It’s fair enough if people want to call the passing of California’s Proposition 8 ‘Bigoted” “Mean-Spirited” or ‘Discriminatory”. I’ll even let you call it ‘Superstitious’ ‘Hateful’ and ‘fearful’. Choose whatever spin-word you want to define it.

But I won’t tolerate it when people define it’s passing as “Un-American”.

Back in the days of the original 13 colonies, one of the issues that set the stage for revolution was the fact that even though the American Colonies paid it’s due taxes to the Crown, they had no direct representation in the British Parliament. The Governors, for the most part, were chosen by the Crown to over see each state. In other words, the Crown could impose any burdensome tax as it deemed fit without any consideration of it’s subjects. It was reasonable to assume that the Crown could also impose any law without those being subject to it to have representation in it’s implementation. The colonies felt that their rights, as Englishmen, had been directly violated. At what point would the Crown stop? Where did it’s power end and the power of it’s citizens begin? Could corruption be kept in check and could subjects to The Crown be protected from that corruption? It opened the doors to tyranny.

As history shows, revolution occurred, and America prevailed in building a government for the people, by the people.

As tax payers, we are entitled to representation. Proposition 8, and it’s support, was legal, and the right of the citizens that supported it to represent themselves within that states government. Likewise, those who were against it’s passing mobilized and represented themselves, and their cause, to the state. The citizens of that state were then given a right to vote on how they wanted their laws to represent them, and their values. Proposition 8 was passed, and the voice of the people was heard. They chose to define Marriage as between a man and a woman, and nothing else.

A few days ago, the courts were asked to either uphold the vote, or strike it down as unconstitutional. Looking it over, they knew that proceedure had been followed, the people has spoken and they didn’t have the authority to deny any law that the people it represented had voted for. Government for the people, by the people.

It doesn’t get any more American than that.

I would have considered it Un-American if the courts made their own decisions on the matter and disregarded the voice of the people in order to satisfy their own personal agendas and beliefs. I would have been highly suspicious of that outcome. I would have wondered who was getting paid, blackmailed or otherwise leveraged to go against the principles that it was sworn to uphold. That is Un-American.

“Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness” isn’t specifically defined. We aren’t told what that ought to mean to us, and for good reason. It’s up to American Society to define it’s laws, based on it’s values. We, as taxpayers and citizens, have the right to have our fair representation as to what laws we base our society on, and to have it honored by our government. This puts the responsibility squarely on us. If America goes down the shitter, it’s the peoples fault. We have an accountability. We have a stake in the structure of our society. We have the liberty to choose, have our voice be heard, and ultimately, chart our own course for our nation.

So, whether it be a ban on gay marriage, the right to bear arms, the right to a fair trial, the right to free speech or any of our other precious freedoms, what those freedoms mean will be defined by the people.

It was not a Nazi plot, it was not religious tyranny, it was not unethical financial support of one party or another. It was the choice of the people.

So, define the law as whatever you will. You can spin it as a reflection of a hateful Californian society or you can call it a triumph of family values in the face of an ever increasing surge of immorality. Either way, it was American, and GOD BLESS AMERICA!!

My country, my society, my responsibility to have a voice in it’s course, and my accountability for it’s success or failure. It doesn’t get any more liberating than that.

“Any society that would give up a little liberty to gain a little security will deserve neither and lose both.” -Benjamin Franklin

“Ask your questions.”

“Questions?”

“You’ve been questioning”

I could feel it was him, though I hadn’t gathered the courage to open my eyes yet.

“How do you know?”

“The data shows it. We’ve observed your writings.”

“Oh.”

I wondered how they had made that observation, but knew that I wouldn’t be able to wrap my brain around the technology that could record such a thing. I locked doors, shut windows, drew blinds and kept my writings in a small fire-safe. The best explanation was interception of visual information as it travelled to the brain from the eyes. Then using a type of translator, they were able to observe what I was observing.

“Many of you question. But you don’t look for answers. We’ve observed a fear response to viable answers in you’re species.”

I thought about that statement for a few seconds, then, in usual fashion, waited. But there were no tests being performed, no extractions being done, no obervations being recorded.

I waited….

“Ask your questions”

I opened my eyes to the soft white light that immersed my nude body as I lay paralyzed on the table.

“Why do I have to be naked?” I asked.

“Our work is carried out more effectively and efficiently if your clothing isn’t on”

“I should tell my wife that one of these nights… ” I thought to myself. I chuckled. No sooner had that chuckle escaped me, than 5 grey beings surrounded me, took measurements, drew blood, and did other various tests that I couldn’t even speculate as to what the purpose of them were. As quicky as they came, they left, leaving only Bills presence.

“Ask your questions.”

He just wanted me to ask. I thought for a minute, wondering where I would start, if it matters what I asked, or if I should ask my questions in a certain order, one questions answers building up to another questions. I couldn’t quite decided, so I just blurted out my first, most obvious question, “Who are you?”

Bill is a good enough guy. I don’t think it’s fair that humans judge him and his people so harshly. They aren’t demons, the are just trying to survive. I don’t think any being is beneath taking such drastic measure to save their own species and lineage.

I met Bill face to face for the first time while swimming in a blue beam of light. His face was expressionless, grey and lacking empathy. His large glassy black eyes reflected my own confusion and horror at my inconceivable situation, and that was about all of the emotion that would be mustered from that stone cold face. Swimming and churning in the light, which seemed to have the consistency of ultra low-density water, I felt like a fish in a large glass cylinder, viewing the sterile surroundings of inexplicable form and incomprehensible technology. Then Bill nudged my arm and all went black and silent. That is about all I can recollect of our first encounter.

Though that was the first memory of our meeting, it certainly wasn’t the last. In fact, there are several hazy, dreamlike memories that follow that first meeting. Each time, Bill was there to observe and to analyze my every atom. It wasn’t painful, it wasn’t degrading. I don’t remember any rectal exams, though it’s more than likely since they rarely ever did this to women, and I was a man. It was mainly the men that were the subjects of this particular practice. It wasn’t the anus or the rectum that interested them, it was the prostate, along with its fluids.

Bill looked very similar to the rest of his kind. I only recognized him by his presence. It’s not explainable, and it’s not a feeling. Its just a knowing that this entity was around. No words were ever exchange, just impressions. Clear, concise impressions.

This is why Bill was know to me as “Bill.” He had no name, just presence. I had to call him something since I couldn’t comprehend identifying a being by their presence alone and had to give him a mark. He understood this and so he sent me the impression that, in order to more effectively study me, he had to accomodate my level of comprehension. Therefore, he gave me the name Bill to attached to his identity. Why he chose Bill, I don’t know. But I’m sure his was decision was based on generations of statistics and the most sound of reasoning.

His presence would be known sparsely through the next 7 years of my life. Just a patchwork of hazy memories and impressions. A flash here and there of bright lights, quiet humming and being meticulously observed while lying down.

During this time, I quietly questioned why I was the subject of such meticulous scrutiny, never revealing my experience to anyone. Some nights, I wouldn’t sleep, trying to remember just what happened whenever Bill was present, and to glean as many details as I could gather from my malfunctioning memory. The experiences after the first meeting never roused any emotion in me, and that is what was so horrifying. To not feel during such an incredible experience, but to simply be there, observing being observed. A human must have an emotional response to his experience to make any value judgements on whether what has happened was good or bad, right or wrong, happy or sad etc. These emotional responses just weren’t there during the observations and statistic collecting. I was the subject of a most rational of projects, and that was only thing that mattered.

It troubled me that, even though I should have been outraged by being treated like a lab animal, fearful and resistant, I wasn’t. Those emotions came after the fact, when the observation was done. I couldn’t fathom what was happening to me, and if what I had experienced was even real. It became a huge burden to bear.

I began to write everything down as I remembered it. I began to write down the questions I had, and to try to come to some sort of conclusion. My biggest question though, oddly enough, was “Who is Bill?”

Having to sort out what all of this is about is driving me to the brink of a type of madness. I like to delve into metaphysics, the paranormal, and the things that don’t appear. I like to ponder human behavior and try to make sense of why people do the things they do.

It’s like falling into an infinite expansivness and I’ll never find a destination. One fork in the road leads to another road with infinite divergences. Pick one and make your next infinite choice with infinite outcomes. It’s not over. It’s never over. There is no point b. There is always point next, destination infinity.

So I’m not doing so well holding onto this idea that at some point in my existence I’ll be “somewhere”. There is nowhere but here. And I think I’m slowly deteriorating into a little insanity. I can’t fathom reality anymore.

On facebook, someone asked the question “Why do men need to be seen with woman that are young enough to be their grandaughters?”.

I will tell you why.

We don’t need to be seen with younger women, we LIKE younger women. Despite what you hear, like the myth that we are only trying to prove we can still attract younger women, that we are less mature than women and thus need to find women that equal our emotional maturity, it’s simple. Younger women look better. They feel better. They excite us more.

My man Solomon, back in the days the Old Testement, had a nice collection of young broads. Over 300 from what we are told. He knew, as with all things, that every few years, you had to upgrade. He’d see that the current wives were getting some mileage on them, and knew that it was time to upgrade to the newest, hottest model. To his credit, he kept the the previous wives because he knew that there were times where nothing beats a ride in a classic, and nostalgia is important to a man.

From the time we are teenagers, we have become hardwired to seek out firm young tail. That is part of being a man. We NEVER outgrow it. We know what we like, and we aren’t ashamed.

When a man tells you of his first car, he will ALWAY include the women who drove in that car with him. Women, particularly young women, remind us of our glory days. The days when chicks dug us, and they were dumb enough to fall for our stupid lines and bullcrap.

The mature woman is just too much work, and far too smart for us. They have expectations of us, they want commitment, our best lines don’t work, and they are very difficult to impress. Why, I remember when all it took was dropping some spare change into the “Make a Wish Foundation” jar at 7-11 and the chick would be eating out of my hands!

As they get older, they gain a sense of self and realize that they really don’t ‘need’ a man. Sure, they’ll keep us around when they need money, someone to watch the kids, or a shoulder to cry on, but when it comes down to it, they’d be fine on their own, in fact, in someways, better off.

What man in their right mind wants that kind of complication? We’re not wired for complexities. We just want some hot hieny to tell us we are wonderful and be ready and willing to get it on at any give moment.

It’s not difficult to understand. It’s just nature’s way of being sure the species is progressing, evolving and replenishing.

And that’s the straight story.

A few weekends ago, I had my 12 year old boy slumped down in the backseat of my Xterra, shirt pulled up over his head. It gave me an idea. Today’s top 10 is 10 ways to embarrass a 12 year old boy.

10. Wear the same clothes you had when you were his age.

9. Put a water balloon in your front pocket, keep a pin in your hand. When his friends come to the door, act really nervous, almost speechless then put your hand your pocket, with the pin, then pop the balloon. Then look down at your crotch in amazement, burst out into tears and yell your wifes name. Then say “Noo – daddy scared, did wee wee’s again!!”

8. At the stop light, look around to see if you’ve pulled up to any girls around his age. If you have, honk the horn to draw their attention, then shove your finger up your nostril. GO DEEP! you have to make it look convincing.

7. This one takes some preparation. Make a large lunch bag, then write his name in large letters on it. When you take him to school, let him get out, head toward the front door. Then after a few seconds, jump out of the car, with the bag and yell… “ZACHARY!! ZACHARY!! YOU FORGOT YOUR LUNCH! MOM WAS SURE TO PUT SOME EXTRA PRUNES TO HELP YOUR CONSTIPATION, AND WE HAVE THE OINTMENT FOR THAT RASH! IT’S IN THE BAG!”

6. If you’re in the mall, keep your zipper down, but a long shirt over the open zipper. When some kids his age walk by, Pull your shirt up, look down and exclaim ‘WHOA HO HO, the gate is open but the beast is asleep, eh son??!!” Then zip up your zipper.

5. Before you drop him off at a party, smear tons of Ben Gay on your body. Then, when dropping him off, walk him to the door and introduce yourself to all of his friends. If anyone asks why you smell like Ben Gay, just say something like, “Oh I strained myself teaching Zachary how to Polka last night. He’s quite talented, you know.”

4. I recently put a subwoofer in my Xterra. Last saturday, I pumped up Weird Al’s “White and Nerdy”, slumped down in my seat, put my baseball hat on crooked and opened all the car windows, then drove slowly down Main Street during a busy time of day. That is why he was covering himself with a shirt.

3. Sneak a Hannah Montana sticker onto his backpack while he’s getting out of the car to get to school.

2. Steal his phone, then text all of his friends. Tell the girls that you know that he’s a handsome boy, but he’s not available for dating until he’s 16. Text yet others that Zachary had his phone taken away and that you are currently beating him for misbehaving.

1. Number one way to embarrass your 12 year old? Just be yourself. Works every time.

My dad and I were having a conversation about getting caught up in too many things and not taking the time to just stop, remain still, and listen to silence.

In our lives, we encounter an awful lot of noise. Lots of advertising. When I say advertising, I am talking about more than just marketing, but the noise of 4.5 billion other humans trying to advertise their point of view. People who will wisely just keep their mouth shut long enough to listen are few and far between.

My dad is someone who will listen and learn. He will pay attention to experience, and the inner signal that he tunes into so that he can block out all of the noise. It’s one of his strengths. It’s one of the strengths he’s passed onto me.

I’ve watch countless people add noise, but few who can actually receive any signal. Even fewer still know what to do with the signal once they have received it. We need less noise, and more signal. The more of us that receive signal, the more understanding, as a society, we can achieve.

Dad passed this phrase onto me. “Be still, and know that I am God.”

The key to tuning into the signal is to be still. To turn of the TV, the music, put down the newspaper, put the computer to sleep and simply sit in quiet contemplation of whatever it is that you feel you need to contemplate. Let inspiration from The Unseen and the Unheard begin to fill you. You may not know what you are receiving at first, and that’s fine. Its meaning will eventually find you if you persist.

Some of my most important moments in life have happened in a quiet place, when my mouth was firmly shut and I was immersed in the silence of the moment. One experience was when I held my first baby girl in the hospital to feed her a bottle. It was quiet in our room, my wife was asleep and I just stared at this silent little creature with wide eyes. It was perfect peace.

Another moment was waiting to enter the room where my wife and I would be married. We sat silently together, saying nothing, until we looked at each other and said, “I know this is right. I have no doubt.” We’ve never looked back. We’ve never wondered if we were with the right person after that.

I’ve never made an important decision at a rock concert, during a movie, or while reading the newspaper. I’ve never had an inspiring, meaningful thought during a football game, while playing video games or while trying to meet a deadline at work. It’s only been in the moment of silence, listening to my inner signal that I’ve been able to do those things.

So shut your pie-hole, put your ego on pause, and ignore the chatter. Find a quiet place and just be still.

Today, I had the experience of being told that if I wanted to make the work place cooperative and pleasant, I could never make a mistake.  I know this statement, though complete and utter bullshit, was born out of frustration and a desire to keep an effective and efficient production schedule. I didn’t get upset, but asserted that it was an unrealistic expectation, and that people make mistakes. It’s that simple.

When faced with such an idiotic statement, that’s completely irrational, I take heart in a statement made by Benjamin Franklin. I haven’t failed, I’ve found 10,000 ways that don’t work. I believe Thomas Edison made a similar statement.

Mistakes tell us when we are on the wrong track. They tell us when certain behaviors bring us pain, and we can avoid them in the future. When we become over confident or become less vigilant in our jobs, we get these sharp reminders to not only pay more attention, but to do better, to excel.

Experience is the greatest teacher, and through experience, our knowledge has meaning. It has substance. Henry Rollins said “knowledge without mileage is bullshit.” I believe this. We can know that the stove is hot, but we won’t understand what it means in the context of real life unless we touch that hot stove, and get burned.

I was recently talking to a friend and he told me of a class he had to take three times in order to pass. He didn’t give up, and he discovered a more effective way to learn. I assume he was able to apply this experience to other classes.

Mistakes aren’t fun. They aren’t convenient. They aren’t practical. They are, however, essential. A complete life cannot involve only success and correctness in everything we do. We can’t comprehend success in it’s proper context without having known failure. We can’t know correctness without also knowing incorrectness.

I think we should strive to do the best we can, whenever possible. But I also believe that when we encounter human foibles, we ought to view it in it’s proper context. You’re not stupid, you’re not bad, you’re not wrong and no one ought to make you feel as if you are. You didn’t intend to screw up. (Having intent is a different story) You are simply someone who has learned what not to do, and hopefully, how to do better.

Anyone who is in an environment where no one can make a mistake, and imperfection is not tolerated will eventually lose all creative thinking, and never take a chance on improving that environment or their circumstances. That person becomes stagnant and eventually becomes a machine.

So go out, make the effort to do something, and screw it up. Then try it again. It makes us better people in the long wrong. Oops, I mean long run…

Anyone who knows me, knows that I tend not to get too involved in political discussion. When asked if I’m a conservative or a liberal, I will say “neither”. When asked if I’m a democrate or a republican, I will say “neither”.

“Well, then what are you, Brett? A fence walker? You can’t spend the rest of your life not picking a side to be on.”

Fence walker? I’m not on the fence, I’m not even in your neighborhood.

In a nutshell, here is my philosophy. We all come from the same source. Whether that source is a singularity that exploded into a universe of infinite diversity or a Divine Creator that intended to put us all here on a planet we call Earth. Whether our bodies are a product of the miraculous development of an organism that began to expand and multiply into a planet of infinite diversity and species that is always developing and expanding or a Divine Creator that made us in His own image, it’s an amazing testimony that Life happens, and it happens in ways we can’t fully comprehend. But one thing is clear. Humanity happened somehow.

How do we know this? Because we are here, intermingling, having conflicts, making love, building friendships and making enemies. We know that, as individuals, we are products of a sexual act between a man and a woman who supplied the genetic material for us to grow from a few cells into a full human capable of achieving homeostasis for nearly a century.

We have a source. It’s a pattern that we see in nature constantly. Mighty Oaks come from a single acorn, a basket of apples grow from a single seed.

My inner knowing is that our source is a Divine Creator, that had a plan. He had an intention that, through His understanding of the natural world, manifest that plan. No hocus pocus, just simple, natural, devoid of opinions on how it ought to happen, but aligned with known principles based on spiritual and physical knowledge. He knew what to do, and has the power to do so. He gave us our life, and then said “Ok, it’s your show now. Forget all you’ve known and try to make it back to your source through your own trial and error. Where you end up after this phase of life is your own choice.”

I want to get back to what I know is my source. My source is spiritual, not political. My source is natural, not synthetic. My direction isn’t going to be led by the contentious arguments that develop between warring tribes that are seeking to make society what they think it ought to be, and I’m not going to join the liberal tribe, or the conservative tribe. To quote Tom Waits “the world is not my home, I’m just passing through”

This egotistical bullshit over who is ‘right’ and who is ‘wrong’ is pointless. If you want pure water, are you going to go downstream where it’s been contaminated, trodden and had the feces of animals mixed in, or are you going to climb and take the water from it’s source, the spring from which it comes? I’ll make the climb and go to the source.

So, while most others are joining the neighborhood riot, throwing accusations, names and garbage back and forth over the fences, trying to get the fence walkers to fall on either side, some of us are going to be gone trying to find the answers from our Source.  Arguing politics won’t take me back to my Source. Aligning myself with principles that are real, both spiritually and physically, will take me back.