Keystone Habits : One of the “Keys of Synergy” for Unlocking Vast Potential For Your Transformation

This is a rough draft.  I cleaned it up a bit; but I also wanted to give other writers a glimpse into how I arrive at my ideas and put them together in a flow.  I am nowhere NEAR perfect at this – if perfection even exists – but I strive to come ever nearer to that ideal of perfection through continuous self-examination of both myself and my work.

I desire not only to share my thoughts, stories, poems, experiences and inspiration on a blog; but also I crave being a well-known and respected author, such as Piers Anthony (Fantasy, Science Fiction) Isaac Asimov (Many, many fields), Zig Zigglar (Sales), Lee Child (Best known for his REACHER series about a a former MP with military detective training, who continually calls upon a set of  devastating martial arts moves and lightning-quick reflexes….think the latest version of Sherlock Holmes, only much taller, stronger and built like a tank!), Herman Hesse (A very controversial German writer who’s main audience seems to be young adults and teenagers ready for a different viewpoint – my two favorites being, “Siddhartha” and “Demian”) and the latest author and public speaker for which I have great respect: Scott Berkun (“Making Things Happen: Mastering Project Management” – a book,  warm, witty and relatively free of annoying technical jargon.  But my favorite work of his has to be (“MINDFIRE: Big Ideas for Curious Minds” – a book which he self-published in order to ensure getting his message across with little to no censorship.)

Eventually I hope to be able to tell a story, write a poem, or detail instructions, with the pace, imagination, and apparent ease with which these master weavers of the word, have managed to do on such a consistent basis.

I am convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt, that YOU (Yes…I’m talking to YOU, reading this right now!) may become anything YOU want, as long as YOU are willing to look at yourself with fresh eyes every day; and one of an Artist’s greatest strengths is to be able to listen to constructive criticism and really hear what the other person is trying to communicate.  Based on the main 12 astrological personality types – I feel that gaining feedback from each type, gives a well-balanced viewpoint of the various psychological types in humanity, from which to work with in forming your own communication.

In the future, I hope to incorporate an inner circle of those friends who I feel most strongly embody the positive characteristics of each of the 12 psychological types.  For now, I will have to make do with imagining a critic from a second and third perspective, just as Leonardo Da Vinci did in his time, when attempting to learn how to better his communication skills and better his relationships.

[Give Quick Overview HERE]

1) Introduction
  A glimpse behind the writer
  Some of his favorite reads and authors
2) Table of Contents

  Story
3) First Keystone Decision

  Move from Denver to Boulder
    Story
    Problems
    Benefits
    Humor
    Summing up
 4) Second Keystone Decision : Common to all human beings

  Sleep
    Mazlow’s Hierarchy of Needs
    Picture of Pyramid from Wikipedia
  Order of My Day
  Tie in with Keystone Habits

5) Sum Up
6) What’s in store in the near future:

  Physical and Written Reminders you can call upon in order to enhance the speed, and cement the new habits you are attempting to establish in your life
7) Thank You
8) Apology for Not Being Able to Answer Comments or Questions on this Blog (Life is very Busy at the Moment
9) Email address where I CAN be accessed
10) Credentials
11) Tags List
—————–

When I was living out of “Step 13”, a drug and alcohol rehabilitation center in Denver, Colorado – I enjoyed strolling down to the local McDonald’s every morning, located on the 16th Street Mall, because it was a place where I could go inside away from the elements, not be bothered too much, and gather my thoughts.  While there, I would stand in line to get several breakfast sandwiches, two cherry pies (because let’s face it – they were only 49 cents each…might as well get two, right?) –  And I would top it all off with a coffee that I could refill as many times as my heart desired.  This was a negative life-impacting habit that I needed to get control of – and quick!

I kept track of my receipts, and was horrified to find out that I was spending more than $100 on fast food per month!  Not only was it costing me financially; but it was costing me my health, as well.  But I couldn’t stop.  I had will power; but it was more like a candle flame which flickers and dances depending on the strength of the wind; than a steady resolve of iron.  It wasn’t constant.  I could be swayed by most of my smaller desires.  You might have applied the term, “addict” to me, and you wouldn’t have been far from the truth.  The truth was, as much as it might hurt to admit it, was that I was a slave to my desires and habits.  I didn’t truly control my life.  My mind was not my own.  My decisions were not really decisions, but rather impulses which I justified and rationalized at the moment, in order to get what I wanted in the short term; even if I knew, on some level, that in the long term, it would be detrimental.
It’s interesting how many people believe that they are making choices, when in reality they are slaves to their petty desires.  I believe this results from a scattering of consciousness.

And so, even had I been capable of completely avoiding that particular McDonalds; there were half a dozen other fast food places that I would eventually be drawn to, right down the block.  Realizing that I needed to have a ‘dry’ period where I could detox for a couple of weeks from the harmful effects of that particular food and drink, and establish better habits, I tried to think up a creative way to solve the problem.  After writing about it and thinking it over for a few weeks, I realized that I what I really wanted to do was to move back to Boulder.  A strange decision you might be saying to yourself – “If he only wanted to avoid eating at McDonald’s, why’s he gotta move all that way to a completely different city?!”.  Yeah, you might be right, but just hear me out, and then decide whether I’m crazy, ok?

There were a couple of reasons for that decision.  The biggest reason is that it would solve a bunch of issues at once:  The first observation I made, was that I needed my support groups back…Carriage House, Friends, Nightly Dinners, Deacon’s Closet – a clothing bank, and MHP – regularly scheduled sessions for emotional and mental well-being.  I liked the clean air coming off of the mountains to the west; and the bus system was way easier for me to navigate, than say, Denver’s. – And of course – the McDonalds would be too far for me to travel on a daily basis from where I would be staying the previous night, in Boulder.  (I am generally lazy at times, and so I knew that by making it a hassle to have to bike all the way across town to the McDonalds; or if I was walking – to spend forty minutes walking just to get a coffee and a couple of sandwiches, hefting a back pack filled to the brim with books and clothes and other stuff — would persuade me to think of another, more convenient option.)

So, making the move from Denver to Boulder Colorado (A particular Keystone Action) took care of a whole host of things that I wanted to change; and it was only ONE DESCISION that I had to make to get all those benefits!

Now, a humorous side-effect to making that decision, was that I DID manage to stay away from McDonalds; only to be seduced by the much closer and friendlier Star Bucks on Pearl Street – where I got hooked on large hot chocolates every morning!  My friends laugh their asses off when they hear this.  It’s kinda funny, really.  I moved to try and save money; but wound up paying even MORE than I expected, because each hot chocolate was maybe $3.00 or $4.00, and as you know, there is no “Dollar Menu”, at Starbucks, and you don’t get free-refills, do you?

Anyway, the above is only one example of one of my personal Keystone Thought/Action/Habit(s)

But let me see if I can come up with a Keystone Habit which most probably affects all of you; not just me.  It would have to be something for which I’m pretty certain – the whole human race has in common.  In order to rise to the challenge, I’ll have to fall back on something that I was taught in health class back in high school:

Ever heard of Mazlow’s Hierarchy of Needs?

Now, don’t groan…I can hear you guys.  This is really cool stuff.  Mazlow came up with a pyramid which depicted the various levels which a person must go through, in order to become a fully functioning and fulfilled human being.  One of the lowest levels, at the base of the pyramid or triangle, is our BASIC NEEDS.  In order they are: AIR, WATER, FOOD, CLOTHING (if in a cold climate), AND HOMEOSTASIS.

Well, I’m gonna quick skip over to Google and Youtube and see if Mazlow said anything about SLEEP; because that’s definitely a very important one……………….

……….And……. I’m back.  I typed, “Mazlow’s Hierarchy of Needs”, in the Google Search Bar (Google’s so NEAT – don’t you think?) and up popped thousands of links in blue.  There was one that took me to a Wikipedia article; and once I got there, on the right was the same picture, below, (which you should be taking a look at right about now).

Well, I was right; but I unfortunately left out SEX (one of our favorites)  and ELIMINATION; as in what you do when you go to the bathroom.

To get back to the point, SLEEP is very important for us to function, and is one of the prime requisites for human beings to have a fulfilled life.  Without it, or enough OF it, you can run into all kinds of problems.  Chief among them is that you get very tired and sluggish and can’t move your body the right way, and your brain just refuses to work as it usually should.  Other things begin occurring right around the third or fourth day without sleep…visual and auditory hallucinations, feelings of your body getting a rush of heat, a feeling of being “wired” or your nerves moving toward the breaking point where they are all over the place.  You lose all sense of time.  You begin to forget the easy things, like where you put your glasses (on top of your head).  Paranoia. – And at the very end, insanity and eventual death.  Of course that’s the extreme; but you get my point – You need your sleep.  You need the right amount of it, uninterrupted; and you need to have a feeling of safety when you lie down and close your eyes.

The choice of when to go to bed, for most adults, is entirely up to them.  I know that when I was a kid; I chose to go to hit the mattress as late I could get away with!  My dad had to bribe me with Baskin’ Robbins, once, just to get me to climb the stairs and turn in, and STAY there!  But like I said, most people, get to choose their own sleep patterns.

For myself, I found that it is best if I go to sleep around 12:00 or 1:00 in the morning.  There are many reasons for this, but the main one is that it sets up the following day, and opens up opportunities for me to better myself and get all that I need to get done before the end of the evening.

I’ll run you through how I made the decision (and I use that term loosely, because I’m still working at it – maybe I’ll have to bribe MYSELF with ice cream, huh?  And you’ll get to see the SYNERGY that this particular Keystone Habit sets up for all other thoughts, actions and habits that I would like to build.

First, I’ll outline the early part of my day from the time I wake up, till the time when I walk out the door in the afternoon:

I get up around 6-8 in the morning (this is my ideal intent; though it doesn’t always happen that way)
I wash the dishes, first, so that while doing my other stuff, they have time to dry.
I make a bowl of fruit
I pull out plastic bags of fruit and/or vegetables which I prepared all at once the night I got back from grocery shopping:  Blueberries, Strawberries, Kiwi, Pineapple, Peaches, Mango, Blackberries, cucumbers, zucchini, squash, red/yellow/green/orange peppers, spinach (torn up with fingers), mushrooms, and purple cabbage (not at all, an exhaustive list.  I prepare a bowl of fruit throwing in as many colors of the rainbow as possible.  Followed by mixing in crushed walnuts; and then drizzle it with honey after eating a spoonful of Coconut Oil for my joints and for Alzheimer’s.

Next, I fill up a large, plastic cup with tap water, and take both the cup and the bowl of fruit into the bathroom with me…(But, I need to get in the habit of drinking filtered water.)

I take my bath, and set the timer on my stove, (sometimes twice), for about 40 minutes.

While in there, I’m reading my Massage Anatomy and Physiology Text Book that I got from a second-hand store for two or three dollars.
I’m drinking water from a large plastic cup.  Glass shatters.  And sometimes I’m clumsy with my left elbow – knocking things over.
I’m eating that bowl of fruit, which I just made in the kitchen
When the  timer rings, I set everything aside, pull the curtain in, and drain the bath water.
I’ll take a shower to get rinsed off.

Once dried off, I pull on sweat pants, preparing for relaxing the body and nervous system with yoga, in order to create the ideal conditions for a calm body for meditation.
I like to light incense and set the mood by walking slowly around my apartment in a clockwise direction, setting the intent that I am cleansing the air and the space in which I live and protecting myself against any malevolent forces or spirits which might decide to attack me psychologically, energetically, or spiritually, while opening myself up to the universe or god in my particular style of meditation.
I start off with THE 5-Tibetans, moving slowly and purposefully into my own, unique style of Yoga which I created just for me over time.
Followed by 60 rotations of Kundalini Spine Twists.  They might be called something else, but that’s what I call them.
Followed by kneeling meditation for 15 minutes.
Followed by specific mind concentration exercises.
Followed by visualization of how I want my life to turn out in the future; and who I would like to become.
Then I get up, and put away the dishes which are now dry, wipe down the stove, the counters, and the sink, and faucet.  Then dry all of it with a soft towel.

As you can see, without my having to go any farther – you can sense the importance of getting to sleep at the right time; for if I were to get up at, say, 12 or 3 in the afternoon, then most of my day would be gone by the time I got done with those things which bring me balance for the rest of my day.

Thus, the time which I go to sleep is extremely important to the how many things I am able to accomplish the next day; and even the order in which I might accomplish them.
Therefore, sleep, for me…is defined as a Keystone Habit. – One which unlocks the doors, and prepares the road I will travel while uncovering other necessary thoughts, actions and habits.

Well, that’s it for this installment of “SYNERGY”.

Next time we’ll be taking a look at how we can set up both physical and written reminders, which will enhance the speed and effectiveness of our attempts at establishing better habits for ourselves, and eliminating ones that no longer serve our needs.  As always, I will be detailing my current methods which I’m playing with, which in time, should lend to creating a synergistic and harmonious personal power with which I will construct my own life.

Thanks for reading,
Yours Truly in Loving Spirit,

I should smile more, here, huh? *smile*

If you would like to get in touch with me with comments or questions, then don’t hesitate to email me at this address: knavelylovesynergy@gmail.com.  I reserve this email address just for replies to my blogs.  I will attempt to be timely in my own response, because I care about reaching out and creating a world which our grandchildren’s grandchildren would cherish and take care of.  If I judge the email to be less than that of high character, I reserve the right to refuse to respond.  So please, be kind and considerate to the writer, and he will, in turn, be kind and considerate to you!

This is the soul/sole creation and possession of:
David Lee Madison, Jr.
~Dave/Nate/Knave
~KnavetheMage – Twitter
~ZenNinja
~Dreamweaver
~Knavely Love
~Nay Nay
~Davey
~Junior
~Eric

Think only of that which you would have appear before your very eyes
I AM Becoming/Crystallizing my Form and Essence of: Superman, Wizard, Warrior, Jedi, Shaman, Fool, Master Creator, Magus…star-seeded human being.  I AM clothed in ALL Roles; subject to none…
~anewoldsoul – mylot.com
Wordpress – “Synergy”, suprememasterjedi, “Poetry by 34”, “Other People’s Poetry”, “The Bathtub Philosopher”
Copied from my WORD documents in Boulder, CO
Friday, March 12, 2014 – 05:30

“A Formerly Homeless Marine’s Story” – In case You Were Interested…

Below is an attempt to lend clarity to the boy I was, and the man I am becoming, in order to give a window into why I so strongly hold Integrity of one’s Character above all else in life.

I have striven to be as brief and clear as I can; but as a fairly new writer (how much could I have really done in 24 years, anyway?) — There are bound to be hiccups in the flow of the writing; and I will have left out some parts.  However, I have sensed a growing curiosity of what lay aback the black and white of the words I have recently typed.  We all relate to stories.  We all seek to bond in some way with the one another.  That’s why we like movies and books with good character development and great acting.  We desire that human connection.  So, even if the facts are not entirely precise in their presentation…know that I have given great thought and care to the impression that they will leave you with.  The individual facts of the story are not so important, as the overall IMPRESSION or ESSENCE with which they convey those facts.  When you take apart the human body and look at each piece separately, you cannot come away with the awe-inspiring beauty and elegance that you get from just a simple or cursory glance at the finished product.  The elegance, love and wisdom behind the synergy of an all powerful and inter-connecting intelligence, spells itself over you almost like an aroma of the finest quality.  The stories are but stories.  I think that we – including me – take them way too seriously.  The stories are merely to illustrate a certain unique perception of our connection to every single thing in existence, and the essence or glue which binds those perceptions, (or a filtering of consciousness due to a localized reality).

Therefore, read this with the overall picture or message or intent which was in my mind, and not in order to pick out faults of the writer, whether the mechanics of the writing or the views of the writer.  I have many faults.  Of this, I am supremely aware.  If you read it with an open mind and compassionate heart, you may see the underlying nature of yourself peeking through; and if so, I will have done my job for the time being.

Thank you for your presence and your love, and enjoy!

I am a 34 year-old United States Marine with no siblings who is no longer ‘active’, and I go by the name of Nate, for now, but was christened, David Lee Madison, Jr., after my father, who was a  “Sr”.  I’ve lived in foster homes.  I’ve been in special education classes when I was in elementary school.  Our family, my father and my step mother, our cats and rabbits, and myself, all moved around quite a bit, while living in Virginia.  Later I flew out by myself to go live with my fundamentally religious aunt and uncle.  I stayed there for about a year, on the west coast, overlooking some cherry trees, out into sunset after sunset, slicing it’s way so beautifully toward our home at the end of every day. Our mobile home was situated between Mount Hood, Oregon, and Washington State.  We lived with one very feisty and demonic cat, named Eidelvies, (pronounced, “AY’ DUL VICE”(This may be a butchering of that cat’s name, but I don’t care…that cat can go to hell for all I care! – joking, of course) He had one blue eye and one brown eye.  It was a bit crowded in there, as we also had two shelties.

There was no television, no radio, no toys, and certainly nothing that you would see in a typical suburban home, or an apartment.   Instead, we lived in that mobile home up on cinder blocks, with a piano, a wood stove, some books, a small, square dining room table and three wooden chairs, a bunk bed in my room, and maybe a regular bed in theirs. – And of course, there were quite a few bibles.  Outside, was a sizeable stack of firewood which rested against a brick-red painted porch with lattice the same color.  The dogs roamed freely most of the time, and you could wander down the hill, through the various orchards, toward the edge of the cliff, overlooking the Gorge, where early on Saturdays and Sundays, you could just make out the glint coming off the boards of the windsurfers, way below to your right.

I was there maybe a year or so, and then came back to live with my dad and step mom, who had, by then, moved to Rutland, Vermont.  I went to 8th grade there. – And then I moved into the newly constructed Rutland High School in June of 1994 as a freshman.

I spent about nine months up in Bangor, Maine, in a dorm on the campus of Penobscott Job Corps, studying carpentry at the “Home Builder’s Institute”; and then signing up for the Marines.  I took my ASVAB for the armed services and was very surprised to score a 98 out of a possible 99, and was assured that I could get any job that I wanted, because, as the guy explained to me, “That score shows that you’re smart enough to work on those nuclear submarines in the Navy if you really wanted!”  I didn’t much think so, not having the confidence back then which I’ve been working on lately; but the guy was adamant.  I wound up with an MOS designation of a “3521 Diesel Mechanic”.  I got out two years later, not wanting to continue, and feeling like a complete failure among other things; but I survived the experience and even fondly remember some parts as being rather pleasant.

Several things happened all at once while I was making a living as a server at TGI Fridays in King of Prussia, Pennsylvania (when I got out of the Marines, my dad had once again decided to move).  The first thing major complication, was my step mom began suffering from several strokes.  The neurologists said that she had had four similar strokes in the same frontal region of the brain – where judgment calls are made.  She was placed in a care home after being released from the hospital.  Her sister came in and took control of the power of attorney which had up until then, allowed us to survive in a $700 a month, two bedroom apartment in Pottstown, Pennsylvania.  When, my dad discovered that he shared a genetic condition which predisposed him to his mother’s auto-immune and nervous system disease – Mulitple Sclerosis, and that he was exhibiting the symptoms from some environmental or emotional trigger – he took it in stride.  He was about 48 years old, attending nursing school and getting mostly straight A’s, while holding down a strenuous physical labor-type job at Blommer Chocolate Factory.  All that went away while he tried to convince the doctors that he wasn’t just dreaming the condition up; but was really starting to deteriorate from the disease.  Their lack of compassion and a bunch of red-tape, allowed the disease to get some momentum going; and by the time they decided to do anything about it, his physical and mental condition had considerably worsened in just a year’s time.  I remember when he could out run me and out think me.  It wasn’t long before that was no longer the case and I began to see him more and more frequently leaning on a cane and complaining of pain in his him.  He began to slur his words and forget things I had told him not just a few days ago.  I had to watch, powerless to stop, a proud, intelligent, highly creative and competitive man with a the spirit of a lion, get broken by a deterioration of his nervous system.  This killed me.  I’ve always been rather empathic, and tend to feel other people’s pain; but in time, I had to shut that part of myself off, so that I could continue to function.  (I’ve since figured out how to ‘turn’ it back on, with the help of meditation and contemplation; and because I wanted to regain the connection I had as a kid to the world as a whole.)

As time passed and stress mounted, I began to increasingly have trouble with my attitude toward work as a server.  I dreaded coming in; and I feel that my subconscious part of myself finally decided to make the decision that the conscious part of me was afraid to:  A few weeks later, continuously worrying about my dad and what he would do since he could no longer work  (I was worried that he would wind up homeless…and I need not have worried because his girlfriend took him into her home and took care of him the best she knew how), I made the mistake of coming in on the wrong day, and was fired.  I had been trying to get people to give me extra shifts that they didn’t want so that I could cover the bills.  What then ensued for nearly six years, was on again, off again, life of living in shelters, warming centers, couches, and on the streets and in tunnels, and rooftops.  My main occupation became learning very quickly how to survive in almost any condition.  You can’t ever prepare for this.  Not even my Marine Corps training could; but it helped with my mindset.  I continued to improve upon my meditation so that I could bring balance to my mind.   The last thing I wanted was to have some organization from which I was receiving aid, to declare me incompetent to live my own life.  This is a very real possibility and nearly happened a few times.  What one does not realize, is that when you go into a building that is there to serve the homeless, you are, in effect, inviting them to become you caregiver or guardian.  If you “misbehave”, then they have the power and authority to put you into what is termed a, “72-Hour Hold”, whereby your mental condition is assessed in a hospital-type environment, and if you are seen as unable to function in normal society, certain of your rights as a “citizen” are revoked.  Freedom is one of those rights.  The freedom to make your own choices based on your own sound judgment.  Some stranger who is paid $10-$30 per hour is given charge of evaluating your state of mind.  I find this laughable, because most often, this person has no clue of the context of the situation.  Therefore, how can they possibly make evaluations and value judgments as to your normal state of mind and whether that has been compromised?  In body language, they call this a “baseline”.  In order to know whether someone is lying or sending “incongruent” signals from those that they should be in that particular situation, you must know how they act and react in everyday, non-stressful situations.  You must compare the two in order to draw meaningful conclusions.  Unfortunately, for some individuals, this is not the case; and they get some kind of label; and often are pushed or coaxed into taking medication to fix the “problem”.

Since 2008, right around Thanksgiving, I have lived outside for several winters in Boulder, CO.  I learned that my mom had lung cancer a few years back, so I decided to leave my job, buy a $500 car from my savings, and make a trip out to Illinois to attempt to take care of her.  On the way there I incurred a fine which I could not pay while driving the interstate highway, almost out of Colorado.  The officer wrote it in such a way that I could not read what it said; and therefore could not respond to the charges.  The fine stuck and fees were attached.  This eventually led through a series of cause and effect chain relationships to the result of the loss of my vehicle.  It is now 2014, and I am still paying court fines for fees from a failure to change an Illinois license plate to that of a Colorado one.  This occurred, because after paying the fine and fees, in good faith, from a “failure to yield to an emergency standing vehicle” on the highway – I did not have enough money to take care of getting my license plate changed!  This, from about 2010, when I first discovered my mom had cancer.  Afterward, when I no longer had a car to sleep in, I slept where ever I could manage – where the cops would not give me a ticket.  I still managed to get a ticket when I was turned away from the Boulder Shelter after losing a “lottery”, and upon learning that a warming center would not be open that night.  I made a decision against my better judgment, to accompany a few other homeless guys to a property which they swore they had permission to sleep on.  It was out in the woods near a ditch and a few hundred yards away from main traffic, so I assumed that we were ok there.  During the night, some guys continued to draw attention to them selves by carrying on a loud conversation, and in the morning two female cops were issuing tickets.  It was cold enough that the “illegal” sleeping bag that I had, was stiff from frost.  I was not in trouble for sleeping outside.  I was in trouble for utilizing what Boulder law has termed, “cover”.  Clothing is not considered cover, but anything other than clothing, such as blankets, sleeping bags; and I’ve even been told, tree branches, is considered cover.  It was cold enough to freeze to death that night; but because I used a certain amount of common sense to survive – I was told to appear in court.  I did.  – And a Lawyer, David Harrison, took up my “camping” case, pro-bono.  He then, got me in touch with ACLU – American Civil Liberties Union, because the case against me was deemed, in their eyes, unconstitutional.  Both David Harrison and the ACLU saw my case as one that could set a precedent in law.  If they could find me not-guilty by virtue of being forced into a situation which was unconscionable, and I therefore had to make as they termed it a “lesser evil” decision which any normal human being would have made given the unique set of circumstances; then they could set into motion protections against homelessness abuse, which made it legal to prosecute those who were simply doing all they knew how in order to survive in a society which punished those who had no or little means of making a dollar.  In effect, homelessness had become a crime; and the silly, yet awful response of law enforcement was to further punish these people by taxing them with court fees which they call “fines”.
If your son or daughter, wife or husband, boy friend or girlfriend, or mother or father were out on the streets – would you convict them for doing what they could to survive, when society had made it nearly impossible for them get shelter?  In essence, this is what the city of Boulder has done countless times.  They are making homlessness and the necessary actions which have been taken in order to avoid it — a crime.

If this isn’t enough, I’ve been tased six times in a row, by the police in a misunderstanding, maced or pepper sprayed, and had a net placed over my face for simply trying to help my friend who had been beaten up and was lying on his back in the middle of a sidewalk.  The manager of the Pub where we were playing pool told him that he didn’t have enough money on his card to pay for our drinks.  We all tried to work out something with the guys.  I offered to wash their dishes or do something else.  My friend offered to leave his license, so that he would be held accountable for paying the debt.  They declined and kept threatening to call the police if we didn’t pay up.  I could sense that my friend felt he had few options and was going to try to run out the back door.  I tried to signal him to think it over and be cool – that we could work something out.  He gave them a card which he claimed was his sister’s which he let me know didn’t have the necessary money on it, in order for them to leave the room.  This would present a distraction so that he could run.  He did.  They quickly followed, yelling and jeering, as if it were some game.  I walked around the corner and was accosted by a man who grabbed me from behind.  I looked into his eyes and told him to let go.  I had the Marine Corps training to severely injure him by attacking with a knife hand or a palm strike to the throat, thereby crushing his larynx, and sending him to the hospital or killing him.  I chose to not do this, knowing both the consequences, and only desiring to help straighten things out with my friend.  After speaking calmly to him, he let my arms go and I turned to find one of the bar employees standing over my friend in between two cars with his arm raised.  My friend’s head was either on the curb, or very near it.  I began to move toward them, when I heard rushing footsteps from behind me.  I spun around and came face to face with a police officer running with his body leaning forward, around the corner.  I tried to explain things, but he yelled, “Move.  Move or I’ll tase you.”  I got angry.  My adrenaline was already pumping and all I had wanted to do was de-escalate the violence; but then my Marine Corps Training came into play and I began reacting as a soldier might against an enemy combatant who means you physical harm.  I stepped toward him and backed him up about 7 steps.  In the meantime he had pulled his taser or stun gun out and was pointing it at my chest, his voice was quavering, almost as if he was scared and going through puberty.  “Move or I will tase you.  I mean it.”  Again, I had a choice of whether or not to resort to violence.  Had I stayed in the Marine Corps more than the two years and attained Corporal; perhaps I would have.  Marines are not known for their restraint in bar fights and their egos are sizeable for what they have had to endure.  There is a tremendous amount of pride instilled during the training, and even a culture of contempt for the civilian or other armed forces is encouraged.  Despite all this, I simply stared him down wary of any threatening movement – I was not going to be the first one to engage – and when I saw that he was reluctant to attack me, I quickly ran around to the other side of my friend who was now lying on his back in the middle of the sidewalk.  Soon other police officers arrived, and while I was kneeling over my friend, asking him if he was ok, I heard a female voice tell me to put my hands behind my back.  I yelled back, “I’m not trying to hurt anyone; I’m just trying to help my friend.”  I yelled that several times, in order to set the right intention and communicate my non-violence.  The officer I had originally faced, came up behind me and put his stun gun or taser to my back.  I stood up and clasped my hands as if in prayer.  They kept yelling for me to put my hands behind my back and the officer tried to pull my hands apart so that he could cuff them.  He could not.  I kept saying the same thing over and over again.  “I’m not trying to hurt anyone; I’m just trying to help my friend.  But no matter how many times I said this, they continued the assault.  The officer behind me placed the stun gun against my back again, in an effort to weaken me by sending electricity through my muscles, causing them to clench powerfully until, they would completely tire.  But I was determined to stand my ground, for I felt that a great injustice was occurring; and I believe that injustice, no matter the source needs to be dealt with face to face – non violently if possible.  When the officer’s tactics did not work, he reached around and sprayed me in the face.  First in one eye, and then in the other.  Since he had been in contact with me, his continuing to send electricity through me in order to make me more compliant resulted in his being the recipient of some of that electricity.  I even heard another officer laughing, when the officer cried out in pain and surprise.  I did not; because I have undergone some pain-tolerance.  Finally, someone hit me in the legs with something very much like a flying football tackle, and while I was on the ground an officer; I’m not sure which one; but I would hazard a guess as to it being the original one I had contact with – kept placing the instrument against my back and turning on the electricity.  I was struggling on the ground, at which point he placed it on my back again; but this time left it there for what seemed like an agonizingly long time.  It was then that I cried out; and it was then that most of the strength left my body.  At some point while on the ground, the female officer told me to turn over on my stomach; I told her that I was trying, and that is when she placed a booted foot on my body and thrust forward, flipping me over.  I couldn’t see much because my eyes were tearing up from the mace or pepper spray and I had contacts in…not a good combination.  I was spitting up on the ground, trying to get the burning stuff out of my mouth, and one of the officer’s – I believe the female one, put a net over my face.
If you have never received this kind of treatment by “peace officers”, then you don’t have much of an idea how you might react.  I never struck out at any of these officers; even though they were doing very inhumane things to me.

I have wound up physically assaulted by Boulder Police on more than one occasion. One of those times, while I was in jail, I decided against a plea bargain against the advice of some Legal Defenders, in order to secure a trial-by-jury.  But that is a story for another time.

What I want to convey, here, is that when you have no money or very little; and no home of your own, you are viewed, and treated as if you are a second-class or third-class citizen.  And the city can get away with doing exactly that, because you have no leverage with which to defend yourself. Your reputation is attacked.  By virtue of having no money and no home, you are put in a category of someone who lazy, or violent, or has a criminal mind.  The funny thing, is that this “system”, whether consciously or not, is designed to eventually turn you into a criminal, even if before you were exposed to it’s particular mode of coercion, you were a perfect, model citizen.  It is much, much harder for those individuals who have taken it upon themselves, early on in their school days to question that which has been “taught” to them by the powers that be.  As a kid, I had many questions.  I had a gentle nature, which turned only to violence when it could see no other way of securing it’s god-given rights to peace and liberty.  I was labeled, early on, as a trouble-maker.  I was highly intelligent, creative, and saw a world of wonder; yet I couldn’t understand why the adults around me; and even most of the kids acted the way that they did.  There was a soul inside which screamed that something was very wrong.  I didn’t know HOW wrong at the time; and it was only through trying to become an individual and think for myself, when I came against the well-oiled machine of the ‘system’.  This made me dangerous.  I was dangerous, because if I could think and act differently, it was possible that I could persuade others to do the same; and the power of the ‘system’ depends on fear, and ignorance of your rights.

I took two tests in high school to measure my brain.  In both I was placed almost squarely in the middle.  Left vs. Right Brain; and Concrete/Sequential and Abstract/Random.  This means that I tend to think wholistically.  It also means that my mental state is mostly balanced, except for those times when there is a spike in my emotions – which are simply electro-chemical impulses PRODUCED by a master gland in my brain.  Since I’ve discovered meditation, I have slowly, and over a great deal of time, learned to more and more re-wire the connections in my brain or the neural pathways of how I used to deal with stress.  This translates to a fact that even when I am placed or place myself in an extremely chaotic environment, where normally, (any normal person) might have a breakdown, or resort to the limbic brain – the Freeze, Fight or Flight mode that we ALL have been genetically programmed, over millions of years to respond with — I still, am able to respond in an almost tranquil manner, with a calm and centered mind and emotional set, more and more often, lately.  This means that I am able to function in very stressful situations.  – Situations, that even some managers of companies, police officers, and many other supposedly well-balanced individuals would have a nervous breakdown from.  One of the keys is that I have already had some complete nervous breakdowns.  This is something which the military is highly aware of.  They use it extensively in their basic training to create soldiers which are able to re-act in war-time/war-like environments, in such a way and to such a degree of accuracy, that they are able to continuously make razor-edged and split-second decisions with a very low percentage of error.  For example, less people get killed, and the unit or team accomplishes their mission, because of the fluid communication and the wise decisions which have to be made time and time again by those tested to their breaking/failure point.  It is this testing to the breaking/failure point, and then the resetting of mind, emotion and intent, which sets those who succeed massively and those who just scrape by in life.  Schools do not teach this.  They teach the opposite.  They teach you to be afraid of failure.  They build a contempt of failure and strivance toward perfection through their inadequate grading system.  Teamwork on tests and quizzes, for the most part, is deemed to be cheating.  Yet, in real life, we are not so much graded on whether we, as individuals know the material; but on how we can work together and apply what, we as a community have learned.  I have attempted to incorporate this new understanding into the way I approach the challenges in my life.

And, when I was in the military, I was anything, BUT calm, cool and collected.  I was rash, angry, frustrated, afraid, lonely, and insecure; however, AFTER I left the Marines, my real education began, and I began to consciously form my own CHARACTER based on the values I cherished when I was a child, and some that I have been exposed to since then, and have embraced because of their alignment with what I feel to be true in my soul.

I have mounting hospital bills, from the lifestyle that I was trying to get out of, nearly dying from Staph Infection, in the process of getting healing from a group of Contact Improve dancers in the local area.
But I stuck it all out, and finally managed to get the attention of a non-profit organization which works very hard to house homeless people.  I was one of the lucky ones, and every day, I am so grateful for the voucher which allows me to live in this apartment.  Without it, I would be back on the streets, without showers, proper food, and sometimes forced to sleep outside in the rain or the snow.  There are shelters and warming centers, but they aren’t always open due to many factors which, at the moment, I don’t have the time or space necessary to go into in depth.

This concludes the brief (and it is brief, though it may appear long) personal history, which if you took the time to read, should help give you the context needed to understand where I’m coming from in all the articles, poetry and my choice of what to reveal of myself in the future.

If you would like to get in touch with me with comments or questions, then don’t hesitate to email me at this address: knavelylovesynergy@gmail.com.  I reserve this email address just for replies to my blogs.  I will attempt to be timely in my own response, because I care about reaching out and creating a world which our grandchildren’s grandchildren would cherish and take care of.  If I judge the email to be less than that of high character, I reserve the right to refuse to respond.  So please, be kind and considerate to the writer, and he will, in turn, be kind and considerate to you!

This is the soul/sole creation and possession of:
David Lee Madison, Jr.
~Dave/Nate/Knave
~KnavetheMage – Twitter
~ZenNinja
~Dreamweaver
~Knavely Love
~Nay Nay
~Davey
~Junior
~Eric

Think only of that which you would have appear before your very eyes
 I AM Becoming/Crystallizing my Form and Essence of: Superman, Wizard, Warrior, Jedi, Shaman, Fool, Master Creator, Magus…star-seeded human being.  I AM clothed in ALL Roles; subject to none…
~anewoldsoul – mylot.com
WordPress – “Synergy”, suprememasterjedi, “Poetry by 34”, “Other People’s Poetry”, “The Bathtub Philosopher”
Copied from my WORD documents in Boulder, CO
Friday, March 8, 2014 – 03:33

 

An Essay I wrote for a possible massage school grant. I was homeless at the time and was turned down because of that.

An Essay I wrote for a possible massage school grant.  I was homeless at the time and was turned down because of that.

 

Good morning, Jill! – I know that we spoke on the telephone twice, now, and I just want to say how much I appreciate this opportunity, and even though you’re a busy girl…you’re gonna transform this world by doing what you do.  Way to go!

Ok…on to the essay –

This essay is designed to answer the four requirements which I was instructed to follow over the phone. – It’s bare bones for those who need to get the information quickly.  Actually, it’s fairly long – so I’ve broken it down into the four elements, outline style, first.

1)  Why I need the Full Scholarship to the Berkana Institute of Massage Therapy

I’m homeless, living on the streets, in the cold, being chased by police for trying to sleep and my health was severely affected right after my mother passed about one year ago.
I don’t have the funds to pay for this scholarship and the money that I was going to use to pay back the loan that I took out for my previous massage school is in default.  I car broke down, and then started getting ticketed mercilessly no matter where I tried to move it to, in the city of Norristown, Pennsylvania.  In the process of trying to protect my car and get it fixed, I called a tow truck and had it put on a lot.  Living on the streets, I somehow lost the information for that tow-truck company and therefore, also lost the massage table and books which were locked away in the trunk of that car.  That car had been bought with a thousand dollar gift from my dad and his girlfriend.  I have still not been able to pay him back and I intend to, as well as all the other monetary gifts they have given me throughout my time on the streets.

I intend to pay back people who I borrowed money from, a few years back when I was asking for money on Pearl street.  I have their names, numbers, email addresses and the amounts that they donated, written down in the back of the journal which I’m currently typing into my lap-top – another gift from my father (the lap-top).

I want to be self-sufficient.  I have a lot of people counting on me to get my act together, and when I do, and ONLY when I do, will I be able to pursue all those other dreams of mine, which involve life-coaching, writing a few books, opening a balance-training center, learning Aikido and teaching it to people in the prisons and the jails.  And opening some kind of training center for kids – to combat the dumbing down of our ‘education’ system – of our children.  This is only the tip of the iceberg.  I have many more plans!

2) Why do I desire to do this?  What would motivate me to take the road of physical touch to achieve what I need?
Several reasons.  But at the top of that list is a visceral need to be in tune with other people.  A very close second is extreme compassion for those around me.  I don’t tend to see color.  I still see gender a bit as a separation, sometimes, but I strive to work on that.  I believe that I was born with the gift of being able to not judge people.  This allows people to be real with me and open up in ways that they simply can’t with most.  I have experienced so much pain and emotional trauma from numerous causes, over my life-time, thus far, that I can relate far better than most TO most.  This puts me in a great position to hold a space of healing for those whose time has come to do that.
I am super-sensitive to sounds; in fact, vibrations of any kind, I tend to pick up on – and I need a way to ground all that out…otherwise I would be a nervous wreck.  It’s even in my astrology; if you believe all that.  I do.  As the MONKEYs say….”I’m a believer!”.  I am highly aware of things in my body, and colors, and the way that people walk and what they say and what they really mean, and how much of that they want people to know that they mean.  I meditate like a person possessed, because I love it so much.  And nature brings back to the divine side of life, yet anchors it in deep respect for the mathematical precision of our precarious position.

3) Where will I do my 100 hours of free massage?
The homeless population.  I know it well, because I am a member of it – have been for about 10 years, now.  I know a lot more of the psychology behind being homeless, than – I dare say – some college professors would.  I live it.  I have thought endlessly on changing it.  I have tried to and been unsuccessful – both, for myself, and others.  This will be just one more way that I can do something to motivate, to inspire change.  Even if all I do is relax some muscles – having carried a back pack for years and having experienced all the strain, pain, and cramping that comes with that, myself – I’m happy to alleviate that for a short time in others.  But what I hope to do is find a way to sustain this healing process, so that it goes farther than just a feel-good massage, and has long-ranging benefits which span the physical, emotional, and mental balance of my clients and friends.

4) Commitment to the program and being an exemplary student.
I’ve done this before, while homeless, holding down a job, and battling with issues of low self-esteem.  I’ve come through the Marines, and on my own took correspondence courses in both leadership and finance.  I took three hundred dollars of my own, hard-earned money and went to a community college for psychology.  At the end of the semester, myself and one other student, out of a class of about 28 or so, were the only ones to be excused from taking the exam, because we were deemed to know the material so well.

When I was going through massage school, we took a class I liked very much called, “Psychology of the Body”.  At the end, the instructor came up to me, when I asked for feedback on how he thought I was doing, and he said, “You could have taught the class”

I’ve struggled through foster homes, being placed in Special Education classes for my unusual behavior as a child.  I’ve taken the Armed Services Battery Test and scored one point below the best possible score, when going into the Marines – a 98 out of a possible 99.  If you were to change that out for an SAT score, back then, anyway – people have said that I would have been within like 20-40 points of a perfect 1600.  I don’t say this, as much to brag, but as to point out that I AM intelligent, and I HAVE overcome many obstacles that even more intelligent or well-connected people than myself would have been hard-pressed to overcome.

I have a mentor.  I have a life-coach.  How many people do you know, even if they make those New-Year’s resolutions, actually keep them?  How many people do you know who have taken reading for improvement to the next level and have APPLIED what they have read.  And much more than all that…how much do you think someone desires something, when they take the time to search out a mentor and keep a relationship growing with them?

And last, but not least – I am a life-long learner.  What I mean by this, is that I undertake the responsibility of my own education, even when I can’t afford ‘proper’ education.  I have read extensively in the field of Self-Improvement, Leadership, Chakras, Spirituality, Body Language, Wealth, Success, Body-Mind, Yoga, Martial Arts, Writing, Fantasy, Science Fiction, Biographies of Successful people, the Bible, maintenance, construction, massage, Chi, History……..the list goes on and on.
I am no stranger to doing what it takes on a consistent basis, to move forward.

And that concludes my brief essay.  If you are feeling ‘froggy’, then you can read on to get a much more in-depth look at the answers to the questions you gave me.

Next I’ll go more into detail on my life story – how I got to where I am today, and where I plan to go from here on out.  Thanks so much for taking the time out of your schedule to review the application and this essay.

Why do I need this?

Who could need it more?  That’s the question I ask.  I’m currently sleeping outside in Boulder, on Church property, trying to avoid the cops who like to go out at night at disturb homeless people from their much needed sleep, and then give them a $100 ticket for “camping”.  I would go to a “warming center” – a place which is dry and warm, where you lay on the floor for the night – but it seems that it’s not cold enough to warrant a “warming center”.  Maybe their funds are low, but, wait, that’s strange because I distinctly remember them receiving even more funds this year – much more than last.  I would go to the Boulder Homeless Shelter, but I’ve been “consequenced” for an extreme 90 days (the rest of the season), because I asked to go to the bathroom (number two) after seven o’clock while standing outside their gates.  Two people told me no, and when I got upset – I had to go bad – they threatened to call the cops and told me that I was going to be “consequenced” for three to five days.  I raised my voice; didn’t swear; but I did mention that what they were doing was inhumane and I could understand that they had policies, but there was no written policy that said I couldn’t go to the bathroom after seven.  There was another place to go nearby – the local stripper business next door.  I didn’t want to pay exorbitant fees for drinks I couldn’t drink anyway, just so that I could go to the bathroom.  I wasn’t in the mood to see a show – I just needed to perform a human function – and since the people who were running the place are human beings, I just assumed that they would understand, having had a similar problem, probably a thousand times themselves.

I also need to get off the street for medical reasons.  Last year, I begged off work for an indeterminate amount of time when I discovered that my mother, in Illinois, had cancer and was in stage 4.  I was the only one willing to go help her.  I did.  In the process, Colorado got me one more time for failing to yield to an emergency standing vehicle – simply put – I didn’t move over from the far right lane to the left lane when passing a state cop who pulled over another guy for something else on I-70.  The cop wrote me a $100 or so ticket in pencil and when I got to my mother’s apartment; it was smudged.  I did my very best to pay that ticket, getting hung up with the whole phone tag red-tape, and finally decided that I needed to direct my attention to getting my mother her VA benefits.  This never happened because of more red-tape.  By the time I turned my attention back to the ticket – it was too late, I received a letter in the mail, informing me that my Colorado License had been suspended.  It has taken me ONE FULL YEAR to take care of this – all without any resources other than myself and a friend.  I did so, even when I had a job, by borrowing five dollars from a number of people for the $95 re-instatement fee, by promising to not only pay each back, but to pay them two dollars more.  I have since done so.  Shortly after I came back to Boulder, my mother passed on the night of my birthday.  I held all that in after a good cry in the parking lot, sinking to my knees.  It was all I could do to keep it together enough to call my father and let him know.  But because I continued to sleep in conditions that were harsh; where some diseases were easily spread by crowded conditions; sometimes back out in the cold; carrying around all this guilt and anger and remorse, over-layed by the thickest depression — Because of all this, the stress eventually won out over my immune system and dragged it down far enough to where I contracted MRSA Staph Infection.  Within about seven days, I was dropping my keys, walking very slowly and stumbling with a throbbing headache.  There was a sore on my left shin that was getting progressively worse.  At first, everyone thought that it was a spider bite.  Eventually, we found out different.  When I finally drummed up the courage to go to the hospital, I was dizzy and a red streak had threaded it’s way from the super-infected and inflated spot on my lower leg, all the way up to just near my groin.  This is very bad news.  This is mere hours from the infection getting to the heart – then it’s all over.  When I went to the hospital – I was told that I had about 24 hours to live.  Had I not come to the hospital, I would have died the next day about that same time.

My need is to get off the streets.  Once you are there, it is extremely difficult to get off.  There aren’t a lot of places to wash your body, especially your feet.  If you don’t do this within just two days, the skin on your feet begins to peel away and infections creep in.  If you have to carry several packs all day, for, both, the fear of having it stolen because you don’t have the money to afford storage, and because during your day you need access to some things; then your body begins to break down.

It protects itself by clenching up.  But over time, the muscles never have a chance to relax and extreme exhaustion results very easily from not having any energy reserves – they’re all tied up in holding your body armor in place so that you don’t get hurt.  The sad irony is that you get injured far worse despite the good intentions of this bodily safety mechanism.  Over an extended period of time, other problems arise:  Here are just a few…tingling in the feet or fingers or arms or legs from blood restrictions and nerve crimping on a daily basis.  If you’re not careful, then you’ll carry your heavy load, the same way all the time, and if it’s off balance just slightly along your spine, then your body tries to compensate by over-using some muscles and not fully using others.  Your whole musculature begins to weaken and break down.  You never have a chance to change your pace.  That slow-plodding pace keeps your heart from getting a chance to exercise the way it’s supposed to.  I don’t know about you, but if I had a bunch of packs on and I could never set them down, I wouldn’t be able to run, or skate, or bicycle, or dance, or do martial arts.  I could go on and on about the dietary restrictions due to not having the money to choose what is healthy; but I’ve beat a dead horse here.

My need is great.  I need stable housing.  I need a place to lock away for my own privacy and silence.  I need a place where I have no fear of being woken up and charged with a crime for trying to get my required amount of REM sleep.  I want to be disease free.  I want a place to shower, meditate, cook my food, clean my clothes, blend my healthy mix of vegetables so I can remain in good working condition so that I CAN work to support myself.

Next is my Desire…WHY do I want to do massage?  What motivates a guy like me?

Again, the answers are many-fold.  But let’s start with important times in my life:

About age 7, I’m trying to look into the eyes of my father’s mother – she’s sitting in a wheelchair, and she’s staring through me.  She was here moments ago.  “Why’s her hand all cramped and claw-looking like that”, I’m wondering to myself.  I’m scared of her for some reason.  We’re at a funeral, and she’s maybe in her forties or fifties.

My dad divorces my mom and leaves me with Nadine for the summer – his girlfriend.  He comes to pick me up and now he’s got a new wife.  He met her in a car accident.  Just a few years down the road, and we’re all yelling.  JoAnn – my step-mom is yelling at me to be quiet; I’m yelling at her that she’s not my REAL mom and she can’t tell me what to do.  Dad’s yelling at us both to please, just get along for once!  She’s had brain damage.  She’s had the front part of her brain removed.  I’m about nine, and she’s trying to mother me.  She’s doing a terrible job and it’s only going to get worse, because what happens next, is that she will begin to revert back to the emotional and logical state of a child.  Figure about five years old.

I’m in my twenties; just got out of the Marines.  My very over-weight step mom is trying to position herself to flop into our easy chair.  She misses and hits the floor of our apartment…hard.  She’s just had a stroke, and will have 3 more in the same region of her brain.  This will eventually kill her.
Within a few months, my dad is working on his Nursing degree, and he discovers that he has Multiple Sclerosis.  Only this time – it’s progressing much more rapidly than it ever did with my grandmother.  I’m about 27.

My dad moves in with his girlfriend.  He’s now bedridden, and this woman with diabetes and seasonal disseffective disorder is trying to take care of him.

I’ve been working for Aspen Media Market Research – calling people at their homes and businesses to get them to re-up on their magazine subscriptions.  I’ve saved up for a beater car.  I’m lying on the floor of a friend’s who’s letting me stay at her place.  She’s an addict, and this situation is rocky at best, but I need a place to stay so that I can keep this job.  I’m in the process of figuring out what my next step is when my Aunt Sherry calls me up.  Sherry – “You’re mom’s got cancer.  Just wanted to tell you.  You’re the only one who can really do anything for her, or will. – what are you gonna do? – Are you gonna go see her?  I remember when I took care of both your grandmother and your grandfather.  I’m glad I was there for them.  I’m not going to lie to you – it was one of the toughest times in my life, but I’m glad all the same.  We were able to talk about things we hadn’t discussed for so long, and I found out so much that has helped me.” -(My aunt is over-weight, and has degenerative neck disease, where the cartilage in between her vertebrae are dissolving).

I’ve driven up to go see my mom.  I find her in her apartment.  This white-haired, 4-foot, nine-inch lady answering the door suspiciously is MY mom?!  That night, she goes from bad to worse.  I can’t stop her from coughing.  I put her in all kinds of positions – trying to relieve her pain.  She’s moaning and every few minutes she pulls this pink, rectangular, bucket thing off the carpet and tries to spit into it.  She manages to just kind of get some drool to come out.  She’s freezing and there aren’t enough blankets.  I tell her I’ll turn up the thermostat.  “NO! – I can’t AFFORD that! – the bills, the bills….they’re raping me!  They don’t care.”  I tried to sleep, but in the morning, I awoke to my mother, naked and clawing at the carpet in our guest bedroom.  I looked into her eye, horrified to find that my mother was no longer there…no – there she was…and THERE.  But her eyes; they were like an animal’s – an animal in pain and scared.  She was scared of me.  She didn’t trust me.  I did my best to give her a bath.  I struggled to put on her jeans and a sweater.  I told her, “Mom – you’re sick.  I need to take you to a hospital.  It’ll be alright…they’ll know what to do.”
“NO!  No, no, nononononoooo!”, she pleaded.  I picked her up, opened the front door and walked down the hall, carrying her and knocked on her neighbor’s door.  I didn’t know what to do.  He jumped into action and called an ambulance.  I picked her up once more and began walking down about twenty or so steps.  She blacked-out in my arms before I got to the bottom.  The ambulance came and took her away.

What would motivate me to practice massage or energy medicine or any of the healing arts?  Compassion, and seeing a need.  Knowing that I was called to do this, and that I have gifts.  I’ve had gifts to soothe people even before I ever went to massage school back in Pennsylvania.  I took $300 out-of-pocket psychology course at the Pottstown Community College, and come time for the exam, my professor told me, “You don’t need to take the exam.  You’re exempt.”  When I took, “Psychology of the Body”, during my Swedish Massage Schooling, my African instructor approached me and said, “You have a real gift.  You could have taught that class.”

I feel called to something much bigger than myself.  I feel called to serve and to implement changes for the betterment of society.  I feel called to starting several businesses and utilizing that money to help the homeless get housing, and struggling students get grants and scholarships to those studies that so sing in their hearts.  I feel an overwhelming need to impact this world on a visceral level. 

And I can best do this by bringing myself through my challenges and into alignment and resourcefulness.  I have the will to succeed against seemingly insurmountable obstacles, and have done so numerous times before.  Each time I learn something, but now is no longer the time to be the sword which is being smelted and hammered and folded thousands of times over.  Now is the time for me to take all I’ve learned and apply it to become self-sufficient, so that I can release all of the gifts I’ve been given and share them with the world.  I ache to do this.

You ask me to tell you where I would commit 100 hours of selfless service, and at first I was torn between Cancer patients and those who have Multiple Sclerosis.  Last night as I lay huddled on the patio of the local church here in Boulder – as I lay there, curled almost in a fetal position, shivering from the cold – I dreamed.  I dreamed that I was a massage therapist once again, and that someone was lying on my table, wracked in pain.  I put my arms under them and cradled them, so that they could just lie against my chest; so they could give up all they had been holding in.  In moments I felt their rigidity give way and their body release.  It was as if every muscle in their body had given up the fight and every nerve had quieted it’s storm of communication.  As I looked down, I saw their eyes drift closed.  They were asleep in my arms.

I woke up, and soon the dream left my mind.  I was worried that someone had spotted me and ratted me out to the police and they would be by to either give me a ticket or take me to jail for illegally sleeping.  As these worries entered my mind, another part of my mind was trying to focus on who I would donate those 100 hours of service to.  Then it hit me – the answer had been staring me in the face the whole time:  I live in a community which badly needs not only physical touch and muscular manipulation, but love and understanding and compassion, as well.  These people are treated like second-class citizens and their spirits have been trampled and that flickering flame hope has been dangerously suppressed, near to the point of being snuffed out.  Why should they go day-to-day when the same old conditions conspire to keep them down, hungry, tired, lonely.  Who are they to even WANT a better life?  I say, that they are the very ones who need love the most.  Churches nowadays have become little businesses.  I went to church a while back to get closer to God, and all I got closer to was a longer record.  I never had a record before coming to Boulder; least not the criminal kind.  My dad had a bunch of 45’s, but even though I was a curious, ‘problem child’, I never found myself looking the wrong way through a bunch of bars.  I still haven’t – jails no longer look anything like the old days…and since being in Boulder, homeless, struggling to maintain a job with all the challenges that go along with this kind of a life, I’ve been in jail several times.  It all seems to be related to wanting to stick up for my and other citizen’s rights to sleep and not be harassed.  I’ve since learned to become quieter and wait for my time make a change.  But that time – in the judicial system – has not yet come for me.  I will have to be patient.  And while we are being patient, more people are dying from drinking and drugging their sorrows away and freezing to death and getting beat up by people who are hateful and enjoy the sport of it.  They are dying from malnutrition.  They are dying from not being able to support themselves through hard times.

But most of all – ALL THESE PEOPLE ARE DYING FROM A LACK OF LOVE.  Lack of love is the source of all our world’s problems.  I am convinced of this.  And so the solution seems simple enough – MORE LOVE.

I will devote my 100 hours to these people.  I may do chair massage or it may be some kind of full-blown table massage, but whatever it is…it will be for the benefit of those who are homeless – in need of the most love.

I think that that’s what JESUS would do.

In conclusion; and I know this has been a long essay – I cannot guarantee that I will be an excellent student.  Excellent by whose standards?  But I will do my best.  Apparently my best was good enough years ago when I made it through Marine Corps Boot Camp, and later while I was homeless, but holding down a serving job at the mall next to where I daily went to for massage training.  At the end, I was told that I had only gotten a B, but they were sure that had I not had all the challenges I had and could focus more, I would have gotten an A or A+.  One of those challenges was running from another town, where I was safer, with a backpack and a black, plastic garbage bag filled with my massage, school uniform.  In the pack were a bunch of books.  It was most of the way through summer but still incredibly hot, and I was running up the stairwell, well I blacked out and fell backwards, hitting my head against the wall on the second platform.  That’s how hard I worked.  That’s how much determination I had.  And I can recall one of our teachers commending me, because she had seen me riding my bike through a rain storm, while she was driving her car down the road.  I came in soaked to the skin.  If those things couldn’t stop me from getting my massage certification……

Then, why would anyone believe that anything less than that could stop me?

Thanks again for taking the time out of your busy schedule to read this.  I might not win – for sheer length of time it would take to read this email – and if that is the case, then I will take the news in stride and find some other way to live my dreams, give back to those who have helped me along the way, and serve those less fortunate – helping to inspire and lift them to heights they never knew were possible.

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David Lee Madison, Jr.

Nate – my street name , KnavetheMage on Twitter

~ZenNinja to others who saw me do my little ‘cat-walk’

Nate Love – my future pen name

and WordPressing it up on Synergy and Suprememasterjedi

Copied from my WORD documents in Boulder, CO

Monday, December 2, 2013 – 22:40