inside the crate cleaning it.

At the heart of christianity lies the need to reach for members. Belief is all it takes to attain salvation. Well, you also have to confess with your mouth. How utterly human. All it takes to be saved is believe in something that "chooses" to give you no evidence of his existence, and also be sure to tell other people about it. How else would a philosophy expand? You have to tell others.

Faith is in direct opposition to doubt and fear. To doubt is to lack faith. The guilt that comes with the christian philosophy is ingrained deeply. When somebody questions the existence of god or the churches authority the weight of the lack of faith slaps you in the proverbial face. How strikingly obvious. If it were a snake......

Thinking about this I drew a parallel to a movie favorite.

Four companions and a dog go on a journey to each find a certain thing. One wanted courage, one wanted a heart, one wanted a brain and the other one just wanted to be home. They went in search of these things by traveling down a road. The road lead them to the "god" of Oz. They all assumed they would find their answers in him. When they approached his throne room they were in awe, and very scared. Then it took a little dog to pull the curtain aside. They saw the god for who he was. An old man with a funny mustache.

What do you know, the tin man always had a heart and only needed a plastic representative to remind himself. The scarecrow always a brain. The lion had the courage inside of him as well. The only problem was that they didn't believe. The wizard wielded no power, he was nothing more than a man, or a thought process. Dorothy found the answer in herself as well. She had the power to go home anytime she wanted.

For thousands of years people needed answers. They didn't know how things worked. They didn't know how their wives became pregnant. They didn't know why their sons and daughters looked like themselves. They didn't know why the tides worked. They didn't know how the animals and plants evolved. God was a legitimate explanation to a world full of mysteries. The lollipop guild didn't know that they had the power. They followed the wizard because they didn't know better.

Among these advanced teachings, one episode revealed to those who reach OT level III is the story of Xenu (sometimes Xemu), introduced as an alien ruler of the "Galactic Confederacy." According to this story, 75 million years ago Xenu brought billions of people to Earth in spacecraft resembling Douglas DC-8 airliners, stacked them around volcanoes and blew them up with hydrogen bombs. Their souls then clustered together, stuck to the bodies of the living and continue to do this today. Hubbard called these clustered spirits "Body Thetans," and advanced-level Scientologists place considerable emphasis on isolating these alien souls and neutralizing their ill effects.

Sounds weird. Sci-fi even. 2,000 years ago a god named Xenu pushed some dirt together and made it a living man. The man needed a companion so Xenu put the man back to sleep and pulled a rib out of him, put that rib into another pile of dust and it because a woman. Sometime later Xenu sent his son, who was actually himself, to a world to save it. He impregnated a woman w/o sexual relations and she bore the son of the god, who was actually himself. The man committed suicide without killing his father, who was actually him, and was resurrected in three days.

Attending something similar to a summer camp in a place similar to Yorktown Bay I am in a cabin with a lot of my friends. I know there are other friends at the camp but the only friend that I specifically noticed was Chad. Chad and I were eating some sort of snacks and crumbs were falling on our clothes, we were sitting. Sometime later I went to the cabin to find Chad's shorts on the bed and the crumbs had attracted thousands of ants. I thought it was foolish of Chad to leave the crumbs inside where his bed was teeming with ants.

Sometime later a general sound of excitement outside pulls me to the main road. There are hundreds of people now walking about but the only person I recall specifically is Tracy, and only for a little bit. Mainly, I was by myself. It seemed like something similar to a circus, but for a smaller group of people. There were some animals, but one group I specifically recall.

Over by the road I saw a truck pulling up with two lions in the back, a male and a female. I have always been enthralled with lions and tigers in my waking life, so naturally I went to them in my dreams. I started watching them from a distance as the handlers were setting up their event. They opened up the back of the truck and put chains around the lions neck. They weren't chains that looked painful to the lions, just restraining them from running free. I watched as other observers went to greet the lions.

The lion handler got in the front of the truck and held the chain. The truck had a window between the cab and the back of the truck. I watched as a few people walked directly up to the lions and got face to face, and the lion roared at them. This attraction was setup so you could stare a lion in the face and safely hear it's roar. Amazing, I thought to myself. This is truly a once in a lifetime opportunity.

Somewhat nervously I walked up to stand in line. By the time I got in line I was the last person. I got to the back of the truck and looked in. The truck did not have a camper anymore, it was just a pickup with the back gate down. The male lion was no longer present and the lioness was no longer restrained. It startled me at first but the lion looked like it was sleeping. As I stood there and watched the sleeping lion the handler came out of the cab and stood over the lion. He told me that it was amazing because this particular lioness is very nervous and never sleeps around strangers. The lioness was comfortable with me, sensed no danger. He told me I could pet the lioness and I did, but only briefly. I couldn't keep my hands on her too long for fear of waking her. I wanted to be close to her but not wake her.

--------

After waking up in the night and then going back to sleep I had another short dream. Seemingly unrelated whatsoever.

Driving somewhere that reminded me of Burleson/Crowley it was storming. Not very hard, but it was obvious that a VERY heavy storm had moved through recently. Taking a familiar exit that I believe was the exit that I take to get to one of my friends house I notice that Eliel is driving. A few seconds after noticing that Eliel was driving I warn him of something I see right in front of us that he's going to have to swerve to avoid. It is a giant, clear, carry out box that you would get a restaurant. I say giant because inside of the box is a dead horse. It had obviously been dead for a few days as it's stomach was bloated. Eliel swerved and missed the horse and a few seconds later we see two dead horses laying on the ground to our left this time. These were freshly dead and I immediately surmise that they were killed in the storms. Not a gruesome sight, I assume they died from head trauma. As we swerve to the right to avoid the two horses we clip the back legs of the second horse and run over them. I think nothing of either set of dead horses.

Strolling down the road, hand in hand there is something in the distance. From where we're standing it looks like a crane. We're walking in a place somehow familiar but it is not a place we frequent. Tracy doesn't think it's a crane, despite my arguments. After further examination it appears to be a buzzard. She is nervous. As we approach the creature on the side of the road it is obviously not a bird at all. Some small creature. It is standing on it's back legs like a kangaroo and is approaching us and obviously means harm.

Tracy jumps into my arms in an attempt to avoid being bitten by the creature, which I now know to be a Honey Badger. While carrying Tracy I turn to the right toward the open field we've been walking next to. In an attempt to avoid the badger I head to the field despite the fact that the field is rocky and more difficult to run through. I run a short distance and realize that the badger is gaining on us. I try to lift Tracy higher but I'm fatigued by the run. The badger stands up and nips at Tracy's hair and then I wake up.


The Honey Badger has a special place in my mind. I have to assume it is from the movie The God's Must be Crazy II. In that movie the lead character steps on one and it bites his shoe. He makes an offhand comment about how the badger is a stubborn creature and will not let go of the boot until he knows it's dead. Further research in college told me that the Honey Badger is a ferocious hunter and has incredibly sharp fangs. A small, surprisingly cute package, with a huge bite.

Drip, drip, drip, drip. The sound of water splattering the bottom of the barrel. A steady trickle creates tiny pools of water. When we take a peek at the bottom, six or eight faces stare back at us. It's hard to tell exactly how many faces, I guess it depends on the day. Over time each pool grows larger until they eventually start connecting into one. Eventually a shallow pool emerges and covers the bottom of the barrel. When we peer into the barrel again a striking resemblance of us looks back. Who are we?

A foundation of sorts is created by the dripping water. When viewed from below it appears as if the water droplets are falling from the sky. But we're inside, never venturing outside, so the droplets are coming from an unknown source. Regardless of the source, the water continues. A sense of security and normality overwhelms us. There is plenty of room in the barrel for the drops to continue for years.

Each drop that lands in the pool causes the next drop to fall a little shorter each time. When you stare at the pool the depth seemingly stays the same. When you leave for a time and come back, you notice the depth change, if only slightly. Innate in us is the desire to watch the barrel fill up. Something in our background tells us that the more drops the better.

Periodically we come to the barrel to check on the depth and when it is growing too slow we drop a rock in the pool. With each rock comes a noticeable rise in the depth. When only one of us throw in a rock the other person knows it. At times, we throw in a rock together. Those seem to be the most rewarding drops.

Standing around the barrel, glued to it like a TV, we watch the drops. What is the purpose of the barrel? Where is the water coming from? Each drop sends concentric circles to the edge of the barrel. The drops are falling directly in the middle of the barrel. Each wave hits the edge at the exact same time. Like clock work.

Years go by and our visits to the barrel have become more infrequent. Each time the depth seems to remain the same. One day I visit the barrel by myself and in a fit of frustration drop a larger than normal rock in by myself. I underestimated the effect of the rock on the water level. The water immediately rises to the top and spills over the edge. I panic while I realize there is nothing I can do. If I clean up the mess on the floor she will notice the towels. Not to mention that the water level is now brimming the top.

A flash of surreality hits me when the reality sets in. Now that the water is lipping over the edge every single drop will push a tiny bit of water over the edge. The floor around the barrel will always have water on it now. No matter what I do she will see the water dropping on the floor. I scramble to think of a diversion, some elaborate system to reroute the drops. Foolish of me to think about it.

The problem is that we cannot go back to the barrel to drop in rocks together without the water pouring over the edge. The joy we experienced with each rock dropped in will have a profoundly different effect now. Dropping the rock is still an option. But now we will have to clean up the mess with each rock. Return on investment. Who are we going to be?

Talking with three old friends that know little about my journey one of them brings up Arminianism vs Calvinism. Two of the three are Mormon and my training is of the SDA flavor. He was listening to a twelve CD sermon series from a non-denominational pastor and wondered what Mormons and SDA's believe.

We discussed for about an hour and I quickly realized that I knew more about Arminianism and Calvinism then the person that brought it up. Probably because I ran the gambit on these subjects before settling into disbelief. I served as the facilitator of the conversation and at the end made an off-hand comment to the fact that I don't believe like Adventists do anymore.

On the way out to the car I was speaking to the one that knew me the least of the three. He told me that as I was talking during that conversation it occurred to him that I was describing those beliefs as if they were an older form of me, somehow detached from myself now. I wondered how obvious it was to them that I don't believe.

It was inappropriate to bring up the fact I don't believe anymore as the conversation was not about me. This experience made me wonder how long has my belief system been a separate part of me? It made me wonder about a time line concerning my journey.


Taking Dr. Chadwick's biology class I first learned of the merits of evolution. I couldn't tell you exactly what it was, but something seemed right about evolution. I had a general understanding of genetics but to this point I hadn't put it all together. Also around this time I was introduced to Calvinism and TULIP through a combination of my brother and father. There was an email group that exchanged theological and psychological thoughts that I was a part of for about a half a year. "Part of" should more accurately be described as a fly on the wall. Predestination, which I have since found the silliness of, was my first step toward atheism.

The idea that god was omniscient yet we still had free choice was illogical and confusing. So, obviously, we don't have free choice. If I had to give up either choice or gods omniscience it was easier to give up my choice. This was the first real experience whereby I inherently checked out. When you come to a place where you cannot marry your beliefs to reality a decision must be made. Find a way to make the belief bend and mold in order to make sense, or divorce the belief altogether. I chose to mold the belief in order to keep my bubble in tact. Looking back now I realized that perhaps the theory was wrong, not the answers.

I entered college as a theology major. It was all part of an elaborate scheme to become my brother. It took me one year to realize that I was not suited for being a pastor. Admittedly the "reason" I gave was because I saw the type of people in my classes and realized that they better represent the general SDA population then I did and they scared me.

After a year of theology I made the logical switch to religion. I wasn't ready to give up the ghost yet, but I would become a teacher and project my shit on others on an even more profuse level. Why preach to adults when you can preach to the tender? It took one final semester before I gave up on religion and became a biology major. Interesting that I chose biology. In a silent attempt to prove my beliefs I majored in the one thing that would seal the fate on my belief.

Senior year, philosophy of science, Dr. Chadwick again. We were required to read many articles. He assigned us some excerpts from On the Origin of the Species from Charles Darwin. While reading this I realized that it made too much sense. Again I was forced to make a decision. Bend the belief or drop the theory. I chose to bend the belief. God must have created the rules and set it up so that evolution would occur. But since he was the one that put the rules in place, I could still hold on the to the vestige that god was responsible for creating me.

That year I went to a sabbath school class about the age of the earth which I had, previous to that class, accepted was millions of years old. I experienced a whole group of people stare facts in the face and then deny it. It opened my eyes a bit. Why am I impervious to such blatant disregard for logic and facts? I wasn't.

A normal after-church lunch at the Royals filled in the next piece of the pie. A study done by Baylor University showed that nearly 30% of christians believe that god is silent. I instantly related to their description of this "silent god". It made me warm and fuzzy. "See, there is a god, he is just silent," I said. That lasted for about three years.

Then the evolution occurred when another sabbath school class was done on evolution. The research done for the class and the brains involved were such that I couldn't deny the overwhelming evidence. It was a feeling that was later put to me in a way that if god exists he is silent and gives me no reason to believe in him. I also had an explanation for my origins. The only thing that held me back was the social constraints that I knew I felt and would feel.

It took me about three months after the realization for me to admit the fact that I no longer blamed the answers for a faulty theory.

This is obviously a short recollection about my journey but I needed to write it down so that as I look at my past I can see what I stood for then and now.

When coming into contact with something we feel is confrontational we recoil. I spent several years recoiling from "over the top" statements from S.P. Lunger. His first blog post was written and I recoiled in fear. A chapter in a book about the Jesus figure and how the constellations run in cycles, like Taurus, made me cringe. Imagining that it was Lunger's problems and that I would choose to not go down that patch was comical to say the least.

When my decisions are known by people it forces them to make a decision. A pastor that knows of my decision preaches a balls to the walls sermon that VERY week in which he attacks the idea that god DOES exist and even dared anybody to stand up to refute it. A sabbath school teacher chooses a class that discusses the, "what ifs", of whether or not the bible is real. If you found out that the bible was fallible and written by people that never even met jesus would it shake your faith?

Is it coincidence? What if the class topic and the sermon was scheduled before the teacher or pastor knew of my decision. But perhaps they already knew my decision before I told them. Reading S.P. Lunger's most recent blog statement it made me think a little into the puny bit of knowledge that I have attained about quantum physics.

What if, the sabbath school teacher and the preacher had already scheduled these topics for a sermon and a class prior to me, or somebody else, telling them that I no longer believed in god. This would obviously be divine intervention and a reason for me to second guess my decision. Lets look at this from a scientific aspect. Admittedly science fiction is a better label for it at the present time. But when dealing with science nothing is fiction. Something is either refuted, disputed or proven. And each of those outcomes are often disputed. If you want a quick background concerning my small amount of research and knowledge you can read this.

My premise is that with time being non-linear and an idea of a multiverse one could easily imagine a scenario in which the pastor and the sabbath school teacher already knew my decision and scheduled their topics based on their experiences in a prior experience. They didn't have to be told that I don't believe in god to know it already.

This could be why, when faced with a new idea or thought, our natural instinct is to become defensive. If we changed our minds and put a wrinkle in the wheel of time what reverberations would that have on our future iterations and the people around us?



What has been is what will be, and what has been done is what will be done, and there is nothing new under the sun.

My experience, written by another person.






So, I was already familiar with and (I’m afraid) accepting of, the view that you couldn’t apply the logic of physics to religion, that they were dealing with different types of ‘truth’. (I now think this is baloney, but to continue...) What astonished me, however, was the realization that the arguments in favor of religious ideas were so feeble and silly next to the robust arguments of something as interpretative and opinionated as history. In fact they were embarrassingly childish. They were never subject to the kind of outright challenge which was the normal stock in trade of any other area of intellectual endeavor whatsoever. Why not? Because they wouldn’t stand up to it. So I became an Agnostic. And I thought and thought and thought. But I just did not have enough to go on, so I didn’t really come to any resolution. I was extremely doubtful about the idea of god, but I just didn’t know enough about anything to have a good working model of any other explanation for, well, life, the universe and everything to put in its place. But I kept at it, and I kept reading and I kept thinking. Sometime around my early thirties I stumbled upon evolutionary biology, particularly in the form of Richard Dawkins’s books The Selfish Gene and then The Blind Watchmaker and suddenly (on, I think the second reading of The Selfish Gene) it all fell into place. It was a concept of such stunning simplicity, but it gave rise, naturally, to all of the infinite and baffling complexity of life. The awe it inspired in me made the awe that people talk about in respect of religious experience seem, frankly, silly beside it. I'd take the awe of understanding over the awe of ignorance any day.


-Douglass Adams

Settling into a role I know nothing about I feel oddly at ease. Stopping at each corner I peer eagerly around it, ready for a projectile to be hurled my way. The universe has a way of surprising you. At one time I would have described it as a supernatural intervention.

Try and penetrate with our limited means the secrets of nature and you will find that, behind all the discernible concatenations, there remains something subtle, intangible and inexplicable. Veneration for this force beyond anything that we can comprehend is my religion. To that extent I am, in point of fact, religious.

- Albert Einstein

Standing in my kitchen I pull out the creature. I call it a creature because it isn't like anything I've seen. Looking at my right arm I see the scar from the entry point for the creature. I hold the creature next to my right arm and let it attach itself.

It uses it's two outer fangs to latch on to my arm. They are roughly 2 inches in length and half an inch in width. The inner fangs, which are about half the size of the outer fangs, start digging in. It looks gruesome but I surprisingly feel little pain. Almost a distant feeling of discomfort. Normal is the word I should use, it cannot be described as painful even though it hurts, it is normal. It appears that the entry point is much like an IV port. Where a needle can enter and re-enter without causing additional wounds.

As the blood trickles down my arm, Tracy walks into the kitchen, flabbergasted by the site she screams and asks what I'm doing. I explain to her that I do this everyday, it isn't painful, it feels to me that this is a ritual of some sort.

She puts her hand on my arm and tells me that I don't need to let the creature attach itself. She gives me permission to stop the letting of blood. I tap the creature to signify it's time to go away. It lets go and vanishes.

My mind is a sponge, no constraints or limits.
Constant stimuli makes me crazy but fuels my life.
People joke about this, people joke about that.
Shut it down, ring it out.
Squeeze my head, unload the pressure.
Planting the seeds hoping to overtake the weeds.
Unfertile soil, no seed could find purchase.
Unaware of my bliss, a convenience of sorts.
Unbeknownst of my self, a future untold.
Silence is golden, says the movie screen.
A moment of silence, for my life never lived
.............................
A quick bout of silence, over matched by the drone.
Opinions are flaring, they're voices in my head
Chemical burns, an existential remorse
Tyler Durden said it best
"Fuck damnation, man! Fuck redemption! We are God's unwanted children? So be it! "

So, is there a god? It's a question that has bothered me for some time. Well, I can't say bothered because over the last six months internally I've sorta decided there isn't. Logically I can't put it together. The whole scenario of a god doesn't really make sense.

From the same token it doesn't necessarily make sense to not believe in god either. One person can catalog that believing in god and having a religion makes your life worse. Another can catalog how it makes it better. I can't say directly that it has made my life better or worse but that is in large part due to my inability to choose a side I suppose.

Two factions pulling from either side. One openly defiant of the religious organization and the other one subtly removed but still clinging. Both sides make sense to me. I want to have a belief in a higher power. It isn't a feeling of guilt (maybe social pressure) that drives me. I used to enjoy the religious experience.

God has always been silent, if there is a god. I revisited a poem I wrote a while ago. It falls into sections of the thought process I go through. Starting with my self-righteous indignation and ending in a conclusion.

Righteous Indignation
An ironic slap, to the bumper of life
Is there a god? I wonder aloud
Three months and still nada
From the "big guy" above
Twenty-three and still counting
But who's keeping score?
At least ten to zero if records were kept
The scorekeepers broken, he's got nothing left
He reaches for something, a glimmer, a hope
At last somethings there, could this be promising?
Woops! He got you! it's number eleven

My Legalistic Pleasure
Could this be punishment
for twenty-three wasted years?
Is this not what they meant
when they said I'd cry tears?
I want to believe in him
I want to have faith.
I want it to stop at ten
no matter the stakes.
Does he have more in store?
Or doth my faith fail?
Is it wrong to want more
than my food in a pail?

Cliche of Cliche's
All things work together
in the end for all good.
For those that believe in him
if there's really a god.
But what if there's not
what about all the rest?
Are they all fools?
Or do they know something more.
If all things work out
Then why'd they go bad
life's up, life's down
life is equilibrium

Conclusions
If god doesn't talk to me
then the jury's still out.
Will god be O.J.?
Will he get off scott free
Or will god be Hussein
indignant to death?
Maybe he owes me nothing,
if that be the case.
Why do I owe him allegiance?
Is it all really faith?
It's too bad for god
that I don't believe
There's life after death
Cause he surely needs
Johnny Cochran and friends
to bail his ass out.


The events leading to this poem probably started as a child, but specifically I wrote this on my anniversary night after we got in a car wreck and literally ruined our night. Tracy had to work the next morning so she ended up going to bed at 9 PM on our anniversary and I went upstairs angry.

It's interesting to read through the poem because now I can see the hodge podge of statements. During this time of life Tracy and I were out of control financially. We didn't know where the money for our bills were going to come from. We were piling up debt. I was just turned down on a job that I thought I was going to get and was excited about. But reading the poem again it has little to do with what had been happening in our life.

A cosmic statement, not a personal life statement. Tracy looks back at the last two years and sees god's hand in our lives. I wasn't working, we weren't making as much money as we were spending. And now, we're almost completely out of debt. Things worked out.

Why is it easier for me to accept this as a series of cosmic statistics than to accept it as divine intervention. It's getting to the point where I'm just going to have to decide how to believe. Do I want to have a god in my life or not?

I started writing this poem about something superficial knowing that deeper and better things usually pour out once you open the poetic dam! When I don't have anything to write about but feel like writing I find poetry opens it up.

Hope you enjoy!



Long and coarse, brown and itchy
A stand of trees, so to speak
On the point, close to the edge
Difficult to find your way
Through the shit and through the itch
It's raw, it's dry, an open sore
Scratch, monkey! It feels so good

Shave you off, be gone from me
Clean cut wounds are better still
Drag you out, behind my truck
Bleeding, you scream my name
Open mind with closed up wounds
Open window see the view
Pick it, monkey! Chains let loose

Deep thoughts, concerning nothing
Grasp for depth, no depth be found
The itch is back, dance, monkey!
Walking wounded, by myself
Clean cuts are nice, softer still
Stay clear, this monkey throws shit
The wounds are mine, leave me be

Tracy has had stomach issues for the last several weeks. She's better now but we were wondering if she was pregnant. She took a test that turned out negative a week or so ago. But we weren't sure. A lot of her symptoms were very....pregnancy related.

Turns out that she's not pregnant. But we talked about it and came to some realizations. It really wouldn't be that bad to be pregnant. In fact, some primal part of us almost wanted her to be pregnant. I've spent a long time not wanting kids but it seems like something switched recently.

People told us that it would happen and I was not foolish enough to tell them they were wrong..luckily! Eating my words is as distasteful as eating cooked broccoli. I find myself wandering around from week to week wondering what is out there for me. This is dangerous ground for me because one of my reasons to NOT want kids is that I don't want to have kids to try to "figure myself out" or fix my own issues.

With that said, I, for the first time, have a SMALL amount of understanding about how people feel when they just feel like to be complete they need a kid or kids. At some point I wonder if my marauding mentality will somehow be settled with a unique, small version of me running around. It seems like a bad proposition to find out if it works or not. But something feels...right.

Somebody once told me, when I first got Champ that it would be
two years until we had a kid. That date was a little off, but not too
far off to be considered incorrect!

I think in some way I'm ready to take the plunge. We are still not
going to start trying until next year but for some reason I am not fearful of being a dad anymore. Before, some part of me was scared. Perhaps it's simply that I'm older now and more mature. I feel confident that Tracy and I have what it takes to be together for the rest of our lives. Maybe I wasn't convinced of our ability to raise a healthy child until now.

I cannot define what it is exactly, but a transformation has occurredl. Perhaps it's a paternal instinct. I tried to find a good article or study that talked about paternal instinct and only found this. Which isn't that great but did speak of a paternal instinct.

Regardless of the reason, things are different now.

When I hear the word blog, I can only think of one thing. Mark Cuban. This seems appropriate since I, in someway, relate to him. He's successful, exuberant and has a lot "going for him". Yet, when you experience him, whether in dancing with the stars or in a random interview with local media you inherently say to yourself, "something's off about him."

A site where you post your ramblings as if anybody out there will truly give a shit about what you have to say/think. It's like a journal...but not. In a journal I would write something and knowingly keep it a secret. In a blog, I will write something and unknowingly keep it a secret.

I spent this morning reading through S.P. Lunger's blog which you can find here: S.P. Lunger and I couldn't help but wonder. Is his life better than mine? As I read through the first parts of the blog I had changing emotions. The first emotion was around amazement. I read a deepness that I don't know that I possess. But then it turned into something else. Something..cynical perhaps. Thats one of his favorite adjectives.

My life is less discovered than his. No doubts about that. See Tel'aran'rhiod

But what does that gain him? If I wouldn't have been an S.P. Lunger student for 24 years I wouldn't have known that I was somehow behind the curve so to speak. His life is filled with cynical ramblings that allow him to "project his shit" more profusely than I do.

How many times can you blog? Is it a no more than once a day thing? No more than twice a week? I feel like inundating the blog with entries right now. If I'm the only one that's going to read my diary online I guess I can blog as much as I want.

In proper Schlueter fashion this blog, that nobody will read, will be a key to self discovery. Each new day has a new solution. Maybe ignorance is bliss. Or maybe fuck ignorance.