nightclubIn the following Midnight Zen D.L. Crumpton gives a reading from his piece Flirting with Chaos which first appeared on ZENINTHECAR.COM about a year ago. Not one for wasting a good story, he resurrects his recollection of living chaotically for the audience of Jaded.


I suppose you could call it literary A.D.D but the latest thing to come from the dome of our very own Daniel Louis Crumpton (D.L. for all his ghetto bruddahs) was that his next publication would be very much in Monty Python tradition…something completely different. All you Zenners who frequent our little site are familiar with his spiritual and political writings, and for those of you who arent the lazy type that wait for the movie; his novel Then Came the Flood was a gargantuan of completely different. So what pray-tell is the next trick he has decided to pull from one of the myriad of his hats? A rapid fire, three round burst of modern day poetry dripping angst, emotion and grit coming to us in just a matter of days.

hahalogoThe first collection; Hearts and Arrows, Halos and horns is scheduled to be released on March 20th underneath the super-duper mega moon eclipse thingy and we are all sure that has absolutely no connection with why he decided upon that date. Like a roller coaster of emotions, concepts and perspectives the collection shifts gears fast enough to give you intellectual whiplash as it takes you through over twenty years of never before published work.

The second (Wasting Despair) and third (Perspicacity) installment’s release dates have yet to be announced however The Ochelli Effect was kind enough to have D.L. Crumpton on recently to discuss his upcoming projects and though saying he was a little under the weather is quite an understatement (many of you out there have experienced the horror of the recent cold strain destroying a week or two of your lives) our little slugger still did a decent job.

After the interview the crew of the Zenterprise had to put him on medical leave until further notice and while he recovers we thought we would serve you up a slice from the interview. So grab a tasty beverage, kick back and enjoy Chuck Ochelli and Daniel Louis Crumpton rap about Hearts and Arrows, Halos and Horns, self-publishing, Edgar Alan Poe, the insanity of a writer’s life, content control and whatever else managed to come out of his medicine head. Enjoy!


14075_570689353068158_3331986514574927754_nJack had been sitting on a bench at the park near his house for the past few hours now with a beat up copy of David Mitchell’s Cloud Atlas. At his feet was a messenger bag with a large bottle of water, some stones of sentimental value, some pens, some paper and the odd object or two he had picked up on his walk through the trail to the park. He had reread the current page nearly five times and still had yet to actually comprehend what was going on in the story. It wasn’t that he had poor reading skills; much the opposite actually. It was that his mind was elsewhere and while his eyes ran across the words the chamber of his imagination was playing a different movie altogether.
It frustrated him that simple things like reading a book was now to him such a task. Once upon a time he could run through a book like one watches a movie, but now it seemed like trying to run with cinderblocks tied to his ankles. The theatre of his mind was playing a different show altogether, and it did it all the time. From the moment he woke up until the moment he fell asleep; and that was only on the nights he could fall asleep which were far and few between. He had closed the book on his thumb for a while and just stared off into the park watching parents play with their kids or loved ones holding hands and stealing a kiss from time to time. On occasion such sights and sounds would bring a smile to his face and then the movie would replay in his head, bringing him back to his present moment.
He couldn’t really put an adjective on it like pain because he was well past that. He couldn’t say it could be described as being numb because he of all people knew he indeed did feel it. Jack figured the best word he could find to describe his current emotions as of late was that of displacement. He felt completely displaced, as if no matter where he was he could not make himself feel at home-especially in his own home.
He supposed that was why he found himself visiting the park down the street more and more each and every day. He wanted to remember what it felt like to be in a place called home. From time to time he could get a sense of it, but that feeling was fleeting. However fleeting, in those moments that sense came he was thankful. It was something he had not been able to feel since the separation. A separation from the woman he had known most of his life, most of his youth, and up until now most of his adulthood.
This life changing event had happened a handful of years prior but the effects of it still hovered around him like a radioactive cloud after the impact of an atomic bomb smashing into the ground. The explosion was long gone but the ruin of the aftermath was still all around him. The tragedy of the blast staring and screaming at him with demands of wanting to know why it had to come to such a thing. Like looking into the hollow eyes of skulls, the only answer Jack had for them was that he simply didn’t know. He had no answers to give those haunting voices, nor comfort to those eyeless eyes. Any answer he would attempt to give them would be nothing more than guesswork because the truth was that he was just as much a victim of the blast as they were.
Jack had loved Nichole more than anything. He even pushed such a love to the point of worship, which can be dangerous when such a love is at risk of coming to an end. What does one say when God walks away from you? How is one supposed to go on with life when there is no longer hope of salvation or comfort from Divinity? Jack had no way to answer that and perhaps that is why he had been in a steady state of limbo ever since. The two of them had been doing fine, better than fine in fact and all of a sudden a rapid series of events transpired that tore them apart and sent them into a whirlwind of confusion. A multitude of voices and poor opinions from people who had no business getting involved insured that the union they shared, no matter the potential it once had, would come crashing down in a heap of pride, hurt, lies, misunderstandings and miscommunications. Jack couldn’t help but to think that Nichole had been just as much as a victim of this hurricane as he himself.
The most painful thing for Jack was that the two of them had never really had the opportunity to work it out themselves. The chance for the two to sit alone together and anyilize the problems that had arisen was stripped from them by third parties and in that fault all hope was lost. Their fates were no longer in their own hands and in sacrificing that right both of them were subject to the dictations of others. Such a course lead them to separation and since then they had had little to no contact. For Jack this was probably the most painful of facts in the course of events that tore them apart because he knew they did not tear apart from each other but where torn apart by everyone else. As he pondered these things he could still see her ghost in the park from the corner of his eye.
He shook it and reopened his book to where he left off when an old man casually sat down beside him with a half-finished crossword puzzle. The old man sat with a huff, aching in his old bones and carefully placed his pen where he left off. The old man said nothing, yet pushed his glasses higher on his nose as he stared at the word he was currently working on. Though Jack pretended to continue reading, he couldn’t help but eye the old man from his peripheral vision. The old man was about five feet tall, button down shirt from the eighties, rolled up wrangler jeans revealing thin, black socks tucked into orthopedic shoes. On his right was a wooden cane placed neatly on the bench. Other than that the old man had nothing but a pack of Pall Mall full flavors with a Zippo lighter in his breast pocket.
Jack pretended not to be bothered as the old man lit one and coughed as he took the first drag from the cigarette and pressed his pen to the page without intent. He chose to simply jump into the current chapter of Cloud Atlas and ignore the fact that some old man had chosen his bench out of a dozen in the park to sit on so he could work on a puzzle. Now he was finally able to pay attention to what he was reading. However, as soon as the visual images began to formulate in his mind, Jack found himself interrupted.
“Damn puzzle.” The old man muttered.
Jack looked over at him with slight perplexity.
“I’m sorry?” he asked.
“Been working on this crossword for the past hour or so. This one has me stumped.” The old man said.
“Oh…I’m sorry.” Jack responded.
Jack broke off eye contact and went back to his book. He really wasn’t in the mood for a conversation. To such a reaction the old man laughed.
“No you aint.” The old man said.
“I’m sorry?”
“There you go again with that sorry shit. You aint sorry and because you aint sorry you say sorry and you think it’s supposed to actually supposed to do something.” The old man replied.
Jack was a little taken aback at the old man’s straightforwardness and didn’t know the polite way of replying. What he did know was that his late father always told him to pay attention to the silver head for wisdom and guidance and so he dog-eared his book in order to proceed with the interaction.
“Well I apologize then, that your puzzle is causing you such distress.” Jack said.
The old man laughed as he scribbled at the top of the page to make sure his pen was ship shape.
“Are you serious, son? Is that how you talk on a daily basis?” the old man mocked.
“No, not really.” Jack answered.
“Then stop blowing wind up my skirt like a whore with a navy man on shore leave.”
“I’m sorry, have I done something to offend you? I mean this was my bench you know, you’re the one that sat beside me.”
“Oh this is your bench?”
“Yeah, I was sitting here first.”
“And that makes it your bench? You plant your ass here before anyone else today and all of a sudden it becomes your bench? Is that how it works nowadays?” the old man questioned.
Jack thought the old man rude, crude and yet somehow the glimmer in the eye beneath the lenses of his glasses appealed to him. It brought a smirk to Jack’s face. This man was very much like his father.
“Maybe we started off on the wrong foot. I’m Jack.” He said as he put out his hand.
The old man laughed and slapped his large stubbly fingers into his with the firmest of grips.
“Just call me Sarge, done gone and forgot the name my parents gave me.” Sarge said.
This brought a laugh to Jack as his father had been the same in abandoning his Christian name. In the handshake Jack could feel that perhaps there was something he could learn from this uncouth old man.
“Jack.” He replied.
“Nice to meet you simple named Jack.” Sarge said.
“Simple named Jack? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing, just a common name for such a young man that looks so uncommon, that’s all. One would think you could have done better by now but that’s a different thing altogether.” Sarge answered.
“Yeah, well who has time to change their name when there is so much else you have to take care of?” Jack asked.
“I was in two foreign wars and two marriages and still found the time simple name Jack, so what’s your excuse?” Sarge asked.
Jack thought for a moment with a half-smile still on his face. He appreciated the abrasiveness of the old man as he turned his attention back to the puzzle and fell silent for a moment. The silence allowed him to turn back to his book but he was no more than a paragraph in before Sarge interrupted him again.
“Goddamnit, what’s a nine letter word for metamorphoses’?” He asked.
“I’m sorry?” Jack asked
“Are we back there again? I said, what is a nine letter word for metamorphoses’, boy.” Sarge replied.
Jack thought for a moment and then glanced over at Sarge’s puzzle until the answer came to him.
“The answer is butterfly.” He said.
There was a moment of simple surprise on Sarge’s face as he contemplated the answer followed by a steady and confidant filling in of the word. Sure enough Jack had been correct. The answer was butterfly.
“I should have figured. Butterflies are the damndest creatures.” Sarge said.
“Are they now?”
“Oh yes. The most dangerous life forms on the planet in fact.”
“Yeah, butterflies. Deadly beasts they are.” Sarge said.
Jack found it amusing that there was this surety in the old man’s voice that he had to follow the rabbit trail of his logic. Though he knew it would probably upend him from finishing his chapter he felt it was worth the price. So he closed the book and put it safely in his bag in order to give Sarge his full attention.
“Okay, I’m all ears. Please explain to me how butterflies are the most dangerous life forms on the planet, I am dying to hear this.” He said as he propped his chin up with the forearm on the bench.
Sarge shook his head and placed his pen on the puzzle page as he took off his glasses and put them in a protective covering which afterwards was placed in his pocket. The old man cleared his throat and mimicked Jack’s posture.
“You see that young man over there on the horse, the one all dressed in black that’s just trotting through the park?” Sarge asked.
Jack looked over his shoulder to see then returned his gaze and nodded with the affirmative.
“Well you see that young man is calmly riding his horse on a fine and sunny, calm day with no care in the world. It is probably something he does on a regular basis if you really pay attention to how he and the horse seem to have an understanding. Chances are he will be doing that exact same thing this time next year, wouldn’t you say?” Sarge asked.
“Well people tend to be creatures of habit.” Jack answered.
“That they are. The thing is, creatures may be habitual but nature isn’t necessarily so.”
“What do you mean?”
“Did you know there is a difference in climate and weather?” Sarge asked.
“No I didn’t. Explain.”
“Climate is constant, for the most part. It only changes after perhaps a millennia of so. Think of it as the overall condition of what we call earth. There are ice ages, there are warm ages, there are tropical ages, yet within those ages we have slight changes in weather.” Sarge explained.
“Okay, I don’t know if I follow.” Jack said.
“Well for the most part things are warm overall, however tomorrow there could come a cold front from seemingly out of nowhere. That is weather. It is the variable in the constant. Changes from day to day and most of us never stop to ask what causes such sudden changes.”
Jack thought for a moment on this trying to find some answer from high school or the last forecast from his local weather station. The old man had a point; changes are reported but the cause never is. This intrigued him.
“Alright, so what causes weather to change?” Jack asked.
“Goddamn butterflies, boy. Goddamn butterflies.” Sarge answered with a hint of anger.
Jack let a laugh out as he opened up a bottle of water and took a swig. He wiped the excess from his goatee and returned to serious.
“Okay, please enlighten me. How do Goddamn butterflies change the weather?” Jack asked.
“Right now, let’s imagine a butterfly is in Africa somewhere learning to flap its wings, as in for the first time. The flapping of those wings sends out a current of air and as small as we may think it is that single current of air travels through the jungle. It’s shaped and formed and strengthened by the trees and the flapping of other butterfly wings, or the wings of birds or the thudding of a gorilla on a tree. That gust of wind gains strength as it travels to the ocean where it meets the current of another gust of wind of equal strength. That gust of wind came from India where there a butterfly had done the same. Once the two currents meet over the ocean with the pervading winds they start to form a whirlwind. At first it’s small and fragile but as the tides of the ocean sway beneath it that current gains strength. Before long you have a raging hurricane.” Sarge answered.
“And then what?” Jack asked.
butterfly“And then the hurricane heads towards the eastern coast and dies somewhere in the ocean, but before it does it sends out winds to form tornadoes or snow storms or what have you. They might be weak at first, but once they hit land a dying current might come in contact with the virgin flapping of wings from a new born butterfly. And that subtle flapping of air gives it strength enough to propel the dying tornado back into a thriving one. So a year from now let’s say that boy all dressed in black is on his horse in this very park, on this very day and some damned tornado sweeps through and takes him off his saddle.” Sarge says.
“All because of a butterfly flapping its wings?” Jack asks.
The old man nods with assurance.
“Yeah, all because of Goddamn butterflies. Vicious creatures they are.” He says.
Jack thought about that for a moment. There really wasn’t too much he could argue with, having studied physics and all. He looked up at the sun for a moment only to return his gaze to the old man who was responding to the ring of an old cell phone and rising to his cane.
“Well, I got to be on my way. The old lady is calling and when the old lady calls you have to come a running. But you know about that being married and all.” Sarge said.
“Do I?” Jack asked.
Sarge winked at him before shuffling off.
“Sure you do, son.”
Jack watched as the old man disappeared into the forest along the trail. He sat for a few moments and tried to absorb what the conversation had meant to him and perhaps why it had happened to him at this particular moment in his life. When the old man was out of sight he thought perhaps that he would continue reading his book but found that such a thing would be too difficult. So he just sat there until the damndest thing happened. A butterfly landed on his knee without a single flap of the wings. The words of the old man permeated his thoughts and he had to fight the smile on his face. It was then that another idea occurred to him. If a butterfly were able to cause destruction on a massive scale by a simple flapping of wings, could it bring something else?
He closed his eyes and thought of Nichole’s face. He thought of when he met her, he thought of when he courted her, he thought of all the happy years they had been together and could see them in his mind just as vivid as the moments they had happened. He took in several deep breaths with those feelings in his heart and then finally held the last one in. When he was ready he opened his eyes. The butterfly was still there, unmoving. With a slow and low pressure he blew all of those thoughts and feelings onto the butterfly until his lungs were empty. It wasn’t until he was finished that the butterfly began to beat its wings over and over again until it finally lifted itself up and flew off into the trees.
“God speed vicious creature, God speed.” Jack uttered.



484937_10200709910256290_884434542_nNichole was grabbing her wobbly shopping cart and entering into the local mom and pop grocery store of the town she had moved to, hundreds of miles away from where she once called home. For once in a long time she wasn’t in dirty jeans covered in mud and animal feed. This day she chose to wear clothes that reminded her of her old life. She didn’t know why she had done that, but when she had awoken that morning it just felt right. She was going to go grocery shopping in the clothes of her old life. She had showered and covered herself in strawberry lotion, then fitted herself in dress pants and a button down from some time ago, complete with old scuffed up grey heels.
She hadn’t felt like this woman in a long time, but today she would. Today she would be the old Nichole as she shopped for a nice vegetarian salad at the local mart. As she pushed the cart into produce she carefully chose organic lettuce from the other stuff that gets delivered. Afterwards she went down all the aisles looking for the ingredients to her salad that would fit the lifestyle she had adopted since she and Jack had separated. It was a discipline she didn’t want to give up. Her world had been broken apart when she broke away from him and though she had done all she could to break herself from thinking of him, it seemed that everything she did reminded her of him and she hated it so.
Her cart was nearly full when an old woman smashed her cart into hers and gave a sudden apology.
“Sorry young lady, I was lost in thoughts of a life long ago. I didn’t mean to bump into you.” She said.
Nichole took her forefinger and traced her hair behind her ear with a smile.
“Oh no. youre fine, maam.” She said.
The old woman paused and tilted her head as if she knew something Nichole did not.
“I am, are you?” She asked.
Nichole shook her head for a moment wondering what the old woman meant. It took her by complete surprise and she didn’t really know how to respond.
“Yes, I’m just getting dinner tonight. I’m fine.” Nichole said.
“Is that dinner for one or dinner for two?” The old woman asked.
Nichole smiled and looked at her cart which was meager with ingredients.
“It’s just for me maam. Just for me.” Nichole answered.
The old woman shook her head and pushed her cart ahead as she muttered the words “…aint that a shame. Aint that a crying shame.”
Nichole ignored it as she threw the rest of her salad in the cart. She didn’t have time to pick apart the words of an old woman in a grocery store while she had things to do. As she went up and down the aisles she finally found a houseplant on sale for less than three dollars. It saddened her that this plant only cost three dollars and she wanted to give it a home. So into her cart it went, for she knew she would give it a home to be loved despite the price set on it by the manager of the local piggly wiggly.
When Nichole had finally finished shopping for her salad, ingredients far away from the lamas and sheep she had fed at the commune she once lived at, a dinner fit for a two bedroom apartment in a country town she didn’t wish to be in, she made her way to the checkouts.
She waited patiently as the family before her ran their things across the conveyer belt. All of a sudden she felt a bump which forced her to look up. She saw a young red haired girl, complete with freckles, reading a comic book.
“Sorry about that, I was just really into the story.” The girl said.
Nichole looked and noticed this store was different than most. She was so used to commercial stores that she forgot the spindles of comic books at the registers that mom and pops offered. The young girl had been enthralled with one near the checkouts and had become so involved that she forgot where she was at. Such a displacement caused her to bump into Nichole’s cart.
“Oh don’t be sorry sweetheart. What are you reading?” Nichole asked.
“A Spiderman comic. Sorry.” She answered.
“Well that doesn’t ask for apology sweetheart.” Nichole said.
Nichole had a flash of her childhood and knew that the young girl had offended nothing. It took her back for a second but there was no way she could correct the young girl, rather take note of any lesson the girl could give her.
The girl eyed her.
“You know comics huh?” the girl asked.
Nichole thought for a moment. She had been in love with someone that did indeed and in fact they would not have married had it not been for comic books. A sense of pride came over her and she answered.
“Yeah, I know a little.” Nichole said.
“Then you should be able to spot it.” The girl said.
Nichole flipped though the book but found nothing. She did the best she could but still nothing popped up.
“Maybe it’s not for you to see right now, maybe you need to read it in your own time. I gotta go now, my mom is calling me.” The girl said.
Nichole nodded and threw her things on the conveyer belt.
It wasn’t until she got home that she placed the veggies on the counter and took the plant she had purchased out on the back porch of the grubby two bed room apartment she had leased. One bedroom held her bed, the other her vanity and artwork. It was the back yard where she could plant her independence and the plant she had purchased was ready to find its home. After Nichole had placed it carefully she sat down on the only chair she had and opened up the last bag of her groceries. After placing them in their given position she found that the last thing remaining was the comic book the little red headed freckle face had suggested.
In her sense of innocent guilt she made a glass of wine, grabbed the comic and the plant then waltzed to the back door. She put the plant down in her make shift garden and gave it a sprinkle or two of water. She went back inside and poured a glass of wine. She came back outside and sat down in front of her garden with the new, disregarded plant. With a huff she opened up the comic book the girl had suggested. She read the story from cover to cover; it was a Spider-Man story. As she made her way half way through she realized the artist was J. Scott Cantrell. Jack had always told her that J. Scott Cantrell always hid a single butterfly in all of his artwork, yet she had not seen it so far. Perhaps that is because she hadn’t looked for it up until now. As she turned the page she saw Mary Jane walking away from Peter Parker and there it was…in the smallest panel of the whole book. Mary Jane had a butterfly tattooed on the small of her back. It was so small no normal reader would have ever picked it up. But she did.
Jack had proposed to her with a Spider-Man comic. It was cheap and it was sudden but it was hers. It was that one moment in time where she finally felt like a princess and she didn’t give a shit that the ring was hanging from wax and dental floss. He had asked her to marry him and in that moment she was the luckiest woman on the face of the earth. And now she was seeing for the first time that Mary Jane was sporting a butterfly tattoo on the small of her back.
Nichole slammed the comic shut. She didn’t want to read anymore. For the first time in a long time she realized that perhaps Jack knew something she did not. She sat there and sipped on her wine staring at the tiny garden she had made in order to escape it all, when all of the sudden the strangest thing happened. A butterfly landed on the plant she had bought.
She had thought of going in before that happened, but now she was compelled to stay. Especially when more than a dozen came after it and landed in her tiny garden. Nichole sat there as a swarm of butterflies landed in her garden and slowly fluttered their wings, threatening to end the world with the flutter of their wings.
She wanted to cry because she knew what the butterflies could do. She fought the lump in her throat and it took another sip of wine before she did what the butterflies demanded. She tossed it back and forth for a moment but the inevitable was the inevitable. If there was one thing she had learned in her time alone it was that when the Universe speaks you best answer it. So she ran inside and grabbed her phone, for a moment she stared at it. After a moment she took it outside with her where the butterflies had congregated and sipped more of her wine. She watched the butterflies flap their wings and that gave her the courage she needed.
It was courage she didn’t have before nor any kind she had ever pulled out of the ether before.
She ran inside and grabbed her phone. Without thinking she looked up Jack’s number and without thinking she typed “I Love You”…and that was it. No explanation, no reason, no prerequisite. She simply text to him that she loved him. As she stared at it she wondered what would happen if she were to hit send.
Much like butterflies, who knows what the beating of small wings will bring?







It wasn’t long after this spiritual journey that my greatest trial would begin, and perhaps now, looking back, I understand why it happened in the order in which it happened. Had I not went through the maze of organized religion and grounded myself in the fact that true happiness only comes from within I would not have been able to endure the dread which is divorce. And believe me when I say that it is a dread. Of all the moments where I have been forced to endure suffering there has been none greater than breaking away from a person that has been your whole life for a majority of your life. Now I am not going to sit here and tell you that she was a horrible person and it was all her fault why it didn’t work out. People who do that are typically just deflecting. I myself have my flaws and I am well aware of them and openly wear them on my sleeve. No one can say they are a perfect spouse and certainly I wasn’t. However the important thing is that I tried. Every single day I tried. This shoe fits the other foot as well. She was not the perfect spouse, yet she did indeed try every single day. So I suppose there comes a day when the two of you or at least one of you makes the decision that you can only patch up a pair of jeans so many times before you have to accept they have no more mileage on them, thus throwing them to the dustbin. This has always been a difficult concept for me because I am the most sentimental of folk. In my view, that pair of jeans you have worn out should simply be put in a drawer where you can pull it out some time and sink back into the memories while for others they have no problem simply tossing the rags to the trash. I suppose in the former that’s me and in the latter that is my Ex-wife. I could get into the details but for one, you wouldn’t believe them they are so strange, and two I’m probably saving it for future posts, but nevertheless the same emotions creeped into my marriage that creeps into all marriages that end in divorce; anger, blame, drama, suspicion, jealousy, and notions of infidelity.

Now for the record, I was never unfaithful to my wife. As a matter of fact, in the years we were married I had never even been unfaithful to my wife even with my imagination or the shady locking of eyes with another female at the risk of something like that developing. As far as I was concerned there was only one woman on the face of the Earth and I had put a ring on her finger, making vows before God that I would hold her, love her and all that good stuff through the good and through the bad. A vow I took very seriously. A vow not easy to shake off when the enactment of its fulfillment has been taken from you and you are deprived from performing it. And it was. After my spiritual awakening, which probably was meant to ground me, my marriage took a nose dive straight into the cliffs over a series of insane events. As all of you know writers write what they know, they have no choice but to dip the pen in the well of the ink they have been provided with. So in a way “Merits Cure “ is a telling of the story with the details re arranged accordingly and names changed to protect the innocent …as they say. But again, writers write what they know don’t they? This is probably why I have not touched the tale in a while, the scars of the wounds haven’t quite healed yet, which will soon be changed.

photo from www.plogsteinlaw.com

photo from www.plogsteinlaw.com

So the legal documents are produced, you take fifteen seconds to find five thousand loopholes, and then you sign them. This is especially key when your Ex-wife asks how much money she will get from your recently published novel.  The separation happens and you have taken care of all the legal aspects but there is still the emotional aspects scattered at your feet. You have to deal with the fact that you are not with her anymore and when you try to work it out you wonder why she can’t look you in the eyes when you talk. You toss, you turn, you turmoil and fret as you continuously try to work it out, the whole time that whole eye avoidance is really bothering you. And then one day when you are trying to patch things up and she continues to avoid eye contact, the inevitable dawns on you. It was something you never thought, something you never let enter your conscious mind but finally it sinks in. She can’t look you in the eyes because there is another fox in the hen house. She accused you of it for years while it was the farthest thing from your mind, but now you see as plain as day that the reason she kept bringing it up was because it was constantly on her mind. At this point you take three steps back, see reality for what it is, and make the decision that from here on out you might never trust a woman again.

I don’t want to be that guy. I don’t want to be the guy that has been burnt in such a way that he turns into a self-fulfilling prick. I don’t want to be the guy that determines all his future relationships on his last. I don’t want to check cell phones; I don’t want to see text messages. I just want to trust. It is difficult in my position because I am a public figure and a published author, so I have to be careful with whom I associate with. When you are in that position you have to play this game of “Am I worth six dollars, or six million?” like fairy tales of old. The prince must play the pauper. It is easy to love someone when they are succeeding but it is only true love when they are in a ditch and unlovable. For myself, I want the person that will pull me out of the ditch and if she does I will provide her with the castle she can house me in. For the one looking for a check…not so much. I would use the old school term of “gold digger” but at least those digging for gold are willing to put in a little effort. No, for me, it has to be someone that looks at you and says “Through thick and thin kiddo” and means it from blood to bone with no small, fine print filled with loopholes or extenuating prerequisites.

This is a rare thing. If you meet someone that is flying these lines you are lucky. Take it by the handles and run with it. Here is the thing, when you endure suffering for so long there will come a point where it becomes moot. Sickness sucks, death is worse and divorce is the worst of all. I have endured them all and I can tell you that divorce is nothing fun. It is agony sandwiched between pain and terror. It is a lunch of the unimaginable. Both of you see how cold you can be and the temperature drops to the most uncomfortable levels. At some point when you realize that she has ran off with some Facebook connection and that guy is making her smile more than you could, no matter how much of a douchebag he probably is for having wooed a married woman, you are left with the only options of being alone or seeking companionship. A year, maybe two of being single goes by and you finally accept she is gone, gone, gone so perhaps the best thing for you to do is take the advice of Led-Zeppelin and ramble on yourself with the knowledge deep down inside, that like the previously mentioned band says, “Your Time is Gonna Come.”



So you break down and try Facebook friends like she did but you quickly realize that unless you have panties you aren’t getting anywhere in that arena. Typically people on Facebook are paranoid and shifty when it comes to relationships and if they aren’t constantly checking your status and friends list they are looking up ex boyfriends from fifteen years ago. As a wise woman coming from a house fire once said; ” Ain’t nobody got time fo dat”. Next you break down and give dating sites a try and quickly you realize how ridiculous that is and how it will not work for you. You have been single for a little over two years and she has already hooked up with some dude in New York, or some place or another and you reckon it isn’t fair for you to be holding out while she is on the hunt. So at the time these options seem rational to you. You spend countless hours at the computer hoping to make a connection with someone that can identify with your suffering. At some point you walk away from the computer with all this hurt, all this knowledge and into the kitchen to grab a glass of water. It is about two A.M. in the morning and you expect to be all alone. All of a sudden your mom comes into the kitchen and wraps her arms around you and puts a kiss on your forehead. “What was that for?” I ask, and of course she looks at me with a glow in her face and says “I just want you to be okay”. Now it has once been said to me by a bitter and unhappy person that the relationship I have with my mom is quote …”unhealthy” and of course I would have to disagree with that person. That person has a lot of self-issues they need to deal with because when a son in pain can automatically call upon his mother for comfort, who arrives, and does exactly what he needs her to do at exactly the right time that is the healthiest of relationships of all. Thank God. After her hug and her embrace I had no choice but to let it go. I went into the bathroom away from her and just exploded. I grabbed the tile and just let it out. All the sadness, all the grief, all the pain and the suffering. It came out in tears and agonizing sweat, but it came out. Divorce is a hard thing to let out, but it does come out. It is this death you have to deal with that is not a death. The other person has refused to obey the vows which they swore on an altar of God, and you are still chained to them. Yet somehow you are made free. When you finally decide to let it go, when you finally decide that you have lived up to your vows even if the other person has not, and you know that you have run the race as far as you can, and then you are free.

Daniel Louis Crumpton

Daniel Louis Crumpton

You will suffer in solitude. You will suffer alone. Yet in that moment you will realize that you always have. Regardless of marriage or none, you will finally understand that you have been doing this thing alone since you started. Some may stand by your side; some will stray at the sign of trouble. You will realize that you are a man of sorrows, whose stripes cannot be counted. You will feel like the old and New Testament messiah as you emerge from conflict having been abandoned and denied. But you will continue to speak your truth no matter the cost. In time, those that left you, those that bashed you, those who turned their back on you, will see that you indeed spoke truth. In time you will be justified.

So it is true that suffering must be done within the self. It must be done in a way that forces you to do it alone. Buddha did say that life is suffering, but he added that suffering is caused by desire, and desire is caused by the self, or the ego. His last truth was that there was no self. This may be the most difficult of all to grasp, but it is the truest. We suffer often with our names and our identities but the truth is no such thing actually exists. We are observers taking on a persona. We are the ghost in the machine; we are the God within the flesh vehicle watching this game play out. It doesn’t matter if it is the death of a loved one, the potential death of a loved one, or the imagined death of a loved one; we are simply watching. You have no ability to alter the actions of others and if you did you wouldn’t use it anyway, so therefore you simply observe. When you do, what will you observe? Will it be the negative, the actions which harm and hurt you, or will you choose to look past that and see that people do what they do because they too are looking for a way to bypass suffering in solitude? If you have been through it then you know full well that they are entitled to that rat race. So let them run. At the very least you can sit back and know that they are only postponing the inevitable. In order for all of us to evolve we must go through the beating of the sword in flames with hammer in hand. That is the only way we can become sharp instruments of use. When you look back at your suffering, don’t do it with a frown and worried brow. Do it with a smile and a confident eye. You survived it, and you survived it because you have a higher calling. Accept that and know that all of it was meant to make you a weapon. When you come to this conclusion you then have to choose what fight you were forged for. That, however, is a subject saved for later. Just know that your suffering was not in vain. It happened to make you who you are, and who you are is what is needed. Namaste.






Buddha said that life is suffering. That kinda sucks. But the guy has a pretty big following so there must be something to the observation. I know I have had my share of it and no doubt you have as well so we have that in common, got to build rapport where we can. When you are in a state of suffering it is much akin to drowning or having a very large anvil pressing down on your chest. It’s difficult to think, a burden to eat, and exhausting simply being conscious while something is eating away at you. Others may empathize with you due to having gone through similar situations, but far and few between are those rare souls that can actually soothe your wounds. One typically must suffer in solitude and believe me, it aint no walk in the park when you have to go it alone. We all have our trial by fire, be it the loss of a loved one, illness, financial crisis, divorce or the absence of someone dear to us either by miles or emotions and when we endure such trials, at the time, it may seem like there is no light at the end of the tunnel.

Suffering-Servant-MessiahAs for me, nearly the last decade of my life has seemingly been one instance of suffering in solitude followed shortly after by another instance. In my twenties my mom developed stage four cancer and was given six months to occupy the planet. This was her second bout with cancer and the odds were extremely slim considering the aggressive nature of the disease. She had endured radiation and chemo the first time, and it was not something she was eager to try again. More likely than not you too have had your life affected by cancer and know full well how much of a nightmare it is. It is particularly worse when it is someone extremely close to you like your mother. You have to endure the sickness, the weakness, the fear, the hopelessness and you have to watch someone you love with all your heart deteriorating before your eyes. You don’t want to show the person that has cancer how much pain you are in as well because of morale, so you endure the suffering of the experience within. You keep it bottled up and buried deep and the truth of the matter is that you might as well have cancer too. That suffering eats at you from within. You cry out to God for answers and demand to know why It has allowed this to happen to someone you love, someone that doesn’t deserve it. You wait for the heavens to open and the All-mighty to give you a direct answer but all you hear is crickets. It is easy to get mad at God on those lonely nights.

Losing my mom to cancer was something I refused to accept and God was giving me nothing, so I resolved to figure something out on my own. As it would happen I stumbled upon a book called A World without Cancer: The Story of Vitamin B-17 by G. Edward Griffin which makes the case that mere vitamin supplementation can cure this horrid disease. After doing my own research I remember going to my mom one night while she laid on the couch in pain and putting my hand in hers. I explained it all to her and asked her to give it a shot. She looked at me and said “I wish I had as much faith as you do”, to which I responded “Mama, I have enough for the both of us”. I needed a miracle and if fabricating faith within myself brought it about then so be it. So I bought a pound of apricot seeds (the highest concentration of vitamin B-17 is in apricot seeds) and began grinding 14 a day and mixing it with her protein shakes. Less than three months later my mom was cancer free and she has occupied the planet for another ten years and going since we administered the vitamins. It was only after the fact that I realized God doesn’t open up the heavens to answer you, It answers with that small, still voice within. That internal voice that refuses to accept defeat and drives you to find a solution on your own.

photo from www.attorneynegotiationcenter.com

photo from www.attorneynegotiationcenter.com

At the time I was a newlywed and obviously this period took an emotional toll on my marriage right out of the gates. It isn’t easy delegating your time, emotion and attention to a sick mother and a brand new blushing bride. You are stuck in the unwinnable situation of both giving one too much and the other too little. Imagine walking on a tightrope between the now non-existent twin towers because that’s exactly what it feels like. Thankfully though, when my mom was cured I was able to shift my focus to the woman that wed me and a period of happiness emerged when the two of us bought our first home. For a time it was good. Nine to five jobs, I started writing again after years of not a single drop of ink, had a dog, a cat and a routine of dinner on the table by seven if she was cooking and eleven if I was cooking (the trick to being a good cook is to take a long time so those eating are good and hungry. You see that way even if you screw the recipe up they are so hungry they don’t care) and life was like that John Cougar Mellencamp song Pink Houses. Of course creeping in the back of my head was the notion that life could not be this good for this long without interruption. I always say that for love, sleep and riches to be enjoyed they must be interrupted. Now that is not my quote, but it is still true.

It was February 15th of 2011 when I came back into town from work. My normal routine was to stop and check on my parents then go home and begin cleaning, cooking and jumping on the treadmill while I watched some long documentary on something bizarre I had found on YouTube. That day I broke my routine though. Normally I would always go into my parent’s home and see if they needed anything, but since the night before was my ex-wife’s birthday, and we had had a disagreement, I felt I needed to just drive by and see if the lights were on then go home to prepare for apologizing for something I didn’t do or another. That’s marriage for you. If you want it to have any shelf life you have to be willing to plead guilty when you are anything but. I know it sounds spineless, but trust me, it is easier to say “Honey I am sorry for your perceived violations and promise to never, ever do it again” than listening to her go on and on for hours on end about it. Trust me, if you are going to do the marriage thing you better be ready to apologize for anything and everything because if you don’t she will ensure that your life is a living and eternal hell. As the Bible says “It is better to dwell in the corner of the housetop, than with a brawling woman and in a wide house.” While I was picking up the house with an Anthony Hopkins film playing in the background, I got a call from my mom. She was screaming and I already knew in my gut what was happening. She said my dad was asleep and couldn’t wake up. I told her I would be there shortly and hung up. I flew over in no time at all and in the meantime called 911 to have ambulances meet me there.

photo from thebookofatom.blogspot.com

photo from thebookofatom.blogspot.com

Once I arrived I flew up the stairs and turned to the right, I could see my mom standing over my dad who was lying on the bed. I ran into the room and grabbed her first. I took her to the living room and sat her down and told her to sit and pray. Afterwards I went into the bedroom while I had 911 on the phone, picked my father up and laid him on the floor. I lifted his neck back and began CPR. The moment I began all the air locked in his lungs flooded into mine and filled me like a balloon. At that moment I heard the voice of a young man say “Don’t worry son, everything is going to be okay”. The experience was one of the most profound I have ever had. I worked on him for about fifteen minutes as the police on the scene simply watched before EMT arrived and once they did I consoled my mother. As I collected his medication for the hospital the police thought it appropriate to disarm me of my firearm and run the serial number while my father was in the next room with tubes in him. Protectin’ and servin’ and all that jazz. Deep in my heart I knew my father was gone. He had been in a lot of pain his last few months and I knew he was ready to cross over. When they got him to the hospital they tried for almost an hour to bring him back but my dad was always stubborn and wouldn’t let them. He had crossed over and that’s all there was to it. Now I had to deal with it as well as the toll it would take on my family.

After preaching my father’s eulogy, I didn’t want my mom and brother in the house where he died so they lived with me for a stint until I could find them a place to stay. Their presence in my home again put an emotional toll on my marriage. My ex-wife was not too pleased with this. She was ready to start a family and feared we never would if I kept tending to the needs of others. Now keep in mind, she had lost some loved ones and in those times she went to the darkest pits you could possibly imagine years before my ordeals began, and afterward I stuck by her side to see her through it. However three months after my father’s passing I was presented with divorce papers. Again we see the solitude of suffering. I remember falling to my knees and begging her not to do this to me, that I needed her, but I suppose when someone has something in their head you can only postpone it before they pull the trigger. It lasted another year or so before the trigger was finally pulled. In the meantime I was tapped by the Divine to suffer from one of the most horrible afflictions that I can imagine.




It started the day my father crossed over. I remember lying down on the floor in attempt to get some sleep and just before I blinked out, my entire body exploded with what felt like an electric jolt, and all of a sudden I was reliving the event with my father. It only took this to happen two or three times before I realized “Oh my God, I have post-traumatic stress disorder”. This revelation was absolutely horrific for me knowing that my father had suffered from it after Vietnam and having heard the stories of what a toll it had taken on him. When you have a high powered mind, and that mind suddenly turns against you, believe me it is no picnic. PTSD is literally like living in hell and breathing fire and brimstone every waking moment with no hints of relief. You never know when you may suffer from a panic attack, a muscle spasm or convulsion throughout your whole body or a severe flashback where you are forced to relive the trigger moment. One of the main reasons I am so passionate about the troops is because I can personally relate to the solitude of suffering in having to endure traumatic events because if there is anything that is true it’s this; unless you have endured PTSD you cannot understand the torment of it. Now, being deeply spiritual, I had to believe that there was some way beyond the orthodox methods, that there was a way out of this maze of the eternal and perpetual hell I was enduring in complete solitude. There were no words (and that is quite a statement from a writer) that can describe what it is like to be locked in that prison. I could see the wear and tear it was taking on me, on my family and my extending loved ones and I was determined to find a way out of it. So, once again I did as I was accustomed to doing, and in desperation cried out to that entity we all call by some name or another, which at the time I called God, for help. Again …nothing but crickets. No shaft of light. No heavens opening up. No nothing. Crickets and me alone in some secluded area of my yard or the wilderness; that was all I got. This disorder was tearing me and my family apart and I was doing all that I was told was the right thing to do and praying in all the ways I was taught to do it and that big bearded guy in the sky was handing me nothing but peanuts…and in all actuality I bought the peanuts from a seven eleven with a Hindu cashier. So again that self-determination kicked in and I began racing through books on how to repair the mind of trauma. Fortune would bring me one called Depression Free Naturally by Joan Mathews Larson which taught a homeopathic approach for mental ailments rather than the big pharma approach. In it she outlined patients are literally starving themselves because our food doesn’t provide the body with vitamins and nutrients (thanks Monsanto). She recommended supplements like DMAE, L-Tryptophan, high doses of vitamin C, B, and fish oil. So I got myself a pill kit and loaded up on supplements. Like a miracle, within a matter of days all the symptoms of PTSD were completely gone and I was experiencing more peace than I had had in a very long time. The high powered mind that had turned against me was now back in my hands and sharper than ever. Through simply taking vitamins and meditation.

This is the point in my life when I began to examine the things I believe, and of course I would encourage you to do the same without the inconvenience of doing it through suffering, and began studying other faiths. Over time I began to see from a different perspective. One not taught in any particular school of thought. All schools of thought teach you to seek the differences between one faith and another. We are trained to look for what separates a Christian from a Muslim. We are conditioned into looking for what separates a Buddhist from a Hindu. Jehovah’s Witness are pitted against Mormons and Catholics against the Jew. We all take pride in the title we have become adept in and will fight, sometimes violently, against the opposing titles. You have the materialistists that tend to be masculine God worshippers and the spiritualists who tend to be feminine Goddess worshippers and the two cascades continually clash against one another in conflict and have done so throughout the ages. It is only now that select groups are beginning to see the chaos of the two and the havoc it has caused in the realization that what we are dealing with is a cosmic, dysfunctional marriage of the two. Male and Female, God and Goddess are one and the same. Our understanding of God has been dictated to us and we have been told that it is a gender, an iconography. A man with a beard on a throne with a sack of lightning bolts ready to smack you in the head if you believe something other than what comes from the pulpit.

photo from politicalfun.blogspot.com

photo from politicalfun.blogspot.com

Listen, let me take a weight off your shoulders right about now. All that stuff was mechanisms of control. You don’t have to believe any of it if you don’t want to. Now if you want to, more power to you. Just understand that you were handed that mess of dogmatism and you didn’t arrive at it on your own. Some chap behind a pulpit or some guy wearing a dress outlined it for you. Now you can smite me right now for being the messenger…but at the end of the day you will know I am right, and that is the thing you will not be able to escape. Unless you have experienced the Divine yourself, unless you have had that moment of absolute clarity where what you conceive as God intervened in your life and you were enlightened to the notion that there is no other way to touch that Divinity than through the self, then you cannot understand. I could care less what label you slap on yourself. When one touches Source, they know titles are burnt away. In that moment they can only say that they know. They have no choice but to say, “I Know”! They don’t need belief, they don’t need faith. They simply know. They need no religion, they need no title, and they need not restrict themselves to one particular scripture because they have touched that which no human hand can touch. They have touched the Divine with the eye of the mind.

Those who endure the solitude of suffering are forced to their knees time and time again awaiting that answer that never comes in a shaft of light, but in the still small voice. Over time they realize this is by design. The Creator, the Architect, has a pre written plan. They have seen this before, they have lived this before, and they have acted this out before. There is a cycle, there is a circle. The first reaction is denial. You don’t want to accept that you have done this before because that is an admission of guilt. Will you please dismiss that because you have and you don’t want to be a douchebag this time too now do you?
This epiphany in my spiritual life was a landmark. The moment I stopped looking for the differences of all the faiths and began looking for the similarities is exactly when I started to find them. Once all the walls of dogmatism fell down my spiritual growth took a quantum leap and of course the natural course of evolution in this process is that those closest to you begin to believe you are insane. One of the natural courses of my evolution was to take a thirty day vow of silence, (which for anyone who knows me, you understand how extremely difficult this is) while I built a Zen Garden in the back yard.

Taking a vow of silence is extremely relaxing because once you take it and commit to it you become free from the notion of having to respond. You can simply stay in your own head and observe. Of course while you suppress that flow of output it will surely pop up in another area of creativity. For me, it did so in the form of my Zen garden. I had never been one to build anything with my own hands and had never been trained to do so, yet the more I suppressed the chi of my words the more this physical thing began to manifest itself. Of course all of my in laws, and sometimes including my Ex-wife, began to believe I was going insane but what they failed to see is that I was finally finding a peace that thus far had been unattainable. Buddhism and the path of Dharma aren’t as complicated or as sophisticated as some may make out; it is simply finding God in the little things all around you. It is exactly as Yeshua would describe his Father, as a wind that no one can see where it comes from or where it goes, only the effect of its presence.

There once was a story, and I will paraphrase, that says a woman went to a guru one day and told him that she feared she did not love God. The guru responded with “Who do you love most in this world?” to which the young woman replied, “My child here. I love my child more than anything in the world.” The Guru smiled and grabbed her cheeks saying, “When you look at your child you are looking at God”. That is the end of the parable but what I gleaned from it is that anything you look at with pure unconditional love is God, because God is unconditional love. This is, for some, a difficult thing to do. Especially when they have yet to be through the trials of suffering. They may make God out to be some distant being but when you have suffered and decided you want no more you find God is all around you, all about you, within you and within all those that you love. As my friend Jesse Herriott would say, there is no spot where God is not.

Now you have this epiphany in your head and a place of inner tranquility happens…then you get a divorce and all that stuff flies out the window..






Life is not without a sense of irony it would seem. In this latest episode of ZEN IN THE CAR T.V., Daniel Louis Crumpton joins Eric Bell on “For whom the Bell Tolls” to discuss the recent rally in Habersham county and his current view of the political landscape as well as his novel Then Came the Flood. The irony of it all is that while we were preparing this episode which deals with excessive force by the police as well as incorporated prison facilities, Daniel and his beloved dog Hannibal were in the process of being arrested for yet another victimless violation of a city ordinance which placed him in silver bracelets followed by a trip to the Houston County Detention Center…again. Hopefully by the time you finish this episode he will be out again and walking proudly in the land of the free…the free to do as you are told.





Hey all you Zenners. How’s it going? Going good? That’s good. Going good for me too, glad you asked. So anyways we just wanted to drop you this little line and let you know that we have a new kinda-sortof thingy here at ZENINTHECAR.COM. A lot of our fans and creepy followers have inquired what its like to be what we are and do what we do. They want to see the curtain of the wizard pulled back. They want to know what it is like to be in Team Zen when Team Zen isn’t on film or giving a speech.
As most of you know, Team Zen is a very close knit family. We are unique and diverse individuals that have somehow managed to come together under a common flag without ripping each other’s throats out. The common flag we all fly is that of Freedom and Liberty, and that flag affords us unity. However, from time to time we think it is appropriate to sit on the bridge of the Zenterprise and simply philosophize. These are the moments where the magic really happens. So we thought you guys might like to sneak in on those moments where the crew of ZEN IN THE CAR T.V. have their shields down and are doing what they do best. Enjoy some Midnight Zen. Midnight Zen is simply a freeze frame of how we operate at the middle of the night, or as you would…a step across the looking glass.




Once again we welcome you back to year three of ZENINTHECAR.COM, and year two of ZEN IN THE CAR T.V.. We appreciate all of your urges for us to come back but as we said, everything happens exactly when it’s supposed to and though we have taken a considerable amount of time to evolve, it seems that now it is appropriate for us to return and it couldn’t have been one second sooner. So with little fanfare and little prose to reintroduce you to who we are, we present the first episode of this new and exciting season. Thank you for liking, sharing helping us grow and of course if you agree with what we here at ZENINTHECAR.COM are doing don’t hesitate to donate so the cause can spread further and further. Enjoy, ZEN IN THE CAR T.V..



zeavenIt is often said that to truly enjoy life you must die every now and then. Okay it isn’t often said; I just made it up. Nonetheless, truth is truth and you can’t hide from the truth because the truth is all there is. Thank you Handsome Boy Modeling School for bringing us that wonderful revelation. That being said, before you go dying just to check out if what I say is true, just make sure you know how to come back before you make the trip to the other side because that place can get a little crazy. Speaking of deaths and rebirths I don’t think I need to tell all of our subscribers that we here at ZENINTHECAR.COM have undergone a sort of death and resurrection like the Phoenix rising from the ashes of the old and unfurling into the glory of the new. Shortly after I announced last year that we here were going on a hiatus to recharge and reflect some of you may have noticed that the site actually crashed for some time. Knowing there are no such things as coincidence, at first I thought this was the internet getting all mad at us for taking time off and having a hissy fit by knocking us off our server. “That’ll show them not to take away my Zen goodness!” Hindsight always being 20\20, I of all people should have known that it was a premonition or Divine warning of what was to come.



Team Zen At 2nd Amendment Rally

Now, while we have not been with you these past few months do not think us slack. It’s not like we were all just sitting around, resting on our laurels from the past year completely task less in this endeavor to save a Republic. Oh no, while all the contributors here have been going through…”life changes”…we have also managed to partake on your behalf in activism and ultimately reformation of the current system of things. Granted, we have done it on a wing and a prayer but for some reason or another it seems that our path has been guided by Divine Providence; the kind spoken of by the Founding Fathers of this great America. We have been able to go places and meet people that are just as passionate about saving this country as we here at ZENINTHECAR.COM. Much of our adventures will be shared with you through the crew of ZEN IN THE CAR T.V. in posts yet to come, however I can tell you as someone with his boots on the ground-things are looking up. There is a peaceful Revolution taking place. It cannot be stopped, it cannot be compromised, and it cannot be perverted. A Revolution of ideas and information is indeed happening. A Revolution of information and our interaction with that information is in fact transpiring. It is as agent Smith would say; inevitable. As our generation awakens to the fact that the way of things they were born into are completely voluntary, they are beginning to understand that a peaceful Revolution requires little more than no longer volunteering. They are beginning to see that the only thing really needed to change the current system of things is to no longer go along with it. However this can be a scary notion when one has no vision of an alternative or no examples in how to defy the current system of things. Enter the ZEN IN THE CAR T.V. crew. We are here because each of us are the type of activists that not only note the problem, but seek out the solution and then implement it in our own lives. This implementation can cost a great deal; this we will warn you. However at the end of the day you will have true Freedom; and true Freedom is waking up and deciding what you want to do with your day rather than someone else doing it for you.



But tell us how you really feel…

So how do we start this year, this phase, and this chapter of ZENINTHECAR.COM? Well we begin it with an adventure of course. I had been at my local Books-A-Million the entire day. Where else would you expect to find me? At this point in my life this place is my church, it is my fortress of solitude. It appears that whenever I go through a major “life change”, the Universe always seems to place me near books. Lots of books, a plethora of books in fact. Be it libraries or bookstores, I am always placed in a position of assigning my soul to the art of books. I take this as an omen, a sign from the Universe that regardless of my situation I am on the right path. So there I was; at my local book store while outside the storm clouds merged. The whole day I had a bad feeling but kept shirking it off like the dark cloud I didn’t want to feel. I knew something was going to happen. I could feel it in my bones. Shortly before the assigned time of our trip Jason Patrick entered the store. It was strange at first to see one aspect of my life merge with another, but after a moment it started to make sense. I started to understand the interconnectivity of it all…but that should be saved for a different story.


Jason the First

Jason the First

Jason Patrick purchased a few of my recommendations; mostly books by Ron Paul, then made his exit to the bridge of the starship Zenterprise to await my arrival. I was of course, as always, fashionably late. This tardiness forced us to pile into Curtis Sirman’s car and push the speed limit to the limit we could push. This was especially difficult in the rain, and even more so difficult being a tad clairvoyant and knowing what was to come. We were headed for a car crash. Nothing was going to stop it, and no one could prevent it. It was going to happen and I knew it before we got in the car. Cruising up I-75 to the state’s capitol, the whole time I had this feeling that it was due at any moment. Curtis was on GPS and eerily enough the entire time saying “Its ten miles to our FINAL DESTINATION, its five miles to our FINAL DESTINATION, it three miles to our FINAL DESTINATION…” and the only thing I wanted to tell him was to please stop saying that.
As we entered downtown Atlanta and headed for Decatur we ended up on one of those twisted streets that change traffic flow lanes depending on the time of day, six lanes or so, with the lights overhead to let you know which way you are supposed to be driving. Curtis and I were both at a loss for how Patrick was able to tell what lane we were supposed to be in due to all of them having broken lines, but trusted that somehow or another Patrick wouldn’t allow us to shuffle off this mortal coil…today anyway. As the drivers in front of Patrick all tapped the breaks our good friend shouted an expletive or two and said:
“That’s what I can’t stand about Georgia drivers; they all think you have to slow down in the rain. You don’t have to slow down in the rain. I’m from Seattle; if there’s one thing I know how to do its drive.”


RainyHighway-MontgomeryCoMD-108AM-01Aug2010The moment those words came out of his mouth I reached behind me and pulled the seatbelt down, snapping it into its safe and snug home. Death…here we go again. As Jason Patrick drove, looking for the address to the event we were going to (a Copblock.org course on asserting your Rights with the police) his attention was drawn off of oncoming traffic. The bottom of the rain clouds dropped and a billion buckets of God’s tears came crashing down on us. While the rain fell, Patrick failed to see that our lane had suddenly decided to be a lane for the other side of oncoming traffic. Oops. The moment Patrick, Sirmans and myself realized this was when we spotted a green Volkswagen beetle heading straight for us with a trajectory that said “Head on collision? Yes, I’d like that very much.”
Fortunately Jason Patrick’s puma like reflexes allowed him to take note just before the crash and the wheel was jerked hard left. Curtis Sirman’s car flew through about three lanes of oncoming traffic and met its lesson of physics as it slammed into a light post, a transformer box, did a sort of 180 spin and stopped short at a fence on the side of the road. Then there was silence. In the backseat I first cringed, then had to smile, knowing full well that your heroes of Freedom and Liberty would one way or another come out spotless.
Once the car was stationary we all checked to make sure no one had lost a limb or a head or what have you and limped the car to the side street to make sure our potential head on collision wasn’t hurt. Once we knew that we had miraculously dodged every fender that had been provided for us, the three of us stood outside in the rain and thanked the Universe, or God, or Goddess or what have you for not allowing us to shift over on this day and continued on to the event we had come to cover. Of course, there is an alternative version of this tale that only I could tell.
Unbeknownst to Jason Patrick and Curtis Sirmans, we in fact did get slammed by oncoming traffic. Not only did we get slammed but we got slammed in such a way that our bodies were laid out on the street, lifeless beneath the cold Atlanta rain. There were ambulances, there were fire trucks, and there were body bags. As I said in the beginning, to enjoy life you must die every now and again.



photo from emergingyouth.com

“Where is this place?” Jason asked.
Of course Curtis just stared on with enthused amazement as I dusted myself off and stretched my back.
“This is the afterlife. We died and now we get a report card before we go back.” I quipped.
Curtis stood to his feet and looked around for a moment, then to me.
“Are you serious? I mean I’m an atheist. I don’t believe in any of this. I was just supposed to go blank or something.”
I put my hand on his shoulder and smiled.
“This kind of thing doesn’t care if you’re an atheist or not. It kind of has its own rules. Just roll with it man, it’s actually kind of fun when you do it a few times.”
Once the three of us were good and comfortable a messenger arrived to escort us through the gates and into the throne room of the Almighty. I found it amusing to watch Jason and Curtis transfixed with the architecture of Heaven all around them. But I mean seriously, after you’ve seen it once or twice you kind of get used to it. But hey, whenever friends and family cross over and I get the chance to be with them it’s always a groovy experience.

As usual, God was sitting on His throne with a PlayStation 5 controller in His hands. He was screaming at this kid from Buffalo New York as he got shot for the seventh time online. God is pretty good with “Call of Duty” when it’s just the game, but that kid from Buffalo New York owns him every time when he logs on. The three of us stood there for a minute until He realized he needed to pause the game and do some Universe saving type stuff.
“Sorry about that fellas. That little creep gets me every time. I swear to myself if I don’t own him on the next round I am so sending him to Hell.” God said.
I did this sort of inner laugh as I thought it over. Sirmans and Patrick were too busy kneeling before the Glory of the Almighty to help me out as I rolled it over. I thought about it for a second and then the answer came to me.
“Why don’t you just put in the God code?” I asked.
“Do what?” God responded.
“Dude, just put in the God code. I mean you are the supreme being of the Universe, just put in the God code and that little squirt from Buffalo New York won’t be able to get within twenty miles of you online.” I replied.
God looked over his shoulder a few times to make sure the Cheribums weren’t around.
“Hey, if I put that code in you aren’t going to tell anyone are you? I mean I don’t want to cheat but this little shit from New York really has me razzled.” God inquired.
I looked over at my friends, still reeling from being dead.
“Can we take care of this first, please?”
“Oh yeah, sure. No problem, what’s up?”


…And on the eighth day…

“Well me and my friends just died in a car crash but we weren’t quite done saving America. It’s kind of something important to us and we really wanted to pull that off, so do you think you could just send us back where we left off so we can get on that?” I asked.
God put the controller on the side of his throne and stepped over to his coffee bar and made a caramel macchiato. As always, I waited for him to finish off the cream on top. God loves the cream on top of a good caramel macchiato.
“I guess, man. I mean if I send you back again do you think you can pull it off this time?”
“I think so. These are good guys, I think we can manage.”
“Alright then, but look, if you guys die again in between me kicking this kids ass from Buffalo New York, do you think you can just go to customer service and have your re-ups done there? I mean I like it when you stop in but it’s really cutting into my video game time. And you know they aren’t going to remember any of this, right?” God said.
I shake my head in agreement. God smiles and waves his hand. The next thing I know is that I’m beside the road with Jason Patrick and Curtis Sirmans…and we are not dead. Well perhaps we are, but those two have no idea it happened. It takes moment to reestablish where I am at but once I do I have to smile.


D.L. Crumpton

D.L. Crumpton

At some point in your life you have to pick a death where you leave it all behind. You have to choose that moment when you are done going over past mistakes and past tribulations and say to yourself “This is the moment I move forward. This is the moment I am born again.” The moment I stepped out of that car and my feet touched concrete, I myself decided this was that moment for me. Everything I was before was gone, everything I had was up in a puff of smoke. As Radiohead would say; “In the next world war, a jack knifed juggernaut; I am born again.” And so I was, born again so to speak. Without a test pattern existence of routine in waking up, going to work, paying my taxes hanging over me I felt as if something new was about to happen. I felt like a brand new man. Though that brand new man would have neck and back problems for a while, it was still worth it just to put the past behind me.
“You guys want to file a report?” Jason Patrick asks.
I look over at Sirmans who could give one less of a crap than me.
“Nah, let’s keeping going.”

So there you go. The crew of Zen In The Car T.V. crashed right after the website. Read into that what you will. Did we have a meeting with God? Well that I leave to you. You can either believe it or not. If we didn’t, then we are all collectively ingenious. If we did then we are all collectively touched by the Divine. Either way, we hope that this next year you enjoy ZENINTHECAR.COM, and maybe you’ll learn a thing or two so you can help us to revolve this Revolution. The next phase is sure to have many a thrills, chills, and near death experiences but for some reason or another we feel it will all be worth it. With new contributors coming to the site in both the written word as well as video, surely 2014 will be a year to remember. Of course before we begin this mutual journey we have to let you in on a little piece of advice; the best time to stop a car crash is right before it happens and if you are destined for a head on collision then its best you trust in your last line of defense and pray that airbag saves your life. Namaste.


Here Comes the Flood: A Sit Down With Daniel Louis Crumpton Part Three


Daniel Louis Crumpton

Then Came the Flood, Daniel Louis Crumpton’s latest novel, is now on sale in hard back, soft back and of course all your digital e-reading thingies. You may purchase your copy right this very moment at thencametheflood.com. You do not even have to actually type it in your task bar, though that is an option if you prefer to do it the more difficult way. We here at Zeninthecar.com are kind, caring and considerate enough to know that your time is precious and every second counts; so to that effect we lovingly turned the colored lettering above into what is called a link which requires little more than your clicking. You are very welcome. To read part two of this interview click here. Below is the conclusion of Dorian Flagg’s interview with Daniel Louis Crumpton.

Dorian: It takes quite a bit of work to take what you’re trying to communicate; you know basically images and shapes in your head, and write them or type them out so that you can sort of-download your thoughts into the minds of other people and together you can see the same thing-share the same story. It’s really grueling work. I know as a writer myself. You have to build what you’re writing brick by brick and one out of place can just bring the whole thing crashing down. I know how you want to pull your hair out sometimes just trying to get a piece started; fighting with where to start or where to end. Now I sort of stick with the short prose approach and of course commentary but couldn’t fathom something the size of a novel.

D.L. Crumpton: It’s like looking up at Mount Everest.

Dorian: Well put.

D.L. Crumpton: Thank you. One tries.

Dorian: I’m fascinated to know what some of the foundations for the book were. What inspired it? What elements do you have woven in it and why, things like that? What personal touches did you put on it? I know this has to be brief and condensed thing because you have to go in a minute, don’t you?

D.L. Crumpton: I’m always going it seems.

Dorian: Doesn’t just seem. It is.

D.L. Crumpton: It’s okay though, I have a few minutes.

Dorian: Alright; but anyway what got you started on the whole thing?

D.L. Crumpton: Really, I think one of the cornerstones of Then Came the Flood was the Book of Enoch. Now, I don’t think that the Book of Enoch should be included in the sixty six books of the Bible…

Dorian: That would make sixty seven.

D.L. Crumpton: Ha, ha…but anyway. I do however find the very existence of the Book of Enoch extremely compelling. After reading it you have one of two choices I think and those two choices are predicated on the fact that this is a very ancient document for starters. That being said you have to ask yourself if this is just some story conjured up by someone living way back when that put a spin on the Genesis six flood passages, or if this thing is actually an eyewitness account. Have fun with those two ideas because now they’re yours. Either road you take from there has a lot more questions on the other side of the door because on one hand you have to ask if this was just some work of fiction regardless of intent to pass off as scripture or not; which raises the question of what would have came into the mind of the author back then to conjure this story up all those years ago? I mean the Book of Enoch reads very technical, and very scientific at times and it just boggles the mind because you know they dug this thing up out in a desert somewhere stuffed in a clay jar or something.

Dorian: And on the other hand?

D.L. Crumpton: On the other hand it’s a piece to a very big puzzle that most people don’t even realize when they’re reading Genesis chapter six and if you jump over it or breeze by it you miss out on a whole lot of really juicy stuff when interpreting such a magnificent document as the Bible.

Dorian: I know you hold it in high regards, is that why you picked that kind of-I don’t know what the word is-world-to put your story in?


Rise of the Watchers

D.L. Crumpton: It is. I just imagined, one day after doing exhaustive research on the internet, what it would have been like to see the world the research had taken me to. If there really use to be these Watchers that came down and just messed this whole planet up into you know, like, Peter Pan’s worst nightmare or something; what would it have been like? What would it have been like to see a fire breathing dragon, or a satyr, or some crazy crap like that? And when people think about things like that they kind of do it in a sparkly Disney way but these documents paint something much darker than that. Something much more textured, emotional and conflicted. You know the Bible has those things in there. It talks about the leviathan and the unicorn, the satyr and angels with keys and pits and whatnot. So when you read things like that, and make it come alive in your head it’s just…well it’s just the greatest story ever told. It’s tragic but has hope. It has the greatest icon of evil in it but it also has the greatest icon of good too. I mean, the Bible is so layered and encoded that it’s just this polished mirror that you can look into and see right back into your own soul. Some people don’t approach it that way and that’s fine I’m not going to crush anyone’s free will. But I can say that for me; it’s very oracular to say the least when I ponder my own life in its context. I wanted to try and shoot rubber bands at the moon when Then Came the Flood was in embryo stage and sort of pay homage to what such brilliant men penned those ages ago.

Dorian: What about the main character, Chema? He seems to be the needle on the record in the book. The fictitious goggles the reader looks through really. What elements did you construct him with?

D.L. Crumpton: A good bit of him is my dad.

Dorian: Enough said. I knew him so I get the depth of that.


Myron J. Crumpton

Myron J. Crumpton

D.L. Crumpton: Yeah, Chema drips of my dad in the book in certain spots. It’s a shame too because I would have loved to have shared like, an inside joke kind of moment, had he read some of those things. We would have gotten a real good chuckle out of them together, but…hey.

Dorian: Now you started Then Came the Flood before he passed…

D.L. Crumpton: Finished it too.

Dorian: But he didn’t get to read it?

D.L. Crumpton: He got as far as the dedication. That was enough for me. You know what I mean? I mean I was able to put a finished manuscript in his hand; something I created, something I brought into existence and say “Look what I did, Dad.”

Dorian: So it never bothered you that he didn’t actually get to read the story?

D.L. Crumpton: No, not really. They have books where he’s at. It has been a little emotional for me though since we are coming up on the anniversary of his death though. I know he sees me, I know he knows how much I’ve been able to accomplish with all the limitations in my life; personal vices and things of that nature, but it still would’ve been nice to see those great, big hands of his thumbing through the pages while he sipped his morning coffee. Of course I believe those on the other side aren’t really as distant and unreachable as we have been lead to believe and from time to time I get a little nudge from the Universe to let me know how proud he is of me. To tell you the truth I actually think that my Dad pulled a lot of strings these past couple of years to help me realize my dream of becoming published because too many perfect coincidences fell in front of me that simply defy all probability. When I look back at those events it sort of takes the feeling of absence away because now I feel like he is really here with me now more than ever.

Dorian: What aspects of your Dad are hard wired into the character of Chema? I mean obviously your Dad didn’t go around hunting nephilim.

D.L. Crumpton: Wouldn’t surprise me, he did just about everything else. My Dad was a veteran of the Korean War and the Vietnam War; first in the Navy then in the Air Force. While we were going through some of his papers after he passed we found out he was involved in some of the heaviest sea battles in the Korean War and quite a few scrapes during Vietnam but I would’ve never known that while he was alive. He and I were very close and we talked about everything together but in all my discussions with him he never talked about any of it. When the topic of war came up the only thing I ever got out of him was; “War is hell son, war is hell”. That was enough for me to understand that even someone as patriotic as he is thought that there had to be a better way of resolving differences rather than resorting to violence. Whenever he and I would talk about spirituality together it would always end with him saying “I believe in a God, but one thing I don’t understand is if there is a God why is there so much suffering in the world?” and that really troubled him. It troubled me too because I really couldn’t give him an answer before he died, and I so very much wanted to.

Dorian: Can you now?

D.L. Crumpton: I did actually. After he died I set out on a quest of sorts to find an answer for him. I made it my holy grail to find out for him; you know to sort of put that to rest. When I finally found the answer I went to his grave with my brother, lit some incense and said a little prayer to Heaven and watched it drift up to his nostrils in the sky; so to speak.

Dorian: What was your answer to him?

D.L. Crumpton: I said “Daddy, the reason there is suffering in the world is because there is suffering within” and that settled it.

Dorian: …Wow…that’s deep.

D.L. Crumpton: Truth is deep so the shallow can’t touch it, Dorian. But to answer your question, that was the main strain of my Dad’s DNA that makes up Chema. Chema was once a peaceful man but the problem of evil and suffering just overshadows him and he hasn’t been able to shake it. He’s become indifferent towards God because of the personal pain he harbors due to loss and it’s just turned him into this completely wrathful sort of a man. He’s bitter and he’s hardened but underneath all of that his heart has always pumped virtue and the story follows him along to see if somehow his endings will finally be his beginnings, or if the violence inside him will take him to his final destruction.

Dorian: That sounded like a movie trailer.

D.L. Crumpton: Maybe, but I can’t change my voice to the same pitch as the movie trailer voice over guy.

One Winged Angel

One Winged Angel

Dorian: One of the fascinating aspects, I thought anyway, is this idea of angels coming down to earth because of woman. If you just slap at that idea it doesn’t really make that much sense. Especially if you have images of angels from a classical period stuck in your head, but in your book this concept is taken very seriously. Could you get into that, the pull of otherworldly beings willing to fall for women?

D.L. Crumpton: Yeah, well that’s the catalyst of the drama in the story. I’m like you because when you dig into this type of research into ancient mythology and comparative religion, this is an event that is agreed upon by every slice of human civilization. Something or someone came down to this Earth, be they angels, aliens or demons; and they did it for the purpose of procreation. That’s just everywhere you look in history. Call them the Olympians, call them the titans, the Watchers or whatever you can fit in your buggy but something happened in our collective history as a human race.

Dorian: And all because of those rascally women.

D.L. Crumpton: Don’t go down that path, I want the ladies to read the book too, man.

Dorian: Sorry, my indiscretion. Now, you didn’t go down the interpretation of this being more scientific rather than romantic; as in this reads more like a tragic love story more than it does a science fiction type epic. Was there a reason for that?

D.L. Crumpton: Because I don’t think that this event, by however you want to define it, was just done in a way without emotion. Granted, in the case of the Watchers in my book they fell from their place in heaven because of the lust of women, but lust can be a very strong and destructive emotion. Now sit that to the side for a minute…

Dorian: Sitting it to the side right here.

D.L. Crumpton: Thank you. Anyway, regardless of the fact that these beings disobeyed God for a negative emotion; there certainly was emotion there and to me that’s just the pull of the whole mythos I tried to build here. I mean to me when I contemplate supernatural beings, or supernal beings being willing to fall from heaven…literally…all because of women down here on Earth. That’s a notion I can’t quite get my head around because you would think the idea to be absurd if logic was all you went by. What in creation would provoke an angel in heaven, privy to the secrets of the Universe and able to perform miracles, into forsaking all that glory for a woman? Doesn’t seem logical. Doesn’t seem reasonable at all unless you completely toss out reason and understand that the only logical explanation is that the decision wasn’t made based on logic at all. It was emotion. It’s just one of those concepts that have made me stay up late at night in deep, deep contemplation because the only way you can even begin to imagine such an event is with the right brain; you know what I mean?

Dorian: Yeah but look what happened, man, everything went wrong and the whole planet turned on its side. Was this a statement you were trying to make too, or was it just your perception of how this event happened, given it happened at all?

D.L. Crumpton: It was my perception of how it happened in that instant in time, yes.

Dorian: You mean the event recorded in the Bible regarding the flood?

D.L. Crumpton: Yeah, when otherworldly beings came down that time it didn’t work out so good and that’s the crux of Chema’s agenda in the book. Lust can bring an end to the world if you really think about it. But if we realize that then the obvious answer to such a problem is Love can save it.

Dorian: That time?

D.L. Crumpton: Oh, Then Came the Flood may hone in on one of the earliest interactions with these beings, but that certainly wasn’t the only time angels or avatars interacted. That motif is spread throughout all the world’s religions and mythologies too. Many of them are actually some of the best love stories ever written and unfortunately there aren’t enough people out there who know about them.

Dorian: Throw one out there?

D.L. Crumpton: Oh, I don’t know if I should because it’s a controversial one.

Dorian: You seriously just said that to me?

D.L. Crumpton: Sorry, trying to get my book out and don’t need the static if you know what I mean.

Dorian: Man, it’s just me.

D.L. Crumpton: Yeah, I know but some people don’t like to hear other people’s interpretations of things because they feel threatened by it and sometimes it’s just not worth the headache because people are on different levels, if you get my meaning, and a lot of folks aren’t where they need to be with new ideas.

Dorian: But it’s controversial.

D.L. Crumpton: Oh, well since you put it that way…

Dorian: That’s all I had to say?

D.L. Crumpton: I think so, yeah.

Dorian: Man you’re a tough nut to crack.

D.L. Crumpton: Naw, I’m an open book. But to answer your question there’s this really enthralling story among non canonical books of Mary the Magdalene and Yeshua that turns some heads if you talk about it in some circles, but I don’t really care if the story is true or not, the thought of it happening is still quite moving to me.

Dorian: I’ve heard this mentioned before but only in a disdainful sort of tone.


Mary Magdalene and Daniel Louis

Mary Magdalene and Daniel Louis

D.L. Crumpton: Well of course because it ruffles up some orthodox doctrine and I think that’s okay because it’s time for that to happen, but the story is really about Mary Magdalene and her extraordinary journey which ended at the feet of Yeshua. According to the texts Sophia, which is the feminine spirit of wisdom, falls into the Earth and becomes exiled here and Mary the Magdalene had become the living breathing incarnation of this spirit. In the story Mary is very much like that because her story is just so damned tear jerking. She was born into the world the same time as Yeshua, but just in a perfectly opposite situation. One was spiritual from the beginning but born to material parents and the other was born to spiritual parents but found more interest in the material and the two are in a way destined to ultimately come together. While Yeshua was becoming more and more spiritual, Mary was falling into more and more material as the story goes while Yeshua was becoming more educated in teachings of the known world which pulled him closer to his spirituality his ministry began with Mary’s downfall. Since Mary the Magdalene was born with such physical beauty she became more of an asset in a male dominated world and it was more of a curse for her than a blessing.

Dorian: So she never used her looks in the way the women from your novel did?

D.L. Crumpton: Oh no, the spectrum was quite the opposite because those women were getting the world in exchange for their spirit because their beauty could cash any check but as the story goes this was just something that was anathema to Mary because all she really wanted a man to see was the inner beauty which was much more valuable to her than kingdoms of gold. Of course that didn’t come so easy. Her father married her off for money and power and along the way to her new life she and her handmaids were raided by bandits. Mary was raped, beaten and taken to a brutal king’s land where she was made a queen, yet more of a trophy wife than anything. The wealthy king thought of her as property so the forced marriage was a type of soul stripping for the Magdalene and it turned her into a very angry and bitter person. All she wanted from her youth was to be loved on a …and I love this word…supernal level; but no matter how hard she wanted it no one could look into her eyes the way she truly wanted them to.

Dorian: Depressing.

D.L. Crumpton: I told you it was a tear jerker. It gets better though, but of course not before it got worse. Mary plotted to free herself of the bondage she was in, she planned to have her husband killed in order to make him feel the pain she had felt by being married to him and after she managed to pull off her revenge it back fired on her spirit and consumed her with guilt, because she knew deep down inside of her heart that her true nature was to never hurt a living soul. So she went on this rapid downward spiral into prostitution where her worst nightmare came true. Instead of one true love, she was surrounded by men who not only wanted her for her beauty, but were lacking in moral enough to throw money at her for it. Of course no tragic love story is complete without a Divine intervention and in Mary the Magdalene’s case she was instructed to go back to Israel where she happened to hear the charismatic Yeshua teaching the masses. Of course anyone who listened to Yeshua was pulled in by his words because you know someone’s heart by the words that come out of their mouth and his heart was, by that time, completely pure and filled with knowledge and life. Mary never considered that a little while after hearing him speak she would be tossed in front of him by the religious people of the day to await judgment.

Dorian: That would be when the Pharisees were tossing their stones up in the air?

D.L. Crumpton: Yeah, those pesky religious bigots. It seems that wherever Truth is being spoken there is always a flock of wolves waiting to pick the flesh off the bones of the innocent with their ignorant judgment of other human beings.

Dorian: I’d like to think Yeshua knelt down and wrote ‘Kiss my ass’ in the sand.

D.L. Crumpton:(smiles) My thoughts exactly; and in a way he did. He told everyone around her to cast the first stone and all that lingo and after they all walked away with the down turned smile, he put out his hand and called her his bride. Which is where you get into the controversial part because most of your orthodox religions don’t want to hear about Yeshua perhaps having a wife, but as I said earlier, that’s really neither here nor there. He tells her that she’s his wife and of course Mary doesn’t want to believe it because she feels like she’s tainted or tarnished in some way because of her past.

Dorian: I can see that. She probably thought Yeshua was on some sort of higher level than her and she wasn’t worthy or that maybe she would bring him down somehow.

IMG_0511D.L. Crumpton: Who knows, but in all honesty they were on the same level in a type of dance. I imagine the two of them were a little put off by the connection. I don’t think it would’ve been easy for him to accept it either at first, but that might just be me reading into the story. Either way, Yeshua tells her that her past is her past and in his eyes she’s nothing less than a pure virgin and from there the two finish the mission of the Christ and Sophian spirit together which as we know brings about salvation for all mankind.

Dorian: Well that doesn’t seem to stray too awful far from orthodox beliefs, so I don’t know why a story like that would offend folks.

D.L. Crumpton: Well after you throw in there that the two of them had a daughter named Sophia, some people just flip out. Saying he was married is one thing, married another, but that …wait for it…he actually had sex…well that’s just too unbelievable to take in for a lot of people. Now I’m not saying that’s the literal history of what happened, though I’m very open to evidence of it, but at the end of the day the story is just magical and too profound to be ignored because of religious taboos. To me it puts any other love story to shame because we are basically talking about the Son of God and the Daughter of God finding each other after years and years of searching. Who wouldn’t want that?

Dorian: You planning on writing a book about that too? Sounds like something that really has you captivated.

D.L. Crumpton: I don’t know, never say never though. I’m a sucker for romanticism and that kind of runs through a lot of my work, especially Then Came the Flood. Of course I don’t want to talk about it too much or it might ruin the ending.

Dorian: Yeah, I wouldn’t want you to do that either. The ending is a roller coaster of epic.

Daniel Louis and his Mom, Betty Lou Crumpton

Daniel Louis and his Mom, Betty Lou Crumpton

D.L. Crumpton: Thanks, glad to hear you enjoyed it. I didn’t really plan for the thing to come out near this time of year with valentine’s day around the corner and all but I find the synchronicity of it rather fitting with my Dad passing and all and us sitting here talking about love stories both tragic and hopeful. I know we have talked about it before but the last errand I ran for him the day before he passed was getting my mother flowers and candy for him because he was in too much pain to go himself, those kind of memories make the release of my book all the more satisfying for me because it’s another one of those nudges from the Universe because I’ve always seen the Love affair between my Mom and Dad epic in its own way. So its good. It feels good to have this thing published around this time of year.

Dorian: Tends to be a lot of those nudges around all of us nuts here. Anyway, so the book is on sale now, right?

D.L. Crumpton: Yeah, Thencametheflood.com has it for sale with links to Amazon and of course it should be on sale here at Zeninthecar.com, so the only thing left to do is people start flipping pages.

Dorian: Sounds good, now you gotta go?

D.L. Crumpton: Yeah, gotta go.

Dorian: It’s been fun, thanks for shooting the breeze with me. Hopefully we can do it again soon.

D.L. Crumpton: You never know.


IMG_0487Then Came the Flood can be purchased on Zeninthecar.com in the bookstore and thencametheflood.com. Daniel Louis Crumpton’s new novel is available in hard back, soft back, and electronic form on most online bookstores such as amazon.com or barnesandnobles.com. Make sure to order your copy now in the format of your choice and help artists and activists such as myself, Daniel Louis, and all the other contributors to Zeninthecar.com. You are free to put it off if you wish but we really don’t see why you would do that since you already intend on reading the thing…stop putting it off and just click some links so this compilation of Bright Shining Words begins running across your eyes in a matter of moments. Be well.