This is a journal of my life. No fluff, straight shooting, and as honest and transparent as I am capable of being.

I was approached after attending a seminar (Guru Mastermind) by a couple of fellow attendees. They were so intrigued by my story (including all tangential thinking) that they asked me in earnest to journal it and create a blog for anyone to comment.

I admit I though it was a strange request, but my hope is that it will allow me to uncover and discover some things about myself that are out of focus. Also, if you have a similar experience please share it with me. I heard some say that a problem shared with others  divides the issue by the pairs of ears listening.

I'd like to start by quoting C.S.Lewis,
"Nothing that you have not given away will ever be really yours."
and
"You don't have a soul. You are a Soul. You have a body."

When someone asked me what I do, I always giggle inside because I don't know what context they mean. My work, my hobbies, or the path I'm on toward my goals. If I'm trying to impress them or shock them I say I've had 29 jobs in 28 years in 21 different industries which is true. But what does it mean? Nothing. You of course can interpret it as you want. I can't hold a job, or I get bored easily, or I desire to be challenged regularly.  Pick your flavor.

What is interest about all of the experiences I've had working is that I have retained and use everything I can from those experiences.

I love to cook (was a chef), love to write songs, poems (was in a band), love to write stories, books, and teaching others (was raised by educators), was a cab driver, roofer, metallurgy technician, accounts receivable, bagger, security guard, warehouse animal, paper delivery dude, donut maker, sales rep, gopher (jack of all trade), director of it, system admin, help desk tech, infrastructure specialist, marketing specialist, graphics designer, dog walker (yes I was paid for it), and I dealt drugs (not proud about that, but I learned some valuable lessons).

If we go back to my beginning it might shed some light on my varied experiences.

Born to Liverta and William Clyde (Billy) Haralson on August 7 1961, in San Francisco, CA. Approximately 7 months after they were married (wink wink).

Now my mom was on her own after taking a stand to be with a man (my father), which "good Catholic girls didn't do".  For years I thought it was because my father was black (she was latino and white), but my mom told me before she past that it was because she chose him over them.

I told my wife before we got married that marriages within the same race are difficult to keep together, can you image having an inter-racial marriage in the 60's without the support of your family. Tough to impossible.

By 1965, my parents were divorced...

I still have the memory of my mom burning most of her furniture in my grandparents backyard and a single piece of floating ash landing on the bridge of my nose and burning my skin.

My  father left for Portland my mom had a complete psychotic melt down and was institutionalized.

I felt alone and worthless...

That which does not kill us makes us stronger. I believe this to be true, but it takes time to heal the wounds.

What I have come to believe is that the best healers have wounds that have healed, but I have seen people try to heal others while their own wounds are still flowing.

Anyway, my grandparents both works and my grandmothers older sister (Irene) became my legal guardian from 5 to 12 years of age. Now  I have to tell you something about Irene because she I a singular character in a sea of blank faces.

She was not a drunk, but she loved her brandy. She came from the school of discipline and didn't pay it lip service. I remember walking back to her house from a Caspers hotdog shop, and I was screaming and trying to pull away from her when a Police Officer (they walked a beat in these days) came up to us and asked if I had a problem, to which Irene squared her shoulders at him and said "I'm whipping his ASS right now, so you won't have to take him to jail tomorrow!" He stood back and said, "Well then have a good day ma'am." and walk away promptly.

I have to add that she loved me immensely, and was broken hearted when my father left me. Since she past away (1976) I've rarely felt that protected by another human being.

One incident that describes her presence and protection is when my father came to visit Irene, and I was being a 7 or 8 year old, he got so angry at me (he was mostly an angry man) that he was going to whip me, when Irene told him, "Billy, let go of that boy now. I raised you and him and he's a good boy. So don't make put my foot up your backside!" and I saw this full grown angry man become as docile as lamb.

I'm 46 and I still miss her...

It's late and I'm tired, so I'll pick this up later.

Well, I left off at about 10 to 12 years old and I started exhibiting some problems that made my uncle Jack (Irene's husband) very upset. I wasn't listening and talking back, when Jack wanted to discipline me Irene told him that if I needed a whooping, she would give it to me. He said fine this is my house so the boy can leave (I found this out after I was grown).

Enter my grandparents (my father's parents),  I was moved to Mountain View, CA and sent to Crittenden Middle School.

Now, I was a loner, an introvert, and I started going inside. I started creating a fantasy world which I believe a lot of my poems and songs were seeded and germinated.

I won recognition for one of them:

Father

He never came here,
At least that's what they said.
I never saw him,
When he walked out on us all.

How can he, who can't see
Try to be what he is not.

My grandfather saw me going deeper and deeper inside, and I think he wanted to move me towards a balance, so he got me involved in Judo, Music (guitar), and Boy Scouts.

This was one of most weird/interesting periods of my life. I was lifted to the highest highs and dropped to the lowest lows from the ages of 10 to 17.

I need to back up a few years to when I was still at my aunt Irene's and my mother re-entered my life at 9 or 10. She had been released from being institutionalized and was now living in a recovery home in San Francisco. She would ask Irene if she could pick me up in Berkeley in the morning, take me the FunLand in SF for the day and bring me back at night. About a year later she had an apartment where I could stay with her for the weekend, but I have to be honest, being with mom at this time was one big playtime.

Because of her diminished capacity, I could ask for a Playboy, a beer, a joint, or a cigar/cigarette and she was always obliging.

she told me, at one time she had put liquid acid (LSD) in my grape juice bottle when I was 4 years old, when she and a boyfriend (He was an artist) drove down to Mexico (She was actually going to Mexican for a  "Mexican Divorce" from my father).

I can't tell you how I feel about that even today. I still have questions...

Back to the mid 70's, I'm living with my grandparents, I'm 14 years old, and I started high school (Mt. View). When people asked about my parents, I was so embarrassed about my mom and ashamed around my dad, that I told people that they were dead.

What's funny is I didn't want people to know who I really was so I became everything for everyone (the man behind the mask). I was in the ASB, Black Students Union, Football, Junior Achievers,  Freshman class VP, and in 8 Plays before I graduated. I hung out with the stoners, the band members, the jocks, the jesus freaks, and the geeks (3.8 grade average).

Here is the truth as I see it. You can't find me if I'm standing right in front of you. Hiding in plain sight.

It took me until I was in my 30's before I finally decided to remove the mask and find out who I was. Wow, how much waisted time.

A pivotal moment in my life happened when I was 14. I ask Jesus into my life even though I had no idea what that would mean to me. It was at a summer camp in the Santa Cruz Mountains and I can't tell you the name of the man who spoke that night. But what I remember most was him saying go and find a quite place and talk to Jesus about the issues in your life.

Behind a building, off the main path, behind a tree, in the hollow of a bush I talked to Jesus about my mom, and my dad, and feeling hurt and pained deep inside. I suddenly felt as if two strong arms wrapped around me and I broke down and ask him into my life. Afterwards I ask him to please keep me from being like parents. Up into the time I got married and had children this has been a gift that I believe he has been building into my character and growing me constantly, but there is still to this day more growth needed to be the father I wanted and hence the father I want to be (which I am not yet, just ask my wife).

Where ever there is a mountain top experience there is also the valley of the shadow.

At 16 I was starting to party, first with beer and alcohol, then came pot, then cocaine, then hallucinogenics. I was a garbage can and my drug of choice was "More".

I found something that numbed the pain, at least I though it numbed the pain. It only numbed the edges, but the hole grew more and more and nothing could fill it.

I have since painted a word picture about this place "the soul".

This is the secret garden where the ground is very fertile and rich.
We place the seed of our dreams in the ground and water them with tears of pain and joy, the sun shines on this patch and grows the seeds to flowers or fruit that we know is to be shared with others, even though others aren't allowed in this place because it is sacred.
But something happens and a hole is created (neglect, anger, hatred, violation, betrayal) and we can choose one of two ways to handle these holes.
We can pour out our lives looking for dirt to fill the hole (but it keeps growing), or we can let the pure rain of the spirit fill these holes and now the holes become oasis' in barren lands that help others and a place where life can live.

Sometimes we allow garbage to be piled on the garden, and after years and years of baggage being piled on the soil, it requires a true clearing to uncover the original beauty.