PTSD and the Killer Terrier

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The amazing Mr. Sky

“The desire to live life to its fullest, to acquire more knowledge, to abandon the economic treadmill, are all typical reactions to these experiences in altered states of consciousness. The previous fear of death is typically quelled. If the individual generally remains thereafter in the existential state of awareness, the deep internal feeling of eternity is quite profound and unshakable.”  ~  Edgar Mitchell

There is something extraordinary about today’s opening photograph. Reflect for a moment, can you see what it is? The photo depicts a terrier sitting still! I suspect that his sole motive in sitting still had more to do with ego than anything else. Little terriers are quick, and he was always quick to grab a photo opportunity. He was my dog, Mr. Sky. I have written here before about our history as two male mammals with some serious issues to work out between us. At first, Mr. Sky wanted to kill me. He was a rescue. He hated men, he hated boots. You do the math. The nutshell version here is that I had to reach deep and change myself to be in tune enough with him to connect and make a few small repairs. It took me a year. But the conflict turned to play, as his aggressive tendencies were quite natural, a reaction to the trauma of the previous phase of his life. In other words: we worked it out. Never think that dogs, and other animals, don’t have subjective experience, especially if you don’t like being wrong. Sometimes healing means something we may not recognize, at first: the damage has been done, the scar is real; the only way through is not acceptance, rather allowance. This is one of the core lessons of PTSD. I’m pretty good at allowing, but there are times when the trigger just trips, regardless of my practiced recognition of any of the various triggers. Come up behind me unannounced and you will see what I mean. No, I don’t lash out, I’m not a violent person at heart. But don’t expect communications beyond that point. For that, it may take some time. If you protest or get openly angry . . .  that time becomes longer. I just shut down. There is no controlling this. My PTSD was born of a freak bicycle accident (I wrote a book if you’d like to read it. Message me through Facebook and I will send you a PDF copy for free. You can buy it from Amazon if you like hardcopy or Kindle better, but I’m not in it for the money). I long ago processed the fear of getting on a bicycle again. In fact I began working that through as soon as I got out of the hospital, after they had sewn part of my face back on. The front forks of the bicycle were severely bent from their impact with the road, after the wheel took off on its own. I removed the forks off my old bike, which was of the same Raleigh model, and put them on the newer one. I consciously sensed that this was the right thing to do. I should have also shipped my helmet back to the manufacturer for replacement. You’re not supposed to wear a helmet after an impact of that magnitude, regardless of any lack of visual damage. But I was too much of a numbskull during those days – literally. The lingering triggers were born in the days and weeks after the crash, some of them nearly immediately; people who had no idea what PTSD was, of if it even had anything to do with their careless words or actions, even if they were, they thought, being nice and supportive. If it hit me as wrong it got etched into my soul, and my body and mind took it in fast, in both senses of the word. I would be in the store somewhere and somebody would come too close, and these words would slip out of my mouth, uncontrolled: “don’t touch me”. I’d say it out loud, though softly. And I meant it. I’ve through the years been able to moderate that fear to a large degree, but the reaction is still there; muscle memory. Even with eye contact, if you touch me uninvited, I will brace and loose my words. The exception is with people I trust deeply, or those I want to touch mesubconsciously or otherwise. Now, moving forward, the Daily Raven has already squawked outside. He was perched this time, not flying. The coffee is long gone. Eyes packed in cotton. The smoke from the Bonito Fire got seriously thick for a while yesterday afternoon. Thus the puffy and numb eyes. The stench of the smoke was nasty. It is clear so far this morning. That can change, but you can’t stop the smoke, because the wind has other ideas. Hey, I had no intention of writing about PTSD, it kinda sorta just slipped out. Expression promulgates healing. You may quote me on that.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

The Daily Raven

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“The true philosopher is a man who says “All right,” and goes to sleep in his armchair.”  ~ P. G. Wodehouse

“Never let the future disturb you. You will meet it, if you have to, with the same weapons of reason which today arm you against the present.”   ~  Marcus Aurelius

The Daily Raven just flew over the house at sunrise, telling me that the coming day is full of promise so don’t fuck it up. Ooooo, crudeness in the very first sentence. WTF. No, of course there are more than one raven passing the house each day at dawn. That’s besides the point. The point is that I am seeking to establish some of my own totems, archetypes, whatever. I’m not sure if I am allowed to do that. Perhaps I am taking a risk here. Depending who ya talk to, Raven is a Creator, a giver of Light, and/or a Trickster. I’ve only recently begun to hear ravens squawking before sunrise. It could well be that I have simply been so wrapped up in my own little world that I simply did not hear them before. Reckon? I have no proof of that, but the mere consideration of such an explanation does things to my mind that likely need doin’ anyhow. And what about the spiritual transformation, ascendence, whatever, that I have been yakkin about for quite some time now? Yeh, what about it? The thing is that it has only recently kicked into high gear, or by necessity around these here parts, shifted into four wheel drive. In my rise from the depths of clinical depression I was not getting too far on foot, so I had to get me a spiritual Subaru. I’m not kidding now, this is going to happen. Two things broke me open this year, back around New Years: massage and a colonoscopy. Colonoscopy?! What’s that got to do with spirituality? Purge, duh. The first massage came a couple of days later. The physical benefits of massage are a no-brainer, k? What really struck me about the massage is that I right out of the gate chose the perspective of soul release as a goal. We all make our own straight jackets. Our souls become strapped. For most folks it ain’t a problem; a certain amount of restriction of the soul is necessary to navigate your chosen path in life, like ya don’t wear flip flops with Brooks Brothers. Just sayin. But for those of us who bear mental disorders, we can end up like Gulliver, all staked to the ground and stuff. Or left quivering in the corner of some deep dungeon that was recommended highly by numerous well-meaning yet misguided people, along through the years. So, anyway, I told the massage therapist up front what my intentions were with her. I have found since then that the exchange and sharing of our energy fields is the key to my intentions. I just let that happen as we chat away the allotted minutes. Massage is an intimate thing. In my quest toward healing I set my archetypal parameters through visualization, then step out of the way. A male therapist could never do this for me. The archetypal gender dynamics are a powerful tool. The Celtic goddess Brighid is my archetype of choice in this endeavor. I’ve not time to describe how this works for me, nor am I certain that I could adequately do so if I did have the time. The therapist, as a trained professional, serves as a conduit for the healing energy from the goddess, yet she is a good conversationalist as well. The next session happens next Wednesday, and it should be an interesting experiment because I’ll do it on my lunch hour, generously extended by my boss, due to scheduling restrictions at work. I’ve always chosen to have the massage on my day off. I’ve got a good feeling that this will be a very interesting experience, and possibly a great one. I’m all about profundity, so bring it on. But for today it’s all laundry and psychotherapy and stuff. Laundromats and psychotherapy have certain things in common, chop wood carry water sort of stuff. Wash, rinse, and dry. Life, because of time restrictions, runs in cycles.. Just sayin, k? And now it is time to go out and do the Sun/mountaintop thing.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

 

Equanimity’s Sidecar

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“Ignorant people think it is the noise which fighting cats make that is so aggravating, but it ain’t so; it is the sickening grammar that they use.”  ~  Mark Twain

“There is a great difference between one idler and another idler. There is someone who is an idler out of laziness and lack of character, owing to the baseness of his nature. If you like, you may take me for one of those. Then there is the other kind of idler, the idler despite himself, who is inwardly consumed by a great longing for action who does nothing because his hands are tied, because he is, so to speak, imprisoned somewhere, because he lacks what he needs to be productive, because disastrous circumstances have brought him forcibly to this end. Such a one does not always know what he can do, but he nevertheless instinctively feels, I am good for something! My existence is not without reason! I know that I could be a quite a different person! How can I be of use, how can I be of service? There is something inside me, but what can it be? He is quite another idler. If you like you may take me for one of those.”  ~  Vincent van Gogh

After a visit to the car mechanic yesterday it was predominantly relative idleness and sleep. Lately, I’ve had a strong urge for more sleep than I am used to. So be it. It’s been almost like a craving, and I have been indulging as a whim. No explanation necessary, let’s do it anyway. There has been no detachable changes from my compliance with this whim, or pseudo-whim, if you will. But I’ll likely do it again today. The visit to the mechanic was fulfilling. I found the service to be impeccable, in contrast to a couple of horror stories about the place. You never know. The repairs were quite less expensive than I expected, those expectations likely born of chronic anxiety and some strand of lingering pessimism. Lingering pessimism? Yeh. Lately I’ve drifted into this space where I am neither pessimistic nor optimistic. I suspect that this space is kinda sorta equanimity’s sidecar. I am flat out not proud enough of myself to lay claim to actual equanimity, and yet I am pretty good at it. That’s a conundrum. Or a paradox? Whatever. I’ll always remember a woman coworker at the animal shelter who one day looked at me with a tinge of fear in her eyes as she said “I can never tell what you are feeling”. Hmmm. And although I did not say it I was like all why would you want to. Isn’t that what intuition is for? Anyway. A friend from my shelter days was at the mechanic shop yesterday. I was sitting on a bench out front of the place, chatting with a lawyer fella from yonder in Austin, Texas, when my friend walked up. My friend is still an avid volunteer at the shelter. We fell into shelter gossip, and healthy commentary as well. The lawyer sat and listened. A bit later, after the conversation drifted back to the lawyer, he stopped at one point and asked “I heard you guys talking just a few minutes ago. Do you both volunteer at a a rehab?”. I don’t know why that sticks with me. Anyway, moving forward until we are at the end of the day and the cows have all come home and . . . ummmm . . . I go back to the mechanic this morning to get one more issue resolved; they had to order a part from out of town. The exhaust leak was totally minor and the repair will cost little beyond the labor. As big as my financial fears were, I am humbly reminded that my faithful car has long been good to me. The Ford Focus is well-known for its reliability. I am breathing a sigh of metaphorical relief. As for the shelter, it’s as much of an unnecessary mess as it ever was. It’s a shame too. Them doggies and kitty cats have enough stress as it is. C’est la vie, it is what it is, que sera sera, whatever. My time there was predominantly about being of service to the animals. That said, this ramble is coming to an end, so I can go out and look at the mountains before the sun crests the summits. Hey! I just noticed that when they say “at the end of the day” they never say which end. I’ll hafta look into that.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

Just a Footnote

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“Happiness is not achieved by the conscious pursuit of happiness; it is generally the by-product of other activities.”   ~  Aldous Huxley

“Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad.”  ~  Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

In the search for magick it can be found that somebody else has already figured it out. They may already have applied it. You never know. Besides that obscure note it is a sweet morning. I’ve got a whopping dose of confusion tracking through my veins. It might be a nice day to let it all ride and lay back in the hermit space. It might be. But a visit to the car mechanic is on the slate this morning. I don’t want to go out. It has nothing to do with the mechanic, and the car would continue to be reliable without the visit. I just don’t want to go out. That’s all. Part of it, I suppose, is that Summer’s heat is not pleasing me. Whatever, right? The cat is sound asleep, having extorted a small bit of kibble from me about 90 minutes ago. A violation of her prescribed diet, but I need peace, which has not been to my knowledge prescribed. We seek it anyway. Don’t we? Yeh. My eyes are packed in cotton this morning, my brain in bubble wrap. I’m tempted to do some word play. It ain’t happening. It’s just gonna hafta be a short blog post today. The first songbird of the morning just chirped. Time to pull the sleepy head together. The coffee seems to be just a footnote.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

 

An Unkindness of Ravens

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There’s a light in the depths
Of your darkness
There’s a calm at the eye
Of every storm.
There’s a light in the depths
Of your darkness.

Let it shine  ~  Dan Fogelberg

“Consider a radio, an invention that was introduced during [William] James’s lifetime, and which he used to illustrate the mind-brain relationship. If one bangs a radio with a hammer, it ceases to function. But that does not mean that the origin of the sounds was the radio itself; the sound originated from outside it in the form of an electromagnetic signal. The radio received, modified, and amplified the external signal into something recognizable as sound. Just so, the brain can be damaged in various ways that distort the quality of consciousness – trauma, stroke, nutritional deficiencies, dementia, etc. But this does not necessarily mean the brain “made” the consciousness that is now disturbed, or that consciousness is identical to the brain.”  ~  Larry Dossey, MD

That’s me this morning, contemplating the mind-brain controversy, and perusing the depths of my eternal soul, in search of an elusive Light, in hopes it will provide palliation in these truly dark times; or maybe even a vision of the bright new world to come. So, what’s up with you? You down with that or what, dude? Let’s go. No, I haven’t been smoking weed. My desired trip up north of the border to Colorado simply keeps getting put off, but now it’s that the car needs work, so I can breathe a sigh of relief that my incessant procrastination is off the hook for now. The car goes into the shop tomorrow, and I can get some reading done in the waiting room while the diagnosis and mechanical solution are compiled. As my new little friend, a fresh young 18 year old woman, might say . . . well, she likes to say that this or that is good for the soul. Me at 18, I was just beginning to study consciousness, a practice that continues to this very day, and a practice the got an immense boost when the blessed head trauma occurred back in 1984. How in the world can I rightly call head trauma blessed? Well, I have to do something with it, don’t I? Besides whining, I mean, or failing to find light in the cognitive darkness that foist (or least it feels that way) a kind of new beginning upon me, then, now, and always. Right now I am reading (sporadically and mostly at the laundromat) a book, Stalking the Tricksters, by a Colorado author named Christopher O’Brien. I wonder if he smokes weed. Now, moving forward. I just went outside to get a dose of the fresh night air. Temperature 53º, humidity 98%; sweet indeed, especially here in the high desert mountains. I’ve a brief story to share and then I’m going to wrap it up. Day before yesterday a guy was in the hardware store where I work to purchase three plastic “scarecrow” birds, a hawk and two owls. The plan was to use them to scare away some ravens that are on his property. One mated couple has been there for several years, but this year that had a brood of four males. Teenaged male ravens are pumped with testosterone. They can be a real force to reckon with until they finally mate, for life BTW. Now, ravens are one of the most intelligent species on the planet, more so than even higher primates. I seriously doubt the plastic birds will fool the ravens. I found myself laughing at the predicament while the guy told his tale. I love ravens. He then told me that a friend of his had shot a raven that was unwelcome on his property. The next day a group of some 50 birds arrived on the property. Ravens are known to gather like this, at the death of one of their comrades. A group of ravens is called an “unkindness of ravens”. I suspect those birds were feeling none too kind about the shooter. The guy who did the shooting was terrified. They didn’t go out of the house for two days. Biologists say that a gathering like this is not so much a funeral, it is a way of examining the place to detect what threat had caused the death. The folks may have been wise to stay inside. Personally, I think it is both investigation and ritual for the ravens. There is nothing stopping them from doing both. They are very smart. And, I suspect, quite spiritual. Trickster Raven is said, by some Native American people, to have created the world. You gotta be pretty smart to do that.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

Not Beginning With Failure

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“If you have nothing left to want, then you just wait. Until there’s nothing left to wait for.”   ~  Neil Gaiman

There seems to be a door closing, or a valve, or an unspoken statement, or something. As much as I attempt to hold focus on news articles this morning, about our current political emergencies, I just can’t do it. Some small part of my mind is pulling rank and whispering “enough already”. This bodes well for my mind and not so well for the world at large. And why a whisper instead of a shout? Simple. Because there is already enough shouting going on, and that is what we are getting used to. I’m not being bold when I say this, but I will calmly admit that my political leanings go left, with a fair amount of a progressive bent. I’m a cashier in a retail store. There was one customer yesterday, an old fella, who started speaking in a way that betrayed that he was a right wing America First guy, and I was like all OMG he’s one of THEM. I quickly (and rather cleverly, I thought) started making sounds of agreement. Sounds that never quite actually stated anything I might be agreeing with. See, I just can’t go there. It seems so heartless, that place, that mind space. I can’t go on about it anymore this morning. It makes me sad and notably queasy. The coldness and hatred, the raisin-hearted smallness, of a sizable portion of our American population is overwhelming rationality on a large scale. Geez, don’t let me go all pundit on you. Good thing I’ve got a job to go to today, and that I must start preparing to go to work soon. Also my cat is mildly sick, sleeping more, eating less. It doesn’t feel to be serious, but in my usual state of chronic anxiety I can take it a long way toward calamity. It’s just that I have never seen her like this. But also that because of her extended sleep I find myself missing that annoying meowing she does each morning just before her feeding time. It’s a good thing I am not a positive thinker, because I would fail at that task this morning. It is never too good to begin the day with a failure.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

What the Dog Did

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“It did what all ads are supposed to do: create an anxiety relievable by purchase.”  ~  David Foster Wallace

Either it is or it isn’t. When the sloppy inventory of chronic anxiety is active and applied, it is. It always is. This morning, here at 4 AM, the stars sit high and pale, yet in, with, whatever, my mind I can soar like one of those animated videos, up and out, past all of our cousin planets, all the way out, and see the scope of this tiny corner of the Universe, then back in and down, right smack dab into my perch before the iMac. Cat to my left, coffee pot just done with its gurgles, and I have but a few words to tap out before I rise, empty cup in hand, and take the three steps that must be taken if fresh coffee is to be had. Be right back, k? Now, I did it and the coffee is good. Gevilia, not Starbucks. But still French roast. Always that, if possible.

Now, an hour has passed. Clouds to the north seem to have something to do with the cooler temperatures that slipped in and down yesterday afternoon, late. I bid a brief thank you to the weather gods and came in here to embrace gravity and settle into my chair. A couple of beers, and too much news. I note that I’ve had a reader from Ireland the past couple of days. Hello, my friend. Your presence in my blog stats gives me a broader perspective on all of this scary news. Did I tell y’all that I have come to full realization of just how repulsive our president is? And McConnell? When he smiles (if you can call it that) his face reminds me, for some reason, of Hannibal Lector. But it is like all rubbery and stuff, and danged iffin them creepy eyes don’t show no signs of a soul in there. Ideal-driven politicians become machines at some point. But the guy’s a slasher too. Budgets, medical funding. He creeps in to the American dream and starts slicing away. Freddy Krueger? Or liver and chianti? Geez, I am drifting into a bad place, but that bad place is also creeping into me. We got us some big problems here. Sigh. I guess it’s time to come back on down to earth for the day. It’s a workday and I have the usual suspects nipping at my ankles. The big one, the guardian at the gate, has a distinct agoraphobic aura about it. I always gotta wrassle with fear, each and every morning, just to get out the door so’s I can git on down to work. The particular anxiety I deal with is a creepy crawly itchy field effect of a disorder. PTSD. Hidden wounds, subjective results that got into the neuro something or other parts of this body, and they feed off of muscle memory, and . . . and . . . sigh. My massage therapist knows about the PTSD, and we work on it together. She was at my neck the other day, and my emotions shifted into a really big space, and I got weepy-eyed and expressive in general. I always tell her when she hits a spot like that. She’s a single mom of two teenagers. The sigh of sympathy she shares at such times is a sweet balm indeed. Hey! Speaking of wounds and sympathy. Did I tell y’all about the gashes on my arms? I’ve got two, one on each forearm. It was the dog that did it. Both of them One week apart. First the right arm and then the left. Exuberance, coyote blood. She didn’t mean nothin by it. Puppy stuff from a 30 pound pooch. Not my dog, I don’t have a dog. The right arm is healing, as is the left. The right has faded some but it still looks all red and painful. The left is still flaming red and looks as if it might have needed stitches. It didn’t need then though. Neither arm did. The wounds are both superficial. Neither one hurts much. They both burn and itch throughout the wok day. I douse them frequently throughout the day with hand sanitizer. Now, here’s the fun part. Regardless of the low level of my actual discomfort the fawning sympathy from pretty women they evoke is indeed lovely and sweet. Just like the massage therapist. This is a healing thing, and the pagan in me, which is actually pretty much of an infusion, knows that it is the goddess Brighid who tends to the healing. She shines through, in all her archetypal glory, when these pretty women fawn upon with sympathy. Tis a healing force. A mom thing. Yeh, I play it a little but I am deeply aware of the big picture here, and my gratitude is a shiny thing as well. Hey, listen, I gotta get ready for work. Should be a busy day. Bueno bye* ( * – a Northern New Mexican colloquial phrase).

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

 

Fulfillment and Sleep

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“You can’t connect the dots looking forward; you can only connect them looking backwards. So you have to trust that the dots will somehow connect in your future.”  ~  Steve Jobs

“I’m not a body with a soul, I’m a soul that has a visible part called the body.”  ~  Paulo Coelho

I was going to start earlier but for some odd reason I got caught up in watching some old Monkees videos on youtube. It was fulfilling though. Fulfillment is something important to me lately. Not sure why, but one does not question the dictates of the soul; at least this one doesn’t. Maybe it’s just a personal thing. I don’t know. Yesterday was massage day, speaking of fulfillment. And it was close enough to the Summer Solstice to make the massage all that much more profound. Massage is profound for me. How about you? It was also the therapist’s birthday, so there ya have it. Our conversation was sweet as well, and my body feels fulfilled. Nuff said. I slept most of the rest of the day. Sleep is something that has been increasing these days, and although I don’t know why, it feels good, and needed. Sleep deprivation is one of the dangers of, in, whatever, clinical depression. Progress here for our hero. I’ve not got much to write ablaut this morning, just a tad of a ramble is the obvious result. “A tad of a ramble”? What a nice phrase!! I think it was meant to be. Geez, I am in such an odd mood today, and it’s a workday, so that means I will have fun. That too is fulfilling.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

Jellyfish at Midsummer

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“Be silent and listen: have you recognized your madness and do you admit it? Have you noticed that all your foundations are completely mired in madness? Do you not want to recognize your madness and welcome it in a friendly manner? You wanted to accept everything. So accept madness too. Let the light of your madness shine, and it will suddenly dawn on you. Madness is not to be despised and not to be feared, but instead you should give it life…If you want to find paths, you should also not spurn madness, since it makes up such a great part of your nature…Be glad that you can recognize it, for you will thus avoid becoming its victim. Madness is a special form of the spirit and clings to all teachings and philosophies, but even more to daily life, since life itself is full of craziness and at bottom utterly illogical. Man strives toward reason only so that he can make rules for himself. Life itself has no rules. That is its mystery and its unknown law. What you call knowledge is an attempt to impose something comprehensible on life.”  ~  C. G. Jung

“How can I be substantial if I do not cast a shadow? I must have a dark side also If I am to be whole”   ~  C. G. Jung

This morning it is ravens and jellyfish. Portuguese Man O’ War. Up over the mountains float numerous clouds with broad crowns and trails of virga reaching toward the summits. Those clouds remind me of jellyfish. Just as a scientific point I should point out that the Man O’ War is not one creature. It is a colony of organisms. There’s an analogy in there somewhere. We are one people, yet it takes a village. There, I said it. Those jellyfish clouds are mauve. The ravens came long before sunrise, squawking along on their way into town. Everyone needs to get an early start on occasion. Ravens got Red Bull? Just kidding. On the personal front, I have a four day work weekend at hand. It will be a busy one at the store. Stimulation, challenge, fulfillment. Sometimes I look at my job as a spiritual exercise. Well, not sometimes, most of the time. So homeboy here is going to do some intentional rest and restoration today. Cleanse. Rest some more. Eat food. Rest some more. That kind of stuff. Shop around on Amazon to see what movies might be fun to watch – or, and/or, fulfilling. Tis Midsummer, and I think more than celebration we might consider reverence and reflection. With our current political climate even some gnarly gratitude might be in order, before Trump and McConnell convince most of us that all of us are ingrates. Yes, McConnell is just as bad and scary as our Fearless Leader. Perhaps even more so. Nah, he ain’t my fearless leader, nor can I bring myself to capitalize that moniker again. It’s all about healing for me today, to surf on through a rocky life phase, with my cat at my side, and my chair below. Sounds like a plan.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

 

Mystery and Massage

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“The part of my brain that was responsible for creating the world I lived and moved in and for taking the raw data that came in through my senses and fashioning it into a meaningful universe: that part of my brain was down, and out. And yet despite all of this, I had been alive, and aware, truly aware, in a universe characterized above all by love, consciousness, and reality. There was, for me, simply no arguing this fact. I knew it so completely that I ached.”  ~  Eben Alexander

The opening photo today has been doctored considerably; the morning playtime for me. Of course, it suggests a light at the end of a tunnel, an age old image that can mean almost anything. I had a near death experience 33 years ago, so I sometimes write about it here, and I previously wrote a whole book about it, which I just can’t bring myself to tout. It wasn’t about making money. The truth is that few people can make much money at writing these days. Still, look. The amount of books on the market boggle my mind. I don’t know about you. In looking at the numbers of books in print I can only surmise that people write because they want to. Or because they have to. That last one leads into the issue of creative drive. I know that feeling quite well. The need to express feelings and stuff. I have no direction in this post. In fact I really had to push myself to begin writing this morning. One drive that I have is to keep my writing sharp and practiced. That’s a hard one to explain, and I have no intention of any explanation anyway, so let’s just ramble here. There is one thing of note lately. A young woman that I recently met said an odd thing to me a few days ago. I don’t remember what precipitated her comment but I do remember that it seemed slightly out of context, which led me to believe that someone had told her that I struggle with depression, and that there was an undercurrent in the telling that laid a bit of judgement on me. There have been many times in my life that folks have aired a tone of disbelief as to the seriousness of depression. Like, ya know, how would they know? Geez, my writing here is way clunky. I’m gonna step out for some air. Bisy. Gon out. Bisy backson.

It’s pretty nice outside this morning. Dawn is well on the way. Yet the oppressive heat of the coming day is a considerable factor in . . . what am I talking about? Whatever. Anyway, what the young woman said is “We make ourselves depressed”. I simply told her that some people have clinical depression and they can’t help it. Which is true. I think it was Barbara Kingsolver who wrote that comparing situational depression to clinical depression is like comparing the common cold to cancer. I agree. What I would like to tell this young woman is that she would do well to learn the difference in case she needs to avoid hurting someone down the line, in the name of helping them. I will likely do no such thing. I know how I am, if someone tells me to cheer up, and that we create our own reality, when I am in the thick of a depressive spell, I generally want to tell them to fuck off. But you can’t do that. They have no way of knowing, and in no way do I wish this on anyone. But it ain’t so bad this morning, although it has been in recent days. Sure, it always passes, and I am in no mood to get all flowery and stuff with my prose this morning, so on we go. I think I will leave it at that. Tomorrow is massage day and I seriously need it. It’s been three weeks since the last one and danged if I know how I made it these past many years without massages. Some things are just a mystery, I suppose. And I do so appreciate a good mystery. And a good massage.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.