We, as humans, get really used to the way things are. We get up in the morning and go to the bathroom and do our business without having to think too much about it - like what happens to the water that goes down our sinks, toilets, and showers, or even the origin of the water. We get dressed, probably without knowing who made our clothes (no, Levi Strauss and Tommy Hilfeger did not actually make the garments you're wearing). We hop in our cars, and we don't need to even know how a car works to utilize it. When we turn on the radio, do we think about how that works? How music travels invisibly through the air from some location to us so that we can listen to it? And many of us go to a job that starts at 7, 8, or 9 in the morning, lasts 8 hours, and we'll go to 5 days a week, without ever wondering if there would be a way to live on a 20 hour/week job, or no job at all? And the list goes on, and on, and on...
We don't have to consciously think about all the things we do in a day - unless we want to change something in our lives, or change our entire life.
One of the curious aspects of addiction (and mental illness, as well, I think) is the narrowing of our imaginations when we're suffering from it. For instance, I have a few challenges, or opportunities for growth, going on right now, and I look forward to working through them, knowing that they'll make me stronger and lead me to an even richer life than I'm already experiencing. However, if I start drinking alcohol today, all of those challenges will become huge insurmountable problems that nothing but another drink will fix. Such is the nature of alcoholism, and I think it's like that with depression as well. On days when I'm not feeling any symptoms of depression, life looks great, and I see many possibilities. On days when I'm symptomatic, it's really difficult to see a decent future, and everything around me looks and feels like crap. (It's those days that I get through by faith - knowing, but not seeing, that things will get better).
So, a big part of recovery is reversing the narrow-mindedness that comes from the diseases. Now, a challenge comes in - the longer we stay in our active addiction or depression, the more ingrained is the negative, narrow-minded thinking, and the more difficult it is to change. This can be very frustrating! People can tell us that it (whatever 'it' is) gets better, and they're happy and smiling, and we're slogging through the shit wondering, "When?" Bit by bit, day by day, 'it' does get better. Very slowly. This is a critical time in early recovery when much support and a lot of patience is needed, because the feeling of wanting to give up and go back to our 'comfortable' misery appears often. Medication is often required to assist us in staying in a state where we can assist ourselves.
After a time, our thinking returns to a state where we are able to resume our normal daily lives, take care of ourselves, support ourselves, and begin to enjoy life and living again.
But what if you're like me? What if, when things return to 'normal', it's still not good enough? What if, even when things are going great, there is still a indefinable longing inside for something different? Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending upon your point of view, there is not a pill that will fix that. There isn't a pill that will make me perfectly accept the way things are. I hope not, anyway.
Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
Courage to change the things I can
And the wisdom to know the difference. (Excerpt from the Serenity Prayer by Reinhold Niebuhr)
I'm coming to appreciate that part of me that longs for something better - that part of me that longs for more peace, more power over my thoughts and actions, more effectiveness in helping others. Previous to understanding how to channel it, this longing in me produced depression and the desire to go back to alcohol and drugs. I wanted to extinguish the longing. Today I better understand that the longing is a good thing, because, properly channeled, it allows me to explore and discover more and more of this existence.
One of the things needed for this journey is the belief that there's more to life that what I'm seeing in this present moment, and for that, I need to be willing to expand my consciousness, my thoughts, beyond what I presently know. Jesus talked of this when He mentioned that you don't put new wine into old wineskins, or you'll burst the wineskin. I can't move to the next paradigm using the same type of consciousness I was using in the old paradigm.
I mentioned at the beginning of the post just a tiny fraction of things we might take for granted in our daily lives. Taking these things for granted, or not thinking about them, makes it easier to live our daily lives; however, it sucks for trying to get somewhere we've never been before.
All of my life I've thought about the way things used to be - long ago, before I was born. I like sitting at the shore of Lake Michigan, and try to look at it through the eyes of a Native American 200 or 300 years ago. Lake Michigan means different things to us today than it did to the person observing it back then. Back then, the person looking at it might have looked at it as a source of life - both water and food. I've wondered why people ever settled in Kansas (the Great Plains). Did they just get tired of traveling in covered wagons and give up? Because 150-200 years ago, Kansas was one great big flat treeless field. "Oh, yes, this looks like a great place to settle - absolutely nothing as far as the eye can see!" And when English settlers first settled on the North American continent - what were they thinking? 450 years ago, there weren't housing developments and roadways and cities in North America - just a lot of land, and people that we used to refer to as 'savages'. What about a long, long time ago, before there were even governments, or kingdoms? What was life like then?
For the longest time, my thinking made the world as it is today seem false and unnatural, and much of it is! But it made me disdain today's world. If we didn't have mass generated and usable electricity, most people today would plain just die. Ok - what does that have to do with mindfulness or depression, or alcoholism, or spirituality?
It is this: Anything is possible. In the midst of alcoholism and depression, the only thing that seemed possible was death - either quickly, or painful and slow. In the midst of recovery and spirituality, anything is possible. I have been rescued and elevated from a 'hopeless' condition of mind and body to live this life in recovery and achieve or attain anything I can set my heart on. The only limitation I have is my own thinking - my current mindset.
I am not 'stuck'. But in order to be able to change my thinking, to change my life, I need to examine the areas in which I'm accepting 'the way it is' or the way things are. Those are the things that I have to unaccept, and and change it around to 'the way things could be'.
This is wonderful news to me. I don't have to stay stuck in who I am, or who I've been; I simply have to shake up the neural pathways in my mind and develop my power of imagination.
I can see very well the way things are. I can stop fighting them and move on to the next step: Begin to see the way things can be.
Namasté,
Ken
Sunday, April 29, 2018
Saturday, April 28, 2018
I Am 'Legitimate'
In 1996 I ran across a piece by the author Marianne Williamson that said something along the lines of "I deserve to be here simply because I am." I was in prison in Ellsworth, Kansas, at the time, and this idea was news to me. I didn't believe it then, but that was a seed planted in my head that would begin to germinate nearly 20 years later. My belief at the time was I had to prove myself every minute of every day to be deserving of anything, including life. Obviously, I failed daily.
Having been homeless, and having been in prison, I know from experience what it's like to be 'invisible'. I may write about the homeless experience more in-depth at some point, because it's very difficult to describe what it's like and what it feels like in one paragraph. Suffice it to say it's like being a non-person - I'm there, I know I exist, but I really can't participate in anything. I can hang out in parks - hanging out in parks is great when one has a full-time job and goes to the park after work or on the weekends to chill and relax. When one is homeless, hanging out in the parks is not fun - it's a necessity, because hanging out anywhere else (besides the library) will earn you a loitering ticket, unless you're in a big city, in which case it's ok to hang out in the crappy parts of the city that nobody cares about anymore.
The last time I was released from prison was April of 2002 - yay! At that time, all I had on me were the clothes on my back, a prison ID, and an expired ID from Kansas (where I resided before being escorted to Wisconsin to serve time for an auto theft I committed in 1994 and had never fulfilled my obligation to the state of Wisconsin). Phew! Life is so much simpler now that I'm a lot better at taking care of my responsibilities. Anyway, I get out of prison, and, fortunately, I had a couple things going for me - I had a temporary place to live, courtesy of WI DOC, and I was starting university in September. But the point here is that between April and September I needed to get legitimate - I needed a state ID , a temporary job, and my own place to live. I was able to acquire all of that, but I distinctly remember acquiring my Wisconsin Identification - or, I should say, I distinctly remember the feeling I felt when I could pull a valid ID out of my pocket and say, "This is me! I belong!"
I have always placed conditions on my legitimacy - my deservedness of being here if you will. It's gotten a lot better, but I know that a lot of my present ok-ness still comes from being employed, being housed, and having an identity. If, in one day, I lost my jobs, my home, all my FB and fleshy friends, my girlfriend, my car, my bicycle - if I lost everything in one day, would I still feel legitimate? Deserving of life? My guess is, unfortunately, probably not. My being is still conditional.
My girlfriend and have plans to go to Japan later this year. I've never been off of the North American continent. In order to go to Japan, I need a passport. More importantly, possibly, is I need a passport to regain legal entry into the United States when I'm done in Japan. A passport says I am who I say I am and I am a citizen of the United States. I applied for my passport yesterday, and I found it both anxiety producing and exhilarating. In order to submit my application for a passport, I had to gather information and documents that 'prove' who I am and that I am a citizen of the United States. I found the process to be rather silly, because my fingerprints and my DNA are on record. If my dead, naked body were found today, say, in Albuquerque, it wouldn't take that long for authorities to figure out who I used to be. So, gathering up all this documentation (which can be manufactured, by the way) seemed a bit silly to me since there's a much easier way to say, "This guy is Ken." But oh well.
The important part here is that one of the feelings I got from applying for my passport was a greater feeling of legitimacy. Now, I'm not only legitimate in the state of Wisconsin (provable by my valid Wisconsin Driver's License), but I'm going to be legitimate in the entire world! I really am somebody now!
Now, this is a perfectly reasonable human response, and I'm certainly not going to get down on myself for it; however, I aspire to something better.
I realized 5 years ago that there's not enough on Earth to satisfy this human - there's not enough booze, certainly, but there's also not enough approval, acclaim, or achievement to satisfy this guy. When I get my passport, I probably won't be finally ok. Having a passport doesn't guarantee that I won't ever feel like a useless, non-deserving-of-life piece of shit again.
Additionally, I work with people who are often at a low point in their lives - I work with people suffering from addictions, mental health conditions, and homelessness. I endeavor to view everybody with whom I work deserving of the very best I have, simply because they are. If I start making exceptions, it'll create a domino effect. This is perhaps one of the few absolutes that I have - you are, therefore your life if worthy, your existence is important. It doesn't matter where you've been, what you've done, what you haven't done, who your parents were or weren't, what country, religion, or body you were born into. Your existence, your life, is important - period.
To honor that in others I need to honor that in myself, and vice versa.
It goes back to the really trite saying of the 70's that I really hate - "God made me, and God don't make no junk!" Same concept, it's just that that line really bugs me. But I am. You are. We're here. We deserve each other's respect, love, compassion, and empathy - title or no title, record or no record. The Universe doesn't issue passports - countries do. The Universe doesn't confer degrees upon people - universities do. And I'm not discounting achievement - I'm only putting it in it's proper place.
I no longer want to bring into my experience the shame of being, because that shame isn't given to me by God or the Universe - it's given to me by a limited mind, and I can transcend that limited mind. The possibilities for existence are endless and infinite, if I continue to learn what is man-made and what comes purely from Source.
Namasté
Ken
Having been homeless, and having been in prison, I know from experience what it's like to be 'invisible'. I may write about the homeless experience more in-depth at some point, because it's very difficult to describe what it's like and what it feels like in one paragraph. Suffice it to say it's like being a non-person - I'm there, I know I exist, but I really can't participate in anything. I can hang out in parks - hanging out in parks is great when one has a full-time job and goes to the park after work or on the weekends to chill and relax. When one is homeless, hanging out in the parks is not fun - it's a necessity, because hanging out anywhere else (besides the library) will earn you a loitering ticket, unless you're in a big city, in which case it's ok to hang out in the crappy parts of the city that nobody cares about anymore.
The last time I was released from prison was April of 2002 - yay! At that time, all I had on me were the clothes on my back, a prison ID, and an expired ID from Kansas (where I resided before being escorted to Wisconsin to serve time for an auto theft I committed in 1994 and had never fulfilled my obligation to the state of Wisconsin). Phew! Life is so much simpler now that I'm a lot better at taking care of my responsibilities. Anyway, I get out of prison, and, fortunately, I had a couple things going for me - I had a temporary place to live, courtesy of WI DOC, and I was starting university in September. But the point here is that between April and September I needed to get legitimate - I needed a state ID , a temporary job, and my own place to live. I was able to acquire all of that, but I distinctly remember acquiring my Wisconsin Identification - or, I should say, I distinctly remember the feeling I felt when I could pull a valid ID out of my pocket and say, "This is me! I belong!"
I have always placed conditions on my legitimacy - my deservedness of being here if you will. It's gotten a lot better, but I know that a lot of my present ok-ness still comes from being employed, being housed, and having an identity. If, in one day, I lost my jobs, my home, all my FB and fleshy friends, my girlfriend, my car, my bicycle - if I lost everything in one day, would I still feel legitimate? Deserving of life? My guess is, unfortunately, probably not. My being is still conditional.
My girlfriend and have plans to go to Japan later this year. I've never been off of the North American continent. In order to go to Japan, I need a passport. More importantly, possibly, is I need a passport to regain legal entry into the United States when I'm done in Japan. A passport says I am who I say I am and I am a citizen of the United States. I applied for my passport yesterday, and I found it both anxiety producing and exhilarating. In order to submit my application for a passport, I had to gather information and documents that 'prove' who I am and that I am a citizen of the United States. I found the process to be rather silly, because my fingerprints and my DNA are on record. If my dead, naked body were found today, say, in Albuquerque, it wouldn't take that long for authorities to figure out who I used to be. So, gathering up all this documentation (which can be manufactured, by the way) seemed a bit silly to me since there's a much easier way to say, "This guy is Ken." But oh well.
The important part here is that one of the feelings I got from applying for my passport was a greater feeling of legitimacy. Now, I'm not only legitimate in the state of Wisconsin (provable by my valid Wisconsin Driver's License), but I'm going to be legitimate in the entire world! I really am somebody now!
Now, this is a perfectly reasonable human response, and I'm certainly not going to get down on myself for it; however, I aspire to something better.
I realized 5 years ago that there's not enough on Earth to satisfy this human - there's not enough booze, certainly, but there's also not enough approval, acclaim, or achievement to satisfy this guy. When I get my passport, I probably won't be finally ok. Having a passport doesn't guarantee that I won't ever feel like a useless, non-deserving-of-life piece of shit again.
Additionally, I work with people who are often at a low point in their lives - I work with people suffering from addictions, mental health conditions, and homelessness. I endeavor to view everybody with whom I work deserving of the very best I have, simply because they are. If I start making exceptions, it'll create a domino effect. This is perhaps one of the few absolutes that I have - you are, therefore your life if worthy, your existence is important. It doesn't matter where you've been, what you've done, what you haven't done, who your parents were or weren't, what country, religion, or body you were born into. Your existence, your life, is important - period.
To honor that in others I need to honor that in myself, and vice versa.
It goes back to the really trite saying of the 70's that I really hate - "God made me, and God don't make no junk!" Same concept, it's just that that line really bugs me. But I am. You are. We're here. We deserve each other's respect, love, compassion, and empathy - title or no title, record or no record. The Universe doesn't issue passports - countries do. The Universe doesn't confer degrees upon people - universities do. And I'm not discounting achievement - I'm only putting it in it's proper place.
I no longer want to bring into my experience the shame of being, because that shame isn't given to me by God or the Universe - it's given to me by a limited mind, and I can transcend that limited mind. The possibilities for existence are endless and infinite, if I continue to learn what is man-made and what comes purely from Source.
Namasté
Ken
Thursday, April 5, 2018
Trauma Informed (compassionate) Listening
I am a listener. I suppose it is part of my purpose, or maybe my whole purpose. It's not something I've worn proudly; I just know that all my life people have felt compelled to relate things to me. I've often wondered why - it's not like I want to hear the juicy tidbits of your latest drama. I really don't.
But what I've learned over the past couple of years is to listen in a way that is helpful to the person relating. I used to think mostly with the male mind - that is, the problem fixer. Somewhere along the line, I learned that when women are talking about their experience, they don't want a solution, they want to be heard. So I began shutting off the problem fixer, but was still left wondering, "Why am I listening to this?" (besides that this woman is actually talking to me and I'd like to keep it going).
I wasn't understanding that the woman wanted to express how certain events or situations made her feel. I didn't have feelings, so I wasn't relating on any level deeper than the surface. (I had feelings; I had just tamped them down, like a well-worn path in the woods). Eventually, I came to understand that by me not expressing my own feelings, I was making myself sick. I remember being in a recovery meeting many years ago shortly after my mother passed away, and talking about it. Somebody pulled me aside later and said, "You talked about your mother dying the same way you'd talk about your car breaking down." I really did not understand. I didn't understand how talking about what was going on in my life was helpful, unless talking about it gave me a solution. I didn't realize that I didn't need to share the event of my mother passing; I needed to share the sadness and guilt and shame I was feeling surrounding it. When I would lose a job or a relationship, I didn't need to talk about the event, I needed to share my feelings of low self-worth. And shame.
About 5 years ago, I came to understand that if I didn't open up and let the real Ken out, I was not going to recover. I was going to die. Well, one doesn't one morning decide to drop all the facades and people pleasing and approval seeking and Boom! and Voila! Here's the new Ken! It takes practice, it takes courage, it takes the willingness to fall down and get up, and it takes time. But through time, I began to feel again (that part of me is still waking up). I began to see my life as more than just a series of events - I began to see that how I defined myself and felt about myself surrounding those events was shaping my future. Enter CBT, Cognitive Behavioral Therapy, and I began to question the way I was reacting to life and to myself, and I began to find more productive and constructive ways of thinking.
But what was most important was I began expressing how I felt - about events, about myself, about life - with people whom I trusted. I talked about how I felt. It became ok to feel again. I wasn't wrong or bad anymore for being sad or angry. It was just the way I felt. I began to feel ok with how I felt, because the people who were listening to me were listening without judging, sometimes with the added bonus of listening with understanding.
As I might have mentioned in the previous post (I rarely go back to re-read) the things we have in common with every other human being is that we've all loved, we've all lost, and we've all hurt. No matter how hard we might try, those experiences are inescapable.
I used to be kind of a hard guy, I think. If you told me something that I didn't understand, or hadn't experienced, I didn't feel too much for you. I wouldn't necessarily show outside that I wasn't getting it, but inside, I knew. Everything was cerebral or intellectual. If it didn't match with my experience, point-to-point, I really couldn't relate. However, when I started becoming open to acknowledging and experiencing my own feelings, I began to understand a lot more when people related there experiences to me. I began to listen differently.
I began to listen for the feelings. For example: I work with a lot of people in early recovery. Now, the casual observer might see someone who drinks too much or uses heroin stop drinking and using, and say, good - they're getting their life back together. That's what it looks like, anyway. What's actually going on is a traumatic event - the person who is addicted to alcohol or drugs is experiencing a major upheaval in their lives. They're giving up something that has become their best friend. It hurts! physically and emotionally. It's scary! It's confusing! There is a lot of guilt and shame involved, and fear for the future. I listen to people as they tell me the losses they've suffered from going into recovery. Recovery is supposed to be a good thing! But folks lose friends, maybe family, sometimes their livelihoods, sometimes their freedom. It is a big experience. So I listen, and because I've been there, I relate very well. By the way, I've also learned that men have a desire to have their feelings heard as well.
And most of all today, I understand the importance of connection. Entering into recovery means losing part or sometimes all of our identity. Our self-identity. Who am I now? What do I do now? Where do I go from here? Having someone who relates to the experience makes the experience a little more ok.
I can hear something today, and, while I might not relate to the specific experience, I can hear the feelings underneath the experience. I understand that loss is loss is loss, whether it's one's driver's license or one's home or one's job or a loved one, and I can listen to the pain and all the other stuff that goes along with that loss, and I don't have to judge whether that pain is justified or not. If someone's feeling it, they're feeling it! I no longer judge whether or not someone's suffering is worthy or not; I recognize the suffering and support the person going through it. By the way, I've also learned that men have a desire to have their feelings heard as well.
It is sometimes painful for me, but then I recognize it's more painful for the person experiencing the feelings. I offer support, encouragement, and hope, and none of it is false. I'm a miracle, and I know lots of other miracles, and today I believe anything is possible. I offer to others the hope of recovery, and the understanding that we're in this together. To me, that's gold. I know what it's like to feel alone and hopeless, to feel used up and worthless. I also know what it's like to turn what once looked like a mountain of crap into something not only worthwhile but beautiful. I have the ability to listen to someone to help them feel not so alone and hopeless, and to maybe help them discover or re-discover who they really are. For someone like me, this is the greatest blessing of my life - to be a positive agent in someone's life. I've learned to listen not only with my ears, but with my heart.
Namasté,
Ken
But what I've learned over the past couple of years is to listen in a way that is helpful to the person relating. I used to think mostly with the male mind - that is, the problem fixer. Somewhere along the line, I learned that when women are talking about their experience, they don't want a solution, they want to be heard. So I began shutting off the problem fixer, but was still left wondering, "Why am I listening to this?" (besides that this woman is actually talking to me and I'd like to keep it going).
I wasn't understanding that the woman wanted to express how certain events or situations made her feel. I didn't have feelings, so I wasn't relating on any level deeper than the surface. (I had feelings; I had just tamped them down, like a well-worn path in the woods). Eventually, I came to understand that by me not expressing my own feelings, I was making myself sick. I remember being in a recovery meeting many years ago shortly after my mother passed away, and talking about it. Somebody pulled me aside later and said, "You talked about your mother dying the same way you'd talk about your car breaking down." I really did not understand. I didn't understand how talking about what was going on in my life was helpful, unless talking about it gave me a solution. I didn't realize that I didn't need to share the event of my mother passing; I needed to share the sadness and guilt and shame I was feeling surrounding it. When I would lose a job or a relationship, I didn't need to talk about the event, I needed to share my feelings of low self-worth. And shame.
About 5 years ago, I came to understand that if I didn't open up and let the real Ken out, I was not going to recover. I was going to die. Well, one doesn't one morning decide to drop all the facades and people pleasing and approval seeking and Boom! and Voila! Here's the new Ken! It takes practice, it takes courage, it takes the willingness to fall down and get up, and it takes time. But through time, I began to feel again (that part of me is still waking up). I began to see my life as more than just a series of events - I began to see that how I defined myself and felt about myself surrounding those events was shaping my future. Enter CBT, Cognitive Behavioral Therapy, and I began to question the way I was reacting to life and to myself, and I began to find more productive and constructive ways of thinking.
But what was most important was I began expressing how I felt - about events, about myself, about life - with people whom I trusted. I talked about how I felt. It became ok to feel again. I wasn't wrong or bad anymore for being sad or angry. It was just the way I felt. I began to feel ok with how I felt, because the people who were listening to me were listening without judging, sometimes with the added bonus of listening with understanding.
As I might have mentioned in the previous post (I rarely go back to re-read) the things we have in common with every other human being is that we've all loved, we've all lost, and we've all hurt. No matter how hard we might try, those experiences are inescapable.
I used to be kind of a hard guy, I think. If you told me something that I didn't understand, or hadn't experienced, I didn't feel too much for you. I wouldn't necessarily show outside that I wasn't getting it, but inside, I knew. Everything was cerebral or intellectual. If it didn't match with my experience, point-to-point, I really couldn't relate. However, when I started becoming open to acknowledging and experiencing my own feelings, I began to understand a lot more when people related there experiences to me. I began to listen differently.
I began to listen for the feelings. For example: I work with a lot of people in early recovery. Now, the casual observer might see someone who drinks too much or uses heroin stop drinking and using, and say, good - they're getting their life back together. That's what it looks like, anyway. What's actually going on is a traumatic event - the person who is addicted to alcohol or drugs is experiencing a major upheaval in their lives. They're giving up something that has become their best friend. It hurts! physically and emotionally. It's scary! It's confusing! There is a lot of guilt and shame involved, and fear for the future. I listen to people as they tell me the losses they've suffered from going into recovery. Recovery is supposed to be a good thing! But folks lose friends, maybe family, sometimes their livelihoods, sometimes their freedom. It is a big experience. So I listen, and because I've been there, I relate very well. By the way, I've also learned that men have a desire to have their feelings heard as well.
And most of all today, I understand the importance of connection. Entering into recovery means losing part or sometimes all of our identity. Our self-identity. Who am I now? What do I do now? Where do I go from here? Having someone who relates to the experience makes the experience a little more ok.
I can hear something today, and, while I might not relate to the specific experience, I can hear the feelings underneath the experience. I understand that loss is loss is loss, whether it's one's driver's license or one's home or one's job or a loved one, and I can listen to the pain and all the other stuff that goes along with that loss, and I don't have to judge whether that pain is justified or not. If someone's feeling it, they're feeling it! I no longer judge whether or not someone's suffering is worthy or not; I recognize the suffering and support the person going through it. By the way, I've also learned that men have a desire to have their feelings heard as well.
It is sometimes painful for me, but then I recognize it's more painful for the person experiencing the feelings. I offer support, encouragement, and hope, and none of it is false. I'm a miracle, and I know lots of other miracles, and today I believe anything is possible. I offer to others the hope of recovery, and the understanding that we're in this together. To me, that's gold. I know what it's like to feel alone and hopeless, to feel used up and worthless. I also know what it's like to turn what once looked like a mountain of crap into something not only worthwhile but beautiful. I have the ability to listen to someone to help them feel not so alone and hopeless, and to maybe help them discover or re-discover who they really are. For someone like me, this is the greatest blessing of my life - to be a positive agent in someone's life. I've learned to listen not only with my ears, but with my heart.
Namasté,
Ken
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