No, that’s not me. It does summarize me nicely though.
Greeting and salutations my dear friends! I am Anthony Jumeaux. The opinionated outcast writing this blog. I should have said hello at the start. But I was itching to get writing and in the middle of a move. So, here I am now! You have my sincerest apologies and a promise that I will most assuredly do it again. In the definite sense, to be sure! I am a spun tight cluster fuck on a good day and will miss the mark again. Such is life.
The texts I will lay before you, will be a gift from my soul. The very essence that makes me who I am. The experiences from my life and the wisdom gifted me should spin a nice yarn or two. I hope you will see acceptance and compassion as we walk in tales and parables. Dance in recipes and poetry. All the while, torturing the shit out of grammar and spelling!
I am a husband, father, gardener, experimental chef and believer in a better way of life. Over the years I have learned several things about life and family. Also, about growing food, apothecary plants and herbs. Learning about being human and our inner struggles…well, it’s a work in progress.
I am working on something I call The Nazarite Chronicles right now. It has been in my head for almost twenty-five years. I figured it was time to stop being scared of writing and just fucking go for it. I am hoping to have its first part for you soon. Writing like a drunk vomits, I often go too far too fast. Returning to the start and expanding, adding, subtracting. I hate subtracting, don’t you? It feels like cutting out an organ. Maybe that’s just me, my guess is it’s probably not.
In close, I hope this is not farewell. Wanting to see your likes, dislikes and comments that will help me grow into a better writer and human. I hope to see you again. Hope to touch you, in a non kinky way. Hope to show you that facing your fear is true courage, and that acceptance is the key. Maybe I will even get to writing down great grandma’s strawberry short cake recipe. The first thing she ever taught me to make. I reckon I was three years old then. Some things you never forget. Some things you have to share. Agape, Anthony Jumeaux.
Some of us are not wired like the rest of the flock. To put it mildly, we march to the beat of a different conga drum. We seek acceptance from others; nonetheless, others do not feel the need to seek acceptance from us. I reckon it is like being a pastry in the donut shop showcase. If you don’t fit the mold in this world, you can’t be a donut. The best you can hope for is to be a donut hole. Well fuck all that! I’m a cinnamon roll and have no wish to be a donut! In a world of donuts, a cinnamon roll trying to become a frosted old fashion wants acceptance. But it will only get laughed at by the chocolate sprinkles. The rude bastards!
So, what’s a cinnamon roll to do? Sitting there alone on its singular tray, it ponders being a donut. Seemingly the most loved of all the pastries for its vast popularity. Looking across the grand showcase, it observes all of its brethren. Seeing past the vast majority of donuts with their fancy glaze and molten coats. Covered in a rainbow of sprinkles and sparkly confections to dazzle the eye. A box of donut holes is spied somewhere off in the distance, on the bottom shelf. The heart of the donut that has been cut out, cast aside and sold for cheap. A feeling of compassion sweeps over the cinnamon roll for all of the donuts and their mutilated hearts.
The cinnamon roll has realized the truth. It is a pastry but, also a cinnamon roll. It can never be a donut. As the cinnamon roll has studied all of the baker’s other creations. It has seen each one is unique in its own way. Apple fritters and maple bars are joined by the jelly filled and muffins. Along come the ham-n-cheese stuffed croissants and their family of turkey-n-cheese stuffed or plain. There are twisted and creamed, cookies and buns, so many types to choose from. The cinnamon roll acknowledges some of the other pastries are whole, like itself. They do not have discarded parts sold for cheap. It is not alone after all. So, it decides to be the best cinnamon roll it can be.
About this time a tall ginger man with thick spectacles strolls into the shop. It is Saturday morning; the man is here for the assorted baker dozen of donuts his family has asked for. The man picks from the different selections, and the baker puts thirteen donuts into the large pink box. The cinnamon roll sees the box is full. Trying not to be sad, it continues to follow the ginger man’s gaze. The man, with his magnified glasses, spies the donut holes. He says to himself, “those would be a tasty snack on the drive home.” Still, he continues to look. Walking to the other end of the counters glass enclosure of pastries, the man’s gaze falls to the cinnamon roll. He exclaims to the baker, “WOW, that cinnamon roll looks just like the ones my great grandmother made! It reminds me of the cinnamon rolls I had as a boy”. With a smile on his face the man tells the baker, “I’ll take that cinnamon roll right there”. Pointing and adding, “no need for a box, I will eat it on the drive home”. Finally chosen, the cinnamon roll is handed to the man. Its purpose finished, the cinnamon roll is happy to be consumed by the one that needed so it much.
You see, the cinnamon roll was not meant to be eaten. It was meant to be cherished, loved and accepted. Consumption is just the inevitable outcome of a pastry. As in all life, death is certain. We already know that death comes at the end life. So, there has to be a place between birth and death we all fit into. Our purpose if you will. The cinnamon roll’s purpose was to remind the ginger man of love. A love he shared with another through the gift of a pastry. In every bite of the cinnamon roll, the man remembers the gift from great grandma. A gift he is now inspired to share with his children. Giving them a newfound love for the cinnamon roll. The children realize there is more to a pastry than a donut with a hole where its heart should be. Much, much more. In doing this, the cinnamon roll has found its rightful place as a pastry. Also, the children have discovered a diverse acceptance of life.
After reading this, you are probably hungry. I know I am from writing it. As you probably guessed, my great grandma used to make me cinnamon rolls. So, the craving had begun. But, before we go off fulfilling the destiny of the next thing we are going to eat, chew on this. As everyone is different, we are all the same. We are all human, or pastries if you prefer (you know you’re out there!). Some seemingly have it all, while others are living under a bridge in poverty. Here we see an extreme difference in humanity. Yet, we are all human. All having a unique purpose in the donut shop of life. Try to follow the example of the cinnamon roll. View life with compassion and understanding. Avoid focusing on every flashy point of the majority. Instead look to your sweet and snappy inner self and bake it to perfection. Agape, Anthony Jumeaux.
We have all heard the question before, “what is the key to life?”. Presented with many different answers, many different theoretical concepts that that spark the imagination. We construct a mental key in our mind’s eye. Yet, it never seems to fit the lock. This lock symbolizes each individuals own life question. The answer given to that question, our one true purpose. Each lock is custom made to fit its owner. Every key an exact fit to each customized lock. Being human, we can’t create such a key. You see, we did not create the lock. We don’t have the depth of self to do so until the lock is opened. Thus, we can’t construct the key. Since we know the lock is there, within ourselves, we know there is a key to open it. This key will reveal our self purpose. The secret is, the key has already been made! It is hidden in plain sight for you to find like an Easter egg after the bunny has fled. What’s the old adage, seek and you shall find? Seems like a good place to start.
From a young age of four I pondered the theater of life. Never finding a comfortable seat to watch the show, I remained on the outside looking in. An outcast, I see things differently from others of my kind. When you look at the clear sky, you will see blue. When I look, I see the blue sky too but, I see more as well. I see tumbling ghosts of gray, like an asteroid belt but not solid, caressing the sky in a rhythmic pattern. If I watch the sky for a while, a tunnel appears in front of my eyes. It is made of the same components I see in the sky. Trying to explain this as a child only brought laughs at what was thought to be a young boys imagination. Instead of answers and acceptance, I received only more questions.
Questions for me are like a deep festering splinter. One that can’t be tweezed, it must be cut out. I know the blade is the answer to the spike that will surely turn gangrenous. But, fear keeps the blade from my flesh. So, I muster courage, set the blade to the oozing wound…and cut deep. Sometimes there are tears, sometimes anger or hope, but with every cut made, every splinter removed, an answer is given. This answer has to then be accepted to become a truth. In these truths, I found the key to my lock. In fact I gave you the answer to find your key already as well. Can you guess what it is? No? Well, I reckon you are in the right place then.
When I was in my mid teens, I was a mess to say the least. Still questioning, still searching, still not understanding. I would lose myself in TV or movies. Believe it or not, the movie City Slickers gave me the question I needed. I would spend the next decade pondering it to find my answer. It took another decade after that for me to have the courage to accept my key.
In the movie, Mitch (Billy Crystal) and Curly (Jack Palance) are in deep conversation. They are talking via horseback on the old dusty trail. Curly asks Mitch “do you know what the secret to life is”? Holding up one finger to Mitch. Mitch reply’s, ” You’re finger”? With a crooked grin Curly said, “One thing. Just one thing. You stick to that and everything else don’t mean shit”. Mitch states, “that’s grate but, what’s the one thing”? Curly tells Mitch, “That’s what you got to figure out”. Curly’s gloved finger and powerful statement to a man confused in life struck home with me. It had narrowed my search.
My question morphed from, what is the secret to life, into, what is the key to life. Now were talking! If there is a key there must be a lock. Visa versa, if there is a lock there must certainly be a key. The lock now fully visible, where the hell was the key? I had a needle in a haystack situation going on here. I was desperate for the answer. Desperate enough to defy the world. Both middle fingers in the air, I made peace with the bloody end that was sure to come my way. Trudging up the shear cliffs of desperation, I looked to the sky. There I found my oldest companion. The ghostly asteroid tunnel! Like a telepathic wave to the beyond. I finally accepted it was truly there. With everything mustered of my self, I hurled everything I was into it.
Standing there with no one and nothing, I felt like a fool. Nothing had happened. Nothing at all! What was the problem? I accepted the tunnel was there. I needed it to be there…and then it happened. I had accepted the tunnel was there… accepted…accepted…accepted….acceptance. That was it, THE ANSWER. The key to life is acceptance! Like manna from heaven, the skeleton key for my lock fell from the tunnel, gently landing in my hand. Without hesitation I inserted the key into the lock, turned it and opened the door. There was no passage beyond the door, just a mirror. In that mirror the only reflection, my-self.
Startled, shaken to the core, I wept. I had been looking at this ugly mug in the mirror for over three decades. I no longer wished to see the self I was. The image I was looking at was slightly different then the one I was used to. Accepting the knowing look I was being given by my new counterpart. I looked hard at my-self. So hard in fact, my inward journey began. I guess the tunnel works after all!
So, there you have it folks. The key to life is acceptance. Through this act, we can travel deep inside ourselves. We become a person who is not a cog but, a human being. Development of compassion and understanding flood our veins. We breath in hope and exhale peace. We are now okay with being who we are. The limitlessness of human self can now grow like a redwood reaching for the sky. All you have to do is put acceptance in your heart and turn the key.
After all of this, finding the purpose you have been looking for becomes quite easy. Where do your natural thought and talents lead you? Walk that path and your on the road home. Me, I was built for service. To willingly and consciously give my self to you, my Human brethren. I am at the beginning of my journey to help ease the suffering put in my footsteps. It will be a treacherous path to be sure. It is my path though and it must be walked. As must yours. Agape, Anthony Jumeaux
The Opinion of An Outcast 