“Hey,” said Shadow. “Huginn or Muninn, or whoever you are.”
The bird turned, head tipped, suspiciously, on one side, and it stared at him with bright eyes.
“Say ‘Nevermore,'” said Shadow.
“Fuck you,” said the raven.” ~ Neil Gaiman, American Gods
Here at Eyeyote blog . . . well, once in a while we go dark here, all in the name of the Light. Make sense? Yeh, it does. And once in a while I refer to myself in the second person. That’s when we get confused and return to a proper first person point of view, where I regain my senses and carry on as if nothing has happened. And, yes, I play with words and grammar as well. It’s not like I have anything better to do. Poor me. As a recap for new readers, I have both Bipolar 2 disorder and PTSD. That’s where the “poor me” comes in. I’m not one to wallow in self-pity. I’m more likely to scrunch up in a tremulous “WTF do I do now?!“. When it gets bad, I mean. When it gets really bad. What I am getting at is that it has been a rough few days, k? Clinically speaking, I am quite successfully medicated, by professionals; in fact I am lucky in that this success is greater than most. I can only imagine. Lucky, thankful, that’s me. It’s hard for me to wrap my head around the concept, but what I am coming to see is that the two mental/emotional/physical issues I mentioned need not be viewed as illnesses, not for me anyway. My stuff is moderate. For those more severe I can only sigh and encourage you to fight the good fight. It won’t be easy. It never is. For me it’s like some dull-witted hulk, crouching, looming, bereft of all but one purpose, that being guardianship of the Gates of Devastation. Dude like I ain’t goin in there dude so don’t even try. The Fool, he never listens; he knows the ‘right’ way, that’s all. He’s like Donald Trump. Dark, claiming light. So, as I was saying, it doesn’t have to be viewed as an illness. What then? It is simply the way my brain works. Like go all Buddhist and stuff dude. Get used to it. Yeh, I know, it gets complicated. I write early in the morning, before dawn. I’ll step outside on occasion, to watch the stars, to breathe the air. This morning’s air is ripe with early Wintertime. It is now two days after Thanksgiving and the last vestiges of Summer have finally been successfully wrestled from its post. Life is a circle. Season after season, year after year. The Circle Game. This Holiday season is a tough one for anybody, more so for we who wrassle with depression and stuff. As a Pagan I know that this is the time of the year when the God has died, and in time will be reborn. The God is a bright fella. When he is dead it is stone cold friggin dark. Come the Solstice he is reborn, and things begin to get brighter again, in increments, day by day, breath by breath. The Circle Game. What goes around comes around. When darkness falls I like to take up, totemically speaking, with Raven the Trickster. He is also a Creator. Raven enjoys, by his very nature, journeying into the darkness to find and retrieve the Light. He’s pretty good at it. Some people call him a totem animal. I call him an ally. That’s where I am this morning. Clawing my way out of the darkness, a jewel of light clenched in my jaw. I’ve been here before and likely will be again. And I remind myself: do the work, and don’t forget to play. Keep your heart’s eye out for the princess, and keep a troubadour’s song in your heart, just behind your eyes. It’s simple. And simple does not mean easy. Now, as poetic as I feel I must now get prepped for my day job as a retail cashier in a hardware store. Home repair and improvement. Yeh, I get it, metaphor. I still feel, after several days of inner darkness, like shit, but I’m goin anyway. Retail cashiering, as I practice it, is performance art. The levels of subtle joy I feel at times on the job make it all worthwhile. There’s beauty in the whole thing. Again and again. Day after day. And then again. The Circle Game. Yeh.
Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.