Finding My BLISS

   Finding MY BLISS

     It was Joseph Campbell, the great Mythologist who said,  “Follow your bliss and the universe will open doors for you where there were only walls.”   Twenty years ago I had no idea what ‘ Bliss’ was for I had never heard that term before and probably could had cared less. According to Campbell ‘bliss’ is a term for finding what makes you the happiest and doing it. It is much more complicated or deeper than that but that is the gist of it.

    But if there was ever a man who understood the twisted world of myth’s and their applications to man in general it was Joseph Campbell. Unless you have studied the complicated world of myths you do not realized how twisted a universe it is in terms of depth and meaning. But that is not my point today. I am locking onto ‘finding your bliss’ because there is a story behind it, a story of discovery.

   Twenty years ago I was in deep turmoil artistically. I was in the mist of raising two kids and dealing with tons of financial issues. I had spent the best part of my life trying to find a niche in the art world in what I was specifically interested in, which was basically history. At that particular time I was mostly interested in doing colored pencil artwork of WW 2 aircraft. Despite my best efforts it was all coming to naught.  I was a fairly decent artist but admittedly nothing special. I had a imagination but not quite the equal in skill to back it up. Then one day after spinning my wheels for what seemed forever I gave it all up and told God (yes the big guy) that I was tired of struggling and beating my head against the wall. If He wanted me to be doing something else then He needed to hit me over the head with it, cause I quit. And I tossed all of my artwork and tools and went to work in the yard (which badly needed it) and the family.

  About a year later, in 1993 I had recently convinced my 12 year old son to go into scouts. My father had been an assistant scout master and had put all three of us boys through scouts though none of us ever made eagle. I loved scouting.  The first troop my son joined collapsed shortly after he joined them. A few months later we found another new troop 336 of the Keller district. The troop was only about 6 months old when he joined.  I had sworn to avoid being a doting father and had no plans of becoming involved with the troop other than just daddy function. I wanted my son to develop some skills on his own without me hovering over him and to have some of his own fun.

     But then I heard that they were going to Worth Ranch. A Scout camp out by Palo Pinto. I had gone there and even spent several summer camps over the years when I was a scout. I loved Worth Ranch. I begged to go and the Tony and Carl ( Tony was Scoutmaster and Carl Asst.) and they welcomed me. Understand that this was the first time I had been camping with scouts in over 20 years.  My wife and I had camped off and on over the years with the kids but nothing fancy. For those who have been to the top of Mt. Kyle where HUGO’s crack is at (as it is so fondly called out at Worth) they know that it is no mountain but a very steep hill and fairly high for sure. With a full back pack it is a tough climb. I was not properly prepared to ascend and most of my stuff fell apart before I was half way up.  In fact none of the adults were very impressive at that point in time. We were all heaving and sucking for oxygen as if we were ascending the Himalayas. Pretty sad.  Anyway that night the boys had built a camp fire down at the base of the hill to serve as our main campfire. It was an absolutely gorgeous night. Not a cloud in the sky and no moon. That night the Milky Way stood out like a Van Gogh painting, scattering billions of brilliant dots of lights all across the sky.  The boys got up and did skits, songs and stories around the camp fire  and of particular notice was the story of Hugo, our local monster of Worth Ranch. A story that our scout masters had told us when we were kids. Something inside me was going off sounding alarm bells and screaming inside my head. While I Listened, I was formulating my own version of the story of Hugo in my head based on how our scoutmasters told it to us when we were kids. I was in a battle as to whether to tell it or to let it go. The urge to tell was overwhelming to say the least…..

   In the last couple of years preceding this event,  I had been seeing articles in our local newspaper about a new annual event in Denton Texas called a ‘Storytelling Festival’.  Every time I saw that advertisement I had this incredible urge that I needed to go there and to see this. I can’t even begin to tell you how strong that urge was. I remember even telling my wife about it. This festival run by the Tejas Storytelling Association had been running since 1984. Every year that I saw that add, that same voice kept calling to me. Go..Go… but I didn’t. Mostly because I was a coward.

   That night as the fire had burned down to coals and surrounded by the woods and the night I told my version of the story of Hugo in 1st person. I really had no idea what I was doing but I told the perfect story that night. I managed to scare the crap out of a bunch of teenagers and a couple of cubs that happen to be along that night for the camp out. I feared that I had done something terrible but I had loved it so much. There is more to this story but essentially the fall out was that all the boys who had intended to sleep out under the starts with just a blanket suddenly found their father’s tents or huddled together for safety in numbers as close to the adult tents as they could. My own son slipped past me into my tent and went to sleep faster than I had ever seen him do in my life. He probably figured if I thought he was asleep I wouldn’t drag him out.  Later I figured I would catch it from Tony and Carl but to my surprise they laughed so hard they couldn’t contain their glee.

   There is a lot more to this story but basically the short of it all is that a few months later I became the 2nd Asst scoutmaster of the troop and the boys continued to ask me to tell stories. Sometimes I did good and sometimes not but after a while I began to figure out what I had done that first night and became better and better. This is where Tony , Carl and the adults of 336 at  that time were so helpful. They could had said ’no more’ or tried to restrict me but didn’t.  In fact they encourage me and because of this I grew as a storyteller. Shortly before I resigned as Asst. Scoutmaster in 97 I discovered the Tarrant Area Guild of Storytellers and with the help of a special few mainly Helen Garrison ( Granny G)  and Margaret Harkness, I found myself growing even more as a teller.   Eventually I turned this skill into a paying skill and I have traveled all over Texas since 1999 performing at schools and festival and in civic functions and on occasion some private functions. I am recognized as a talented ghost story teller and performer in general. Some folk call me a master storyteller. A term I do not take lightly.

  On the night of Sept. 18 1993 I did not realize what had happened out at Worth Ranch but God had answered my prayers. Doors would open and I went through. That inner voice that had been bugging me finally got through these thick walls and found a home.  I had found my bliss. I went home as excited as a school boy after the camp out, telling my wife all about it. It was as if I had found a long lost friend. I had never enjoyed anything (almost anything ) as much as I had this experience. It had been thrilling beyond my imagination. It would change my life and I haven’t stopped since.

  This Sept. 18, 2013 marks the 20th Anniversary of that night out on Kyle. That was the night that I found my BLISS and haven’t look back since then. Thank You God for answering my prayers. Thank you my wife for putting up with me. Thank you Carl and Tony for your support and thank you to the  boys of 336 (all adults now) for listening and encouraging me. And lastly especially thank you Joe for becoming a scout.

Gary Whitaker ,  The Storyman     08/01/2013