Hey man,

It’s been a long time since I have written you. I’m not sure if it’s because it’s painful to write to your dead brother, or if it’s because this blog is important to me, and sometimes I avoid the difficult yet important things that need to be done. Maybe it’s because I don’t know what to say. If you were here, I wouldn’t be trying to engage in some deeply profound conversation with you. I’d want to just see you and to talk to you about fucking anything. And I guess that’s maybe part of the reason that I have been avoiding writing at all. I feel like I have to have something useful or profound to say for it to be important or relevant to other people. I feel like I have to be writing something that contributes to the greater good.

It fucking sucks. I don’t want to be good or even to be great, I just want to live! And maybe greatness will come from that, if not, fuck it. I want to write because I love to write, not because I am good at it. I want to write because I love to craft and employ words for my own health, not because I can monetize it. Needing to have something to say all the time becomes exhausting. Ironically having to have something to say, actually lends to having less to say. Because when I refuse to speak or write unless it’s of great profundity, I rob myself of the opportunity to express and explore myself, my words, and my life, and therefore epiphany becomes less frequent. It’s semi-obvious to me that this stems from a perfectionist mindset that then creates unattainable internal standards. “If I can’t be the best, I simply won’t do it.” Wow. How many times has that mindset stopping me from doing what I want to do? Failure is inevitable, why don’t I just front load it into my experience, and get it over with? It’s going to happens regardless. Why not use it to my advantage?

I guess I also struggle to write these because my feelings for you and surrounding your death are so deep and complex, I am often rendered ineffable. But, I think that’s an even better reason to keep going. A better reason to relax the lips, and kiss the flickering flame with subtle breath, motivating it to burn a little while longer. It doesn’t need to rage, roil, or boil, it just needs to stay lit, silently whispering, “I Am.”

I am opening up the Brother, Blog up to all of the proverbial brothers of this planet at this time. I will of course still be writing to you, but in so doing I will also be writing to myself, our others brothers, our fathers, and our grandpapas. I’ve learned that writing to you has ultimately become a way of writing to myself. It has become very therapeutic. Maybe my words and ideas can do the same for someone else. Maybe during this process of self-discovery through journalistic monologue, I can create a blue print. A map that guides others to the treasure of their soul. Fuck, that was cheesy as shit. I remember you used to say things just as cheesy. I’d call you corny. You’d say “Don’t you know man, I’m King Corn.” Your whimsicality sticks in my mind like gum to a shoe. Anyways, I’m not going to forget you. Of course, all that I do I will always carry you. I simply want to open this medicine to the rest of the world. Because now that you’re gone, I see I have to take this opportunity to connect with the brothers I still have left, for now is all we have, and we are all we have now.

P.S. Flathead Valley Mens Circle coming soon.

Deeply and Humbly yours,

Brother Dillan