Theology Overnight

The title of this blog is theology, but I wanted to talk about space tonight. They are the same, and it makes no sense to think otherwise. God is energy so why argue about it.

So amazing that sex is energy and feels like God, yet there is emptiness in all, there is a space of nothingness between the heights of existence. We fly far less than we walk and think.

So why care how you express that love of energy, all leads back to the fact that God is energy, you are part of a web that shapes the consciousness of man for however long we get to express ourselves, until we are washed away in the fabric of energy, absorbed back into the fold, as the universe pushes us aside.

In a billion years they say we collide with the Andromeda Galaxy for a billion year pageantry in the sky, yet still relatively small in the big company of the universe. Good luck!


So what of it? any of it...fuck it

Why bother with a bullshit theology of fuck it...That doesn't yell, Hey check out how I expressed my allotted energy here, since I was born."

You can move energy in the fabric of how we exist. There's just no question about it...but the major-fabric of it can never be halted for you, or your death, just altered in it's course, all the while stepping us aside, hopefully re-using us again in the future: but till then there is great silence. What is the point of goodbye!

I could only imagine in a great way that the end of God and the end of Energy look much alike, much like a desert.

                                                            The world is craziest of all!

If you can only imagine the craziness, the mess, the mad light of streaking beauty, as humanity made this space-debris with it's time on earth, then you would be desperate to wake up! So wake up!

Wake up into what though? If the ocean of both energy and god will just sweep by us without thought, without mercy, what is the point? What is the temptation to exist?

My whole theology is structured on the idea that you either play in the Cosmic Canticle of Humanity for a little bit, a short song, and fly away, back to the wave that brought you, or to not exist at all and be washed away by the same wave.

It is a fight or flight theology. You leap or you sit. Your leap is yours though. The great religions draw great maps to God, but your jump is your jump. It's the clump of energy allotted you...Make peace with it and dance...

Learn to juggle for one thing. Write a poem. Canoe through class 4 rapids on a river once. Make a list and piss on my list.

This is about jumping, not just my flight. I know nothing of God, yet I reach and I reach, like you do...and I write.

The only thing you evade for yourself, to great peril, is to avoid energy...don't make a noise. Doing is more fun than not-doing: is all the theology you'll ever need crumpled on scrap-paper, shoved in your back pocket, to get up and sing.

Just move.

If in your mind you dread that the after-life is possibly nothingness, and you dread the sick joke then, that life seems to become: that all is absurdity, then why not at least make energy, like playing with play-dough for Christ's sake! Grab it and roll, mold shit up as you surf your life, for the sake of your life, sculpt the world.

Put your paint-brush to your life: is the new theology. Embrace the fervor of creation, of a life in constant conscious creation. God is energy. You are God. God is not dead.

Live in humility and enjoy...

Heroes in Our Lives

Who are the heroes in your life? I throw the question out knowing full well the definition is endless and at times a bit fucked up, or I guess I should just say a little skewed.

Heroes come in so many shapes and sometimes heroes are just normal people that inspire us to become heroes.

I don't want to drive the point of inspiration into the ground but bare with me one more time.

I think it's safe to say many people in this country are still angered by 9/11, or at the very least this new world order of doom at any moment still lingering thickly in the air makes us feel vulnerable.

But what heroes came from that event? Anyone involved in the rescue effort, whether perished or alive are heroes for sure. Yes they were doing their jobs, the job they sighed up for, but you can quit your job the moment you feel it will take your life. So they are heroes having inspired artists to create, people to give, soldiers to fight etc...

That one was easy an easy example. But what about friends? This "guy" wants to build a mosque, a place of worship, where some terrible douche bags, that claim to be a part of his religion, attacked innocent people, and to us over here his religion seems weird anyway...so if he would only move his place of worship 5 or 6 blocks over, hmmm maybe even 4 blocks would be fine, then well, from there he can plan his next attack on us or pray or whatever they do. Really?

This man is an American that roots for the New York Giants and went to a prestigious American College and pays his fucking taxes. Pray away big guy. Don't get me wrong he is not my hero, in fact he is a landlord of an apartment in Union City NJ and a shitty one at that, but has one hero stood up and said this is nuts let him worship in that building. No, instead we have been fooled into thinking that an atrocity from 9 years ago that had nothing to do with him should prevent him from building a mosque. So should Christians stay out of the Holy Land or are these types of issues time sensitive with an expiration date? Shake his hand and help him haul the bricks he needs.

My idea of hero has always had a bit of a slant to it. I have admired artists above all else at times. I look at what Michelangelo did on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel and I am awed, moved in more ways than I can count. I read poems by Walt Whitman and I want to be just like him.

My heroes are often flawed. I love the fallen hero that gets back up, the one that can't break his drinking habit, but yet can't help himself from wrapping himself in cape and tights when shit goes down to save the day.
So sometimes the strangest characters in your life will surprise you the most in the ways in which they move you toward inspiration.

After all what are heroes for? Do we admire them? That's lazy shit isn't it. Heroes move the world. I need only pick an obvious example from history...Jesus influenced Gandhi, Gandhi influenced Martin Luther King Jr. and entire revolution worth all the flood gates of Hell freed the souls and minds of a certain people who were beat to shit for way too long. So heroes influence us to be better people.

Women get credited with causing much trouble between men, Helen of Troy caused nations to go to war, Juliet drove Romeo to his grave, and Beautiful Holly drove me to explode my shit on a couple of guys last year. But that is because we men are grunts.

The beauty of women have inspired more art, more good fights, more societal change, and have helped shaped the lives of our children that so many women are everyday heroes, as they continue to churn out inspiration like a factory.

Women have endured more hardships, slavery, rape, degradation, and you-name it-under-the-sun than any one race could ever claim.

I recently heard a journalist say the 1800's ended black slavery, the 1900's ended the idea of totalitarian rule, and the 2000's will be the century the world wakes up to it's treatment of women on a global scale. Respect women and you are a hero. One of them put you in this world.

My heroes list as such, and in no particular order, I admire my wife for the way she stands by me on everything, pushes me to be more than I ever dreamed, and for watching over my children with me. My father continues to be the rock in my life he has always been. At the brittle old age he lags at he still leaves his house 5-6 times a week to volunteer at house fires in poor neighborhoods for the Red Cross. The list of things he has done is long. My mom is a hero for taking a back seat in my family, yet running it all the while. Not one of my brothers, sister, or I wanted for anything, because my mom would have killed herself to please us.

Actually this is no thank you list, and I fear I may bore you. But you get my idea. Look for heroes if you're not one already. Be a hero to someone. And don't waste your time with it either, actually run to the chance to better someone else's life. Thank the nearest single mom, thank a cop, your dad, a priest, or the counter clerk that treated you with respect. Maybe it is just humanity. A little humanity goes a long way, and if it just takes a bit of humanity to inspire greatness, then those who possess is hold the key to being a hero. It's easy to be angry with a chip on your shoulder. It is work to treat people like they matter. For the sake of us all: work on it! I leave you with a quote from a poet and artist:

We are haunted till our humanity awakens us.  -William Blake

 

  

Going up

This is a retrospect of the last two and a half weeks of my writing life thus far; after all this blog is a chronicle of the writer's life, though it seems to get lost in dreams of my beautiful wife: whom I guess is no longer a mystery to this page.

I have written 12 local news articles for three different online news sources, 4 articles for ehow.com and livestrong.com, and have kept this blog going full steam ahead, which has peaked a interest beyond what I thought possible in this short time.

I continue today to send letters out to editors and find more work, more places to write.

So why update this blog in this way? Because more than anything this morning I want to tell you to do what you want. It is beyond cliche to say follow your dream in life. So I add some expletives and a revised addition: Get out of your funk, wake the fuck and be who you are, what you know you are, stop being what you think other people want you to be, and roll......to your destination with your name in shining lights. Ask yourself where you are going in life? Up, down, or nowhere? Somehow nowhere seems worse than down.

I'm going up. I'm seeing the whole world in a new way...up close and personal. Last month I would have cringed about going to an old people's home or a ribbon cutting ceremony for a new town building. Covering those stories though opened my eyes to sacrifice, humility, graciousness, and pride in making this life around us a better place than it was yesterday.

Writing about John Deere Toys or Baseball gloves for ehow and livestrong.com added to my resume/portfolio, but it also added to my bag of writing tools and personal perspective. I had to think like me the consumer, not me the writer, writing about shit I don't care about. I had to care about the people buying those things, so the article would hit the money.

And my family, well we're not rich yet at all, and I'm no perfect dad or husband, but Holly and I are closer, as we take this ride together. My biggest fan and critic of this blog is my best friend, my wife. When I start writing in the morning she will tell me with brutal honesty what she thinks. I don't always take a different course, but when I have it was worth it.

In seeing things differently, with an eye of humanity, I believe I am fully learning human. It is so easy to center my own thoughts and actions around a selfish pattern, but in breaking out of that mode of being, I am bending the iron bars that have kept me locked up inside Matthew David Campbell since, wow, a long time now, and I'm walking out of that cell and into your world, and it's such a great wonderful world to be walking into.

I now feel like I'm carrying my world on my shoulders, but it seems much lighter, not like a ton-weight, but like a big jolly world, with a fat smile on it's face: and I'm smiling too. I'm trying harder to be closer to the people in my life I should have been open to for so long. I'm a craftsman of the written word. I am so happy and proud to write that. I am beyond excited about the readership of this blog, and that you are with me on this journey. I am working hard to keep your interest, so I will venture often within myself and out into the world.

This morning my biggest concern is that everyone reading this blog is living your dream. I wasn't happy till stepped on a colorful balloon that advertised Joy Ride: Your Life is Waiting. I stepped out of my shoes and into my life saying up please!

So up is where I am headed. Today I want to share this poem below. I wrote it for my Holly girl and read it at our wedding. She gave me life, I give her the world.

          Family Tree

Autumn birds fly like waves, like an ocean on a blue sky,

Bare trees like lichen…I’m driving to see you

and the boys, my girl in your belly, all of them ours…

Your belly rising like a mountain, like life your belly

Curves so lovely, and your curves are the curves of the world…

When you shake you shake my world, when you quake

I crack at the seam…when I talk I talk of love, when I talk

Of love I talk of you…when my speech and my hands freeze,

my feet encased in blocks of ice,

When my fire glows dim, I burn for you…  

Driving like Jersey fish through the ocean of my life,

In a sea of cars, our lives come thundering like waves

To each other’s shore…I move Earth for you, lay water

At your feet, blow cinnamon in the air around you,

plant my foot in the ground…I love you with the shovel…

Bury my heart in dirt…I give you the tree…  

This Feast

The feast of this life lay before me. This feast immoral,  banquet unlimited, I eat like mad. I yell to live in excess of life. Gorge on apples, on nectar, eat from the banquet, thanksgiving of Earth.

Pass the bread, I feast on my wife like mad madness,  I drive deep and suck the sap dry, squeeze the fruit above my head and squeeze the last drop to tongue.

The world has no mercy, so in my hunger I show none back. Relentless creator of a merciless world gone mad, I eat to crumble your world.


It's 6am, beautiful Holly and the kids are in bed. I'm hungry for this time of day, when the tip of sun rises like the mad fruit of the world, when the first light dawns on your eyes, and the first bird sings, I hunger in wait for light.

Drink from the well of sugar, absurdity, tequila-Jesus-paralysis. At 6am I'm hungry for Holly's thighs. My enraptured woman of all my bliss, she the grail, she the fountain of no end.

Enjoy love, make life, live in full bloom, part the sea of nectar, dance with the seven winds, create an opal love of star flower and amethyst, move the earth of savory flesh, move in the perfumed darkness, body surfer, shake the primal rhythm.

Choose color, shun darkness, and push the abyss over itself, it has no influence, power deadened by a chosen life, a choice to run despite the nails on the ground, a choice to take flight despite the nails through your wrist and hole in your heart.

There is one grail, the sun of this morning I choose. My breath is the only prayer I need, my insatiable appetite for my wife, my endless hands to carry my children through fire. I walk in my yard this morning, my feet cold from from dew, the air thick and cold, winter in the nearness of days to come, and I burst with the light of a sun in rage.  

I create my world, its shape the shape of my rage, my rage the light of the world, the sun, the face of beautiful Holly rising, rising and ruling my world. I dip my hands in cinnamon powder, cup her breast, and kill this half-life, make it new, make it whole.

Toast, roll in the leaves, roll in the sea, break the legs of your bed by shear force of joy. I can't wait for her, as I write this I wait for her, I make my coffee and wait for her, my whole life in wait for her, for her to come down the dark hallway of morning, clothes tight to the curves of my world. My wine I toast the life she gives, I toast the grail to her body, her lust, the wonders of this life, my children the energy of seed.

No doubt my girl will read this ask what the hell I wrote that for, why didn't you let me read it first, who cares, what hell was that....?

It's just me fucking the nothingness...it's me adding color to my morning, which is a cloudy drab, with air alive, an Autumn day in which I rose early to type to the world and could think of nothing but you, my family, the feast this life has lain before me...I didn't have much to say when I woke, but I felt so damn much I just spilled myself a big mess...A mess with stains I refuse to clean...The mess of a Chirst of fire, Messiah of a world in Hell      

      

  

Inspiration

Owen's story generated a lot of interest, and a lot of people sent the nicest messages, comments, support etc...Some people that read Owen's story called either the story or myself inspiring. This lead beautiful Holly to pose the question to me: Do I think I am inspiring?

I felt like a puddle of muddy water confronted with the idea. I said I think people find my story or the way I write inspiring, but I myself have done nothing. No absolutely not, I'm not inspiring.

Holly and I often discuss the mistakes we have both stumbled over as we were single parents, so I said we've discussed how I handled being a single parent. I love my children tremendously, but that is easy, it comes naturally. But I was not an inspiring person or parent. I have people to attest to the fact. Trust me.

I want to be inspiring though. Holly said, it's not about the past or what people think, just be inspiring: do inspiring things. So I write the story of my life the best way I know how. Most importantly I need to tend my wife's beautiful heart and my children too. Blending a family is harder than graduate school, it should require a degree. If I can get that right, be the father and husband I want to be, then all things inspiring will fall into place.

But that is the biggest challenge in front of me right now.  

How do I make my family flow like water, like a waterfall that can feed all things below it, or the river that carries life everywhere it travels, and the ocean, the largest symbol of life we know, from space we seem entirely blue, which gives rise to the green life we love so much. So how do I do that?

People are so careless with each other that it is so easy to fail with anything in life that we do. The point I think is to take light footsteps, and make small splashes when we tread near the ones we love. I need to NOT slam the door when I am angry. I'm sure it just floods my home with terrible water.

I need to LOVE my wife when she is frustrated, and be patient with all my children equally. I'm working toward this, and every day this is all I want, to be a good father and provide for those closest to me. If I can do that, especially in this way, with these words, that enough people are interested in enough to read,
then I will have accomplished actual inspiration.

When my family is all play and imagination because I made them that way, then I will be on the right trail I need to be walking on. Right now I feel like I'm in the woods, can't see the trail, but I think I know where I dropped my compass.

That is not the worst place to start. At least I know there is a compass and a way I need to walk.

So how do I grab Holly's hand and run, like, hmmm, not the wind...but children again. I want to feel with Holly, and I often do, how I felt as a child in love.

Surely if I can do that, then I will no doubt make my children just dance to be alive. What is greater than watching your children dance at what they are good at, whether it is sports, dance, art, loving you, or just plain looking good.

Look at your child and dance with him or her, it's what you have in this moment, and it's not hard. That love, if you can keep it up, is the big challenge to keep alive.

So all the things people are saying to me make me want inspiration in the worst way for my family, just so we can burst it upon the world. I want love unleashed. I want to be the pit-bull, the watch-dog of love. I want love so mad that it won't seem real, but will be so real that it can't end.  

  I know I will get it right. I have to. I said at the start of this blog, I need to do this because we're all gonna die. So the time for me is now, to get it right, in stone, like a mason laboring for love. And then, though I married her, and only then will I truly have my wife in my heart. That is when I feel most like a superstar, when I know she loves me, because I loved her so much, that she couldn't help  herself.

So my first target of love is my girl when she gets home from shopping with the kids. Then my next target is my children, then I'm aiming at the rest of my family, bothers, sister, parents, and anyone else that falls into the word family.

I want my love for the people in my life to be immortalized and set in stone. We are going to die, but in the mean time I can aim to freeze this love and all I have to offer the loves in my life, in time, so in the passing of it all, it can never be taken back.

The Fridge is Empty

A couple of hours after Holly and I decided to roll the dice on this writing venture I received two phone calls offering two separate jobs in the education field. Both jobs offering a crappy, almost livable, wage, though offering some faint possibility of advancement.

Fuck! So I ate lunch thinking how I just decided to follow my dream and become a writer, and the safe road of guaranteed income has been been paved before me. 4 kids, a family of 6, 3 toads, a snake, and a gecko to feed. I wanted to puke.

Holly was frustrated by my unease. She said "I don't know what you're thinking about, I thought you wanted to be a writer? Those jobs are offering you shit!" So it was set in stone that morning, about three weeks ago, and the dice was cast.

Holly found me a free desk on some curb off craigslist, I got an hp notebook computer for $20 after rebate, and put together a resume, and two samples of writings. This is my shitty desk. I should say though, it serves me well; a lot better than the one I had before, which was no desk at all.

Now I run out of the house to cover local news stories, stop on the side of busy roads to capture an image with my low end camera I hope you might find interesting, dream of landing a Rolling Stone assignment interviewing some famous douche I could care less about, or one I actually like, write my article, tend this blog, and hope in the fire of it all it creates magic for both my family and I.

Last night I was brushing my teeth, and I realized I left the water running as I'm brushing. What a fucking waste. I pay a water bill. I walked into my living room, and the ceiling fan was on. Another waste. Not to mention the computer was on, and the TV was on and the kids weren't even paying attention to it. My bedroom fan was on too. And my kids hardly ever want to finish there dinner and always want a snack later, or "I'm full. What's for desert?" Are you kidding me? I got a million fuckin words to get down on paper, I'm hungry, and no time to eat. I need to stay stocked up on coffee, just to keep pace with this new writer's life of mine, and coffee costs money too. I feel like just another rat, another moron wasting money mindlessly without ever taking notice, and now I'm hyper aware of every penny flying out the window.

I wanted a change in my life, and now I'm scouring the ways I can save change. I'm watering juice down for the whole family, secretly of course, so I can can get two for one without waiting for Shop Rite to offer it. I'm doing 65 in a 55 on Rt 10, and I thought the gleam in the corner of my eye might be a quarter on the floor. I want a pool next year, and I swear I'm just looking for a pot to piss in. Did I really put that king size bed and flat screen TV on my credit card last month? 4 people at my last few news assignments asked me for my business cards. Those are cheap right?

So this is where I find myself. Trying to entertain, write news stories on a dead line, create articles I can sell to magazines, try to garner some money, someday, for my poetry, all to make a better life for my family. From where I stand right now I wouldn't change it for the world. My life is more interesting than it's ever been, and I have more energy than Columbia can provide in both cocaine and coffee. I'm lighting my world on fire, and hopefully, soon enough, the rest of the world too with the million words campbellonemillion needs to produce before the next million are due.

Can my words feed this family? If only I could cut myself open and feed them my organs till they do. I have to believe that this blog too is worth my time. I was going to mention yesterday that I almost received 1000 views on this blog, but interest in my children peaked that over 1200 by today.

This little love is worth more than anything I will ever write, yet I have to keep going so she can eat. After I post this I have to tend to her to keep beautiful Holly's sanity safe, then write two articles I covered last night and this morning, shove dinner down my  throat and head out the door with kisses and half hugs, as I rush off to cover another story of a guy doing more for the world in one year than I've done my whole life.

Meet my Children

Meet my kids, they are the chaos of our blended family. Juliana Skye is the only child in this house that unites them all by blood. These mugshots of them can never tell their whole stories, and neither can my words. That will be up to them, as they grow, and live their lives, and show the world what they are to become. These bastards are my world. I hope I can do them a little justice as I allow you into their lives for a moment.  

This is Ty Cobb, my stepson, and beautiful Holly's first born.  He's been the love of Holly's life since he came into this world. Their bond is unbreakable, as she has cared for him in all the ways a great mother does. He loves his mother beyond love, and if you know them you know the truth of this clear as day. Don't get me wrong, he can be annoying and lazy as a Southern day, but this is a 13 year old with a big heart for his family and his friends. He has 2 dads and 2 moms, and he's good and affectionate to us all. His dad is a great guy, and Tyler is becoming like him. I'm lucky to have landed into his life the way I have. When Owen, in his young way, claims he is stuck on the trampoline and yells for me to come get him, as I look out the window, and without fail, before I need to "save" Owen, Tyler is helping him down and sometimes carrying him all the way to the house on his shoulders.  In Tyler my 2 sons were given an older brother they adore. The question "when is Tyler coming home?" is a constant on the days he's at his father's. Our house is always missing a piece on those days for sure.  On a funny note, we're a sarcastic family, and when Holly and I told Tyler he was a bastard, explaining, that's when you're born out of wedlock, he ran to school proudly telling all his friends he was a douche. I could imagine the poor guy having to correct his mistake the next day saying, "I'm meant to say I'm a bastard yesterday."  



This face is Aidan Campbell, my first born, my boy, my love. This fucker is a spit fire. He has more energy than "big oil" can provide. He jumps on the trampoline till the sun drops, hates school like Lex Luther hates Superman, loves mellow cream pumpkins, and fights for beautiful Holly's affection from both Tyler and I. When his mom died he developed anger to complement the fire in his veins, so I bought him a  real sword at a Medieval fair when he was 5. He pulled it on me that week proclaiming he would cut off my head...hmmm lesson learned, as the sword sits in my closet thanks to Beautiful Holly. Aidan struggles with his reading, but still idolizes Superman. He always wants to know "which one is tougher" a snake or a lion, Superman or Darkseid, Jupiter or the Sun, or whatever fight he can pair up in his head. He is sure though, as he told me that uncle Chris and uncle Andrew (my older and younger brothers)  are tougher than me. During Owen's birth Aidan came running in the room saying "I have poop on my finger!" When I asked him how that happened he said, "I stuck it in my butt."



Our youngest of the boys, Owen Campbell. This kid  will take the longest to eat his dinner, only to proclaim he would rather forgo TV, computer time, and video games so he can avoid the last few bites of corn on his plate. Without fail Owen comes asking for his corn. Owen was born with a rare genetic disorder called MPS II, aka Hunter Syndrome. He has had numerous surgeries, and receives medication through a port every week, but he is growing, developing his speech, and once again thanks to Beautiful Holly, becoming a bit tougher and more open to other people. Owen is a loving child, and is obsessed with his baby sister, and idolizes Tyler and Aidan. He's stubborn and thick headed, yet enjoys simple things more often than not. Owen's big challenge is growing his imagination. My soft spot for him has been his crutch. But he's not my baby anymore, he's a growing boy. I am accepting that.





This is my angel, Juliana Skye Campbell. She is the creation of Beautiful Holly and I, and all the poetry in the world is a bag of shit in my eyes, compared to this little flower. This is my peanut, my treasure, my little gem of the Earth. Her eyes are bluer than the Sky, with the face of a doll. She laughs for me and loves her mommy so much. She gives me a reason to own a gun, and a tank, bullet proof vests for me and the boys, and a lion in my heart to fuck the world that wants to hurt her. Speaking directly to this world, I'm saying, "be careful with my baby, watch your step around her, come near her and your dead, I will kill you I swear. But if you are good and kind to her and take care of her when you can, then not only will I not fuck your world, but maybe I'll point my tank in the direction of your enemies." And just two nights ago, as Beautiful Holly kissed her on the mouth good night, Juliana puked right in her mouth.


These are my children, and this is my world. Beautiful Holly remains a mystery to this page. She is the heart of my family.

I'm Matthew, campbellonemillion is my rapper name. That's a lie; I really can't rap. I have a Yankee hat for each day of the week. Every day I love my family and the Yankees. I hate the Red Sox. I'm writing this blog to tell the story of the world as it filters through my eyes.


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