Must Be That Deep Celtic Longing

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Sailing heart-ships
thru broken harbors
Out on the waves in the night
Still the searcher
must ride the dark horse
Racing alone in his fright.
Tell me why, tell me why  ~  Neil Young

Besides a third cup of coffee I’d also like to find a way out. When I was working, especially because of the proximity of so many traumatized cats, the PTSD python loosened its grip while I was on the clock. But now, without daily employment, I find that I pretty much have to strike up a conversation with the snaky disorder to keep it from choking me. My efforts are successful. Shadow stuff only takes power through compliance. It works, what I am doing works, but I remain tired, fatigued and restless, worried and outward bound; I’m so frustrated with what seems static that I flirt with poetry while I should be writing prose. Silly me. But I know in my heart that lyricism, poetic yearning, deep Celtic longing, all soften these prison walls. The trick is to keep them soft, to then step out, and bid through that lyricism, persistent, suggesting, as if to a friend, that the illness might consider becoming a sanctuary rather than a jail. It was easy in the early days, nary a year after the head trauma went viral, and I didn’t even know yet how intimate this trauma was, because I was still in shock. And I smiled a lot.

What’s this I see
There’s someone comin’
Walkin’ right up to me
She tells me I know your name
And if it’s all the same
I’d like to spend some time.
And midnight on the bay
Sure feels good to me.  ~  Neil Young

Yes. I’m taking a journey through the past this morning. Cognitive Behavioral Therapy might have me present-minded. But I am looking back to the time right after the trauma took hold. I didn’t know what I had back then. Spinal disc all mashed up, a deep pain in the neck, and me all clueless and stuff, maybe due to the brain damage. It’s hard to tell. It took me 27 years just to get a report on the basics, and it took a brain surgeon to give me the facts then address them for me. The guy is now a hero to me. He ended the deep neck pain and slipped a chuck of titanium into my neck to keep it that way. Why bother? Moving forward, yeah buddy. Give me just a minute dude. I’m trying to put it all back together, Humpty Dumpty be damned. I’m only now, these past few months, regaining the memory of the actual impact that ripped my face up. It was foggy at first but when Debra Diamond came to town, she bought me lunch, and assured me that I was a subject, one of twelve, in her upcoming book, and the fame she promised did not hold up to the shine of validation I got. The accident was real. The trauma was real. Sure, I had the after effects that Debra wrote about. Watches became useless to me; they died on my wrist. I could burn out a lightbulbs just by reaching for the switch. No contract necessary, just proximity. Pop! And I could hear things that ought not have been within the range of my innate hearing, especially when the words were referring to me, even across a large crowded room. All that stuff, and the presence of spirit beings, and the white-robed guy in my dreams, come to teach me in translingual ways. All of it. All of it. Every last blessed bit of it. Then there was the insistent timeless memory of a world beyond this life, and how I’d journeyed there, and how the Mother Goddess tended to me, and how she had to work so friggin hard just to touch me because I was fighting her and using her power to resist her healing touch. How’s that for aikido?!  But she prevailed, then took my hand and brought me back here, to this life. Man, I was messed up. But I had seen the Light and I carried it in my heart from then on out. I still do. And I see how all of this here ‘real’ world is supported by a web of Light that would make your head spin if ya saw it. And the validation? Can you believe it? Two NDE researchers have written of my experience back then. I owe a lot to Debra Diamond and Dr. Penny Sartori. Ladies, I honor thee. Debra already got her hug. Dr. Sartori, you have one coming well, m’lady, should I ever get across the great pond and to those shining islands.

Enough! Wow. Whatever. I really got in to that. Boy howdy it’s like I actually took a stance of gallantry and let it fly. I’ve known  .  . .  oh never mind. There is a day out there waiting. I see the therapist at 3 PM. There is a fair amount of graphic design work that needs doin’. I’m designing a new cover for my book about all this woo woo stuff. The traumatic stuff? I thoroughly enjoyed writing about it here this morning. Maybe there is another book in there somewhere? I think we can count on that, judging by what all splashed out of my creative cauldron here this morning. There will be a new edition of the first book, thus the new cover art, not to mention I’ve got a new introduction to the 3rd edition to write. Debra’s book comes out at the end of this coming January. I want to be ready to catch that thermal with her, should her book take off, and I am near certain that it will. I’ve got validation now, from two prominent researchers. Maybe I can do it too, reckon?

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

Sisyphus and Dagwood

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“Traumatized people are not suffering from a disease in the normal sense of the word- they have become stuck in an aroused state. It is difficult if not impossible to function normally under these circumstances.”  ~  Peter A. Levine

“Language is to the mind more than light is to the eye.”  ~  William Gibson

“Waking consciousness is dreaming – but dreaming constrained by external reality”   ~  Oliver Sacks quotes

I just had to close the window to keep out the chicken noise. For a while, actually for several hours, I thought I would not post today. Obviously that did not happen. But it won’t be much. It’s one of those depression days. I am grateful that I’ve learned acceptance when this happens. Sometimes it is best to get out and about, and other times, rarely, it is best to just stay home and wait it out. Today is a home day. Starting with an early morning nap. I’ve been standing strong since the shelter debacle cast me aside along with a dozen others. Why I couldn’t let it go by now is a moot question; it is what it is. Right? It is what it is. Have you ever heard someone say that? Sarcasm, irony, whatever. The point is that the standing strong thing has morphed from Sisyphus into Dagwood Bumstead. It’s a good sign. No, really. I still think of the cats. That’s why I grieve so. Let’s leave it at that, k?

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

Fascinated By Ideas

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“If man is to survive, he will have learned to take a delight in the essential differences between men and between cultures. He will learn that differences in ideas and attitudes are a delight, part of life’s exciting variety, not something to fear.”   ~  Gene Roddenberry

The rooster beats his wings exactly four time when he crows after a period of silence. After the wing thing he crows freely for a while then stops. Then the four wing beats and he goes again. Friggin guy started at 2:30 AM. Yes, I was already awake at that time. Things have been a little wonky since my job was taken from me a month ago. My relationship to time is a little bit tenuous these days. But right now it’s the moon, a Blood Moon, Super Moon, whatever, and she’s not letting go. The pre-dawn lightening of the sky merely shows that the Sun is catching up with the Moon, which has been at it all night. It’s just lights changing along with the dance between two significant orbs. Elegance. And flowing beneath the various mental disorders there is peace. Let’s hope it stays that way. So far, buddy, so far. Note that I am an advocate for the open acknowledgement of mental illness. Yes, I have it but it is not me, not a character trait, not a demon. I can tune in and see demons at work on Ghost Adventures, so I don’t need to search within to find them. I can tell you right now that those wacky fellas know how to handle demons! But even they back off on occasion. Hipsters or not you can only go so far with a spirit before it pushes back. Be careful. That’s all I’m sayin’. I am. Not that I’m sayin’ you should be like me, it’s just that  .  .  .  oh, never mind. As for inner demons let’s just stop calling it that. Language has so much power over the way we perceive. It is especially good to remember this when dealing with mental illness. Never say my illness, say I have illness. It makes a big difference. I say this from within a quite effective bout of enveloping PTSD which has been going on since 8:15 AM, Monday, July 27th of this year. The weekly Cognitive Behavioral Therapy helps a lot, and I can take a stronger midday dose of gabapentin, but that just makes me sleepy, yet it is effective. I just trance out at random times. As far as I can tell this trancing out comes from being overwhelmed by that chatter which is dark memories, harsh self-judgement, and plain old silent shouting appeals of “poor me”. When the PTSD abates these manifestations, infestations, whatever, will no longer be a consideration. This is friggin passing stuff. Yes, it may come back. It cycles. But with a lack of emotional shocks or triggers it pretty much lays low, slinking into the nearest shadow to sulk. Some people can work with the memory of the actual trauma that triggered it in the first place. I’m not so lucky. That moment of trauma that triggered for me is not there. It is totally wiped clean. Ya know, maybe it could be retrieved through hypnosis, but who friggin wants to go there?! Let it be.

I had a notion to talk about the research I have been doing into the work of Dr. Stuart Hammeroff, of the University of Arizona, and Sir Roger Penrose, a Mathematical Physicist and Nobel Prize candidate. These guys rock. But it’s a tad too heady for me, so I have a lot of digesting to do before I can express my views in a respectable manner. Then there is Dr. Robert Lanza and his Biocentrism theory. My mind is eating this stuff right up. I’ve not been so fascinated by ideas in a long time. It’s almost like waking up from that dream in which I worked at an animal shelter was a catalyst that opened my mind, and having my mind stimulated like this, to this degree, is good medicine for that PTSD illness. Rationality works to pull the illness back into submission, and speculative rationality even more so.

The Sun is nearly up. Think I’ll wander over and through the side gate so I can watch the burgeoning light for a spell. Got some fresh coffee waiting as well. PTSD is painful but life is good. Yes.

Peace out, y’all. Goof Gloriously.

Kestrels and Dreams

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“Might we begin then to transform our passing illuminations into abiding light?”   ~  Huston Smith

“The game I play is a very interesting one. It’s imagination, in a tight straightjacket.”   ~  Richard Feynman

“The opposite of a true statement is a false statement, but the opposite of a profound truth is usually another profound truth.” ~  Ken Wilbur

I always root for the kestrels when magpies come to seek dominance. Some mornings the kestrels just seem to be best applied to moving along. The magpies always cheer when that happens, a squawky cheer that may as well be mockery. This morning the kestrels were having none of this. Against the silver-hued sky, against the silhouette of the Sacred Mountain, I watched as the kestrels’ superior aerobatic skills left the magpies frustrated, but the adamance of the corvid thugs did not abate, so the air chase ballet held my attention for a spell. I cheered the kestrels in silence, for it felt as if any outward sound might take away from the flickering moments. My usual habit at times like these is to seek semiotic wonder, totemic grace, within the tableau before me. But it’s not really a tableau is it, I just make it so for convenience sake, for after all I have to weave it into semantic form or this blog will friggin never get written. What unfolds before me is more like quantum grace. No need to pin down something that will disfigure the truth if I do so. If I embrace the moment I may lose sight of where the beginning of my observation may have taken me. Boy howdy it is where I want to go! It is as if a dream peeked through the veil I have cast upon mundane things, where I live beneath fears and absurdities, giving them support, yet when the dream gains contact I am like all giddy and stuff, because I want to go there, I want to bloody well want to GO there! That dream wasn’t playing peek-a-boo for nothing. Right?

 The ever-present anxiety is on an up cycle today. It comes in waves that source in different places at different times. Today it surges out from my solar plexus, but some days it comes from my heart. Today the surges flood up and through  a lens between shoulders and neck, the on and up into my ears. That’s a new one. I never felt it in my ears before. My take on that is that I need to keep listening, not keep telling, for anxiety not paired with movement gives anxiety a chance to sink its creepy teeth in deeper. The depression? I’ve been keeping that successfully disarmed, and the shade of depression just stands there and it is like dude why’d ya take my guns dude. Keeping depression at bay when it is all lit up and rarin’ to go is simply tiring. I had a six hour nap yesterday. That worries me a bit but I will let those worries go ride the wind for now, elsewhere.

Today’s schedule somewhat resembles a real schedule. Go into town on a little job-search jaunt, then a reality shift in the guise of a phone call at 10AM. This afternoon I’ll be helping my friend again, a little handiwork to the tune of more fascinating and mind-nourishing videos from You Tube. I don’t watch them, I just listen, for they are interviews and talks. As I just pointed out, listening is just the thing today. Besides, you can’t watch internet videos and do anything else of practicality at the same time. Dreaming is different. Handiwork and dreams are not mutually exclusive, right? If you look  at dreaming from the angle of practicality you might well see that watching videos on your smartphone while on the run or while working is detrimental to effective dreaming. I’m just sayin’, k?  Don’t look at me in that tone of voice. Anyway  .  .  .  I really would love to stop by the animal shelter to see my old tabby friend Lucas. But that is not likely. Hear tell that that place is not kerfuffle-free as of yet. Heck, maybe I’ll go anyway. Or maybe not. Let’s not pin it down. I’ve got a dream to tend to. It is coming up on Full Moon as well. The Veil is opening up. I’ve been asking the Goddess to show me a sign lately.  We’ll see.

Peace out, y’all.

Trickster on a Gray Day

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“Who are these children
Who scheme and run wild
Who speak with their wings
And the way that they smile
What are the secrets
They trace in the sky
And why do you tremble
Each time they ride by”  ~  Steely Dan

There’s still some coffee left. It’s 54º outside. Rooster, stars, kind of a normal morning. Rosie the cat is on my lap. She’s been somewhat needy so far but maybe the lap will help. She never stays long because she doesn’t like me typing over her head. Yesterday’s gray day lingers with me. After 23 years in South Florida I am not such a sunshine lover. A gray day once in a while makes all the difference for me. Oh, I should mention that the Trickster did make an appearance yesterday. I was headed north, back home, along Millicent Rogers, a short ways past Rio Lucero, when the darned critter poked his head out of the dense brush along the left side of the road. He looked both ways, saw my car, then retreated the way he had come. I always get excited at a coyote sighting, and each time I immediately start looking for a totem significance. I couldn’t see details but I felt the rush of magic as the beast disappeared. As I mentioned yesterday I am pretty much resigned to soon riding out some shakeup in my life, and that synchronicity two days ago  .  .  .  well, let’s just say that the music of the Universe is playing my tune. I love a good mystery as long as it doesn’t bite.

Earlier yesterday, before the yotee I had a sweet conversation with a friend of mine, an old fella, about 84, who is a PhD psychologist. There was very little small talk. We talked about things that matter. I found it to be freeing and refreshing to use my intellect in a conversation because that kind of conversation doesn’t happen very much anymore. That’s part of what we talked about, the widespread dependence on smartphones and what it might suggest about the future of interpersonal and sociological relations. I hope it doesn’t mess things up, but Bill and I seemed to think it will. We talked about the difference in education between the U.S. and Europe. Bill goes to Europe twice a year and he is an astute observer. I was pretty much shocked when he told me the level of education happening over there, and he compared it to the growing lack of fluency in math and science over here. Not to mention the faltering of basic literacy and writing skills. That was the one that got me. I get pissed off several times every friggin morning at mistakes I find in articles and stories I read on this here internet, and many of them are on respectable,  even reputable websites. I won’t name names. Poor grammar? Duh, I mean come on now people! Boy howdy it ain’t no thang to learn to write good. Bill seemed amused at how I make mistakes on purpose in my writing. I do edit each blog post so any mistakes or just plain dumb stuff you find in my posts are probably intentional, k? At least I’m a hopin’ so.

After Bill I started on a bit of work I am doing to help out a friend, painting and stuff. While I worked I gave my intellect some more mind cookies. Listen, if I don’t slip my intellect a cookie or two on occasion it’ll likely go all bugfuck on me, at which point it teams up with my cognition, and the mayhem those two can lay out is not something I care to deal with. A good part of my depression, the part that is learned not genetic, comes from that mayhem. When you first go for treatment at the mental health clinic they have you fill out a three point plan designating exactly what you will do if you begin to feel suicidal. Number three on my list is “find something intellectual to read”. Hey, it works. It pulls me out when the darkness thickens unto black muck. Anyway  .  .  .  the first thing I listened to was an internet interview with Stuart Hammeroff, who is an anesthesiologist at the University of Arizona. He is one smart dude. He’s been working with Sir Roger Penrose, a British mathematic/physicist/philosopher, and they have come up with a theory that combines quantum computing with consciousness. I first learned of Hammeroff when I read a snippet from him that said that the theory can account for the reality of NDEs and After Death Communications. Speaking of which, the second interview I listened to was with Dr. Penny Sartori, whom I’ve mentioned here before. This stuff thrills me, and I get cookies as well.

I finished my day with a long conversation with an old and dear friend. We haven’t spoken in many years, and we have not seen each other in 30 years. Time flies. She made me smile and laugh last night. Such friends are good for the soul.

Let’s finish off this post and maybe I’ll get on with the day before too long. You never know.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

A Shattered Wall or Two

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“Time doesn’t take away from friendship, nor does separation.”  ~  Tennessee Williams

“Come on Chumley. We’re going to see Mr. Whoopee!”  ~  Tennessee Tuxedo

This will be a magical day. They all are, all told. It’s just that some days, most days really, I forget. I do the same with absurd days. It’s a cosmic humor sort of thing. The rooster started at 4:30 AM and I was like dude get some new material. Luckily he has been silent after issuing only two crows. The cat is at my side on her bed. There are no insects singing. The stars have been coming and going but at their peak the deep galaxy-ridden clarity speaks well of our Northern New Mexico high altitude rarity. Yes, yes, yes, I noticed that ‘rarity’ and ‘clarity’ rhyme, just don’t get me started, k? I have a little poet in me and the little fella hasn’t learned to do nuanced rhymes quite yet. Me? I prefer free verse. But I also like to remember that Victor Borge reminded us that “It could be verse”. Moving forward. I had a nice conversation with a friend yesterday and she reminded me that at nearly 61 years old it might be worth considering finding my capital ‘D’ Dream and going for it. I most certainly have my freedom right now. Said freedom looks like baloney, canned soup, and cheap beer, but it goes far beyond that. It’s been coming for a long time, yet it was them folks at the animal shelter that provided me with the actuality of it all. Do not doubt that I am grateful. I am. But about the dream thing – why would I forget such a possibility? And how did it come to be that I have no identifiable dream of that nature? How did it happen that I forgot the one big difference between a dream and fantasy is that dreams can come true? Fantasy, not so much. Now, what if that Dream is present disguised as a fantasy? We are entering Trickster territory here. One of the Trickster’s functions is to break down reality to make room for new growth. I’ll admit he did a good job this time. Do not doubt that I am grateful. I am. The Trickster thing fits in with the theme of the book I am beginning to write, wherein so many of us have forgotten the importance of totemic energy, Dreams, archetypes, and magick in general. I see all of these things as manifestations of an intelligence that is akin to humanity but not of it. Does that make sense? Sure it does. My focus is on the Imaginal Realm. So why have I not been listening? I have, but I let my culture-driven expectations override and hide the fact that those expectations may be masking what change really looks like at this time in my life. And to my detriment. Listen, I had a vivid synchronicity happen yesterday, and synchronicities are messages from the Imaginal Realm. Lucky me. It feels Earth-shaking at this time, and maybe it is. It certainly, most certainly, shattered a wall or two in my inner sanctum. That is one of the drawbacks of being an introvert, a rich inner life can get rigid, and that is only good in short bursts. As James Bond knows, stirring is but a pleasantry. Shaking is the best. Taylor Swift knows this as well. Shake it off, right? Ummm, Taylor? That lunch invitation still holds. Let me know, k? I’m so silly. If she ever takes me up on the offer she might be really pissed when she finds out that she’s gonna hafta buy. Then what?

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

Keeping an Eye on the Real World

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Here were people who believed with absolute faith and absolute dogmatism in something. And they were so serious in this matter that they insisted that the rest of the world agree with them. And then they would do things that were directly inconsistent with their own beliefs in order to maintain that what they said was true.”  ~  Richard Feynman

Say it ain’t so, Richard. Alas, tis true. Fox News has made it thus. Fools, I say, fools! Why I got into a socio-political mode, to start off today, is beyond me. Perhaps I was channeling, and believe you me Fox is not a channel to trifle with.

Enough of that. I have no plans on getting political here, but I do want to state two things, people, whatever, that have my total faith: Bernie Sanders and Joe Biden. That said, let’s move on. Coyotes came in close this morning, then quieted down in their proximity. I was bummed. I love their songs. Their Trickster presence is appreciated. Have no doubt of that. It’s been a surreal morning for me. I don’t think that very much of this feeling is situational. True, I am going through a brain-rattling transformation, but I have not lost track of the real world. It follows me everywhere. It bodes well for me to keep an eye on it! But sometimes it do get annoying; friggin reality, ya gotta love it. The part of my surreal feeling, if surreality can even have parts, is my discharge from employment at the animal shelter. It’s been one month now, bless their hearts. I’d say that it gets my goat but they don’t have goats there, just dogs and cats, and an occasional bunny. But what I really feel is that the laying off of 15 people, all at the same friggin time, was essentially surreal. In essence. Very nearly real, but it was real only in the sense that it smacked my pocketbook square in the jaw. That’s not a big deal at all. Nada problem. The rest of the whole action does not and will not make sense; no way no how. I won’t let it. The thing for me to do is, not to let it go, it is to change the way I see it, think about it, and how I receive it when it bothers my confounded mind. You don’t just cast aside a thing of wonder. Not cavalierly nor through indifference. Wonder makes a difference. Trust me on that. Meanwhile, I just came across a source of wonder on You Tube, of all places. It took me back to kindergarten in a flash. Whence I marvel at how, after 55 years, an old cartoon could be so prophetic of the current political climate in these here United States. President Obama is a Leo after all. I am speaking of an old kids cartoon “The King and Odie Show”. Wow. I’d better go see what is going on outside. It seems as if the doves are laying siege to the chicken coop. That is NOT a metaphor so don’t even try it. Shit, now the magpies have shown up. If this gets all Hitchcock on me I will just have to laugh as I bob and duck out to open the coop door. Oscar the turkey is already down on the ground, descended from his nightly perch atop the coop. Dude rocks!. Look. I got this shot yesterday morning. Oscar raises a mighty wind.

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Well, the doves were gone and only one magpie remained. Problem solved. I think I’ll take my whimsical self and get on with the day.

Peace out. Goof gloriously.

There Is No Spoon

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“In the final analysis, the questions of why bad things happen to good people transmutes itself into some very different questions, no longer asking why something happened, but asking how we will respond, what we intend to do now that it happened.”  ~ Pierre Teilhard de Chardin

It’s a pale quiet morning. Even the rooster seems to be a bit subdue, but that might be just me. He is noisy nonetheless. Anxiety has been running high for me but my skills at management have become notably sharper. As our opening quote says the the ‘why’ of this new phase of life has gone to ‘what’. That’s the little ‘why’, the big one got away. Don’t they always. I friggin know why, but I’ve got a nagging feeling that I still want to know how. Who, what, and when get no respect. But I have covered a basic tenet of journalism here so all is well. Yes “who, what, when, where, why, and how”, it’s all been covered. We can move along.

Life has been pretty narrow these days. Reading is good though. I’ll admit to perusing culture, a good part of it pop culture. But I get this little twang of guilt in doing this. One of my heroes, Terence McKenna, warned against the power of culture to make us into commodities. I hate it when that happens. McK said that culture is not my friend. Ack! That’s all I can say about that. Moving forward  .  .  .  now what? That’s where I started, right. Anyway  .  .  .  this morning’s reading has been pretty fun. The one I really enjoyed was about how the Universe is really a computer simulation. And I was like really? Yesterday I was listening to the audiobook of How the Hippies Saved Physics while I was working on a project. I’m loving it. Right before I pushed it and turned it off the narrator fell was talking about how experiments suggest that events in the past, even millions of years ago, can be altered by something that happens today. There’s a lot of really heady stuff in the book. A full chapter is devoted to the correlations between psychic phenomena and quantum physics. There was a long portion about Uri Gellar, which makes me think about the part in “The Matrix” where the guy says “there is no spoon”. And I’m like dude then why talk about it?!  Still, this kind of stuff excites me. Because cats are such psychic critters I always felt somewhat humbled in their presence. Get 50 of them in one room and you’ve got a collective energy field that is something to behold. I’m still royally pissed, and saddened at the loss of such experience, and my job. It didn’t have to happen. I am rock solid certain of that. But that certainty and $4.50 will buy me a catnip caramel latte.

I know the modern common wisdom is to “just let it go”. Well, and then I remember another lesser know bit of common wisdom, that being that just because you set something free doesn’t mean it ain’t gonna come back and bite you in the butt. There’s no dispute about that. I once had an actual mastiff nip me in the butt repeatedly as I walked through a room. You ever have that? My primal instinct was to step lightly and remember to breath. Nice doggy. I could probably whip up a perky aphorism from the experience but I am simply too too tired. Recovery is slow. I suffered a huge loss, under highly questionable circumstances, and I have no idea what really happened. It done slapped me two steps this side of useless, but I am feeling better every day, for the most part, because there have been some down days, and the have been some up days, yet overall, as I said  .  .  .  Ack! Boy howdy them chickens are finally waking up and getting noisy, so I had best go let them out to range in the yard. My day has a tidbit of structure to it and I plan on fully relishing that. Hey  .  .  .  hey, iffin ya want here’s a nice and provocative Terence McKenna video.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

A little Sunday Morning Confusion

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“…I also believe that introversion is my greatest strength. I have such a strong inner life that I’m never bored and only occasionally lonely. No matter what mayhem is happening around me, I know I can always turn inward.”  ~  Susan Cain

It’s Sunday morning again. That’s the third time this week, and I am tired of it. I’ve never liked Sundays and I have no idea why. Thus three in one weeks is too many. I know it is just a mistaken perception; there was really only one Sunday, but I don’t friggin care, because that mistaken perception comforts my stormy mind, and I wouldn’t have it any other way, because I don’t feel good at all. Earlier this morning I suspected that I am becoming bored, overall, not with anything in particular. Besides knowing it is not true I am pretty sure that passing my days without being with many cats is the cause of this suspicion. At times I get charged with emotion about losing my job the way I did and I also still, after four weeks, resent not having the job anymore. Too bad so sad. Bear in mind that the psych meds I take make intense emotions feel softer than they really are. People get so afraid of the idea of tampering with perception by way these types of meds, but I have no such fears. I still want to rant, then go to some high official, then shake my fist whilst proclaiming that it is not fair. But at this point it is now all about trauma. Yes I did notice that I was redundant in that last sentence. It’s the trauma. That is a great example of what it can do. I don’t even care if my editing is 100%! It could drop down to 80% and it wouldn’t be bother me much at all. I shall visit the therapist tomorrow, then the psychiatrist on Tuesday. The discharge from a task I loved is being too hard to dismiss from my desire for reality to conform to my wishes. Life is not fair. Move along, there’s no droids here. I know I am failing to make sense so far in today’s post. But maybe I am and I just don’t know it. Either way I am going to cut it short, mainly because I am in an active illness cycle, which means that either one or both of my disorders are having their way with me. It’s like the wind in that you just have to wait when the hard wind blows. Two days ago I got caught in a mini-dust storm. I realized, and a strange thought it was, that I could relate to the weather phenomenon. What this means is that the usually sedentary metaphorical dust in my mind has been stirred up and I cannot see worth a  .  .  .  let’s not use a profane word this morning. This too shall pass, right. Yes.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

Hums and Rumbles and Roars

Plutarch

“Human beings are stuck in a Midas-like predicament: we can’t directly experience the true texture of reality because everything we touch turns to matter.”   ~  Nick Herbert

Don’t worry, I have nary a pep talk for y’all today. They have people that do that and I can hook you up if you want. In spite of a high level of anxiety my mind is lingering in some pretty strange but intriguing places. It’s important for me to point out that this illustrates an important point. Listen, anxiety, in my experience, is a body-based phenomenon. The bad things about it, the paranoia, fear, whatever, are residuals picked up and congealed into some pretty slimy head spaces. Residuals from what? Before I answer that I need to point out that the bundle of nerves that characterizes screamin’ anxiety, that which has been diagnosed in me as PTSD, requires an attractor, a base ‘engine’ that picks up the residuals and organizes them into the big scary thing called PTSD. So, the residuals are stuck memories. They don’t have to be from the actual trauma that has morphed into this giant beast of an illness. But the trauma of the event that triggered the PTSD provides the engine. The body, brain included, pretty much considers all of this to be a command. Be afraid, be very afraid. It kinda sucks, right. I’ve been to that poor me place, in regards to PTSD, countless times, but that place produces only anecdotes. Now, all of this mumbo jumbo, that which may not make any friggin sense to you, is my attempt to lay some groundwork. That said, I have learned to push in the clutch, so to speak, and to let the engine idle along as it will. This frees my mind. Lately that freedom has been taking me into “some pretty strange but intriguing places”, as I said at the beginning of this post.

I just recently exchanged a couple of emails with Dr. Penny Sartori, who is one of the top researchers in the world in the field of NDEs (near death experience) and what’s going on there anyway. I love emails from Penny. She is chatty and down-home, and having seen her speak on You Tube videos I ‘hear’ each word of the emails, spoken in her adorable Welsh accent. Point is that her theories, knowledge, whatever, are part and parcel of her daily life. Eighteen month old boy, speaking engagements on a pretty trippy subject, it’s all one. As do most NDE researchers (hey, settle down, I qualify as one of them!) we both have a strong interest in consciousness. I mentioned to her the ideas that provide the basis for my new book and she replied, “It’s interesting that you mention delving into the archetypal realm and the collective unconscious as that is an area that I want to delve into more too”. There ya have it. Now, I feel better about writing that kind of stuff here. But I have been delving into quantum physics as well. I’ve been listening to the audio book of How the Hippies Saved Physics. Very cool book, exquisitely written and researched. Don’t forget to say thanks to them hippies, k? Anyway, I’ve also been listening to some stuff by Peter Kingsley, who is a scholar in regards to pre-Socratic history and philosophy in ancient Greece. And then there is the newbie, Dr. Robert Lanza, who’s biocentrism theory threatens to shake the bejeezes out of the scientific community some day. I know it shakes me, and me being a very anxious guy, I have a lot of bejeezes to shake. And yes, I am also reviewing some of Carlos Castenada’s stuff. Friggin sorcerers, can’t get enough of ’em! Bottom line, it’s a good way to fill time while unemployed. Dr. Sartori told me to write while I have the free time. Yeah, I will. All the while the resident anxiety in my body hums and rumbles and roars along like the little train that could. Thing is, that anxious little train, it can’t. I won’t let it. I’m researching consciousness. PTSD ain’t closely related to consciousness except in that the big screamin’ beast tends to ignore it. Consciousness that is. Cognitive therapy might be the key here. Wrong thinking loses its power when confronted by reason and mental wonder.

I’ve got to go let the chickens out before they drive me crazy with their infernal chatter.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.