October 13, 2024

Good morning, Son. It’s weird the way things work out sometimes. It’s like some things were just meant to be a certain way. With no planning or forethought what-so-ever, this, the six month observance of you leaving us, just happens to be being written on the reverse side of the very first entry into “A Wanderer’s Journal” which was written on the one month observance of your passing. I did not start writing on the back side of the pages in this journal book until the May 18th entry.

I have missed our little early morning wanderings, Son. I have sort of been lost since ceasing them. It’s sort of like I went through withdrawals there for a while. I got really depressed, I just wanted to sleep all the time, and I had no motivation to do anything! I would really like to concentrate on promoting “A Wanderer’s Journal”, but I really don’t know how to go about that. I want others to be able to find it, read it, and, hopefully, gain from it insight into themselves and That which created them and the purpose for that creation – for their creation.

I think that some pretty important perspectives were gained in writing this journal that could help humanity in dealing with her ongoing awakening. Although I have felt this way for a long while now, I have never sat down and put pencil to paper about it before. So much of what came out of this pencil in my morning wanderings with you was just as much a surprise for me as it was for the others who later read it. I just happened to be the first person to read it.

Son, I miss you wandering this Earth. I now miss wandering these pages with you. I miss our family. I miss the world I grew up in. I miss the ignorance of youth. I miss the beauty of a big, wide, unexplored world. I miss the mystery of it all. I am now burdened with old age, infirmities, and haunting memories. I am trapped beneath all this as one in a house collapsed by a storm or an earthquake. I am alive amidst the rubble of my life – not mortally wounded by the collapse, but soundly entombed by it.

Should someone not, perchance, find me and dig me out, I shall perish here. I shall lay here amidst all this debris – all this rubble of my life and reminisce of happier times – of you and your sister wrestling and playing, of pattering feet and the giggling of innocence, and of the young love that conceived the whole adventure – until such time as I am liberated from this prison… or I perish within it. I love you, Son.

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Life is either a great adventure or nothing.

• Helen Keller

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December 17, 2024

Son, still I lie entombed, awaiting rescue. So long I have thus endured that I know not how else to exist. Should someone now pull me from the rubble of my life, I fear my body is all that would be – is all that could be salvaged. My heart and soul would remain buried beneath the happenings of the years – in the murky depths of the gulf of tears.

I so long, Son, for the vibrance of life – for the joy of the seasons – for the ignorance that comes with being lost in the matrix and believing in it as the singular reality. I want to believe in Santa Claus! I want to be giddy and smile. I want to be free to laugh and play, but, as I open my eyes to proceed in doing this, all I see is the darkness of my tomb, all I smell is the dust of debris and the must of mold, and all I feel is the cold, hard bed of rock and remorse beneath me, beside me, and above me. I am surrounded by this, the reality of… being able to read the code and see through the lies of… the matrix. Ignorance is bliss. Oh, how I crave… ignorance!

Son, what did you see? What was your reality? What glitches caught your eye in the matrix that surrounded you? What caused you to… leave the matrix? Though neither of us are any longer in the matrix of lies generated as backdrops to steer us through this plane of existence, we are, none the less, no more together now than we were when we were within the matrix and believing the lies projected there within. I miss you, Son. I miss your engaging smile, I miss the hearty cackle of laughter you so rarely bellowed as an adult, and I miss the matrix of our youthful family and the whole world of adventure and discovery awaiting us around every new corner and in every new day.

It is nearly three o’clock in the morning, and, as I close this day’s wandering, I cannot help but glance across the fold of this journal book to the page on the other side of it and be amazed at the odds that this post script is being written opposite of the entry from May 14, 2024 where I speak to you of “The Greatest Show on Earth – Family”, where I used to watch you, your sister, and your mother go about your post supper activities through the sliding glass door of our old house on Ina Drive when you were not yet even a toddler as I was feeding Shadow and Angel in the backyard there. Alas, a man buried alive has but memories as companions. They are the ghosts that haunt within the tombs we inhabit. They are all I have of you… and I cherish them.

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