Credits
Issue #8
Editor/Writer
John Stapleton
Contributing Writers
Evelyn Fuller
Graphics/Photography
William Lange
Victor Moreno
David Burk
Filing Assistant
Marc Montgomery
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They say the spirits walk between the
hours of midnight and 4 AM. Maybe
they are the ones teasing my dogs in the
backyard,
getting them to bark loud
enough and persistent enough to make
sure I am
woken up. Once awake, the
gears in my head begin to turn again and
it isn’t long before all my thoughts are
flying down the road without a destination.
At this point, I am left to toss and turn, flip
the pillow, kick off the sheets, pull them
back and just wait until my mind is tricked to
go back to sleep—or I give up the mental fight,
and do what I am doing now—writing while the
crickets
harmonize outside the window. If I am writing, then I am also taking
breaks, walking outside for a minute—thinking an escape from the mechanized
air will clear my mind. Once I am outside, the crickets hush. I can sometimes hear
the wind moving around the sequoias and the palo verde trees. I can sometimes
hear the train moving through the night.
Usually there is a dog somewhere in
the neighborhood barking aimlessly at the stars—or maybe, it is again the spirits
having fun, taunting the animal until another poor soul is forced to get out of bed
and see what the hell is going on.
I might sound crazy but it is in those quiet hours when I feel an energy moving
around me. It is like the coyotes that run wild through the streets—you can hear
the footsteps, but you can’t always see them. You know they are there, however,
the stars and the moon may be blazing, but the cloak of night protects them.
I am a man of logic and reason. You tell me you have the answer to something—I
will automatically doubt you, question your motive, and break down your facts the
best I can before I give in to the possibility…however, when it comes to the spirits,
there isn’t always an explanation, so what is a man of logic supposed to do?
Luckily for me, it started at a young age—my Mexican grandfather was a Baptist
Preacher, a missionary, and a mentor to me…He spoke to different cultures, but
before he spoke, he listened and learned what they believe. He taught me how to
question my faith, even though he was fully convinced of his relationship to God.
He thought it was a good thing when I told him I was exploring Eastern Philosophy
and when I told him organized religion wasn’t for me. He thought I was on a path,
that my foundation was strong, and God would take care of me on the roads I
travelled.
I have been fortunate that my journey in life has brought me around like
individuals—that reaffirm my eyes can easily deceive me, that my knowledge is
sometimes as artificial as the Nutra-Sweet in my coffee—that in the end much of
the so-called facts are useless. In the end, you have to realize there is an eternal
presence that surrounds us, that gives us our hope—that brings us harmony if we
choose to live with it, rather than against it.