Must Be That Deep Celtic Longing

Pine Sisken 027

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.

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