Continuation of the Journal
I lost a stack of writings from the early 1980’s. They were written when I was living in an outpatient residence. Each morning I would lock myself in a dark basement storage cell, light a candle, and listen for the voice of the spirit. It was as if I was sitting on the shore of a river of glowing embers and coals. The spirit would speak mysteries from the rivers far shore. They were all from an altered state of mind, and a precious example of what mental illness is all about. They were proof that I was in a transcendent state, the substantiation of my life. However hospital staff got a hold of them, and they were discarded. I anguish over this, to this day.
I did journal fully the incarceration at Saint Lawrence from July 1985 to July 1987. And these journals I passed to my Mom and Dad when they would visit. I also regularly wrote to my Aunt Jen, and she returned the writings to me when I was released.
I’m going to show you here what a total mental breakdown looks like. Some of this you will find amusing, some educational, and some blatantly tragic.
However there is still an exhaustive body of material. Enough that these writings will be able to reveal clearly what mental illness is. And perhaps help others come closer to comprehending the mysteries of life.
I feel the energy here. This is going to be quite a ride l
We’ll continue to work our way through the stack of journals. The librarian at the library in town is mentoring me on the project. There are at least fifty full notebooks in the stack. I’m estimating two million words, with writings dating back to 1975. The writings represent a life’s journey, depicting a wide range of experience, insights, and mental states. Were at 100,000 words right now.
Holy is Illegal
This piece was written from the belief that I was persecuted. I see that now. The poem was written in 1991. Today is September 22, 2022. I don’t think about persecution or conspiracy much anymore. However, conspiracy theories are rampant these days.
The truth is that I was incarcerated for several years. I was forced to take powerful mind altering pharmaceuticals. I was locked away on high security with the most evil and dangerous people. I was jacketed and injected for defending myself. And I was never convicted of a crime. Never even accused of a crime.
Fasting and prayer got me into deep trouble. A powerful altered state. I was arrested and dragged before a judge, and forced to take medications. Mind altering drug use is life changing. Whether it’s done recreationally, seeking enlightenment, or as psychiatric therapy.
They crucified Lord Jesus.
The messenger they kill.
A million saints since time began,
And in the present still.
The holy man is martyred,
The prophet crucified.
The truth is bruised and mangled,
It’s bearer scorned, has died.
The honest man oft hated.
The man of truth shot down.
Purity berated.
The liar wears the crown.
They stone the Light’s disciples.
Incarcerate the saint.
Arrest the boldest witness,
The church doors sprayed with paint.
“Holy is illegal”,
Is scrawled upon its walls.
Why is the man of God cast down?
As on His name he calls.
The perfect man is murdered.
The good, they say, die young.
To the dragons thrown the virgin.
Again this truth be sung.
For “holy is illegal”,
And so dies the man of might.
For purity a man is slain.
And this for bearing light.
The saint and sage must suffer.
This world’s imperfect way.
For goodness’ sake one bears great pain.
After night will come the day.
“Holy is illegal”
The good soul bears great pain.
For in this imperfect world,
The messenger is slain.
These Rains
Early on in my journey, 1977, I travelled down to the Abbey of the Genesee, seeking the guidance of the monks. I got there in the wee hours of the morning. It was dark and cold. On the way down there were burlap sacks strewn on the road. I was compelled to stop and take one.
When I got down there no one was around. I was in a state of extreme duress. I’d been forcing myself to go without food and sleep, and doing heavy labor. I had taken a vow of silence.
As I looked around the dark grounds I found a cross, eight feet high, mounted on a concrete pad. I knelt on the concrete before the cross, starving, exhausted, and cold. The cold was overbearing, so I got the sacks from the van. I wrapped myself in the burlap, on my knees, praying for dawn.
My rational, balanced mind, was superseded. Information from other realms was pouring into my mind. I spent three days with the monks. They gave me blankets, bread, and their blessing, and sent me on my way. The full weight of mental illness was about to fall on me. I was carrying the weight of the world upon my shoulders. My crucifixion, at the hands of mental illness, and the hands of those who are called to treat it, had begun.
I ventured down to Lake Keuka, where I had distant cousins. The hallucinations and seeing became more powerful than reality. I was helping dry the dishes, after dinner. As I dried a metal bowl, the reflections on it became as a crystal ball. I was seeing into the souls of the people I was with. Extreme psychic pain. I saw that my cousin was a good man. Not always a saint, but always a good man.
Mom and Dad had been searching for me. In desperation they had been calling everyone they knew. I fell into a catatonic coma. The medics were called. I was taken to an emergency room. I don’t remember how I got to a psych ward in Buffalo.
Dark clouds gathered,
Cold winds blew,
The storm
Had come.
Rain fell,
I, without shelter,
Soaked and chilled
to the bone.
Wet and cold,
Trial and difficulty,
Living hell,
On earth.
“Good will come of this”,
I thought,
In faith.
These rains
Washed me clean.
This cold,
Made me strong.
Out in the cold
Made strong.
Caught in the rain,
Washed clean.
Yes,
Good has come of this,
These rains,
Have washed me clean.
Path of Light
My dad was somewhat visionary. He bought a wooded parcel on a lake up in the Adirondacks about the time I was born, the second of four children. He had the intellectual wherewithal to turn that piece of woodland in a mountain retreat. And on a teacher’s salary. He provided a summer in the mountains for the family for decades.
But it was a lot of hard work. I remember cutting the road down to the lake from the main road. Clearing the land, taking down trees and excavating. Pushing huge boulders around with a bulldozer.
He built a cabin as our comfortable hermitage, where we were blessed in celebrating family.
We hew down trees,
haul them out,
cut and burn the branches.
Boulders huge we shove aside,
Their holes we fill with gravel.
Tree stumps too,
Must be removed,
With blasting, pick or tractor.
Path of light,
Path of life,
Be radiant and clear,
Each day may we find purity,
And hope and joy and cheer.
This, like one’s walk in God,
Adversities every hour.
We must overcome life’s evils,
With deeds, and words and prayer.
Deny thyself, and worship Him.
Show love unto thy neighbor.
Attend thy place of worship,
And unto thy master.
For life’s way is like cutting a path,
Through the tangled wilds.
An axe of prayer,
A rope of hope,
A fire of devotion.
Path of light,
Path of life,
Be radiant and clear.
Each day may we find purity,
And hope and joy and cheer.
Let good friends thy tractor be.
Faith be thy sturdy shoulders.
Overcome adversity.
Remove the stumps and boulders.
We must create a path of light,
With our lives each day.
Through the wilderness of trial,
We must carve a way.
Fell that tree with a word of prayer,
Fill that trough with devotion.
Move that rock with a friendly word.
Burn the tangled branches.
And let one vigilant soul stand by,
On guard for any dangers.
His weapon be a firm command,
And a hand upon the Bible.
Each soul must make a path of light.
For his life, each day.
We’ll conquer this life’s wilderness.
As we labor, love and pray.
Path of light,
Path of life,
Be radiant and clear.
Each day may we find purity,
And hope, and joy, and cheer.
Team Player
David walked with Jonathon.
Elisha, Elijah’s friend.
Moses walked with Aaron,
To strengthen and defend.
Lancelot and Arthur,
Timothy and Paul.
The Lord and His disciples,
Yes, those who heed His call.
The quarter backs, the tackles.
The centers, guards, and ends,
No one wins who plays alone,
Who plays without his friends.
Margaret and Mary,
The captains and their teams.
No one wins who play alone,
This is the truth it seems.
To win in games, or in life,
A simple thought is true.
The man who plays well on a team,
Takes home a ribbon blue.
At work, in school, or in one’s home,
In any place at all,
You need someone to stand by you,
Or help you , if you fall.
With all your team beside you.
With all your faith and skill.
The challenge met, the evil slain.
You’ll win, you surely will!!
If They Cannot Accept Jesus, They’ll Still Accept His Love In Me
Hanging out with the band. Just spending time, and loving them.
I’ve got faith in Jesus,
And have trust in him too.
I try to please him,
In everything I do.
I offer my life ceaselessly,
Spirit, body, soul, my all.
To always live his will,
His touch, His voice, His call.
On my knees before him,
I worship every day.
In charity and kindness,
I strive to always stay.
I keep from things that satisfy,
The silent voice obey.
And do not the things that I desire.
I’ve clearly found a way.
I listen patiently,
When another needs to share.
To stop, and speak, and listen,
And to give in loving care.
The world will often love you back,
When you have love inside.
Yet the saving name of Jesus,
Oft offends another’s pride.
The world accepts the goodness,
That Jesus gives to me.
But the world resents me speaking
Of his blood and Calvary.
My smile pleases others,
And so my gentle kiss.
Yet they won’t accept the loving Lord,
Who gives this gentleness.
My charity’s accepted,
And so my way that’s kind.
But they won’t accept the witness,
Of Christ within, I find.
The love I have to share,
The joy, the peace, the good.
The world will take in half a wink,
But it’s His name, they should!
If they won’t come to Him,
And glorify His name,
Perhaps in this love I have to give,
They’ll want to be the same.
They might not worship Him,
Or accept the way I live.
But they gladly take the love,
He’s given me to live.
If the world can’t fall before Him,
And worship as is mine,
They’ll still accept His love through me,
That love makes life shine.
They’ll still accept his love in me.
The love that makes life shine.
Broken On My Knees
Some things are worrying me.
Looking back on the past.
I could have done better,
Worked harder,
Shown more kindness,
And charity.
Today there are unsettled issues.
A friend who needs my guidance.
A pastor who expects too much.
And the discomfort of my body.
So many issues.
For tomorrow,
There are oh, so many plans.
More to do than I could complete in years.
My dreams are so lofty,
Progress is so slow.
And there are no guarantees.
Yet I must, I must, I must succeed.
In all this I am broken on my knees.
Broken in prayer,
Spinning threads,
And weaving dreams.
Trying to purchase certainties,
If certainties can be bought.
The darkness of the past,
The worries of today.
The unpurchased passages of tomorrow.
I’m on my knees in prayer.
Yes, broken on my knees.
Bananas and Bread
From the sublime to the ridiculous. Mom shared with me in a whimsical conversation that when she was a child one of her favorite snacks was bananas and bread. Sufficiently ridiculous.
Yesterday,
My mother said,
As a girl she liked,
Bananas and bread.
For breakfast and dinner
Were fine when they fed
Her luscious and scrumptious
Bananas and bread.
They would give her a dolly
And send her to bed,
But mommy would cry
for bananas and bread.
Or hold her breath
‘till she turned blue and red,
‘till they gave her favorite
Bananas and bread.
And she never got sick
Cause her bestest med,
Was squishy, delishy
Bananas and bread.
Then she met Daddy,
And yes they did wed.
Though not with a cake,
But bananas and bread.
And Mommy wore
No veil on her head,
But kept her face hidden
With bananas and bread.
Now it’s time to have babies,
The Grandmamas said.
So you’ll have to have more
Than bananas and bread.
And they sewed baby clothes
With pink and blue thread.
With cross stitch designs
Of bananas and bread.
A baby boy came,
And they named him sweet Ned.
And they fed him and bread him.
On bananas and bread.
And our dear little brother
Went out of his head,
Cause all they fed him,
With bananas and bread.
And so for my brother,
I speak in his stead,
A boy must have more
Than bananas and bread.
And that’s the whole story
From A to Zed.
Of my mommy who loves,
Bananas and bread.
And this poem is over,
Or so I am led.
Cause it’s time for our dinner
Of bananas and bread.
It’s time for our dinner,
Of bananas and bread.
Woman’s Beauty
In all creation grand,
Mountains, starry night.
All made by God’s true hand,
The one most lovely sight.
Sandy beaches, ocean tide.
Forests dark and green.
Sparkling lake, and riverside,
The beauties I have seen.
Cloudy castles in the sky,
And dewy springtime morn,
Rainbows reigning from on high,
God’s hand doth life adorn.
But most beautiful of all,
Fall, winter, summer, spring,
A woman graceful gracious, calm,
More so than anything.
A woman tender, strong and true,
Beautiful, gentle, kind,
Of all God’s beauty I’ve lived to view,
Greater you’ll not find.
Woman’s beauty stirs me within,
As winds and tides the sea.
Woman lovely, my heart win,
Through all eternity.
A woman’s beauty stirs,
A wistful, longing love.
Haunting, beckoning, calling lure.
The hand of God above.
As the windy waves have rolled,
There is one certainty,
A woman’s beauty I behold,
As nature’s majesty.
A woman’s beauty I behold,
As nature’s majesty.
In Reaction to Waco and Oklahoma City
A scream shatters
The black of eternal night.
Lightning in the darkness between stars.
People on earth are going crazy.
I’m praying hard and long,
Yet insanity mounts every day.
Some talk of the endtimes,
I ask only for holiness,
Protection,
and gainful things to do.
I doubt this blood letting
will help in the end.
We are all guilty.
What we thought,
What we have seen,
What we have said,
What we have done,
And what we have failed to do.
For my part in this,
Forgive me Lord.
Sky Force Motto
GET GUTS TOUGH,
FLY SKY HIGH,
OR DIE BROTHER, DIE.
When I mega dosed acid, LSD, in 1974, my life was permanently, radically changed. It was horrible, powerful, beyond measure. I was cast into the eternal tortures of hell. Eternal, unending, death. Endless dying. Decomposition. Pain beyond telling. That was almost fifty years ago, and I am still afraid to talk about it today.
While in hell, I was visited by the Sky Force. I was given the knowledge of good and evil. And I was cast into a world of confusion and conflict. As did our father Adam, in the Garden of Eden. All spiritual light and protection around me was destroyed. Months later I was struck down and left for dead in a hit-run. Years of extreme psychiatric trouble followed. Extreme repentance, fasting and prayer.
Recovery began with a healing mass at Mom’s Catholic Church. A new medication was developed.
And I recovered.
The Sky Force gave me our motto. “GET GUTS TOUGH, FLY SKY HIGH, OR DIE BROTHER,DIE”
Reflections on the Florida Shore
Mom and Dad had a place near the shore in Naples Florida. They graciously invited me to visit for a week or two during our cold New York winters. There was a park near them called Wiggens Pass. Where a river ran into the Gulf. It’s a place of great beauty. They’d drop me off in the morning, and pick me up in the evening. I’d usually catch a few fish. But it was great just being there.
Entire days by the ocean shore,
With a lunch, a bucket of shrimp,
And my fishing gear.
I watch the sun cross the sky,
And the ever changing tide
Washes my humanness away.
The ocean birds,
Gulls, bobbing sandpipers.
An impudent white egret
Steals my shrimp.
Schools of fish darting by.
People walk down to the water,
Touch God, and leave.
Looking like a beach comber,
Sunglasses, straw hat, and loose, white, cotton clothes.
I catch a few fish.
A mystic in disguise.
Awesome majesty,
Sunshine,
fresh and salty ocean breezes .
Here a crystal river marries the giant sea.
Cathedral of brightness.
Astounding splendor.
This sacred temple of brightness,
Breeze, sunshine, and sea.
A Man and a Woman
The sun rises and sets.
Day, then night.
Spring, summer, winter, fall.
Birth, and death.
The trees bud and blossom,
Bearing fruit, seed within.
The great flocks of birds fly south,
And in the spring, return.
Rain falls,
And runs into the rivers,
And rivers run into the sea.
Clouds are formed,
Again rain falls,
And to the rivers, waters return.
All nature seeks its own,
To come together, and multiply.
Seed time, water and harvest
Flowers bloom and die.
A man and woman
Come together,
They make love.
God has created nature
And its cycles.
Man and woman he has created,
Their desires within.
The sun rises and sets,
A man and a woman come together,
And make love.
A law of nature,
Ordained by God.
Life is created this way.
If I knew
Sometimes I think my best work is the nonsense I often write. Maybe I can make someone smile, just a little bit.
Stumble, bumble,
Rock and rumble,
Crumble, tumble down.
Humble, mumble,
Knock and jumble,
Fumble like a clown.
Lock, dock, crock, rock,
Hum, drum, bum.
Sock, shock, stock, block.
From, dum, glum.
Easy, breezy, cold and freezy,
Loamy, foamy brew,
If I knew it wouldn’t make me queasy,
I’d go out and have a few!
Loose Tongue People
I have no idea where this poem came from. It’s probably a truth that needs to be spoken.
The gossip circle
Goes ever round,
Chatter and clatter,
So hurtful a sound.
Casting the shadows,
Denying the blame.
Kicking the blameless,
Passing the shame.
Find problems and troubles
Where no problems be.
Talking too much
The problem I see.
Talking down
The one who’s not there.
Gossip and chatter,
A burden to bear.
Judge and condemn
Those who aren’t around.
Resentment and anger,
Not love I have found.
In God’s name
The people are vicious.
Backbiting and hurtful,
Without doubt malicious.
One person is talked of
On whom sin is seen
Who then clears himself
By where others have been.
And then the burden
Of guilt, shame and dirt,
Is passed to another,
The next person hurt.
And then on to another
Who’s actually clean,
The burden is saddled,
A lie lives, I’ve seen.
Great mountains are made
Of the tiniest mound.
Loose tongues and talking
Go round and around.
Mountains are made
Of the tiniest hill.
Gossip and chatter,
I’ve sure had my fill.
We try to blame someone
That one might feel free.
An excess of talking
A sure certainty.
So let us all listen
To the truth that I see.
There’s much to much talking,
A difficulty.
We condemn those
Who aren’t just the same.
Bringing down judgment
In mercy’s name.
So let us not seek
To look clean to the others.
By smearing darkness
On sisters and brothers.
For to tarnish another,
That one might look pure,
Is not truth’s way, my brother.
Of this I am sure!
Untitled
God only knows how I am free.
Forgiven, cleansed, strengthened, alone.
Those I’d thought were friends
Condemn me for giving in love.
Giant men take giant strides.
Sky scrapers, cathedrals, and nations built.
While I cut collages and wait for destiny to unfold.
I, Michael, hope and pray
this unfolding tarries not.
It has, perhaps, already begun?
This artist parts the sea
With brushes, blades and colors.
I can capture sunlight
for you to hang on a wall.
Or create a glimpse of eternity.
Something truly magical.
If you understand my language,
For you I will spell love.
Work and pray.
What more can I do?
Jesus, it is my time to begin.
I had to stay up all night to finish the mural for the coffee house. It came out well, and now I suppose the whole community knows that I am a star. But I missed my medication, as well as a night’s sleep. The next day we drove down to the cemetery where they are all buried, great grandparents, aunts and uncles. The land so quiet and fresh.
The bones of my grandparents spoke to me. “Don’t apologize” they said “when you’ve not done wrong”.
Then we dropped in on the cousins who live on quiet earth. I felt the land beckoning, peacefully. The bliss of death calling my bones.
I looked up at the power lines, and realized electricity can drive a person insane. As does overcrowding.
And enlightened knowing then said, “meditation can save a life, and reverse these evils”.
Then we visited my Godmother and her husband. We went out to dinner at a fine restaurant. Everyone was playing off my energies, as I flung pepper, shot glances at the sexy waitresses. And successfully caught their eyes.
I prayed myself through the day. It was difficult. It was fun. It was dangerous.
I safely slid under my blankets, and fell fast asleep.
Yes, for a day I was cosmic. I was a star.
Tapestry
Patty was her name. The girl who was my partner at this time of my life. I met her through the west side fellowship. She fell ill shortly after I met her, and had to be hospitalized. She was confined to bed when she came home, with no one to look after her. I stepped in and took care of her until she was recovered.
We became lovers. She worshipped me. I was not comfortable in the relationship, but I did not want to break it off. The pastor stepped in, pressuring us to break it off. But I kept her close. Until God spoke to me personally in a way that has only happened to on the rarest of occasions. I did not hear a voice, but I was filled with the commanding thought. “You must break it off”.
Shortly after our breakup she converted to Catholicism, and married a close friend of mine. A brother I introduced her to. That was okay with me, she needed a companion. But it was only about two years after her marriage when she called me to tell me she was stricken with hepatitis. She died soon thereafter. Anyway, I discover here that she wrote a poem into my journal. “Tapestry”. By Patty.
In the great daily weaving of God,
In the push and pull of the thread.
The needle pierces and pains us,
And we long for comfort instead.
We must trust in a plan
and a pattern
whose outcome we cannot
yet see.
And follow the Master’s Design,
For we don’t know what’s going
to be.
Some Wishes
If I had some wishes,
Of all that could be,
I’ll tell you what I’d desire.
First a fair lady,
Pretty and pure,
To fan love’s eternal fire.
Then I’d take fortune
And have pleasant things,
Provide for my woman and child.
For fame I’d then ask
For having lived true,
Though at times too gentle and mild.
Again, fortune’s smile,
Nice things and good lands,
A house over the windy shore.
Don’t forget good fishin’
In cold waters, clear.
A stringer full, maybe more.
As I edit this poem, I see I did not include friendships. Friendships, yes!
A family then,
Daughters and sons,
To keep us in warmth and cheer.
And a song to play,
And keep in my heart,
To dispel any worry and fear.
Then peace of mind I’d choose.
Good sleep at night,
And inner tranquility.
Last of all,
I would choose
A place in eternity.
If wishes were granted,
And good things mine,
This is what they’d be,
Family, fame, fortune,
Good fishing and peace,
And a song in eternity.
Mystical Revelations
A jet flies high,
Hardly heard.
Wind rises through new leaves,
On this cool Spring night.
The ground is moist,
After yesterdays rain.
A candle glows,
While the silent smoke of incense
Whispers secrets to me.
The man who hated and hurt me,
In the heat of rage
I cursed his life
Unto uselessness,
Forever.
An unsaintly act,
Perhaps,
But done, nevertheless.
Forgive me Lord.
These knees of mine
Complain of pain.
My mind grasps
For meanings
Written on the silver chord.
This becomes a feat of strength.
A,B,C,
Simplicity.
Broad shoulders given
To carry the load.
Four square,
Conservative.
A monk playing the guitar,
Inside of me.
To become the person
I was meant to be.
To walkmy own path.
Confomnity, and following
Have never worked for me.
But there is a place for me,
If I live each day well.
Neighbors are sick,
And need healing.
Woman are beautiful,
And seek love.
Souls are sorrowful,
And need to hear a song.
I see the shadows
of the giant I am to become.
I fear to say that I shall tower,
As my spirit turns within itself,
Before rising heavenward.
Another jet flies overhead,
On this dark night.
Higher yet,
It can hardly be heard.
We need rain
An aching head
Blocks the flow of words tonight.
There’s an angry pressure within my soul.
I long to celebrate and laugh.
Breaking through doors,
Now I’m sleepy,
And want to hear a lullaby,
Or have a lightning storm.
Pain is good, sleepy head.
It breaks down doors.
And love,
Like the rain in springtime,
Has it’s own season.
And beauty remains.
A hope,
A prayer,
Released, the arrow flies,
We need rain.
Across a River of wine
I’d like to hear this one set to music, and played on the radio.
The sun is setting glowing red,
And this a day so fine.
Sailing in a purple boat.
Across a river of wine.
These waves are gently rolling.
I’m yours, and you are mine.
We’re sailing in a purple boat
Across a river of wine.
The land we left behind us,
Was never time, nor kind.
Across these purple waters,
A fair land we shall find.
The shores we left were rocky.
The far shores an unknown.
You in veils, and I in mail,
On purple waters blown.
Blue serpents swim beneath us,
And dragons on the shore.
Man will hate and hurt you,
His lusts, and lies, and war.
Perhaps we’ll build a castle,
Find ponies, cows and ewes,
A rainbow up above us,
All of brilliant hues!
Fertile fields to plant in,
Forests full of game.
Fresh waters full of shining fish.
Within each hearth a flame.
Let’s sail then all the sooner.
Yes, leave today by nine.
Sailing in a purple boat,
Across a river of wine.
Drunk on dreams and passions.
The fruit of wonder’s vine.
Sailing in a purple boat,
Across a river of wine.
Yes, hoist the sails yet higher.
Never was a day so fine.
Sailing in a purple boat,
Across a river of wine.
Yes, sailing in a purple boat
Across a river of wine.
Untitled
I beckon thee unto my breast,
And take no idol,
Fame, nor wealth, nor woman’s love.
I call thy presence unto me.
Seeking peace,
No false god before me.
I care not, then, for riches great,
Or celebrity, nor comrades embrace.
Let me call then upon Thee,
Only thine peace, Oh Lord.
With love and joy, as my lot in Thee.
Thine presence be upon me, Lord.
For this alone I pray.
Seeking then naught but grace.
I call thy peace unto my breast.
Looking neither right nor left.
I ask one thing.
Thy Spirit be upon me.
,