The Little Steps to Left Field

Posted: July 18, 2015 by Ty in New Thought Joun
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Yes I have been struggling with writing for a few months, almost a year or more…not short time projects, but putting together a new book for publication. Part of this struggle comes from the ease of publishing online via blogs etc. Part of it is the idea of taking money for spiritual guidance, which is why I was thinking a fiction work was needed.

In the last few months, here are the few excerpts of two new and halted projects:

The coffee should have been consistently good, someone forgot to inform the new franchisee of that fact as Jack MacCurtis gulped a mouthful of coffee grounds that he deemed necessary to discreetly spit back into the cup. It was time to go, as he finished the apple oatmeal muffin. Zed had called him on his cell phone and asked him to come by the Centre.

                It had been a few years since John had been inside any spiritual place, not since he chose to walk away from his ordination track, and stick to being a writer…okay blogger, but in the reality of Canadian conglomerated media it made no sense as it truly tied one’s voice to being nothing more than a corporate shill. The slide cell phone his girlfriend mocks for the Luddite social-media writer vibrates.

                “Jack here.” There is a blast of static, a crackling voice that begins to take raspy shape.

Jack recognizes the sound of the breathing apparatus of his long term mentor. “Jack.” Each word punctuated by a gasp for oxygen. William McKay was a private investigator who usually did the schlocky divorce jobs, corporate espionage etc. His nick name was Shotgun, why? Simple, in mostly gun free Canada, he would keep a shotgun in the trunk of his car as a persuasion device if things went sideways. Which was not often for the 6 foot tall man who crested close to 300 pounds. But handlebar moustache aside, one day investigating a Klan rally ended with gun play and him trussed up in a bonfire gone south.

                Now William was cared for by his long term companion, Rex O’Neil, a lifer in the public school liaison role for police service, as the last bout five years ago had left him with most of his lungs burnt up, and a quadriplegic.  “What’s up Will?”

                McKay begins filling Jack in. “Shady things at Zed’s joint.”

“I am on my way, just waiting on transit.” Will begins kibitzing to Jack about why the man chose never to drive, it was too hard on him to re-explain to his friend that his mind was no wired to be able to easily focus on one task that it required to drive.

                “Seriously Will, what can I do you for?”

“Well kid, you really aren’t my type, but Zed is needing aid, and figure you are a good ground work man.” Jack steps onto the bus and flashes his pass as Will continues. “Something weird is happening at the Centre and you were the one I thought about contacting.”

               **************************************************************************************

Chapter One

The left hand scars…reminders of the heat of the flames in the van…tears and screams… Unable to move. The drive shaft piercing through the left knee cap. No longer able to walk unaided by a cane. Scarring on the left side of his body. Cleanly shaved head, goatee and whiskers, missing the left eye, the heat and smoke damage to severe.

                His gold signet ring on his right pinky tapping the oak of the podium in the June day sun. The press conference no one thought he would call. But as mayor it is time to be responsible. Three weeks and the flashes are still there.

                “Three years ago the people of this city graced me with a second term as mayor. This was the year to clean up the corruption in our city. The year of the battle, a battle we were winning…” Scarred hand is trembling. Her hand goes onto his back. Jake (Jacqueline) Slick, body guard, daughter of one of his former teammates, what seemed a lifetime ago.

                His rock, her fiery red hair reminding him of the flames of what he lost. When those he took on finally bit back, what he was expecting to deal with on his own, he had forgotten this wasn’t just the good old days when it was friends and the single life. But it was no longer the single life.

                For it was his family. Back from the Pride Parade when it happened.

Still feel the smoke filling his lungs.

                “You stood with me as we indicted our corrupt leaders in the police, fire and health services. Stood with me as we cleared out corrupt city management, and councillors. Then we went after the builders who were using unfair campaign leverage through donations to curb the market on housing, and actually create poverty and homelessness in this city. We stood as a community and fought back.”

                 His good eye looks to the crowd. The battle had raged. How many weird things had he been involved with before he became mayor.

                From his teen years as a supra hero PinBall with his best friend… to super spy in young adult hood when his powers faded… then a mystical archer (Bionic Archer)…to back to being a humble journalist before mass media conglomeration…to being believed dead as he was sucked into another dimension and became a Tulpa (Buddhist guide)… to new life here and now, first as a teacher, then as a street pastor and social justice activist where he fell in love.

                Robin…no vows, simply love, with three children…Rex, Rick (after his best friend), and Kyler…

A new life and a wife that believed to truly change the soul of the city one had to run the city. Mortgaging their house—twice—to win to large majorities, refusing corporate and union donations, and not taking any donations over $50 from one person to ensure no one person had a stronger voice within City Hall than anyone else.

                7 hard fought years. Then the last big challenge to happen. Rooting out the construction contracts. Someone fought back.

                “I have literally been to Hell and back, but I must admit that is what I believed, as you can tell from the memoir I release in the first year of my second term to come completely clean with you, the citizens who government was meant for. In Canada constitutionally we are guaranteed Peace, Order and Good Governance. Gothic City Alberta hasn’t always allowed for that. We changed that.”

                Working with the Canada Revenue Agency he had challenged the last holdout of corruption…the Religious network. In and out schemes of money, living larger, as the working and lower classes suffered. Began auditing, and shuttering churches and temples.

                He had a lot of enemies before his political life, and each month in the Mayor’s office created new enemies from each sector.

                “Evil has not one, but my friends, I am tired. They took the love from my life.” The lone figure standing in the rain storm, lightning crackling across the sky and thunder claps. Children singing. He tried to swerve. Arms came up and aimed. Robin grabbed his arm.

                A lightning crack. Explosion of fire.

“I need to pass the torch to you the citizens of Gothic to continue the work.”

                Jake squeezes his shoulder again, as some tears begin to stream down his cheeks. In all his years he has never been this beaten. “For as of this moment, since they took my family, I resign.”

                A red laser flash from the clock tower in city hall. Flashes, microphones pushing forward. Screaming questions. Commentators asking if the rot would seep back into the city now that the hero was leaving the big chair. Over the past 7 years had there been enough back bone built up. Or was the murder just showing that good could never triumph.

                Jake takes the podium mike. “Mayor MacCurtis is not taking any questions.”

Using the cane, John MacCurtis moves down from the podium and begins walking towards a waiting taxi cab. Jake follows. It was a weird feeling the last time such a large press conference had been called was during his first term when the “Great Crime Fighters” reformed for a short time and cleaned up the ultra-violent anti-heroes of the new generation. The Feds then sponsored the team and they vanished from the work a day world.

                John officially retired from the hero game as his powers faded for a third time, and he settled into focusing on city clean up. Which is what he really wanted to do anyways, but now, now it was simply time to stop.

                John stops at the door of the cab as Slick catches up, he leans in to Jake. “There’s someone in the clock tower tracking me with a rifle site.” Jake touches an ear piece and relays to the GCPS who are throughout the square. “Part of me misses the days I would bounce up there and take the poser out.”

                Jake smirks. “John you got a bad knee ya ain’t dead.”

John smiled. His eye moved to the clock tower, and diagonal down in the sandstone building to the centre right window that was darkened. His old office. His good eye catches the fluorescent vests of GCPS and taking down the gunman.

                “Got him boss. Twenty-one year old Neo-Nazi want to be.”

John laughed. “Wow, can’t believe in the 21st century that drivel still attracts the young.”

                They get in the cab and it pulls away. The radio in the cab has commentators reporting on the big announcement and if there was going to be a comeback. “Seriously John, what are you going to do?”

“Besides get a good therapist?”

                “Yea, besides that.”

“I don’t know, Jake, I honestly thought I would round out my second term, and then go back to teaching at University, but then.” His voice catches in the back of his throat. “I want to kill the son of a bitch that shot the rocket into my family.”

                “You’re not a killer John. That’s why you hero types usually hung out with my family.” Jake Slick Sr. was a gun for hire that worked with the heroes of the day, and was one of the few of the old guard that could get away with taking a life here and there.

                “Sometimes things change.” He twisted the elephant head of his cane, it kept sheathed a sword, one more piece of defense. There was still a piece of him that knew the killer would come to finish the job. The announcement would only placate the attackers for so long.

             Chapter Two

Six months may seem like a long time for others, but not for John. The hot shower was refreshing after a long day of not being the mayor.

The journey of the writer out of the block being ignited with a new idea came through the E-Squared Course this summer I started (okay like week one, but hey count your blessings where they come from). It is coming through reading a quote within Pam Grout’s book E Sqaured around St. Francis of Assisi and Barbara Walter’s and another section around the myths around anthromorphizing God that to quote Gru from Despicable Me “light bulb”…

That’s right the walk through on the shaping of a faith in the idea of healing the world, and investigative journalism to discover truth, and live life holding the story, realizing there was a reason the past ministry roles did not fit, and why there was so much struggle as my understanding has never held to the idea of Original Sin, but rather I have always centered on openness, love, and Original Blessing.

Which led to the next “light bulb” with the quote of playing in left field, and realizing that is a way to describe my vein of spiritual teaching…and the click of the next step on the writing path, the next story to be told.

That of my spiritual understanding: metaphysical interpretation and working with stories from my mystic, Francis, master teacher, Jesus and Buddha, and other wisdom teachings. Next steps…to begin writing, and wondering what stories others may believe have shaped my spiritual journey to explore along with the ones I will?

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