MY EPIPHANY

It was September 11, when God Himself, came down and saved me. It was a drastic measure, but one necessary, to prevent me from walking into the mighty Pacific without looking back. It was my way, the only way. Oh, beautiful Kauai, my heaven on earth! It would be there where I'd take my last glass of wine, my final shot of scotch, and my last breath. I had planned it so well, I thought.

I had booked a flight from Chicago to arrive Kauai on September 12, 1992 - the day before my final birthday - September 13. I wanted to perform my "dead man walking" on my birthday. You all know the story, "Leaving Las Vegas," right? That is the movie where the character played by Nicolas Cage goes to Las Vegas to drink himself to death. Well, I was "Leaving Kauai" and why, you may ask. Because I had grown tired of witnessing all the pain and suffering in this world, the cruelty, the disregard for each other. Also, I had enough of my own struggles, the constant battles fighting my alcoholism, the harsh memories of finding my father dead after he had died about three days before I had gone to visit him. I also had enough of the past, my past where every turn seemed to take me to another dead end.

And so, as a man determined to spend his last day on his heaven on earth, I had booked a flight to arrive in Kauai on September 12th, the day before my final birthday. But something happened. This time, I must believe, it took God Himself, to stop me. On the evening of September 11, 1992 I was sitting in Tony's Tavern, downing my scotch when the news broke. A fierce hurricane had hit Kauai head on. Half drunk, I thought maybe I was not really hearing right . Through the smoke and the haze I focused on the television as much as my half-drunkedness would allow. Projected to me in a blur were the twisted palm trees, the over-turned homes, the upeneded boats. I recognized what once was the idyllic shoreline of Poipu, now in twisted disarray. Now, what am I going to do?

All ports would surely be closed now, I thought. I immediately went to the phone booth and called United Airlines. It was confirmed. My flight tomorrow to Kauai was cancelled. Now what? I went back to my stool, with tears running down my cheeks, and suddenly, an epiphany. Revealed to me, on the blurry television screen before me, was the reality. "You are needed here on Earth." I took the last gulp of my drink and left the tavern and walked to the neighborhood park, where I sat and thought. I came to the realization what had really happened. A 911 call, "This is an emergency." This time it was God Himself who answered the call. And my life was spared. I was reborn and finally, I was able to quit the drinking and with a new zest for life, I began the process of healing.

For the next year, I had sat down every morning and relived my life through writing. I relived the pain, the tears, the sometime laughter, and put it all down, black on white. It was my catharsis. Finally, I was freed from the chains that had bound me all my adult life. And I was finally able to forgive. Hurricane Iniki, I am sorry for your destruction. But, I am forever grateful to you for saving my life . . .

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And then, September 11, 2001! I was intent on celebrating the anniversary of my rebirth. I hopped in my car and was on my way to breakfast, when the news broke through the song I was listening to, "Silent Lucidity." At first, I thought it was a practical joke, reminding me of Orson Welle's Halloween trick, "We're being invaded by Martians" which ultimately caused pandemonium and mass hysteria throughout the land.

I quickly turned to another radio station. Same thing. This can’t be happening, there’s no way. This has to be some kind of cruel joke.

Another Station: “Both World Trade Center Buildings are on fire!”

I kept driving, my heart pounding, the palms of my hands gripping the steering wheel, trying desperately to retain control. “A passenger jet had slammed into the Pentagon.” No, this can’t be real! I turned on another station. “News just in from Pennsylvania – a plane had crashed in a field.” What the hell is going on? Is this the end of the world?

I arrived at the restaurant, and with my own two eyes, witnessed on their television, the horrific events. I really had not the stomach for egg omelets or pancakes. Not now. "Miss Waitress, just bring me a large glass of cranberry juice." I sat and slowly drank the juice, tears falling down my cheeks. Patrons all around, also staring intently at the television in disbelief, their own faces reddened from sadness.

I knew I had to get home. Pass McCarran International airport I drove. There was not a plane in the sky, neither coming in nor taking off. All was quiet now except the beating of my heart. Many questions arose and struck hard at my conscience but still; I drove on, aiming for home . . . .

MY RESURRECTION

In my life, I had witnessed so much, and at times, perhaps not enough. Sometimes, what I witnessed compelled me to stand taller than I would otherwise; other times, unfortunately, I had but no choice than to take refuge in some god-forsaken trench, cowering to the whims of my world. Perhaps then I was too weak to fight back. Drugs and alcohol could weaken one's resolve, this I know. Ah, live and learn, sometimes easier said than done.

I had come many a mile in my journey, all for good reason of course. In my life, I had witnessed so much. Through discourse and gain, through triumph and tragedy, I had traveled. And learned. There were times when I laughed and times when I cried. Some could say I'm a true warrior, and perhaps the scars of battle etched within the inner sanctum of my being could reveal this simple truth. But, like any warrior, I fought to defend. Honor, dignity, and integrity - they mean so much to me. As does compassion, understanding, forgiveness. Deep down, I am the same now as I was then - even before I was characterized as "the guy who sees through the eyes of a compassionate man.

In my life, I had shared what meager possessions I held. Selfishness, I could never subscribe to . . . no, it is much easier for me to give than take.In my time, I had been a martyr, sometimes out of necessity, other times by choice. At times I had sacrificed but knowingly. An old line from an old song echoes in my head: "Sacrifice, the future has its price and today is only yesterday's tomorrow."

Even when I was living in the park, cold and rained upon, I smiled back at the world. Deep down, I knew. My inner strength had compelled me, moved me and yes, there were times when I felt like giving in. But they were only momentary lapses of reason. I would gather myself and move on, today is only yesterday's tomorrow. Yes, I will fight my way through yet another storm.

In my life, there had been so much to be grateful for; sometimes it is easier to remember what I do have versus what I don't. Quite possibly, that is why I had made it here. Simple philosophies, I assure you. I had read a few of the classical philosophers and their philosophies are beyond the realms of simplicity. For now, I will be my own philosopher. Much simpler.

I do not adhere much to the doctrines of religion. Spiritually, I'm at the helm. Politics, a way of the world, at times I must take a stand, but not one that I find to be incorrigible. I'm against a lot of what is taking place in the world, and a lot of what I witness saddens me, really it does. Again, a simple philosophy: "I cannot carry the world on my shoulders but on my shoulders it is my world that must carry me." I wrote that for reason. I cannot worry as much as I once did about what happens outside my window. I can only do what I can in my own small ways to change what I can; whether it is through the written word and/or through the powers of being. I had, in the past, witnessed what many may deem to have been miracles. A matter of perspective, perhaps. But there have been events in my own life that defy convention, perhaps could be viewed as mere coincidence. As a realist, I also must determine the odds though my idealism would provide me enough reason to judge otherwise.

Do not judge me as a victim of unforeseen circumstances; I'm a result of what these circumstances had provided me. I harbor no ill feelings of what course my life had taken for I've been strengthened by it. Through my ordeals battling alcoholism and witnessing the decimation of my family, I had found solace, perhaps a much keener understanding. I still wish, I still pray, I still want. A good example would be my older brother coming off his mountain or should I say climb out of the valley that he had lowered himself into. For nearly two years now he had abandoned his own children, his two sisters, his aunt and uncle and our mother. I know my mother doesn't have much time left for this world and it would comfort me to know that my brother and she had made amends. Even now, a simple phone call from my brother to my mother would be a blessing. Another Christmas has passed and sadly, not a word from him.
I can only do so much as I call my mother regularly, she had become my best friend. The two thousand miles that separate us physically is nothing compared to the ten miles that separate my brother from her. Unlike me, he could visit her at a drop of a dime. Me, physically I cannot but in spirit, I often do. Through the marvels of invention, to hear my mother's voice speak to me as a mother would a son, as a friend would to another, I must tell you, provides me with comfort.

Again, a long night has led me back here - Today. The sun is shining brightly. I'm reminded of an old song: "The sun is the same in a relative way but your older and one day closer to death." Pink Floyd, Dark Side of the Moon.” Yes, one day closer to death, one day further from birth. Ah, birth . . . I love that word. It means so much to me. I must admit, I'm not too fond of the word death though. Death could signify the end while birth signifies the beginning.

The beginning: I was born a poor white boy. So what? Who cares? It matters not to me if I was born a poor white boy nor would I mind if I was born a poor black boy . . . Opportunities exist, bottom line. Adversity, I love that word too. It provokes challenge. Ah, challenges. So many challenges in life, aren't there? Writing could be a challenge. Writing about your life as a poor white boy could be more of a challenge. So what? Who cares?

From an early age, I wondered about things. Most of us do, makes us human. I wondered about the world in which I had entered. With all its many colors and textures and its people. I learned early on that people are capable of many different things. Like building. And at the same time, destroying. But I was a curious poor white boy. And if I was born a poor black boy, I would've been just as curious, I know I would, I just know it. A blue boy, a white boy, a purple boy, a black boy - all human, I swear. Same with the white girl, black girl, also human. Interesting concept, are we humans.From an early age, I sought answers. Didn't you?

When I was young, I had more questions than answers. And today, well, I don't have all the answers, never will. Not if I'm human. In which I am. My mother, she gave birth to me like any other human mother would. Yes, she held me in her womb for nine months. I'm classified as a mammal. But humans are not the only mammals in this world. There are others, I swear. I've been to the zoo you must know. At an early age I saw Sinbad the Gorilla and Leo the lion. Behind bars, made me cry. "Why Momma? Why are those animals in jail?" No easy answer for a four year old. At four years old, I had questions. Sometimes answers never came though. As I got older, some of my earlier questions were answered and some of them, still made me cry. I'm an emotional being, most humans are. I swear they are. Some humans, they may have a lesser conscience though. Some, I guess are behind bars now. Maybe it's better that way.