To Enter the Story

“She hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but she was a bit like a cat herself, forever wandering in the woods, chasing after squirrels and rabbits as fast as her skinny legs could take her when the fancy struck, climbing trees like a possum, able to doze in the sun at a moment’s notice. And sometimes with no notice at all.” ~ Charles de Lint

“Some of us are drawn to mountains the way the moon draws the tide. Both the great forests and the mountains live in my bones. They have taught me, humbled me, purified me and changed me.”  ~ Joan Halifax

“Would you that ever find yourself walking the Road, trudging without purpose, seeking some journey’s end, I give you this warning. The Road is a living being. She is an enchantress and She has a long reach.” ~ Caiseal Mór

The biggest news of the day appears to be Springtime. Lush and green, it makes last year’s drought look like a day at the beach, but without the ocean: only the sea of sage fields to the west. We got a lot of snow this past Winter. It shows, though mid-May still sports near-freezing temperatures each day at dawn. That’s one of the features I like about the 7000 foot high desert: it can get hot as it wants each day, yet the nighttime still brings that brisk reminder that sea level is a mile and a half below. Usually I start a post with a loose description of my here and now stuff – cat, coffee, any mysterious wild animal noises I hear outside, traffic on the highway. At the moment I need to refill my coffee cup, pet the cat, then step outside for a few minutes. I must make sure that I finish my coffee early so the caffeine doesn’t mess with my blood pressure readings when I go in to my PCP to get my annual checkup later this morning. Chances are good that I am in good health, or at least moderately so. I worry about my health. Heck, I worry about most anything, and sometimes about everything. That’s the part of my overall health that is the most reliable: my mental health. Maybe “worry” is not the right word. Maybe I should stick with “anxiety”, because it sure is that. The anxiety is pretty much omnipresent at this point. It is unlikely to ever go away – ever – but I retain that hope, even if for entertainment purposes only, which is not always easy to do, because the looming presence of depression, which waits in the wings, always ready to step through the curtains into the spotlight, where it then does its best to dampen the glare of the Light as much as possible. It is usually quite successful in this chore. Depression is a bitch that way.

Between this sentence and the last I stepped outside, finally. There is wind this morning. There has been a lot of wind lately. It’s Springtime – it’s supposed to be this way. It is easy to believe that this is all normal. Maybe because it is? But climate change is upon us, whether we like it or not. One of my favorite active journalists is William Rivers Pitt, who is senior editor and lead columnist at Truthout.org, which is one of the more intellectual progressive sites on the internet. I read his latest column (underlined text is a link) this morning – a commentary, written in the New England rain, about global warming and all of that ‘happy’ stuff. Happy?! I try to mostly steer clear of irony at this time of the day, but sometimes it just slips out, mainly because I seem to be steeped in irony a good part of the time. Good or bad, I don’t know. I love this man’s writing; so colorful and plucky. No, I won’t get into the climate change issue this morning. I have other things on my mind. One of those worrisome things is the state of structural integrity of my torso – mainly my shoulders and upper spine. Ouch. Poor me, right? There have been several days these past few weeks when the pain has gotten to the point where it nearly squeezes repressed tears from my eyes. And repressed they are. Usually the only time I actually cry is when watching a movie, or a good TV show. There is, somewhere in my archives, a note to my parents from my third grade teacher. She reported that one of my strong suits was the ability to become completely absorbed is a story, to the point where that’s all there is. That’s the way a good story is supposed to be, of course, but I take it to the next level, where I can go into that empathetic space with a mediocre story as well. The point is I have always been this way. I have the document to prove it. It’s why I can cry at the drop of a hat during some moving scene from some movie or TV show. The funny thing about it is that I more easily cry at positive moments – tears of joy. Now, back to the structural integrity thing: the pain- physical, emotional, and psychological – is assuaged by my monthly massage, which also happens this week. It’ll be an interesting week, a week about illness and healing. Wednesday I tend to my psychological illness, in psychotherapy, where we will likely get into the deep currents of the Divine Feminine and why I have become so piss-poor at taking good care of myself. So there we have physical care on Monday, psychological care on Wednesday. What about the spiritual? I get that with the massage. There are the physical assets and attributes of massage, of course. But I get a lot out of the spiritual and energetic aspects as well. Look at it this way, massage requires the laying on of hands, which makes a shirt load of difference upon contact. As this goes on I gently move to some semblance of synergy with the therapist. It becomes a team effort, and since we converse throughout the session the effects radiate to all aspects of my being. I am always grateful for the relief from the pain, but I am drawn to Spirit through the whole process. Some of it is the even momentary release of some muscle memory, but mainly its the way our energy blends for the duration of the session. There is an unavoidable intimacy in an hour’s worth of physical contact between two people, especially when one is a skilled therapist, and a woman. There’s your synergy right there. And since I am pretty much of a recluse that blending draws me out, and things get big. Speaking of which, it’s time to boost the cat from my lap and head for the shower. It’s gonna be a big day, a big week. A lot of ground will be covered, with the aim of nurturance. I look forward to it – to enter the story deeply.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

One thought on “To Enter the Story

  1. I was sitting down to write my blog. An infrequent exercise of late. I have three blogs. Used to religiously write in Creative Journey, the artistic blog, and less often in Sidetracked Charley which has turned into the Dark Times Journal. There seems to be less creative times and more dark times.
    I got lured in by your blog and now wonder if I need to write one at all.

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