Martial arts is excellent therapy. But when breaking an inch-thick concrete block with your bare knuckles doesn't do the trick, I know it's time to get my ass to the gun range and shoot the shit out of something.
Shooting guns is a form of meditation. Guns make me happy.
Some anti-gun liberal's head just exploded reading this, but that's part of the therapy. Knowing that people have meltdowns because I am exercising my constitutionally protected, inalienable rights fills me with insurmountable joy.
At the range, the minute I walk through those doors, I feel the stress leaving my body. The smell of exploding gunpowder wafting through the air causes me to close my eyes and breathe deeply with a happy smile plastered on my face.
Ahh, I love it.
The smell of gun smoke warms my soul, like breathing in the scent of freshly baked bread on Christmas Eve, surrounded by a loving family and the crackling of a winter fire.
Gunfire brings me back to the range. My mind is focused as I walk to my lane. Pop, Pop, Pop. The sound of pure euphoria explodes all around me. It's the sound of freedom. Liberty. Revolution. It speaks to the spirit, something intangible, unexplainable.
Pure bliss.
I load double-aught buckshot into my shotgun. I adjust my safety glasses and ear muffs. Not because they need to be adjusted; it's just something you do. I pump that son-of-a-bitch and let 'r rip. All five shots. The target--barely anything left of it--dangles in the air.
Whoo. Feeling great!
Now, cowboy guns have always been my favorite. The extended barrel Colt 45 and the 8-shot .357 revolver are my ride-or-die guns. But lately, I've fallen in love with a new mistress; the shotgun.
Expensive shotguns are nice, but I prefer the Maverick 88 12 gauge by Mossberg (no, they're not paying us for an endorsement, I just like this gun a lot).
The Model 88 has a kick, but that's what I want. Soft love isn't my style.
It's like booking an hour at the massage parlor and discovering that your masseuse is nicknamed Dainty Daisy because she's 6ft of solid muscle and can crack walnuts with her bare hands. She's going to beat you up a little, but hot damn, that's one hell of a massage. Your back will feel good as new after that bad boy.
The same is true for shooting guns--at least for me. I want my gun to have a nice kick. Roughhousing does the spirit good. (Remember back in the day when it was still considered okay to roughhouse with your children? It's what helped turn boys into men.)
I feel restored when I walk out of that gun range (or away from it if we're shooting outside). I feel jubilation. I'm free of the clatter of everyday stress and anxiety.
While shooting my guns, I'm a monk in deep meditation on top of the Himalayan mountains. I'm at peace and balance. My aggression and rage have been properly channeled. I now gravitate to compassion, love, tranquility, and Jesus-like kindness for all those around me.
Some people like Yoga and floor mats--and that's great--but for me, I need guns and a lifeless target! So relaxing.
If you enjoyed reading this, you may also like 'Owning a Gun Does Not Mean You are a Violent Person'.
