The Word of the Day is “Pickles”


This idea of “Word of the Day” began when I first met my wife, and we have been doing it for well over two years now.  It has become a habit… a good habit.  The inspiration came in the form of a text message.   I wrote to her one morning after only dating a month or so this:

I’m so in love with you.  I feel like humans only learned to begin to talk in order to express how much love there was in the world.   There aren’t the right words to describe it, no matter how much I try to express this emotion.   I need to study other languages just so I have ways of trying to express the words “I love you”… I want to learn how to say that to you in every tongue that has ever been spoken.  I want to learn the origins and the roots of words so that I can find ways of explaining how every one of those cultures rationalized the willingness to do anything for another person.  I could do all that, learn every way to profess undying love in every way ever written and I would still not have enough things to say.    I could hear every love song ever sung, read every love poem ever scribed, and I would still not have all the words I need to explain exactly how elated I feel…

You set my soul on fire.  You have redefined the meaning of every word I have ever used to rationalize this feeling.   You have rewritten every song I have ever heard that tries to encompass the great fulfillment of love that fills my heart and makes it overflow with the joy of just being me.  The man you get to call yours.

You make me feel like I was placed here on this earth to be nothing but loved entirely and to return that back to you unconditionally. This must be what its like for a child to  know  love before they have the words to say it… Before they fit this enormous feeling it into a little box that someone can label and define (normally incorrectly, because I have said those words before and there was always a condition attached, before you)…

What I have for you can not be spoken, it cannot be written and it is too great to be contained… It cannot be comprehended any easier than trying to take the concept of infinity and see it all at once inside your mind… That’s the closest I can come to rationalization, and explanation for this overwhelming emotion…

That my love for you is my new infinity.   The inability to explain it, will never stop me from trying.  I promise you I will still try, and It will take me a lifetime, and I still won’t get it right.  I would like you to give me a single word, everyday… and allow me through that word to explain how it is formed by love itself.

Part 1 – Why “Pickles”…

After doing this for years, my wife has chosen to “test this theory” by giving me a “Silly word” that couldn’t possibly mean love –  well… “Challenge Accepted”…

So I will sit here and in my immediate flow state as I do each morning with my zen meditation music playing in the background in my perfect little home office – I will prove that even “pickles” can be worthy of a word of the day… for what is a pickle, but a cucumber that wished it could be more…

A cucumber that decided it was worthy, all on it’s own… and all it needed was some kind of energy that encouraged it to be more than what it was… A pickle is a cucumber that embraced the brine, flowed like water and emerged as a snack all by itself… no longer needing salad, or dressing,  no longer a garnish or an ingredient like so many poor lost souls believe they are supposed to be… It can be salty, sweet, dill, spicy… whatever flavor it chooses to be, and it can be enough… all on its own.

Part 2 – Levity

In my office I have an alter to Deadpool, that I just lit incense for a few minutes ago before I sat down to write “Pickles”.   It is a classic resin molded Chinese alter, with a dragon around the border (my birth year being Fire Dragon).  This amazing replicated artistry turned into a generic cheap piece of wood sold at a Chinese warehouse-like store downtown… Right across from the metaphysical store “Avalon” that we love to shop for our crystals and enlightening statues at.


Normally one would have their ancestors on this alter but all my people are alive.  To me, without meaning any disrespect at all to Buddhist or Chinese culture… I choose “Deadpool” and have a perfect statue of him poised on a base with his swords drawn (the “gentle Giant” movie version of him).  I basically “pray to deadpool” as silly as I know that is… I do this because he is one of my greatest teachers that is not alive.  Next to him in a large frame, I have the man who was most influential in my life… My Sifu who’s photo I got from framing the cover of the “Kung Fu” magazine that he once adorned… along with the grandmaster of Eagle Claw Kung Fu (the first female grandmaster of any Shaolin Kung Fu style).

I don’t have my SiFu on my alter though, because he is still very much alive and an alter is reserved for the ones who have moved on.  One day I imagine (unless he outlives me, which he very well might) I will move him to my alter and my Deadpool statue will find a new home.

But why Deadpool?  I choose to light incense to Deadpool every morning to remind myself to keep my sense  of humor no matter what.   Then to “put my guns down” and rely on my body, mind, and strength with no need for weapons (the weapons I speak of are metaphorical… I would never harm a living thing… I even save wasps from time to time when they start building homes in my lanai).  No matter what battles I am about to embark on, I leave all my weapons behind and approach as a friend, colleague, teacher, or pretend to be weak as a child.   There is never a need for a fight unless I have a sword sailing at my neck, in which case I will apply only the force I need to survive the blow, disarm my opponent, and then offer them the mercy of joining my team as I surrender to them.

Deadpool reminds me that I can enjoy losing this fight as he did against Collossus in the film.  I jokingly refer to him (even before the films, as I loved the Deadpool comics) as my “Spirit Animal”… in actuality, I have actually called Ryan Reynolds my spirit animal for some time (and have a T-Shirt that says as much).   If you want to know the actor I am most often compared to… it’s him… Not for my looks but for my walk, my style, the cadence of my humor.   I don’t let this go to my head, because I don’t really care what people think about me unless I am negatively impacting them (which will cause me to either remove myself or adjust my energy to make their environment more pleasant).  I will always remember this less – “There is never a time to lose your sense of humor”.

I live my life this way… the path of Deadpool… It might be a better description to say I am on the path of “Neo” from “The Matrix”… if deadpool had been the main character in that film instead of Keanu… whom I have a ton of respect for, but am nothing like in person.

When I am calm and manifesting the life I want, that is the hero’s journey I cling to, the Matrix… With Deadpool replacing Neo.   If you have ever read the bible… The Matrix is shot for shot, the book of Daniel, entering when Jesus arrives in his life.  Jesus is Neo, Morpheus is Daniel, Cypher is Cyrus… Tank, Dozer, and Mouse are the wise men… Trinity of course (could they be more obvious) is Mary Magdalene,  and the ship they are on… in both stories… is of course… “the nebakanezer”, Zion is Babylon… the agents are lions.  Etc… As I wrote in “Unity” there is only one story… and we are the hero of our own tale.  (That’s a little insider info from someone who worked briefly on these films).

I live the life of a powerful peaceful warrior who won’t pick up a gun.  I use my mind to win fights before they begin like I learned as a child from reading Miyamoto Musashi “Book of Five Rings”.  The only difference between me and deadpool, is that I have reached the end of my Heroes journey… and learned to put the weapons down… he is still learning to become a Hero.   This life I am in now, having passed the final test and lost my fear of death…  is my “Happily Ever After” with the love of my life.  I don’t intend to leave this earth anytime soon.

“Deadpool” looks a bit like a pickled human when you think about it… and he jumped in the brine (the Super Slave Factory) in order to become more than what he was… A mercenary turned hero.

I have always thought of myself as a mercenary in my field.  I sit and wait for someone to need me, and when they point me at a problem, I’ll save my own salary in a day with some new invention, some new user interface, or some rig that puts me on the cover of computer graphics world.  I have filed somewhere in the neighborhood of 10 patents with the company I work for and I plan to file 2 more this year.   This isn’t violent, but it is the same concept… I just use Occam’s Razor instead of a literal sword.  The result is the same… I am no hero… talking about pickles.

I’m just a guy, about to talk to a girl… and tell her… “what the fuck do I tell her!????”

Part 3 – Stalling

You may notice my mind is stalling…  When I sit to write word of the day this is my process… I sit down, meditate… feel the flow state and I just type.   I can type faster than I can talk so in a way this is just stream of consciousness.  I think it’s important to recognize for myself that “Pickles” is indeed a test of my ability to turn each word into a love poem….


There it is… Time to make the fuckin’ chimichangas…

Part 4 – Pickles… The Poem

There once was a donkey named pickles
Who liked wearing clothes ’cause it tickles
He jumped and he pranced
Then shit his pants
And now when he prances it trickles


What’s the moral of this? How does this connect to how I love you? And just what color is pickles the donkey? Is he a white or brown donkey? Because Well… Those are the tough existential questions we need to answer when it comes to Donkeys (that and what that woman is about to do with it… probably depends on which country we are in, and how drunk we are)…

As far as morality goes, I guess you could say that if you are a donkey who wants to wear clothes you have to suffer the consequences. How it relates to the way I love you? Well… In all honesty I hadn’t really planned that far ahead when I wrote it, but I think it’s mostly just that I want you to be yourself, even if shit happens. Oh… And to answer your question that I am sure is still pressing on your beautiful mind… pickles.. Unlike the Donkey above… Pickles was a white donkey but his pants were brown… At least his pants were brown.

I keep trying to be serious about pickles and I have to say, it’s a bit like trying to say “bubbles” in the most deep and evil voice you can.  (I sincerely suggest that everyone reading that try it for the next week or so… Try to work the world “bubbles” into an angry argument and keep a straight face as you say it in a deep mean voice).

Part 5 – the Bravery of a Pickle

Is a pickle just a cucumber that was brave enough to jump in the brine? I think so… And we all know they taste better than cucumber either dill or sweet… Cucumbers all taste the same and pickles have so much flavorful variety… So the moral of a pickles hero’s journey must be sung:

go ahead and jump in…
Allow all the fun to soak in
It may make you sweet or it may make you salty,
you might shit your pants like pickles the donkey…
but it seems far better than being cucumber…
who all taste the same no matter the number…
Just try something different and try something new…
At the end of the day I’ll still just love you.
Tasting of dill or tasting of sugar
Smelling like shit I’ll just love you bigger
I know in the end that you’ll love me too
Even though dance, made me smell like poo
Love Pickles your heart and it pickles your mind
It tickles your boobs and pats your behind
I worship you pickled on top of your throne
Finally knowing the meaning of home.

Part 6 – Pickled at Camp

For some reason I recall for the first time in years a beloved pickle pin that I had from summer camp which I refused to take off for six months… Given to me by my teenage camp counselor as a reward for being one of the few 10 year old boys who bravely admitted I liked girls.  The pickle club…

Adorned with our little green pickles handed out by my camp counselor who looked like the love child of Indiana Jones and Christian Slater and was aptly named Peter.  I wonder if there is some significance to that looking back as an adult. Sticking pickles on the boys who chased the girls around.  I developed my first real crush during that stay at camp.  A tall blue eyed brunette who’s name I can’t remember (I think I’ll call her Cozette because I am sure that isn’t her name… but was my second huge crush when I first saw the play “Le Miserables” .

It’s amazing looking back at those weeks at camp… I fell in love with archery, with learning to fence, volleyball, acting class, wrestling, swimming, and as part of the pickle club (we stuck together) I truly realized girls were pretty fun to chase around as long as you kept your sense of humor when they called you gross (sort of like a pickle keeps its flavor even if someone doesn’t like it)… All in such a short span… So many memories of proudly wearing my pickle pin.  So many skirts, and bathing suit clad little girls in the “teen camp” that I sat on the edge of the pool and watched flirt with the teen boys who at the time appeared to me as adult men.  I’m guessing it was a symbol to the female counsellors to “watch out for this one, he’s ‘let’s play doctor in the woodshed’ material” (if the strategy was to warn the counsellors, it backfired, because we became a scouting party of wolves amongst the sheep).

I may have been…”trouble”. Respectful trouble though… Even brave enough to hit on a female counselor or two. Always the patient when we did play doctor… willing to allow the young girls to explore as much as they wanted to, without asking them to do more than that.  I guess I haven’t changed much since my youth, since that’s pretty much a description of my approach to sex with women who are nervous.  “You go ahead and do what you like, I’ll ask nothing from you other than exploring your own pleasure”.  Today my wife may be the sole beneficiary of this exploration… and She has forced me to allow her to please me (one of the few).  We call it “Star Treking” since it once lasted from the opening credits to the end credits of a Star Trek film (that could be an overshare… although one could say the same for every “word of the day”).

I suppose the only major addition to my days in the pickle club… Would be the desire to provide and protect the woman I love… I still chase her like a schoolboy… But I would burn the world to the ground like “deadpool” if anyone tried to harm my little family.

My wife (the Sith goddess “GrayJedisWife” on this blog) also approaches me in a way that I find interesting.  She allows me to rescue her, even though she is entirely capable of doing it herself.  She honestly never needs saving.  She will sometimes throw on a little bo peep costume and shout “oh no my god… i have lost my sheep!   The horror!”… so that I have a chance to put on my super suit (metaphorically speaking) and go rescue her from some problem she could have handled entirely on her own.

“As an adolescent I went to charm school, where I learned to pour tea and relate to boys.  Which, as I recall, meant giving them the pickle jar to unscrew, whether it was hard for me or not”.  Sue Monk Kid

I don’t believe my Freyja the captain of the Valkyrie has ever really “needed me”… Which is why she can keep me.  She wants to.

I know her… the goddess of mercy.  Already the sole protector of her children.  A proud warrior Queen and a Goddess here piloting a beautiful meat machine full of joy and pleasure and play.  The only thing I wish to rescue you from is the idea that you will ever be alone… I want to be your safety net because I already believe that you can fly, and all you need to discover it yourself is to not worry about what happens to everyone you protect if you were to ever fall.  Even though you are a goddess, you let me have my pickle jars… Now and then… Even when you don’t need it, you let me rescue you anyway.  I watch the light in your eyes, knowing you don’t need me, but feeling the warmth inside your spirit of having me, knowing you will never be alone in anything again.

So she lets me be any flavor of pickle I want to be, and she love every single flavor I become.


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