To find Me

Who am I anymore? My heart has grown black, blocked, protected, & I cannot see. But I remember.
I’m increasingly feeling that finding my mother was unfortunate. I had promised myself, promised her that I wouldn’t and don’t expect anything, but how could that even be possible?

If she hated me for finding her, I would have been fine. If she wanted to be a part of my life, even better – but I was depending on absolutes, either one or the other, and certainly not this. This, I couldn’t have imagined.

It began beautifully – exactly, more or less, what I wanted. She was excited to meet me & had my half-sister drive her down to the City. The first birthday of mine after we met, I opened my mailbox to find five cards from her…

And when I could, I visited her. A ride with my half-sister & our dogs, a ride with a girlfriend for a birthday present… but as time went by we talked less & less. I left months of unanswered messages, sent letters with no reply. A desperate ride from a friend to confront her. The only time we really talk is when we are together.

At first I was able to laugh it off. “Gods, she’s worse than me.” “She’s mostly a hermit.” “She’s bad at keeping in contact – I guess that’s where I get it.”… but the walls were already being built.

Of course I remembered how. It was the very first thing I learned how to do when I was torn from her arms. Detach. Hide the pain. Move on.
But this time it’s different. I’m stuck in a limbo of uncertainty, and I’ve worked too fucking hard to break the walls down to ever want them there again – though it makes things so much easier. Insufferably lonely, but easier.

I need to weave a new self-narrative of who I am & who she is in my life. Fragments of what was, what might have been, & what is, integrating the abandoned baby & the adult that baby has become.
I need to knit the fantasy birth-mother & the real one together, who she first was, & who I haven’t talked to in over a year nor seen in nearly two, and as painful as it is, accept it. Accept her, & accept… whatever we are now.

I feel that’s the only way to set my heart free again, to let it feel the light as it once did. To remember that part of me and once more… shine.

The world, this life is not perfect, yet we try to arrange people, places & things so as not to disturb our little fear-built fantasy of what it should be, and when people say or do something that doesn’t fit our fantasy, we feel that they’re against us. That life is against us.

I see people fighting to control the things around them every day – getting offended by the most ridiculous bullshit because it isn’t what *they* think. If someone else says or does something that stimulates the fear they have, then *that* person is wrong. Only fear can make a person so blind as to how beautifully magical life is, how incredible it can be when they give up the need for control of those around them.
They’re trapped in a bubble where everyone who doesn’t fit their idea of what “should be” is against them, and almost inevitably spit their sad little outrage out on the Facebook screen.
But I stray.

My life has been one of nearly constant introspection. I have done my best to simply live & let life happen instead of control it, and occasionally I have even been able to achieve this. ( https://kseaflux.wordpress.com/2005/08/ ~ 6 months forward.)
I look back at the past, remember & re-learn things I have forgotten. I feel around in the darkness of my heart & hope to find the answers I once knew for the questions I have today.

…and I understood that I was blaming this on my Mother. Trying to control her, to make her fit into my idea of what I think she should be. What “family” should be. Who the woman I searched over 25 years of my life for should be.
She didn’t ask for this, though she says she wanted me to find her. That she thought about me all the time.

Maybe she doesn’t need to think about me anymore. Maybe a thousand things. I don’t know. But I’m not going to let *this* blacken my heart anymore.

I was going through old Tribe.net testimonials yesterday, reading who I was, trying to repair my heart, trying to understand where & why things turned. These are from only 10 years ago.
This person is still in me, somewhere… and I will find him again.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~
“I do admire you… I do not know how you do to live the life you live. You remind me of the replicates in the Blade Runner Film. So wild and beautiful like poetry lost in time… like tears in the rain…

Do birds ever come to you?

I will be praying for you these days… for you, my friend, to get home soon. I am so very glad life is good to you because you are so good, way over too many stupidities of this world. And, I might be wrong, of course, for I perceive your nature must bring this need to pull it all the way. Not being a slave at any risk… it’s a pretty good damn meaning and purpose. I believe in you, you are an inspiration to life itself…

I feel you have been giving way too much, and you are so intense, could be dangerous like love… you seem from here like a wild tender beautiful authentic being, more than human. I want to pray for you to find what you are looking for, what you really need….

There is something of me in you; still we might be completely opposites… You are, brother, creator of fantasies, worlds, and million thousand ways to fly. I watch you fly mesmerized; still I wish something wires you to the land… I don’t know why, sometimes I wish I could become that wire to connect you with your land, or at least, send it to you in some magical way…

The higher you fly, the further away, the deeper this wish buries in me… like a dream, it cuts. It’s not easy to say this kind of things, to describe this kind of experience without some fear…

I hope you’ll understand… I hope you do receive a kiss and a hug with these words which aren’t enough, I know, but it’s all I got now…

Blessings”

~  ~  ~
“I find it hard to breathe in your arms. it has less to do with the urgency of your embrace, the strength in your slender sinewy limbs… more the relentlessness of your self. I find myself outnumbered, surrounded, because you are starving, ravenous, for life and love and laughter.

and these things I have, like candies spilling out of my overfull hands

I hold them behind me, not to taunt you, but unsure that I can surrender them without loosing fingers.
you are no tame bird”

~  ~  ~
“it was wonderful seeing you last night. you were looking more balanced than i have seen you
before, gorgeous and fit of course, but also you energetically seemed very clear and free. So many real smiles, even your aura shining. i’m so glad. you’re such a great combination of goofy and lovable and innocent, and fucking searingly sexy and worldly and such a piece of inspiring art to look at. fascinating art that creates itself from the inside out and can reach out and grab a lady’s hair just right.
love.”

 

I miss who I was when I knew the light.

 

Getting out of the way of myself

(Begun)Saturday night, roughly 12:30am. GrassFish 2016
Post laydown recharge –
(Semi-completed) Monday, 5.17.16, the early waking hours before my feet hit the floor…

~ ~ ~ ~ ~
I’m tempted to say that I almost didn’t make up here, but now, ultimately, I know better. Some things are simply *meant* to happen, and we end up using more effort to ignore and fight the call than we would simply listening to the ‘Verse and accepting that it will *always* know what we need.
Of course, it’s simple to ignore or simply not notice, to have what *you* thought remain true to your expectations. It’s safe to remain in the bubble that we’ve created and go on with our daily lives, digging for any excuse available to remain in our world of woe-is-me. I never was like this before. Before the hospice.
I’ve let fear take over my thoughts.
A few months ago when this event was announced, a week of camping on a sublime campground 3 hours north of San Francisco, at that moment I resigned myself to most likely not being able to join.
All of the reasons and rationalities ran through my head in a valiant attempt to justify my decision: Finances, first & foremost. I had already asked for and received, in my mind, more than I deserved. Even though it was to help keep me alive, it still felt – will always feel – like I am asking for too much. If I asked for something simply to *enjoy* life instead of not dying, that would be abusing the kindness that has already been shown – and could possibly take away from the assistance that I actually *need* in the future to not only stay alive, but in the effort to get well.
Then of course there was Ruby, my dog, my companion, the one, who with her smiles and snuggles and dependency on me takes the sharpest edges off the loneliness that is an ever-increasing part of my world… and of course, the book project. Losing myself in the work & words & all of the things that need to happen so *it* can happen… no. I need to work. To dig my way out from under the poverty that keeps me stuck here, to finally be able to give back.
In my mind, it was settled. I simply couldn’t go to GrassFish.

I’ll tolerate the daily drudgery because the daily drudgery is easier than actually changing the ways that have been set for me – but that is *NOT* me. I wondered who this person was that I had become, wondered how this fearful bastard took control.

I looked back to the time before the sickness took hold of me, to that very moment I gave everything that I was *supposed* to do up and ran with a smile & wild look in my eyes to the edge of the cliff – and jumped – not even knowing if I even had wings but hoping that they might unfold… and if they didn’t, if my body & soul was shattered on the razor-sharp rocks below, then so be it.
I was done being someone else’s pawn, someone else’s work-horse.
I wanted to remember who I wanted to be, and become that person who I dreamt of as a child.
And I was more than willing to pay any cost to find him. To find, for the first time… me.

And I fell. I lost my car, had to sell off everything that I could simply to feed my dog & me in-between the odd-jobs I took – at one point I couldn’t help but laugh as I was surrounded by over $7,000 worth of original French Art-Deco lamps to rewire & had $3 & change in my pocket… but even though I was broke, hungry, and days away from getting the eviction notice on my apartment – something felt more right than it ever had before. With the odd-jobs I was helping people, and the stain left on my soul from my last “official” job was fading. I was absolutely terrified of what might happen next, but I had never felt so alive. There was a strange feeling inside that I remember then, hidden behind the terror and uncertainty, but at certain times it was much stronger and edged its way out to the front. The closest I can come to naming it is genuine happiness… the kind of happiness that begins at the core of your soul and makes your entire mind & body tingle, adds a vibrant light behind your eyes and a peacefulness in every motion you make.
I was doing something right. I was becoming me – and it was noticed.

From that moment on, it was easy to compare, in a way, to Alice falling down the rabbit hole. Things started falling into place. A dear friend hooked me up with a band that I had performed with before called The Dresden Dolls, and I started working with them – organizing performers for their shows around the world from wherever I could find a place to sleep after I was evicted – from a fetish dungeon (with rooms for all types of fetishes) to artist warehouses, friends couches and gods, the stories…
From being flown out to Boston, coming back to San Francisco, deciding to move there and being re-routed in route… just going wherever I was pointed, making the best of wherever I ended up.

I can’t say I wasn’t afraid, but I didn’t let the fear control me – and the world just kept opening itself up to me, as if everywhere I went there was the proverbial red carpet laid out on the roads and in my mind…

I created an online magazine, produced events, and even won an award. There was no stopping me…

and then I got sick.

Even though I somehow lived through that, the fear was so unknown & intense – knowing that at literally any moment I could die – that I don’t think I was ever able to shake it.
I still carry that fear, and only when this camping event came up and it came to the point that it would have taken more effort to hold onto it like a child’s security blanket and not go to GrassFish1 did I realize that the fear that I had worked so hard to move through in the past was now, again, acting as a barrier against living the life that I wanted.

When Tanya Mia offered me tickets, a place to sleep, and food when up there at the last moment, I still fought it. I couldn’t find someone I trusted enough to watch my dog, Ruby, with so little time to spare. Hells – I only had 1 day and with my mind battling me, couldn’t think of anyone… but wait, maybe? I sent a message, and the first person was busy. Good. See? I was right. I can’t go, but thanks.

But then there was another person I thought of. A long-shot as they’re usually busy and active, but… and then the reply came back. They can watch her but won’t be available until late Friday after work.
Okay. Now, a ride…

Ultimately, it worked out, and I was a fool for fighting it so hard – but through it all, I learned what I needed to –
1) that I need to let go of this fucking fear that’s been clinging to me ever since I was dying in the hospice. For nearly six years it has been controlling me, weakening me, and I have been losing me. It’s time to come back.
2) that this book is going to be terrifying to write – but I’m more familiar with fear than most, and I will do it. Hell – I’ve already begun. It is the greatest thing I can give. I lived a life that I couldn’t even imagine at the time and became who I wanted to be. I went (and continue on) a great journey, one that has taken me from the shining top of life to the depths of watching my own flesh decompose but I wasn’t willing to go I had to live and… and as I did what I swore I would do and danced out the door of the hospice, called a “miracle” by the nurses and nurse assistants who (understandably) pegged me for dead…
If I can help or inspire even one person with this book, that’s all I need.

Now, time to write a book.
We are ALL going to win.

1- GrassFish is a mid-year campout that has been going on for… I don’t know, 5-7 years? Born from a Burning Man
camp created by Lord Huckleberry & Opal Essence a long time ago named DustFish. By FAR, the best camp on the Playa.

 

 

 

 

in silent screams

I leave one message for her, then another after a few days, a week… then twenty, thirty over the months. After a short while I find I’m talking to her answering machine, having almost conversations, telling it what I’ve been up to, how my day was, my week. It’s silent as I tell it that I think I’m getting better, that I wish she could meet some of the amazing people who are helping to keep me alive…

but it’s never her.

It must be around eight months now, maybe nine since I’ve heard my Mother’s voice – or heard from her at all. There’s been some amazing news that I told her answering machine; I’ve met my Blood Father with whom, on that fated New Years Eve of ’66/’67, she created me. The last time we talked, when he & I were only barely beginning to plan it, I asked her how she felt about me meeting him, & she said she was completely cool with it – “He’s a really sweet man.”, She said. He is… I was in & out of the hospital, been cured of Hep-C.
My Birthday has long since come & gone. The day she watched as I took my first breath… the day that only after we met meant anything to me slid by without a word from her.

I went to a small party which only by coincidence was the same day – dusted off & put on the well-practiced smile that hides everything else churning & twisting beneath the surface so that no one knew & it didn’t dampen the moods of my friends.
Hell, over this lifetime its gotten to the point where even I believe the mask I wear for those moments,,, until I get home, check the mailbox and again find it empty.

Maybe everything is broken, and she’s not getting any of my messages. Maybe she doesn’t check them. Maybe it is just too much for her and she has left me with nothing but silence, confusion, – and far too few beautiful memories of the times we had together… just like the others.
Maybe I did something wrong.

Maybe… this was a mistake. Maybe there was something past the smile that I never saw, the few times I was able to get up there to see her. An uncertainty, a fear…
Maybe I planted myself in her life too quickly and grew up too fast in the 47 years since she last saw me, one day a baby fresh from her womb, and the next, a man who has already lived a full life that she wasn’t allowed to be a part of.
Maybe, I did something wrong.

Maybe… I’m broken.

I’ve sent two letters now, another one will arrive for her shortly after thanksgiving. I’m thinking of sending a stamped & addressed envelope in this one. Maybe with a note to me with multiple choice answers.

Hi Casey!
Great to get your letters. I’m doing a)great b)pretty good c) busy, and I/I’m a)VERY sorry b) insanely busy with work c) have been feeling kind of down, but/and meant to write/call…

My ½ sister – her daughter, who I talk to about mom every month or so when we go to the archery range or dog park says not to worry; that maybe mom is feeling bad because she wasn’t able to be here for me, and she’s been a bit depressed lately anyways, not really being able to get around due to her recent hip transplants, or….or….

If I had a car I would have been up there long ago – maybe.
Probably. I understand the need & desire to be alone, but this has gotten to the point where it has just fucking become selfish.

It’s been 2 years & 6 days since the first time in my life I saw my Mother’s face. Could hold her in my arms. Could, at last, after 46 years… feel wanted. I found the heart that I belonged in.

I think of her every day, miss her – especially now, with the holidays here & looming, a time when we should be together – if even only through a phone call.

She always seemed so excited to see me in the few times I’ve been able to get up there.
Maybe she had a change of heart, and closed the part where I seemed to fit so perfectly before.
Maybe there will be a beautiful letter in a plain white envelope waiting for me in my mailbox tomorrow.

I don’t know.
Her answering machine ain’t talking.

Home.

The quiet white hush of the electric fan, the occasional car horn or siren coming in through the window… these are the sounds of the past two nights; the sounds that remind me that, without question, I am *home*.

No more 3am blood draws, no more moans of pain from my room-mate and yelling for the nurse throughout the floor, no more random, incessant beeping or not so hushed conversations between the workers on the 5th floor, the patients… and the pain, not letting me stay in one position for any length of time before it was unbearable & I had to try something different
During the past month, there may have been a total of three times where I was able to accomplish getting five straight hours of solid sleep, with the rest being small chunks of two, maybe three if I was *very* fortunate.

All of that is done, now only the past – and now it is time to allow my body & mind to catch up to all I have been missing. I lay on top of one slightly torn comforter, drape the heavy one I’ve loved for many years & many cities across my body. It is now beyond repair, this wonderfrul patchwork comforter, and as much as it saddens me it is time to let it go – perhaps one evening find someone on the street who it will offer its warmth to.

I slowly, softly wake up 7,8,9,10 hours later, Kindle still in hand & a subtle & serene grin on my face, lay there for a few minutes as I think about the day, and do a quick meditation focusing on how beautiful everything is.

It seems as if I still have some rest to catch up on, as I find myself nodding off now & again – but I’m fine with that. Lots to do, but these are easy days – I do what I can when I can, cleaning up my apartment, having fantastic people come & help me with cleaning out my fridge & making certain things are well & good, & that I have healthy food.

I am in perpetual awe at how blessed I am – how blessed we ALL are to have such a loving family of friends – and in that, we will always have everything we need.

I only wish life could be like this for everyone.
Maybe someday, it will.

I love you all – and thank you, so very much, for calling me yours.

March 31st. 13 Days. The Final (& first) Step….

About This Project

This book has been hard fought for. It was first requested over 7 years ago, but I knew then it was far from what it could become.

I had NO idea that it could become this.
From nearly dying twice during an 18 month hospital stay to finding my Birth Mother & Father after a 25 year search, ALONG with all the amazing (& sometimes hilarious) adventures along the way, its time has now come. It’s time to gather my 100’s of pages of blog entries and create something beautiful. Something that I have every intention of changing the world through.

Understandably, I’m incredibly excited to finally be able to write it for you – but it isn’t just a book. It’s a story for anyone, like me, who wants to change things.

It’s an unapologetic, pull-no-punches, honest, moving and inspiring story about taking control of your life and living YOUR dreams. If that involves making the reader a bit uncomfortable, so be it.

Though the specific journey written about in this story is solely mine, there is something for anyone who has ever questioned their direction in life, who has ever felt confused or defeated, and who has had to completely and undeniably trust their heart – because sometimes when you find yourself on the edge, the best thing you can do is just jump – and watch your wings unfold.

It is written for those who want to stop talking and start doing. People who want to CHOOSE, create their own story & feel the power they have over their lives.

This book will be my gift to those who believed in me when I forgot how to believe in myself.
It is my gift to those I have not yet met, reminding them that I believe in them.

This book is the incredible story of the amazing adventures over the past ten years of my life, and how I turned a mundane, unremarkable existence into a beautiful, useful & helpful life. A life that I am proud of… and the really cool thing is that I show YOU how to change your life, too.

I’m writing this book because I know it can help others. Because I know that it can change the world and there is no better feeling than helping someone else become the hero of their own story… and because it’s also the next dream on the list.

This isn’t going to be your normal “Let me tell you how it’s done” book – there are enough of those. This is going to be a friggin’ awe-inspiring, almost unbelievable story that comes with a boatload of inspiration to encourage YOU to look at your story, realize what’s possible, and decide to make YOUR dreams come true.

Stories. Our lives are constructed by countless stories, and the ones we choose literally create our world. How we look at ourselves, how we see others, how we make sense of this exquisite madness.

Stories remind of us what’s bigger – who we CAN be, and what we can do.

They give us the gift of wonder – something that far too many of us have forgotten. And stories are our pathways to change. This is nothing that you don’t already know. You just need to be reminded that it’s not only possible, but incredibly simple to start making your dreams come true.
After all – if
I can to it…

About Me!

Raw from the brink, his permeable life has affected me in such a way that I sometimes don’t believe kSea is fully human. He surpasses incomprehensible trials & discoveries to awaken us to how thin the veil sometimes is & what to do with it: origin, purpose, life & death itself. To be so aligned in spirit to tell the tales of unfathomable experiences is an inspiring gift to us all. This is a book that needs to be written, read, made into film. One can only guess at the darkest pages, the twists & turns as he finds illumination within.”

Pixie Spindel Photographer, PixieVision.com

 

kSea is what happens when you decide to live your dreams. His unstoppable passion to live is breathtaking, & I consider myself lucky to have shared the stage with such a passionate and beautiful soul. Every single rare second I spend with him is something I cherish.”
Wenzdai Atom-Morgan,Photographer

 

“kSea walks the walk, talks the talk, and is more amazing in ten seconds than most people are in a lifetime.”

Clara LaFrance co-performer, aerial dancer and instructor. Boston, MA / Oakland, CA

 

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

I wasn’t happy.

I mean, things weren’t “horrible” by any means, but my life certainly wasn’t heading anywhere amazing. I looked as far forward as I could, and couldn’t see anything changing. I couldn’t see living the life I wanted to live, not if I kept going the way I was – and the only way I saw that happening was if I made some changes… so I did.

Hey there! My name is Casey Porter. I’ll be writing this book for you.

This is the story of what happened when I decided to change things, and how my life exploded in pure amazing after that. I’m writing it because I’m absolutely certain that yours can, too.

Ten years ago, where this story begins, I was living an okay life. Not bad, not great, but like so many of us I felt like I could be doing something more. I SHOULD be doing something more.
The thing was that I wasn’t doing anything to make it happen. I was waiting for it to happen, and so far except for a few cool things that just became fond memories, it was pretty ordinary.
So I decided to do something about it. I decided to actually create my life, and honestly, I was terrified that my parents and the world were going to all get together and sing a chorus of “I Told You So”, but – I at least had to try.

Then something weird happened. My life started falling into place, and dreams started coming true. This is the story of not only what happened, but how I MADE it happen.

I’ve lived an incredible life from that time, beginning with working with Amanda Palmer & her band The Dresden Dolls, lived in a tent for four months helping Hurricane Katrina refugees, been a street performer, circus performer, award winning online magazine publisher, event producer and had achieved nearly ever dream I set out to make real. It wasn’t all roses & glory, but I was HAPPY, and for the very first time in my life, I was living a life I was proud of, and I was helping people.

I was making a difference, and although it was small, it had value.

Then four years ago, I suddenly found myself dying.

The Hep-C decided to wake up, and when it did, it meant business. My Dr. put me into a Hospice/Respite facility, and strangely it even got worse. I was dying, and all of their medicines and amazing care weren’t helping. I was watching myself decompose, and it was really messing with the dream I had to not die before I found my Birth Mother.

 

So I decided to live. 18 months later, after being called a ‘miracle’ by more than a few of the awesome crew who had watched & cared for me during that time, I did what I swore to myself I would do if I lived, and danced out of the front doors. On my feet… and a cane. Actually it was more of a shuffle than a dance, but I wasn’t too picky at the time, ya know?

 

So now, I’m writing an AWESOME book!

A book I truly believe will not only entertain you and make you laugh, but HELP, as well. A book that will change the world.

 

Although the details are my own, this is a story that will resonate with anyone who has felt a longing for something more, or who has faced fear of change. It will inspire, and most importantly – it will help.

Besides – isn’t it time to shake things up a bit?

And when the book is published?

That’s when it all begins.

Winning Against All Odds (Book Teaser Part TWO)

The emotional scope of writing this story is becoming frighteningly clear. Every day I go further into the notes, into me, and bring back in unsettling clarity the disquieting details of nearly each moment written about I recall how much more there was going on inside of me than merely the words written in my blog posts.

I was profoundly, overwhelmingly terrified, but couldn’t let anyone know.

In my posts, I only skimmed over what was actually happening in my head and heart, making it palatable to the reader, trying to be as cheerful and upbeat as possible. I couldn’t afford people reading what I wrote and worrying, posting replies that were alarmed or anxious. I couldn’t have the slightest bit of uncertainty, worry or unintentional doubt to cast a shadow over the flickering light inside my heart that I was struggling so hard to keep lit.

Holding onto that light, that small glimmer of belief that I could live through this was the greatest challenge I had ever faced.

Through all the pain, through feeling and watching my body fall apart and rot in front of my eyes every day, the putrid stench of my own flesh decaying, the skin on my legs swollen & splitting, belly grotesquely distended with the waste my organs could no longer process… it seemed futile to even hope in the smallest chance that I would live – but it couldn’t be over, not yet. I still needed to find her. To find my mother. To thank her…

 

The first six months were the most fragile.
These were the most uncertain. From the moment I woke nearly every morning to the time I was able to sleep, there was a constant battle going on inside of me to not only believe that I could live, but questioning whether I wanted to.  It would have been so much easier to give up, let nature take its course, and quietly fade from this life. I mean hells – I had stashed away enough morphine to easily dream myself dead if the pain became too much or the process too slow to endure anymore.

Certainly, no one could have blamed me. I was tired, drained, shattered, and barely holding onto life most days anyway. No one would have asked why I was finally letting death take me… most of them expected it.

Beyond the smiles that the doctors and nurses had learned to wear, behind the caring and upbeat tone in their voices that they kindly tried so hard for, I knew that they were only waiting, making me as comfortable as they could until, like most everyone else at the hospice, I just gave up and let myself die…

I was broken… but I was not yet destroyed.

I can be a tenacious bastard. A really stubborn pain in the ass, when I need to be – and I figured that if there ever was a time that I needed to be, this sure as hell was it! I decided not to give them the satisfaction of being right –after all, it was a pretty high-stakes game, at least on my side, and so… I chose to look at it like that. Like this life ultimately is. Nothing more than an exquisite game, a game that is played, lost or won depending solely on however you choose to play it…

Hells, I was dying anyway, what’s there to lose? Let’s PLAY!

The Western doctors had done all they knew how to do, so now it was my turn. I took risks. Stopped taking their ineffective drugs and started reading & doing my own research into all kinds of alternative healing, from the completely wacky (and there’s some really bizarre ideas out there) to the more conventional. I mean hells – at that point, what’s the worst that could happen?

I remembered lessons from some of the more difficult times I had been through in the past. Perhaps the most significant lesson was that I had come to know – not just “believe”, but KNOW – that regardless of how far you fall, there is always a way back up. You are never given any challenge that you don’t have the strength and resilience to not only get through, but eventually come out on top of. Regardless of how high the odds seem to be stacked against you, you can beat them. You always have the strength inside of you to kick some ass.

I just needed a reason to keep fighting, and a damned good one. Something big, something I could believe in with all of my heart.

Getting the hell out of there & finally finding my Birth Mother – now that was a pretty damn good reason to work with as the main goal to live, but there were others that could have been just as powerful if I decided that they were – the stories I have to tell, the people I might be able to help, the love left inside of me to give… so many things I had learned that still needed to be shared with others.. I had to live.

I made an oath to myself & others.
Hell – some of the people who read my blog during that time all but demanded that, If I did live, I would write a book about all I learned. It could likely even help people. Hundreds of people. Thousands.
A MEEEELION PEOPLE! Bwaaahahahaaaaa!!!
The cool thing is that the lessons I learned easily transcend the hospital or the reason I was in it, and if I wrote a book it could connect with nearly everyone.

So I am writing a book. The time has come. My story is being told.
It will not be an easy story to voice; I’m not looking forward to going back there to say what needs to be said – but I didn’t go through the hell I did to selfishly keep this story locked inside.

It can help people, & it needs to be told.
I have not only survived, but I am living. I am thriving, and continuing to chase down my dreams.

By the way – I have found my Birth Mother, and she’s awesome. We’re getting to know each other, and I’ve even been able to see her a few times.

I also, just a month ago at the end of September, found and contacted my Birth Father who had no idea I even existed – and he’s excited to get to know me.

And I’m writing an awesome book. About an absolutely incredible life.

About The Book
(And A Super-Limited Pre Launch Supporter Reward Package!)

It’s an unapologetic, pull-no-punches, authentic, inspiring and even sometimes laugh-out-loud story about transformation, personal growth, trusting in yourself, doing what you believe is right and fighting like hell to live the amazing life you deserve…

Though the specific journey written about in this story is solely mine, there is something in it for absolutely everyone who has ever faced – or ever will face a difficult challenge.

In order to have it published and promoted, in order for it to get out there and be able to help people, I will need your help. It simply will not be able to exist without you.

I am anxious and friggin’ THRILLED to finally get this going, so while I prepare the Kickstarter Campaign which won’t be ready for about a month, I am offering Limited Edition Rewards for a short time during the one & only:

KICK-ASS EARLY BIRD PRE-STARTER REWARD SPECIAL!

The details are coming later today, so keep watch!

This Pre-Launch special will help me fund some key things that will help get the book finished and published as soon as possible, but because of the extra special rewards that ONLY the pre-launch supporters of the book will receive, IT WILL BE LIMITED

 

tearing down the final stones

Yesterday, after finally completing the 2,000th draft (or somewhere around there), I dug around my apartment gathering stray nickels, dimes, & even pennies for the stamp that would send it on its way. It could not be put off any longer.

It’s out of my hands now, on its way to Boise friggin’ Idaho, to be opened within the next few days by one Donald Lee Mathern.
My Father.
It was much more difficult than I expected trying to word a letter to a man who on New Year’s even in 1966 slept with my Mother, once, in celebration of the new year.
Forty-seven years and a few weeks later finding out for the first time that union bore him a son.
Surprise.

I have yet to speak with my mother about that evening, to ask all th things I want to know, to hear the entire story of who they were to each other before and after they unknowingly created me.

I would like to imagine that it was a beautiful evening full of romance, laughter, and love. I would like to imagine them as lovers, if only for a single night.


I said in the beginning of my letter to him that if he drinks, now would be a good time to pour one.

I wish I wasn’t so fucking broke. I could use a few drinks too in order to quiet this head.

I had told myself that he didn’t really matter. She was the only one I wanted to find, she was the one who sacrificed. He just played the part of donor. Don’t really care about knowing who he might be.
I think I might have been wrong in this illusion I made myself believe.

At least it’s out of my hands now. What’s done is done… and perhaps I should start tearing down the last of my walls.

Surprise, I’m your spawn!

(Failed attempt to write a letter to my Father # 3,514. I’ll get it right before the New Moon on the 25th of this month… after all, I was born on a new (aka dark) moon –  what better time to send the letter and twist his reality around?)

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

New Years Eve, ’66-’67.

Think back. Remember what you were doing? You were in California, celebrating the new year with a beautiful woman.

She still is.
She tells me that you were a good man, a good friend to her for many years. A childhood companion, or something like that. She has never spoken a bad word about you.

 

When I wrote to her, it was the most difficult thing I had ever written in my entire life – up until now.

See… this is the thing:. She knew about me already.
You don’t, nor ever have. You had no idea that on that night, celebrating the new year in joy with Annie Stenerson, you created… me.

Hi. I’m your son. People call me Casey.
I need to let you know that I am not looking for anything from you that you aren’t willing to offer. I am not here to turn your life upside down. I have no idea who you are or what your life is like, and I understand that you may have a family of your own, which I do not want to harm, create turmoil, or damage in any way.

Please know this – I have my own life, as I’m certain that you do as well. If you need to keep me a secret, I understand – some things simply are better left in the past, but if you do have a family, I hope that the person your son (me) has become is a reflection of you – honest and with a full heart.
I don’t hide anything. There are probably many who would be proud to call me their son… but only Annie and you truly can! Isn’t that amazingly cool?

I am alive because of you. After nearly 47 years I pop up and call you out as my father. This cannot be denied – you are my father, and I am your son. Your child.

The decision to acknowledge my existence in your life is up to you. I know it is not an easy one… none of this is. It’s not every day that you receive a letter from a child of yours that you weren’t aware of.

HI! How the hell are you? I’m your “oops”. Nice to meet you!

 

A little more than a year ago, I finally met my mother, Annie Stenerson – and she’s just as cool as she probably was back then. I searched for her for over 25 years – over half of my life – but all of my life I wanted to find her. Needed too. She carried me for nine months, gave me up so that I might have a better life, a life she couldn’t give me at the time – and also that unwed pregnancy thing? Not so socially acceptable 46 years ago.

Please don’t take this in a bad way, but I wasn’t really concerned with finding you. You don’t even know I am alive. I don’t want to disrupt your life. You… you just happened, much like I did.

I choose not to think that either of us were “mistakes”. Without you, I could not have lived the life I have. Without you, I wouldn’t even exist… and my life has been truly amazing. I have helped people. Inspired them. Loved them, and continue to.

I have been told that I am a good person, a “good man.” That has little to do with the “dad” that raised me, it has been a personal quest from the first moment I understood “Self”.

 

46 Years Believing

When I walked around the corner to where we planned to meet, I didn’t expect to see so many people standing outside. Sunday brunch in San Francisco, yeah… but SO many people waiting!
I was looking for my brother. Though I have seen old photos of my Mother, he’s the only one I have anything recent of – none at all of my sister. My mother explained this to us in our first conversation; “We just don’t take too many pictures.”

Well, that’s about to change.

I walked through the crowd outside, looking for Quincy, and probably walked right by my sister and Mother, stretching my neck, looking everywhere, but for once I was a few minutes early. I walked inside and saw Quincy’s name on the board, and then I knew. They were there, somewhere. Or maybe they went to get coffee, or, or, or…

Then, I see someone waving at me, making direct eye contact. This must be Mendocino, my sister… but then I look to her left, and see, for the first time, a face that I have looked for in the mirror for all of my life. Wondering, searching, praying that she was still alive – and she was smiling my smile, looking at me with my eyes, beaming so brightly at me.
This is my Mother. I recognized her in a familiarity that the photos had nothing to do with.
I saw me. I saw me in the way she smiled sometimes with downturned mouth, I saw her gift to me in my eyes.
And… I saw her love.

I walked straight up to her, trying not to run, and for the first true time, felt at home as we hugged.

It still hasn’t really hit me yet, the walls built so meticulously are hard to break down – but now, I have the tools to destroy them with.

Thank you all so much for your support over the years, for your words, for your love, for your sticking with me when that’s all I could write about.
I don’t expect anyone who hasn’t been on this journey to understand, but even when you didn’t, most of you still offered me love and support.

Thank you.

AND NOW INTRODUCING…

Annie – My MOTHER!

MomMe2

MomMe3

MomMe1

loss and found

Parts of the first email from my Sister. October 28, 2012
Hi kSea,

I’m Mendocino, your sister.  I don’t want to impose or in any way interfere with your acquaintanceship process with mom; I feel that I should give the two of you space to get to know one another.  If and when the two of you are cool with each other and have had a chance to start developing a relationship, I’d love to throw myself into the mix and get to know you, assuming that’s something you’re interested in.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“…The thing I want to tell you is this: my brother Quincy and I have known about you, in the abstract, for as long as I can remember. Mom started talking to us about you when we were just kids, but the conversations tended to end with her in tears. Knowing her, I know that she has always wondered about you, always worried about you and hoped you were doing okay, and always thought about you with a profound sense of loss and sadness. I’m so glad you found her.”

Consumed & Overwhelmed

 
8/8/11 > Gathering Steam
Just after 5am, and I’m woken by the sound of the first of the J Church trains as it rattles and squeaks by. Of course. Finally a brief moment of good sleep & I forgot to close the window after airing out  the stuffiness in this room. Now the question is do I continue to write, or try to sleep for a couple more hours?
Ah. Hand cramping. Makes the decision pretty simple. Need to get more oral hydration stuff, as it seems to be the only thing that helps a bit. Drinking gallons of fluids just doesn’t seem to to too much besides make me feel like my abdomen is ripping apart more than it already has…
 
8/10/11 > Getting into Gear (& grinding them)
10am
Another sleepless night, but not for lack of trying, that’s for damn sure. There were so many times during the night where I wanted to write, to finally begin what I promised myself days, weeks, months ago, but there was that little “what if I can sleep this time?” after wandering the halls, or going outside to read & not really want the cigarette I was smoking. Much bigger than that however was wondering where I would begin; there is so much to write about I’m intimidated, but at the same time, noOur latest addition to Maitri, KK. thing at all due to the fact that I’ve been staring at the same four walls for the majority of my eleven months here, roughly twenty fucking hours a day. Still, I much prefer the pseudo-sanctuary of my room to the sights and sounds in the rest of the building: Chris, who is starving himself to death, mind barely there (he was trying to smoke his coat last night – almost lighting the string around the waist.) KK, who just got here & seems really sweet, but he’s barely flesh & bone as well – Barbara, who has nothing interesting to say so she just complains about everything & has absolutely no class at all, talking loudly & in detail about body functions & how much everythig sucks while everyone else is trying to eat… it gets to a guy, ya know? My room is my haven.
With the interruptions & lunch, a bit of time on the patio & vacuuming after the cleaner (barely) cleaned, it’s now around 3, & instead of trying to keep my eyes open to write more (& constantly deleting rows & rows of one letter as I nod off with my finger on a key), I believe it’s time for a siesta. More later.
 
8/11/11 – 5am > Tentatively Stepping on the Gas
I may as well get it over with – talking about my health. Quite honestly, I’m sick to fucking death… wait, perhaps a better choice of words, yes? …I’m weary as hell thinking about it, focusing on it, researching things that will improve it. It’s in my thoughts day after day, hour after hour, in everything I eat, sleep, and shit, taking up some really prime real estate for other activities I could use my mind for.
One thing that I’ve decided is that I’m no longer going to “fight” to get better – I just AM. When I say I’m fighting the HepC, Cirrhosis, and all the symptoms such as the legs, fluid blisters on my hands & fingers, incessant itching, dry skin, etc. – when I say I’m “fighting” alll of that, it gives those things more power to be there. Acknowledges them, validates them. In order to fight something, there needs to be something to fight – so I’ve decided to simply see that it’s there, but it doesn’t belong. I’m still going to do everything I can to get rid of it, but just not give it power.
    Things are definitely moving forward, and healing is happening – and I’m fucking ecstatic about it. Just a few short months ago I weighed in at 227 lbs – fifty pounds of fluid that my body couldn’t process, so it all went to my legs and abdomen. My abdomen was so bloated that it actually tore the muscle down the center, giving me an umbilical hernia. I went through months of barely being able to life myself out of a chair, being exhausted all the time, and countless other problems that came with it, I realized that western medicine wasn’t doing crap long before, so had taken it upon myself to research as much as I can and find a way to fix that… and after months, I did. there was a difference being made, however small. I was winning – but with the amount of herbs I needed, knew that I couldn’t do it alone. Sure, I did the research, but – I needed help. There was no way in hell that anything was going to happen unless I sucked up my pride and actually asked for help. Somethign that I truly loathe to have to do, like most people I know – but I think it even runs deeper in me. Save for a few times where my motorhome got towed, I’ve done pretty much everything in my life without really much help from anyone, and that’s the way I liked it. I am here to help others, not the other way around.
Well, the great big awesome WoW decided it was time for me to be schooled. Hardcore, slapped upside the head, do this or die with your stupit pride schooled. It has literally taken the threat of death for me to ask for help.
And you helped.  And I cried. I still do, all the time, out of appreciation for the amazing people in my life who have made my life more possible to live, and healing to happen. There is absolutely no way whatsoever that I could have done it without you – or continue to do it. I still hate asking, but thankfully the Uber-verse gives me little bits where I can help others in some way to make the pain of asking more tolerable – barely.   Today I weighed in at 176.3 lbs.
I think what I’m trying to say is – thank you. For the love, for the financial help, for everything that is making what would not have been possible without you… possible. From the bottom of my heart to the top, and with everything I have, thank you.                                  
I need to get ready for an appointment now, but… yeah. I just wish I had more words to show my appreciation – but instead I guess I’ll just have to get better, and get my ass out of here, back to the only true family I have – and I couldn’t be more fortunate to ave them be you.
SHIT. Running insanely late. post post post & go fly!

If Only I Had Known… (maybe)

Friday.

They released him from the hospital today, and Salvador’s room was filled with flowers, friends, and family – the people who were closest to him n this life.

Salvador is the person who I tried to say was put in the ICU Unit a few posts previous using the minimal space I had on Facebook, and is an incredibly sweet, quiet and somewhat shy person who, when we talk, was/is so easy to make laugh. I forgot what we were talking about now one time, but it was just something goofy, and it was so much fun and heartwarming hearing his laughter and the way that it grew that he brought out extra levels of goofiness in me – something I greatly needed. Need.

I remember on occasion when we were the only two out on the smoking patio, him with his Calvin & Hobbes comic book, me with my notebook writing down certain things I tried or tested that either definitely helped or didn’t seem to (man, I’m becoming so much more aware of every little thing that goes on with my body!) or wrapped up in my phone doing as much research as I could on the bittyscreen – mainly forwarding web sites and pages to my email that looked promising or trying to find something that I know does work just a bit cheaper but just as good. (Alas, it mostly seems like you truly get what you pay for, in most cases. I’ve had a little bit of luck and keep looking, keep (intelligently) testing. I used to love the occasional chuckle I heard from him as he read, it brought a smile to my face every time. (After all, who can’t occasionally chuckle as they read Calvin & Hobbes?) Salvador’s happiness eased the gravity of what I need to do.

This post is kind of wacky – mixed with both past and present tense, mainly because I unfortunately don’t think I’ll see him out on the smoking patio again. I learned that he was admitted to the hospital with essentially the exact same thing that I have, ascites due to a screwed up liver. This I didn’t know until I asked one of the nurses here while he was in the ICU. I wish I had. He unknowingly ate all the poisonous food here, didn’t know how to help his liver, and things suddenly took a turn for the worse. I don’t know the specifics, but maybe, just maybe, there might have been something I could have done to help.

If only I had known…

Like me, he was admitted to Maitri simply for respite care. When he came back from the hospital he was switched to hospice.

There are times when I’m feeling good (but still have the damn tree-trunk legs and distended gut) that the reality of my situation leaves me – I neglect to take a dose of pills (tons of pills), cheat a bit more on the diet if it’s something that actually looks good, and rationalize it brilliantly – after all, the less pills I take, the more of their poison I eat, the less I’ll need to ask you for help – something I truly loathe needing to do over and over again, but I double (or more) the dose on most of what I take, therefore run out much quicker than the recommended daily person. I can’t neglect taking what I need for a few days, even if it’s close to the end of the month. I need to buy my own food, and keep testing different things. I need to keep a positive attitude but still be afraid, and KEEP FIGHTING, as there is so much more I want to do in this life; so many dreams, so many roads I haven’t been on, and if and when I win this fight, so many people I could teach how to do it as well. So many people I could help. So many people I could make smile again – so much more I believe I was meant to do. I haven’t lived through so much just to quietly die in this friggin’ bed. Raging against the dying of the light, baby!

I am insanely grateful for the occasional help I receive, and hope that I’ve not neglected to send out a personal email or named you in a post saying so to those who have assisted, as it is nothing I could or will ever expect or take for granted – but the bottles empty quickly, the testing needs to be done, and I need to keep purchasing healthy foodstuffs to keep my liver as un-compromised as possible; I need to do everything in my power, which includes asking you, because the money that I have left over after I receive my check each month flies out of my account at the speed of the interweb, except for the occasional cheap toy or tool, and cigarettes to pass the time here so I don’t go mad. Small, cheap, little things…

Sunday, 8:07pm, April 3, 2011

The nurse came by to let me know that Salvador has passed from this life at 8:00 – of liver failure. His family was here by his side, and he was sleeping when he passed.

I’ll miss him, but always remember him as I look up to the night sky and maybe, just maybe, see two more stars shining down. I know without question that he will love Bean…

Monday, 2-ish AM

I’m tired – sent out prayers to him and his family and slept for just a tiny bit.

I’m scared, as he died incredibly suddenly of the exact same thing that I am fighting, but that only makes me fight harder – and straight up, I need your help to continue this fight, I need your help to WIN it as soon as possible.

Please.

Any money sent today (Monday) will go directly to healthy food tomorrow so I don’t add to the poisoning of my liver, and/or a new order I need to place for herbs/supplements. Every penny will help.

If you choose to send only once, thank you, extremely much, as it certainly does help.

If you choose to and are able to send something monthly, please do, as that will create much less stress of having to ask everyone, all the time – and just hope. We can figure out when would be best for you, and I’ll most certainly remember who you are.

Once or regularly, everything helps, though please don’t presume that I have wads of cash coming in from the community, as I certainly don’t – otherwise I wouldn’t be doing what I can’t friggin’ stand and asking for your help. I mean hells, I’ve been dealing with this anguish for three years before pretty much anyone knew about it, not wanting to bother you with my problems.

Please help today, or if possible let me know when you can – and if you can do it once or regularly. I don’t expect it to last for more than five, maybe six months as my body remembers how to heal – and once I’m out of here, I won’t need to pay the fees anymore. I won’t have to ask you to help keep me alive.

Thank you.