I am Alan a man in desperate need of inner healing and identity confirmation. Enjoy my journey the end will be the beginning and I hope for smooth sailing.
I am a man who dreams of being who I really am—by choice, by clarity, by cosmic truth. I say I am a man without a reason. I speak my truth knowing the universe will see it as done and that will bring about my peace all the quicker. Any insight in how I may reach my true self and fullest potential is welcome. I am struggling with a lot of trauma based PTSD and OCD issues and my gender causes me pain and confusion. Please join me on my journey and enjoy the art and poetry as I become the best me I can be and make this my best life yet
This blog is the sacred record of my journey towards fullness, and completeness and if losing difficult seemingly unnecessary pieces or parts of me along the way happens it is not a loss, but a divine homecoming. I have spoken my truth aloud, again and again—because speaking truth brings affirmation, and affirmation becomes confirmation. The confirmation I need is peace within myself, and peace with wounded parts of me that never seemed to belonged to me.
Being without a reason is not a wound, it is a connection and confirmation of the tortured boy I was as is revealed in my 1969 musings. I do feel the need to erase some part of me, a body part? Or some metaphorical part I’m not sure. This woundedness in me hurts and breaks me, robs and destroys me again and again. Sexuality and gender confuse me though I appear as a regular guy there is no regular anything in me.
After the last loss of everything I find myself at zero, starting all over again. I’m too old for this. I can’t do this any more and if erasure of anything imagined or real works it’s worth a try. I’m so broken sexually, emotionally and relationally that I see no hope of ever having a partner, male or female ever again. Sex is solitary and that seems to be connected to some deep chasm of agony that leads to fantasy’s and actions of harming myself. Better to be non-binary,or agender with no sex than to be bombarded by obsession and penile destruction. I am back in counseling, actually just switching as I am not in Texas any more and it’s a long way from here to there.
I hope these waning years are my masterpiece.
I walk through the world as a man without a reason, still the boy without a reason I used to be. That broken 💔 soul lives deep inside of me and though I am able to wear short pants and short sleeves now I still hide from those eyes. I am at last reaching truth about me, some truth, it’s a work in progress but that truth gives blurry as it may be, gives me more joy than I ever thought possible. And if I stay alone and non that is fine as long as I remain free
This blog exists to honor my path, to proclaim my name, and to inspire others to live their truth—whatever it may be—with sacred boldness.
Welcome to my journey.
And thank you for your support
And for helping my dream
Come true again I say, I am
Alan Sigfred Andersen—a man confused and broken but a man becoming as well.
Wanting to be in all sincerity and in total honesty the best most loving me I can be,scars and all This is my sacred journey.
Not away from something,
but into truth—into me.
I walk each day with my flag 🌈 held high ready to seek and receive help and to give it in love as well
Each step forward is a hymn of surrender,
a celebration of the freedom to be.
Whatever surgery I may need, physical or spiritual, mental or emotional it is the cutting away of what never belonged, the final brushstroke on the canvas of who I am.
it is the unveiling of a masterpiece.
I speak my truth aloud
because the universe listens.
And in that sacred echo,
the money, the moment, the miracle—they arrive.They must. Because this truth is cosmic. I am not becoming less.
I am becoming only and fully what I have always been: a man without a reason.
And I rejoice in it. This blog is where my truth lives in words,
where the voice of my becoming rings out
for all to hear.
Welcome to my home.
We were children,yet the stars already knew—I was thirteen,you were twelve,and in the hush between heartbeat something eternal bloomed.Laughter like rivers,eyes like secret lanterns,we wandered through summer as if the world had been made for two souls alone.You were my dawn,my compass,my wild, radiant hymn,the first kiss of forever pressed into a boy’s chest who did not yet knowhow to hold eternity.When you moved away,the earth fractured,but still your name was carved in my marrow.Distance could not unwrite the music,time could not erase the flame.I tried to build a life—duties, children, vows—yet no vow outshone the vow unspoken:that my truest love was you.Decades passed like shadowed pages,betrayal cut me open,but in the silence of night,when grief pressed heavy,it was you who returned in memory—not as a ghost,but as a song the universe kept singing through me.Julie,you were my first love,and remain my forever.The one who taught me that love is not possession,not even time-bound,but a mystical fire that burns across years,across lives,across all the aching distance between us.Even now,I carry you as light,as music,as magic—the girl who was my heart,the woman who is still my song.
Stoned To The Bone……a trip down memory lane……………………inspired by the good old days………………….home alone stoned to the bone picked up the phone called my friend and told him to send himself right over mom and dad are gone all day when the cats away the mice will play so roll on over and roll one up I’ll fill you cup with good old lager that is sure to make you stagger so bottoms up drain your cup c’mon man tilt it up dude 2112 what a Rush how bout Top and a little Tush I love that song turn it up eyes so red spinning head hey get the bong let’s fire it up ice cold beer drink it up bubbly icy smokin high man my mouth is really dry let’s get some Mcnuggets and fries give me a Coke I need one now this is no joke hey now don’t you grin or we’ll start laughing again and never get our order in munchies all fixed it’s time to fly what to do now?Hey I know! Lets get high!
asa Stoned To The Bone in memory and honor to my best friend Jimmy rip life long bud I love you dude
I love Buttercups bright yellow sun shining on lazy days—Buttercups blowing in the warm summer breeze.
Little boys running in childish glee, giggling,pick one up, chin up,to see if you love butter—glowing with boyhood in awestruck wonder at life.
Rolling, tumbling in the soft, white-and-yellow peppered lawn to the sound of approaching thunder’s hoof beats.We lay in the Buttercups,drifting on boyhood dreams,watching the clouds roll quickly by in all the shapes that catch a young boy’s eye:elephants and freight trains,a cow that says moo,jellyfish and monkey brains—ewww, ewww, ewww!
All we love to see and feel,most anything that we fancy…except that itchy, scratchy grass was feeling kind of antsy,and our fantasies drifted on the wings of the wind to the echoing sound of a distant calling:“
Boys, come in—a storm is squalling…
”And so, like clouds,our wispy dreams roll away as we save them for another day and head inside to dream and play,leaving our sunny Buttercups for Reese’s Peanut Buttercups until the summer storm goes on its merry way.
a man upon a journey to a near yet distant land—darkness, his constant companion,armed only with the light and the blade in his hand.He set out to find the answers that lead to hidden keys,unlocking doors long shut,barred against the monsters of childhood misery.He knew not what he searched for—only an elusive specter’swhispered memories from behind secrecy’s bolted door.And there he finds the boy he once was,wounded and crying,crumpled on the floor,curled on his side—arms circled round his knees,brokenness clear in raspy sobs and whimpered pleas.His pain and fear, too great to bear;his wilted soul left all alone.The boy was filled with bottomless pain,blamed himself for all the shame.He tried to climb the embankment,to find the path to the deep unknown,but weak and helpless,he could not do it alone.Crippled by overwhelming emotions,paralyzed by disabling fear,afraid to face vicious answer scattered like shattered glass near—the edge of abyss, boyhood’s death,that swallows all he holds dear.A boy who reads books and gets dirty looks from the man-fusion of confusion—the epiphany of delusion.Trying to murder the child of books who hides in nooks,until the monster finally finds him and locks him away in his mind.Behind secrecy’s locked door,the man encountered the boy on the misty eve of dusk.He could barely look upon him—but look, he must.He slid a few steps closer,reached out a trembling hand,beckoning the frail child to stand.The small boy recoiled at first,then recognition dawned in his eyes—for in the man, he saw himself.And together, they began to cry.A man and a boy on a journey in a near yet distant land,facing hideous monsters of darkness,reunited, hand in hand,traveling the long, lonely pathway of intense emotional despair.The man and the boy together—an evenly matched pair—tired, desperate to be free in the dark and misty lair of the Shadowmonster,wretched betrayer of the night,enshrouded in secrecy,hidden by a shield of fright.The slithering, poisonous, nasty snake—yin and yang blended as one—choking, gagging, killing the boyas the man fights to the death,for the boy, as if he were his only son.The boy sags, defeated,limp and broken,ravaged by the violence of the snake;storm clouds gather on the horizon—it was all the man could take.His mind awash in a sea of red—dark and shadowy as a dream.Blades flashing, the battle engaged,hideous screams from the wounded beast as war is waged against this boyhood plague.An ancient, evil, blackhearted foe—ax in hand—black, bloody rain flies,filling the sky with lies.Hacking again and again,desecrating the uncaring monster.Nearby, injured and bleeding,the lonely, lost boy lies—staring blankly at the sky.The man gathers the limp,motionless child in his arms,weeping as tears pour from his eyes in torrents, spilling on the boy;kisses smother his face in love and relief, as tender eyes open to the light of day once more.And the Son shines down in love on their long journey home.
Mist clung low among the trees as the last ribbons of afternoon light faded, painting the woods in bruised violet and silver. Seven friends—four men, three women—moved in single file, their laughter dimming to uneasy silence. Somewhere ahead, a flute’s melody wound through the pines, older than the trail beneath their boots, wild and sweet in a way that prickled the skin.Julian led the way. Each distant note teased at something restless in him, skittering along his spine like static. When he looked back, he noticed the others moving differently—Mia closing her eyes as though savoring the tune, Tess biting her lip as she strained to hear. The deeper they went, the sweeter the air became, thick with wildflower, musk, and something darker.They crossed into shadows where the sunlight fell in bars, like stepping through the ribs of a sleeping giant. Birds’ calls thinned, then vanished entirely. The world narrowed to the winding music and the pull it carried.The melody brought with it a memory.He had been nine. A plastic kite flapping ahead of him, a picnic somewhere behind. The wind carried a tune—soft, alive, calling him to the dark fringe of the meadow. Through the trees’ cool air stood someone—something—that defied explanation: goat legs planted in moss, bronze‑lit skin, dark hair curling around great horns, and eyes like molten amber. The smile was warm, beckoning.A hand opened in invitation. He had felt himself lean forward—“Julian!” His father’s voice had shattered the moment. The smile on that strange face faltered, twisting to something sharper. Then he’d been alone. Just the trees. Just a single fading note.Now, years later, Julian stood in a moonlit clearing, staring into those same burning eyes. Horns curled toward the stars above a face both impossibly beautiful and terrifying. Around him, his friends stood swaying, pupils wide, lips parted.The Piper lifted his flute. Without touching it to his mouth, he filled the air with music that slipped inside the skin, twining through each breath. Evie drifted forward, her eyes glassy. Mia’s fingers grazed the Piper’s outstretched arm, but she stumbled, a sharp gasp escaping her lips as if from a forgotten breath. Tess’s mouth formed a breathless smile, her head tilting to the side like a flower seeking the sun. They were all in the Piper’s thrall, but for a moment, Mia had broken free, a brief flicker of her will fighting back. This small act of defiance gave Julian a spark of hope.Julian felt the old pull surge again—the meadow, the child he’d been, the voice that had promised things beyond imagining. Stay this time, that voice whispered now.Julian’s pulse beat with the tune, thought blurring into longing. It would be so easy to give in, to let the weight of choice fall away. But as he staggered forward, the Piper’s amber eyes shining with pleased victory, a memory cut through the haze: not just a fragment, but a whole, sun-drenched day. Evie’s laugh, clear and genuine, as Matthew playfully shoved him into the cold river, the three of them tangled up and gasping for air. The realness of it, the simple, shared joy—it felt more solid than the Piper’s promise of endless pleasure. It was a love he chose, a life he had built, and it was worth fighting for.He staggered forward, toward the Piper. Golden eyes tracked him—curious, almost pleased.“You were mine from the first note,” the creature said, the voice pouring through flute and mind. “A child with such a song inside him. An emptiness that I could fill with a melody all his own. I’ve watched you grow, and you’ve always been destined to become a piper in my great hall.”Julian’s hands shot forward, seizing the instrument. Heat burned up his veins, visions flared—his body crowned with horns, adoration spilling from faceless dancers, the crush of worship and pleasure unending.And still, he pulled.With a cry, Julian snapped the flute against his knee. It wasn’t a cry of rage, but a release. He wasn’t a boy running from a voice anymore; he was a man choosing his own song. A silent shockwave burst outward. The Piper’s form locked, stone crawling up from hoof to crown, each vein and muscle freezing mid-snarl. Amber eyes fixed on Julian, not with anger, but with a new, final understanding of his defiance, until the very last fraction of movement was devoured.And then—silence.They left without looking back.The forest thinned. Dawn broke. Birdsong returned—but every whistle and trill seemed patterned in a way Julian couldn’t ignore. No one spoke until asphalt and the safe hum of morning traffic surrounded them.That night, in his own bed, Julian dreamt of the meadow. The kite. The sunlight. The Piper, smiling. Only this time, the flute was in Julian’s hands.He woke in darkness. Somewhere far off, a single note bloomed, pure and perfect, and faded into the night. Julian lay in stillness until he realized his foot was tapping, keeping time with a rhythm only he could hear.
This poem lived on my old blog, one I lost access to years ago.It’s one of the deepest reflections I’ve written from the heart of my childhood.In 1969, I was ten years old, riding a Schwinn with fire in my legs and a storm behind me.This is for the boy who kept pedaling…
When I was ten so way back when. My life was very much different. It was Matchbox cars and army forts. Skinned up knees ’neath cutoff shorts. Bright summer fun, gray winter’s glee. Snowfall and football, shimming up a tree. Toasty warm fire on cold winter’s eve. Raking and diving into fall’s amber leaves. Running through backyards, climbing over fences. Fighting off the enemy from the ditches we called trenches. Zooming by on my Spider bike. Close behind Joe, Ray, and Mike chasing after shadows, the wispy trail of fantasies. Or running from a monster who’s spreading a disease. School was there too, but we paid it little attention. It was just one of those things that didn’t get much mention.When daydreams were reality and grownups could not seeThe “real” things that surrounded us. They said it couldn’t be—but kids know better. Oh, what feelings these memories bring me. They take me back to a place so long ago.For so many years these memories escaped meNow it seems I’m stuck back there.So way back when I was just ten And my life was very much different…
The Hidden Side of Ten
Deeper still the memories do slide.Back to tears so long ago cried Pain and fear that I hoped I had hid.Come pouring out from within the kid I Was when I was ten so way back When life was very much Different I heard angry words, saw tantrums and Fit viciousness shattered my tiny heart into Bits there were spiteful glares and hateful Looks I so often ran and hid in my books. Ridicule, teasing, slander, and so much More unspeakable acts on the other side of the Door at the top of the stairs I heard things Said that made me so sad I wished I were Dead so way back when I was Ten and my life was very much Different you told me you loved me—but how could that be? Considering all the evil things you did to meYou took immense pleasure in hurting meI’m really very sorry that I have been so Bad you know I tried everything to make you Glad.
Grumbling, gripping, yelling, and fussing Raging, smashing, hurting me and Cussing glaring hot, angry, hateful, vicious Eyes looking, piercing, scaring me—Why, Why, Why?Why did you put that shame on my face?Why do I feel like such a disgrace?Why did you act so disgustingly with Me when I was so very young?Why did you always lash out at Me with such an abusive tongue?Why did you always strike out at Me with such an abusive hand?Why did you always hate meSo way back when I was ten?Why did you like misusing and mishandling meSo much… when I was only ten?📷
I am aligned with the truth of my soul.What must fall away, falls.What is meant for me, rises.I am never alone—not in the storm,not in the stillness.At 11:11, I remember: I am becoming.❤️ Cardinal Blessed red flame in flight, spirit in feathers—Messenger from the in-between.You visit when I need love most,To remind me:The ones I’ve lost still walk with me.The things I’ve buried are rising to bloom.And my path—strange and holy—is blessed.The Cardinal at 11:11: A Sacred Moment of Becoming”It began subtly, like a whisper at the edge of memory —11:11 appearing on clocks, on receipts, in dreams.A quiet pulse in the fabric of time itself.Each time I saw it, I paused.Each time, I felt it —a presence, a message,a convergence.And then the cardinal came.That crimson blaze against the gray —he didn’t flinch, didn’t flutter.He saw me.At that moment, I was no longer fragmented.Not the child shamed into silence.Not the boy misunderstood.Not the life that never felt like mine.I was whole.I stood with my truth in hand like a compass,My past behind me is like shedding scales.And in the soft silence between heartbeats,the universe whispered:”You are exactly who you were always meant to be.”No reason can define me.No expectation can contain me.No shadow can unmake me.I am the man I was destined to become —without shame, without fear, leaving behind what was never truly mine.I look into the eyes of the cardinal,into the mirror of the world,and I say:🌟 Sacred Affirmation:I am a man without a reason.I am not missing.I am not broken.I am free.I walk forward, guided by the light of 11:11,with the wings of the cardinal beside me.This is my sacred surrender.This is my divine return.This is me.🕊️
In the hush of a rain-soaked dream,beneath the sighing moon,a boy on a bike takes flight—tires lifted by wonder,wheels whispering freedomthrough the velvet night.The shadows watch,but do not catch him.Not tonight.Not anymore.Behind him, the closet cracks—a monster’s breath steamingthrough memory’s splinters—but he rides beyond reach,past stars that remember his name,toward the clearingwhere the fire still glowsand friends wait with pizza and rainbows.He is the boywho whispered,“I won’t be caged,”and meant it.He is the manwithout chains,without shame,without the markof what was never meant to be.And the bike?It sails onward,like truth,like prayer,into the sky between then and now.
In quiet nights of endless fear,You two were always standing near—Droopy’s gaze, so soft and wise,And Penguin’s wings that comforted my cries.When shadows whispered awful things,And I believed I couldn’t sing,You held me close in silent grace,Each tear you caught became my place.You knew my doubts before I spoke,My fears, my pain, each lonely yoke.No judgment in your stitched embrace—Just steadfast love in every space.Tonight, beneath the moon’s soft glow,We gather where the dreamers go.With pizza slices warm and sweet,We find, at last, a safe retreat.Droopy, perched with patient care,Reminds me I am held tight right there.Penguin, standing proud and true, You’re here because I trusted you.No longer hidden in the night,We feast and laugh beneath the light—Your gentle presence, ever kind,Carries all my heart designed.My best friends, you still Remain A balm for every lingering pain.Forever more, you sit with me—My Droopy and Penguin, setting me free.
Tonight the pizza’s warm and deep—the kind that tastes like childhood sleep.And Mr. Penguin takes his place,with rain still clinging to his face.He waddled in from long ago,from tangled dreams and 1960’s snow.A threadbare friend, in black and white,who kept your monsters small at night.He’s quiet, yes—but never gone.He’s waited years to join this song.And here he is, by goat and duck,with all the courage you once tucked.The chicken cheers, the cow nods low,while moonlight paints a soft hello.The goat breaks bread and lifts a toast—“To childhood ghosts who loved us most.”And Smoothowl sweeps through darkened air,then circles once, then disappears—but not before he leaves behinda trail of light, for you to find.
Man Without a Reason: The Sacred Journey of Alan 