The Shade of my Ancient Branches

Come sit with me under the darkness of my ancient branches.  These long limbs that bend and sway to no master but the Wind.  That which commands me; pushes me absent-mindedly, violently shakes me and twists my limbs in anger.  That which caresses me like a tender lover; my master the wind.

These ancient branches that have warmed to the rays of a hundred year of suns. That have drank from unending torrents of rain and that have been stripped bare by the cruel hands of a merciless killer called Winter.  My branches are unyielding and will offer you solace.  Come sit with me under the shade of my ancient branches.

Take your shoes off as you walk towards your resting place.  Leave behind these trappings of modern man against the curb; against the threshold where man and nature are divided.  Where business and commerce and industry fade to a boorish roar and where the blades of grass bend and bow in your wake.  Where ants tremble at your approaching footsteps and your soles sink ever so softly into the warm earth.  Take off your shoes and feel what your forefathers felt in ageless times before you.  When beast and man collided in a dance of fear and desperation and fire.

Lay your weight against my scarred and sacred pillar; this lifeline that connects earth and sky.  Feel my coarse skin dig unapologetically into your back. Know that I do this without malice. Rather, it serves as a reminder that while the world around you changes, I remain steadfast in my beautiful simplicity.  For while I move and sway when currents blow, I will not move for you.....for man.  I am shelter; I am resolute.

Listen as I whisper to you in the shade of my ancient branches.  Do you hear what I share with you?  Do you understand a language that was spoken millennia before you and will be sung still when the next epoch comes?  It is wisdom I share with you in these whispers.  Whispers of days gone by; of secrets and sins, of a changing landscape that continues to pitch and roll around you as you sit in the shade of my ancient branches; unmoved.

Will you allow yourself to travel farther away from the world you come from? Will your fingers find their way into the rich earth beneath you?  Where death is imminent yet life springs eternal?  Do you feel it?  The pulse of something much older than you.  The movement of things largely unseen; the sliding of bodies, the frantic push of tissue through dirt?  I am a part of all that moves below. Your fingers straddle the threshold of this world underneath yet I plunge into it's ether; into obsidian pitch. Perhaps reaching for a returned touch that I will never truly find.

Our time draws to a close. Perhaps you will carry some of my world back into yours.  As you wish movement back into your limbs, I whisper sage advice down to you from my highest reaches.  I leave you with dirt under your fingernails as a reminder of days gone by when your ancestors worked the lands.  I leave you with furrows in your clothing as a reminder that these lines have been earned not from a hard days work, but from allowing your inhibitions to run rampant for a time.  I leave you.

As you walk back to the sidewalk; to the threshold where man and nature are divided, look back upon this Titan.  Look back upon these ancient branches and know that you may return to the shade when the weight of the world becomes to much to bear.  As time drags on and the call of the world outside your window beckons, come sit with me under the darkness of my ancient branches.

Veni, Vidi, Vici. Or more aptly: Bang-o-rang

I sat staring at myself in the bathroom mirror today.  More specifically, I was looking at all the grey hairs that have been springing up all over my head with as much gusto as you'd find emanating out of a High School Cheerleader.  "Yep....they're multiplying." I thought.

Soon enough, my George Clooney-esque salt and pepper look would make way for a full Ted Danson-like coif.  Don't get me wrong...the look works for him.  He is a powerful and attractive man and I have much respect for his follicles.

You see, I was beginning to feel my age.  At that particular moment, my mind chose that opportunity to wander away from work, responsibility and reality.  At that particular moment; standing amongst the soft whooshing noises echoing from the Urinals; I drifted.  My thoughts turned towards that gnawing question that never really goes answered:  Have I done enough?

At the end of the day, when I'm ready to shuffle off this mortal coil, have I done enough?


 I know...I know. You're saying 'Buddy, you're in the can. Not the best spot to have a crisis moment.' But I wholeheartedly disagree. The bathroom offers solace.

As my eyes wandered over the outline of my face, I took notice of the wrinkles that had slowly begun forming around the corners of my mouth, my eyes, my forehead. I saw my skin; sickly sallow (could've been the halogen lights above me) and I sighed.


'You're getting old.' my reflection said.

'So are you.' I snidely retorted.

'So what do you have to show for it old man?'

'I brought my bang-o-rang. Every chance I got.'




Now, for those of you that had a childhood and an imagination, the term Bang-o-Rang might hold some meaning for you. It does for me. Essentially, it's what the Lost Boys screamed out when they had amazing adventures with Peter Pan. Whether it be fighting the evil Captain Hook, or rescuing Tiger Lily from the Braves....Bang-o-Rang. Childish....but I love it. Bang-o-rang. Say it. Respect it.

As the seconds ticked by and my reflection decided to hang around until I provided him with sufficient explanation to validate my ridiculous claim, I started my response with an apology.

"I'm sorry I'm fat. Sorry I've always been and always will be a fat guy. Even if I lose the gut, I will still be jumbo size; the kind of guy that needs 'circus-tent' large when he shops for shirts. I'm sorry that my idea of working on getting a six pack involves me getting in my car and driving to the beer store rather than doing sit ups and crunches.

My weight has prevented you/me/us from doing many of the adventurous things that western society tells us we must do like climb mountains, run a marathon and go cliff diving. Magazines, TV, the Internet all push us to believe that unless we are active and dashing and rugged 24 hours a day, then we have failed....miserably. But I refuse to believe that I must accomplish these things to be happy. To do what I love. To be Bang-o-rang.


You see, these people they want you to be aren't real. The man standing in front of the mirror is. With all his faults and flaws and inconsistencies....he is R-E-A-L. He takes the last cold drink out of the fridge and doesn't replace it. He clogs the toilet from time to time. He makes his wife and kids sad when he loses his temper. But he is R-E-A-L.


And here you stand across from me.....asking me what I have to show for my years on this planet? I have grey hair. Each one represents an accomplishment in my inconsequential life. These hairs represent the countless hours I've spent helping businesses stay afloat. These hairs represent the people that I have influenced, angered, educated and loved. These hairs represent thousands of miles traveled; from the steps of the Taj Mahal to the shores of Malibu. These hairs represent the stolen moments between my wife and I when the kids are sleeping and the exhausting yet rewarding backaches, skinned knees and snotty noses that come with raising two wonderful children. They represent lust and hate and regret and redemption.

They represent me.

So what have I got to show for it? Bang-o-Rang. That's what.

So for those of you that have those quiet in-front-of-the-mirror moments where you find yourself critiquing the ever-aging landscape of your face and asking yourself "What have I got to show for it?" Run your fingers through your hair and smile at all those greys. They are what make you. Find your Bang-o-Rang.