Personal Development

How do you measure and define success? Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, and on and on and on, I call out to Jesus, the only name I could think of who, perhaps, could help my troubled mind and tormented soul. The year is 2,000; I am homeless on Kaua’i, my aging mother is in a local care home, and I am her official guardian. I am crazy. . .  fractured and psychically disjointed, I am plagued incessantly by dark thoughts of self-hatred and suicide. At night, I try to find a place to park my run down VW hatchback where the police won’t find me. My six foot body is unable to stretch out in the diminutive space of the hatchback; it is warm and humid. I open the windows to get some air and a fleet of mosquitoes rush in to feast upon my crumpled body . . . .the mosquitos buzz around my ears like tiny banshees, chattering incessantly. I try to chase them away, but to no avail; I am scratching everywhere. God, how did I end up here?  Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesu…