"The Great Adventure"

Published August 11, 2001


A little bit over a year ago, a dear friend bought me a key-chain with a tiny metal book hanging from it, etched with a quote from Leo Tolstoy: "Everyone thinks of changing the world, but no one thinks of changing himself." It was just the latest of the whispers in my ear that had been coming for a while, the tappings on my shoulder.

I'd been getting the message, but fighting it, as has been my nature - until now. I ended the past year, and began the real New Millennium, alone, silent, in contemplation, instead of celebration, knowing somewhere inside that it was going to be a year of transformation. Staring at turning 50 years old very soon, I knew I was in for a ride - but that didn't prepare me for it one bit. And it's far from over.

Finally, over the past several months, God, or Spirit, (or whatever name you are comfortable with in understanding the Power of the Universe), figured out that I had to be basically leveled, flattened, before I'd really pay attention, and get on with The Great Adventure.

And that's what's happened. Over the past several months, I lost a job that was much more than a paycheck to me, but a place where I'd put my heart and soul. I lost my health, which I'd been ignoring for too many years. I thought I'd lost the most important love relationship I've ever known. Spirit got my full attention - that it was time for a radical change, a re-structuring, a re-forming. An overhaul. A detailing.

So: I surrender. I let go. Among all the other major changes in my life, this is the last column I'll write for Creative Loafing, at least as far as I can tell right now. Ironically, after almost nine years, this one, by my count, is Number 365 - which really hit me when I added them up. I've written a year's worth of stuff, totaling about a half-million words. And it's enough. More than enough.

What's important though, is that I tell you why; that I share some of what's happening inside me, what I've learned, and am learning, as I exit, stage left. Gracefully, I hope.

For the better part of two decades, I've had a public presence in one incarnation or another, which has, many times, reached far beyond Charlotte's boundaries. It's been both exhilarating and exhausting. I've experienced the literal adoration of some, condemnation and the explicit threat of death from others. I've been at war, while wishing for peace. And that struggle has been more of an inner one than an outer, no matter how much it's been played out on stage, in front of you, the audience.

So when I say, "I surrender," and can hear the cheering from some of you, and the protestations of others, I mean that in the sense that it is my ego, my will that I am releasing. Yes, it's a "giving up," but in the sense of a willingness to be led. It's not about accepting defeat, except at the hands of the one Power. And that's a defeat I welcome. This one is a gift, of stunning proportions and magnitude.

A long time ago, when I began, as a young man, reading the writings of those who've followed spiritual paths throughout human history, who've tried to pass on what they'd learned, I remember being amazed that someone would choose, willingly, to give up everything, and walk, basically naked, up the side of a cold mountain, to sit alone, silently, in prayer or contemplation and service, humbly, for years. Why, I wondered, would anyone want to do that?

Now I know. As Van Morrison said, I've got to sing "Hymns To The Silence." After struggling for decades to make money, to make marriages work, to rear children, to make a difference in the world, and failing, way too many times, at all of it, I've learned that I can't do anything right when my will is in the way. And to find out, instead, what Spirit wills for me, it takes being still, for long periods.

That's because the constant chatter in our heads drowns out what's really important. And we have a hard time shutting the chatter down. I do, especially. When I finally "got it," it all came out in a rush. Everything. Every shred of pain, of anger, of guilt, of ugliness, of self-doubt, of the illusion of control, came pouring out. I cried around the clock for more than a week.

And now, at the beginning of coming out on the other side, what I've found - silly me, this is such a simple concept - is that the more I release, the more of what I really need I'm given. And it's free for the asking.

Feeling unloved, unworthy, I've been shown how many people care about me, and will be there when I need them. Feeling angry, or hurt, I've found that I can truly forgive, at last. And be forgiven, in return, for all the pain I've caused. In being afraid, and still being willing to move ahead into something that is as yet formless, I am given courage.

When I look around me now, what I see are not the scars, the wreckage, but the Blessings. My body is healing wonderfully after major surgery; I've given up smoking, and am losing weight. The constant droning of the television, no less an addiction for me than the cigarettes, has been turned off now for weeks. In its place is the music whose sustenance I'd forgotten. Or, simply, silence. And the books that line my shelves can now be read at their own pace, not rushed through at mine.

It's strange, as a writer, to admit this, but for the first time in my life, I'm keeping a personal journal. I've picked up my guitar again, an old friend that's been waiting for me, patiently, for more than a decade. I'm cleaning out boxes that I've carried around from house to house, from marriage to marriage, for decades. I've stopped avoiding those who'd pained me in the past, or who I'd pained, and am healing what I can. With Spirit's help.

My sons are grown; in a few weeks, my younger son turns 21, and both he and his older brother, now 25, are exactly what I'd prayed they'd be: strong, loving, independent, creative. My parents and I are tearing down old walls, at last. So are my sister and I. There is healing going on all around me, and it's truly miraculous. And I know "from whence comes the Source."

I went one week recently to a church that embraces all faiths, and the next to one that proclaims there is only one true way. Both gave me what I needed. In the months to come, don't be surprised to see me wander into your place of worship. What enriches me most now is to see how everyone approaches The Divine. I may never fit neatly into any one category, but I've made a new commitment to focus on Spirit regularly. Not as an after-thought. Not as a Friday, or a Saturday, or a Sunday thing. Every day is the Sabbath. And every tradition holds a message.

What comes next? I have no idea, and that's just fine. I don't know how I'll pay my bills, but I've learned that what I need will be provided. I don't know whether I'm supposed to stay in this town yet, where I've spent my life, or get in my VW bug and drive away, truly free for the first time ever, a dharma bum on the road.

What I've been given is the gift of Grace, that I can put down the load I've thought I carried for too many years, and focus on things like Trust and Faith and Willingness. Mostly, I've been told it's time to be Still. To sit, quietly, for a change.

And for once, I'm obeying what I'm told to do, minute by minute. Gratefully.

So, this is goodbye, at least for now. For those of you who want to keep in touch, you can check my website, which will stay on-line, at http://jerryk.com. I'll post some notes, some thoughts, there, from time-to-time, when the Spirit moves me, or you can put yourself on my email list and get those automatically, if you want. My email address is easy to remember, too: jerryk@jerryk.com. I may be exiting the stage, but I won't be gone.

Many thanks for all the kind words you've sent me over the years, for the honor of having you read what I wanted to say, even when I was out-of-line, or just plain wrong. And I want to thank my Editor, John Grooms, for putting up with me all these years; for stopping me from saying things I didn't really need to say, and for letting me say what I wanted otherwise.

And now, on to The Great Adventure. Maybe I'll tell you about it someday. For now, though, it's time to go inside. Deep inside. And be Still.