Questing Sanity Book Two
By Emily LeClair Metcalf
About the Author
Emily LeClair Metcalf has spent her life living with schizoaffective disorder - bipolar type, since she was 17. She also suffered with an eating disorder and major depression in high school. She has been hospitalized for mental health issues three times and has suffered four major psychotic breaks, as well as many “minor” episodes. Growing up in Seattle, WA, she loved writing beginning at age seven, learned to play the guitar at age twelve, and spent her entire twenties painting. She has lived the career of Early Childhood Professional, Painter, has written and performed children’s music, and has worked various other jobs. She has now committed herself full-time to a life of writing, and of practicing wellness. In 2017, she published “Glass Slippers - A Journey of Mental Illness”, a book wherein she describes learning to define her life-long illness as a gift. In this book, “Questing Sanity”, Emily expands and journeys further into understanding what this really means, and examines her Faith and Sexuality while documenting a slow life on Lopez, where she is also healing from deep wounds of Trauma.
About the Book
“Questing Sanity" is a collection; essays, blogs, small rants, and poetry. Emily successfully writes rawly about spirituality, longing, learning, suffering and creativity, all the while epically illustrating the nature of her illness. She discusses virtuousness, philosophy, psychology, and thoughts relevant to the fact that we reside together in a very flawed society, where we all search for meaning and happiness. Emily writes here, to reveal her process and experience, as well as reach into the life and the soul of her reader. She throws herself deep into the subject matter, so that whilst reading her words, one absorbs the soul of a very gifted, and an extremely flawed human being, that is searching in this life for connection, healing, and Faith through her writing.
Emily has a dream that her book will find its way to Psych Wards, Hospitals, Prisons, and Low Income Housing, so that her fellow people who struggle with addiction, mental illness, suicidal tendencies, and/or hopelessness, will find meaning and help through reading “Questing Sanity”, as well as “Glass Slippers: A Journey of Mental Illness” (published in 2017).
TABLE OF CONTENTS
1.) Acknowledgements p.
2.) Preface p.
3.) Introduction pp.
4.) Questing Sanity - God and Realism pp.
5.) The Psychology of Fight, Flight and Freeze: How Our Weakness
Can Be Transformed Into Strength pp.
6.) [136] Blog Posts pp.
Overcoming the Dark p.
Balancing Life’s Trials p.
Arrival of Dreams p.
Grief Rainbows p.
A New Year p.
Renewed Faith p.
Words of Ease p.
Self Love p.
Eating Cake p.
Secrets p.
Being Me p.
Was Blind but Now I See p.
Chrysalis p.
In the Woods p.
Nature vs. Nurture p.
Breaking the Mold p.
Gratitude p.
For Now p.
Spirit Warriors p.
Optimism p.
Dystopia p.
Synergy p.
Psykhe; The Goddess of Soul p.
Holding the Chaos p.
Evolution on an Axis p.
Chaotic Cooling Depths p.
Surrender p.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Moon Flicker p.
“How you Livin’?” p.
Vision Questing p.
Loss is Gain p.
Ring Around the Moon p.
Here’s to the Water, Cheers! p.
Pushing Forward p.
Teaspoon of Sugar p.
Love Untethered p.
All I Need is the Air that I Breathe p.
Clouds; Our Heroes p.
I Choose Ease p.
Imbolg p.
Emerging Joy p.
Both Sides Now p.
Embracing Vision p.
Springtime Altar p.
Moon p.
In Like a Lion p.
Yielding p.
Protection p.
Self Love… “The Four Agreements" p.
Star p.
The Power of Illusion p.
Existentialism p.
Rediscovering Identity p.
Grateful p.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Self Care p.
Dreams p.
The 10% Rule p.
Unmasking Truth p.
River of Consciousness p.
Evolve p.
The Maze of the Redeemed p.
Gifts from God p.
Get the T.I.R.F. p.
The Closet p.
Golden Masses p.
Alanon p.
Nobody Cares p.
Glaciers p.
Popcorn p.
Noblesse Oblige p.
Underbelly p.
Finding Love p.
Journey Into Love p.
A Gift p.
I Am Not A Pronoun p.
Primal Healing p.
The Other Side p.
Small Triumphs p.
Passionate Loving Kindness p.
Soul of Stone p.
The Science of Soil p.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Moon Shadow Work p.
Permeability p.
Love vs. Perfection p.
Stillness, Gratitude, Transformation p.
The Path of Least Resistance p.
A Flowering Genius p.
Remembering Faith p.
Ordinariness p.
Alive p.
Okay to Not be Okay p.
The Curse of Comparing p.
Birthday Blues p.
Awakening to Your Gift p.
A New Door p.
Dreaming New p.
“Real Simple” p.
Weaving Health p.
Vein of Existence p.
Butterfly p.
The Glass Crutch p.
The Kraken p.
Just Plain Shit p.
TRIGGER WARNING p.
Werewolf Wonder p.
Water, Air, Fire, Matter p.
The Rhythm of Illness p.
White Walkers p.
AIDS p.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
It Is Never Too Late to be a VOTEr p.
Day Twelve p.
Defirmative Action p.
Psychological Awareness and Love p.
Psychological Constipation 101: Emily’s Life p.
Two By Two p.
One With Water p.
Coming Out p.
Awake September p.
Returning p.
Past the Paradigm p.
The Painting of Life p.
For Chris p.
The Fresh Path p.
The Search for Reality p.
Out of the Box p.
Dark Matters p.
Letting Go p.
Slow Faith p.
2020 Vision p.
Standing on the Ledge p.
True Moon p.
We Shall Overcome p.
Quantifying the Quality p.
What Would Steve Do? p.
Growth p.
Baptism p.
7.) INSTAGRAM DIATRIBES pp.
8) Poetry
- Melting Away p.
- Song at Dusk p.
- An Autumn Epithet p.
- Sacrifice of the Serpent p.
- Dora p.
- Wonder Woman p.
- Once I was Gifted p.
- Cher the Pancake p.
- THOG p.
- Basement p.
- Lord of the Flies p.
- Sound Deliverance p.
- Megabytes Destroyed p.
- Wings of Sorrow p.
- Rebel Heart p.
- Rebirth p.
- Soul Father p.
- Holding Mystery p.
- Spirit Mother p.
- Temperance p.
- A Gift of Love p.
- Writing My Soul p.
- Hysteria p.
9.) Mourning Mask p.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
To the epic love of my life, Steve. The man who pulls me up off the floor, cleans up the broken glass, broke his hand to protect my head, and feeds and nurtures. Steve, has told me over and over to have faith, and that everything will be okay… he witnesses my worse fears, talks me down from many a psychological precipice, and literally saves my life to this day.
To Sheila, who birthed and mothered me.
To Dorothy, Mom, who accepted me as I was.
And to Ada. The only one who I would gladly give my life for.
PREFACE
The following pages are filled with my inner processes, spiritual insights, philosophical inquiries, reflective blogs, diatribes, and poetry. I have compiled these writings for your insight as well as my healing. This book does not need to be read in sequence, though it can be. The one hundred and thirty-five blogs are from my website www.welcometothegrit.com (Welcome to the Grit), and are placed chronologically, so that there is a potential flow of understanding to accompany. I describe dealing with schizoaffective disorder, and compose this writing with the intention of crafting a meditative and healing junket.
I am grateful for your ears and your witness to my process. Writing has become a pleasure, as well as a necessary part of life; a simple life, a slow life, where I now solely focus on basic mental, spiritual, and physical health and wellness. Life is beautiful, I am grateful for my gifts, and I am grateful for all that I have learned because of my illness. I embrace the struggle, and it has taught and still teaches multifariously and profoundly. I implore you benefit in authenticity, while consuming these written perceptions, helping me dream my dreams, and while traveling along with me on my quest for sanity.
INTRODUCTION
My body aches, my face feels numb. I am debilitated by anxiety, and I am disturbed by my thoughts. I feel alone in my daily struggle and my life’s journey, and this aloneness runs very deep into my subconscious and body. This is my daily life. I have schizoaffective disorder - bipolar type. I have a few friends who understand, and some who have even been there themselves. I have my husband, who loves me deeply, and has been at my side through so much; but sometimes he fails to understand what I go through, still. He just always looks upon me with great compassion and provides his endless support.
Included here are my weekly reflections from over the time span of several years. Through reading these words, through my process in writing them, and in exploring my reflections; the world, myself and my loved ones will hopefully become a step closer to understanding the pain, as well as the healing process and the gift, of a person such as myself. Life is short, and all I have had these last few years is my writing. Life has been largely filled with recovery from my fourth major psychotic break, many medication adjustments, and a couple of recent smaller episodes. My first book, “Glass Slippers: A Journey of Mental Illness”, is available, and is the prequel to these writings here.
I may never truly be able to explain to another human, or to myself, what it actually feels like to live with debilitating mental illness. Maybe you suffer from one, and there is solace to be found in reading these words, as I put sound and form to something that you, the reader, also deeply longs to express or understand. Maybe you just want to know how it feels to be me. I don’t want to feel alone anymore. I live in a small community, and I am surrounded by close family. I am not “literally" alone. Still, I have discovered lately that I am alone. I am alone in spirit. I am trapped in my body, and in a mind, that struggles and longs for light and voice. Facing this aloneness has led me to finding support from people and solace in God.
Sometimes I don’t understand the quest myself, so how do I explain it? How can I defend my disposition or validate my existence? It just is, and we are all unique. As I write and reflect on sanity in the following pages, I may speak of general life issues or imaginative longings, and I hope that as we reach the end of this book, you and I both have a better understanding of what it is like to live with schizoaffective disorder - bipolar type.
I have struggled so long and so hard, and now I have finally come to the realization that there is only so much time… that if there is a point to life, if there is an underlying truth, it is that we long to be happy and to feel love. So, I plan to not take things too seriously, and to have a little fun. I must say ‘fuck’ now and again, and I also refuse to drive myself into pain in idyllic worship of perfectionism and achievement.
Thank you for viewing my cogitations, and I hope this book helps you. It has helped me, yo se, lansarse los salvidades… while processing and composing this book.
Questing Sanity - God and Realism
There are two things that have changed and influenced my quest for sanity for the better. Both of these things have affected my life, and have created a skill and an aptitude for survival, that aides in dealing with the difficult daily and struggle I endure, living with schizoaffective disorder. They are god and realism. The first element, god, on the long path of recovery that I have journeyed these last twenty years, did not settle into my life in an influential way until I had been painting, writing poems, and quantifying my illness in the realm of survival, and healing, for almost 15 years. My quest for reality ensued when I started suffering with psychosis very early on in my illness. Realism, the acceptance of what is real and learning to act accordingly, has helped me achieve wellness within my quest for finding reality, and thus sanity.
I first fell “psychotically” ill when I was just seventeen. I suffered major depression, anxiety, and psychosis. Though it was clear that anti-depressants triggered more symptoms, one of the first inclinations of bipolar disorder, I still did not receive the diagnosis of bipolar disorder one, for five or so years. I later would receive the diagnosis of schizoaffective disorder - bipolar type in 2007, after my third hospitalization, and over 10 years dealing with acute mental illness.
It wasn’t until 2012, that I explored the matter of faith in my life in a committed manner. I started going to church, and did so somewhat religiously for four years. I became committed. I was a volunteer; helping with set up, running the power point, and performing on stage, singing music. I attended a bible study and was baptized for the second time in my life, a couple of years into it, in September of 2014.
I had prayed to god, early on during hardship with my illness, years before, while dealing with symptoms that were unbearable. I did not practice spirituality actively, however, until my early thirties. During these earlier times of hardship, I could become filled with magnanimous fear. I did not know reality, and I was very afraid of losing my mind. I did in fact lose my mind many times. I was hospitalized twice, once I had trouble speaking the english language, and I also once forgot my name. My “Christian” upbringing, had me lean on a god, to which I would pray, in the hopes that everything would be okay; that ‘this too shall pass’. These roots led to a reserve of faith, and later, I felt that exploring faith in the manner of studying and receiving Christ and the bible, would spur these deep roots that were inside of me.
It worked. I found my life transforming in significant ways. I was practicing true resilience. I was healing deep wells of grief that lay heavy on my soul, and that were stored deep in the cells of my physical body. I was renewed, and even saved, from the harsh reality and the responsibility for our suffering that we can place upon ourselves as human beings. I did not need to take responsibility for the world any longer and all of the evil that exists here, because I had faith in a greater divinity.
I now believe in god. I truly believe. Faith is universal in its essence, and anyone at anytime is capable of understanding this. For me, it meant delving deep into the patterns of my upbringing, the Christian roots that were planted within me as a young girl, first learning about god. Christianity, the pursuit of faith, and the belief in a loving god, ultimately changed my life and set the foundation for a much needed leap in my healing process. I now understand my illness as a gift. My struggle with mental illness is infused with light, while faith penetrates my being. I have hope. Faith and god are rudimentary and fundamental, in my success as a human being living with schizoaffective disorder - bipolar type, while questing sanity.
The other major influence in my quest for sanity, is the concept of realism, which means “the attitude or practice of accepting a situation as it is, and being prepared to deal with it accordingly.” Realism, can also be thought of as existentialism. I met a man in Boston, Massachusetts on Instagram, who has the diagnosis of schizoaffective disorder - depressive type, the other end of the spectrum, and the second categorization of schizoaffective disorder (that I am currently aware of). He is a writer, and documents his life and trials while dealing with severe mental illness and alcoholism, in a very realist manner. I have learned much from his perspective, while reading his writings. Whether you are dealing with depression, moods, mania, anxiety, trauma, psychosis, or addictive and compulsive behaviors, one can benefit greatly from a realist view. Realism, is very much about the acceptance of a situation. It took me many years, even the total of two decades, to accept my illness, and to embrace the fate of being a mental health consumer/patient, in its totality. I still struggle with acceptance to this day.
Once you accept the truth of your situation, you become able to embrace a situation, and then develop an ability to act upon it and life, in an achievable manner. You learn to love yourself more. It takes mastering a sense of hope, and totally recapitulating the concept that we are good, and that mental illness is a gift. A realist perspective comes second. Believing in god and perceiving my trials as a gift came first, for me. Then, while practicing realism, and realizing and accepting my limits, I became able to move forward in life with a sober perspective.
Accepting my fate of being diagnosed with schizoaffective disorder - bipolar type, I then was able to give up work and school entirely, while focusing on wellness practices of mind and body. I quit drinking, dedicated myself to regular sitting and meditation, and disciplined myself into a realistic exercise regime. I am unfaltering in this. The truth is that work and school are very triggering for me, have exasperated my symptoms endlessly, and have landed me in the hospital several times.
All three times I was hospitalized, I was enrolled in College, and was applying myself full-time to the life of being a student. After giving up on school, I committed myself to holding a job in order to prove a sense of stability and to contribute fiscally; part-time mostly. While I worked, I practiced my creativity actively; writing poetry, a memoir, and painting diligently. After moving to Lopez in 2007, I continued to paint intermittently, for seven or eight years, and then stopped. I continued to write and work. In 2016, I suffered from another psychotic break, this time brought on by work. I avoided the psychiatric hospital, while living in the tight knit community of Lopez Island, and being close to my family. I worked again in 2017, but gave that up, as I continued to suffer through medication adjustment, after adjustment. And I became realistic, not only about my mental illness and limitations, but that I am an artist first and foremost. The two went hand in hand, and now I spend my time wholly practicing basic wellness, and writing. This seems to work for me.
Realism and existentialism go hand in hand. I exist. That is all. There is no silver lining, and thus my ego does not end up out of balance. It will not become so small, that I develop misguided identity issues concerning being “God”-like, or so large, that I encompass a need for importance to such a capacity, that I am lead into disappointment, depression, and rage. We tend to have a “God” complex when our egos are too small. We tend to feel insignificant when our egos are over bloated with narcissism. We exist. The ego is very real, and if we can accept in a realistic fashion that we just are who we are, and love and accept ourselves and our fate as is, our ego will become increasingly healthy and balanced. Reality has been hard for me to find over and over on this journey, while dealing with psychosis. Science; the science of psychiatry, psychology and pharmacology, have all been incredibly helpful in helping me embrace a sense of objectivity, that aides in seeing things as they are.
I first and foremost need medication to help my brain chemistry. But, an attitude of accepting reality, the situation as it is, and being prepared to act accordingly, is the next and final step in finding sure footing in what is real, and discovering the road to wellness. Many people struggle with delusions, imbalanced egos, narcissism, depression, compulsivity, and paranoia, all which create confusion in accepting a situation and reality as it really is. The practice of realism is very sobering. Medications help me arrive there. I desire to be sober and here, so as to do the best I can within my limitations, while learning to succeed with this hand I have been dealt.
A belief in god, and practicing faith, ultimately givers me a sense of purpose. Through accepting that I am loved, and by surrendering control, I am opened to the possibility of receiving reality as it is. So, the two go hand and hand, you see… at least they do for me. Embracing the fact that anything is possible and that everything has purpose, the large and the small, the sensical and the nonsensical, as well as understanding the loving energy of a god and of nature, I am able to comprehend the hard scientific truth of reality, and that there is neither good, nor bad, to any situation. It all just exists. The mere fact of existence, once facts are established and observed, reinforces the fact that existence itself has great meaning.
Accepting that things have no meaning, or are neutral, also implies a great realistic importance. I always revert to contemplating the buddhist concept that “emptiness is form and form is emptiness.” This could be interpreted as ‘god exists, existence is god’, or perhaps that what is real has great meaning and lacks meaning entirely, and that life must have great purpose, simply because it exists. All in all, a belief in god supports the belief that existence and reality, just as it is, has purpose. Aha! So, I have great purpose in living with my mental illness, just as I am, because it is my reality. There is also no good or bad to my situation, and this is a HUGE relief. God is forgiveness. Realism is a thing. I am supported both by god and realism.
The Psychology of Fight, Flight and Freeze: How our Weakness Can Be Transformed Into Strength
We have all heard of the survival mechanisms that the human species has; Fight or Flight. Some of us also know that there is a third inherent response, Freeze. These three survival mechanisms provide a simple triangular diagram representing three main categories of underlying psychological condition, that result from the use of these “survival tactics”. There are strengths and tools that also are sourced from within the indwelling design of these survival and coping responses, that will enable those of us that suffer with psychological illness, to come back into balance and to achieve health.
The fundamental actions that we respond to crises with, can be attributed to three fundamental areas of human study. Forming a triangle, each action/coping mechanism, and the study associated with it, can help draw out, or support the neighboring mechanism or skill of this triangular diagram. The three subjects associated with fight, flight and freeze, are science, art, and faith/religion. Because they create a triangle, fight (science) needs the “skills” or “strengths” of flight (art), flight (art) needs the strengths of freeze (faith), and freeze (faith) can be strengthened and supplemented by drawing on fight (science) etc. etc. The flow goes both directions, and whatever study is adjacent, either left or right, supports the study of focus.
The first response, fight, resources the coping mechanisms of anger and control, which when out of balance, result in the symptoms of compulsivity and obsession. One of the fundamental psychological conditions associated with the fight response, is obsessive compulsive disorder. Strengths, skills, and talents that can result from this response are rational-mind, logic, and observation. Tools and therapies that can be used to bring symptoms back into balance, are philosophy and creativity, order in moderation, and finding abstract systems. Also, establishing within oneself a sense of faith or belief, can help pull out the inherent skills of observation and rationality. The hard-skill or area of human study attributed to the fight response is science.
The second response, flight, resources and uses the coping mechanisms of disassociation, leaving the body, and “the splitting of the psyche”, or what we refer to as schizoid tendencies (et al psychosis or delusion). The concrete psychological conditions that result are post traumatic stress, schizophrenia, along with any disorder where one disassociates. Skills that are associated with this response, are intuition, emotional-mind, and the imagination. Therapies needed to bring these minds back into balance, or to optimal health, are that of realism and logic, fostering spirituality and faith, and also creativity that encourages self expression and self reflection, thus helping create a sense of self or ground the person into a bodily sense of self, develop an ability to listen to one’s gut instinct, and thus strengthen identity. The hard skill or general area of human study attributed to the response of flight is art.
The third response, freeze, resources the coping mechanism of repression. The psychological conditions that can result are addiction where one self medicates disturbed emotional feelings while “bottling them up” so to speak, and bipolar disorder where one has a mood disruption from freezing or repressing their emotions. The skills associated here are spirituality, instinct, and faith. Therapies helpful for regaining balance and mental health, are practicing using the imagination in creative endeavors, while getting in touch with both the rational-mind and the emotional-mind, and practicing self observation. Focusing on one’s own deficit also will help while working on issues of trust and forgiveness. The area of study sourced from this human response would be that of faith and religion.
It is important to realize that we all have anger/compulsivity, the tendency to disassociate, and varying degrees of repression in our lives. It is just that when one survival response is set in motion a pattern begins. During circumstances related to fear or trauma, the anger/compulsivity (fight), disassociation/psychosis (flight), and repression/addictive behavior (freeze), then become hidden and chronic. Chemicals become out of balance, and the brain relies heavily on these nerve pathways while developing chemical deficiency. It is only through shining light upon these “phantoms”, and in finding the skills and therapies that can draw the patterns to the surface or bring balance, that we can restore our impressional human psyches and bodies, as well as return to optimal psychological health. Medications are also very important in finding equilibrium, equanimity, and in the “re-wiring” of the brain.
The beauty or nature that resides in the essence of our trauma, within our chemical imbalance, and within these survival responses and coping mechanisms that seem to cause havoc and illness in our lives, is that no one person belongs to just one reaction or one coping mechanism, though the diagnoses that we receive do aid in treatment via medication. The biology of our humanness says that we are inherently capable of all three points of this ‘triangular’ cycle: (fight, flight and freeze)… thus we can draw strength from the various parts of our natural human nature, in order to heal the other parts of our beings that are cracked, broken, or out of balance. Art, Creativity, Imagination and Emotion feed Science and Logic, Science and Logic feed Faith and Instinct, and Faith and Instinct feed our Imaginative, Creative, Intuitive and Emotional selves. Of course, Science/ Logic helps ground Imagination/ Creativity, Imagination/ Creativity keeps our Faith/ Instinct active and healthy, and Faith/ Instinct helps push our Science/ Logic the next level needed to advance as a collective species. Also, aligning oneself with one’s own area of study in a balanced, integrated way will help the patient turn their deficit into inner capability and strength. An addict may use spirituality to grow, an obsessive person may use logic and science to find meaning and purpose, and someone who disassociates use art to ground themselves. It seems what constitutes our greatest weaknesses as human beings, is the exact same stuff that we also value as achievement.
The creation of this ideology through the artistic expression of my writing is me searching for an abstract system in order to heal and bring back into balance my sense of logic or my obsessive-compulsive tendencies. Having faith in my abilities, and following my gut instinct, helps nurture my intuition, emotional mind and imagination, thus resulting in the balancing of my schizoid tendencies. And logically assessing my ideas within my writing, is helping me practice faith, and listen to my gut instinct, while also combatting my addictive behaviors. All of these practices help and support eachother, interacting adjacently within the triangular system. Also, within my greatest weaknesses lie strengths simply waiting to be nurtured. Gravitating towards practicing a skill, whether it is aligned with your area of strength/weakness, or supporting it adjacently, helps us bring our wounds back into balance. This is something that the human spirit seems to intuitively and actively pursue.
136 BLOG POSTS: “WELCOMETOTHEGRIT.COM”
Overcoming the Dark
3/2/17
Tomorrow we head down to Seattle to UW Medicine for an important appointment regarding the progress of Steve’s condition of spinal stenosis. We will hopefully walk away tomorrow with an appointment for Steve’s surgery, a critical climax to what we have been enduring for years, as we did not know what was wrong with Steve until recently. He has been suffering from mobility issues for some time. I am grateful for moving forward, and I feel ready to tackle the challenges ahead.
This last winter has been a long winter of cutting back on drinking and smoking and battling these addictions that plague our lives. We have made much progress. I have spent hours upon hours in my journal, reading tarot, attending my group to meditate on The Power of Now, as well as attending Quaker gathering and a women’s circle. I have processed endlessly with friends and family, and I have pushed past the urge to smoke a million times and refrained from drinking any alcohol for many weeks.
It is a process, however. I may go for a whole month without drinking or having cut back to five cigarettes a day, and then I slide back into old habits all too willingly. It is true that time spent working out is time spent working out, and it does not go wasted. Every cigarette I have avoided, every drink I have abstained from, I have stayed increasingly in the moment and aware of my inner workings. This is my best argument for being a non-drinker. I am in the moment, I am present and aware and potentially in consciousness while sober. I deviate from consciousness and become increasingly unconscious the more I drink. I also lose the moment. It is in the moment that I heal my ‘pain body’. More time spent aware of my truer self is good, even though it can become painful after a time. I have spent many hours this winter, housed up in my little home, feet up, and bored out of my mind. I turn down yet another game of cribbage with my husband, and I opt for staring at the wall.
Spring is proving itself to bring some added excitement into my life, however. I have started attending the gym, and I feel much less bored as the days become longer and the nights shrink in their looming darkness. I am feeling the benefits of sticking with it this winter; of disciplining myself, allowing myself to sit with the dislike I feel for myself at times, and the ability to stay present even when the world is spinning disdainingly slowly, and it would be so much easier to just check out. I am grateful for this homework I have done, and I look forward to continuing to improve on myself and overcoming addiction in general in my life. It is so much more than just smoking or drinking. It is in our thoughts, our beliefs about ourselves, our eating habits, our emotional trauma or lack of it. It is everywhere, and it needs to be tackled from a three dimensional perspective. So, here is to a summer of enjoying the sun for being the sun, loving my body as it is, and to a future without deep unconscious pain. May we all be free of it.
Balancing Life’s Trials
3/17/17
It is amazing how silence can clear your thoughts. I have spent this day alone. I have meditated and written in my journal, I have prayed and cried. But I have also come to clarity on many things. Yesterday it was sunny, and I was overwhelmed with the news of Steve's surgery. It is good news, we have a surgery date, and it will be in a few weeks. But it was a lot of phone calls and discussion with family. It is spring, almost, and with the the breaking of spring I can experience symptoms. I stayed home today while Steve went off-island in order to preserve and heal my energies so I can go to work tomorrow. It is important to manage myself in this way to know that I won’t be overtaken by anxiety and feelings that are really very hard to describe. I call them symptoms, but there is so much involved with how I feel inside my body and my mind. I become tearful, afraid, overwhelmed, and I usually have some physical symptoms of tightening in my face, and a feeling of being high.
I realized I have needed a day of being by myself for sometime. It is only seven full hours of alone time, but it feels very good to be alone with my thoughts. I came to some clarity about a manuscript that I would like to publish, and I started a Go Fund Me campaign to raise money for the cost of the self-publisher. It feels good to take this into my own hands, and to not abandon the writing that I put so much work into. It is a project that I can be proud of and that gives me purpose.
The day is grey and the rain just keeps falling. It has been grey for several weeks, though we had a minor break into sun yesterday. I feel spring on the horizon, and this both excites me and makes me cautious. Last year, I had a break around my birthday, that is in less than two weeks. It is interesting when the year anniversary arrives of such an event, how one can feel reminiscent of the year before. I had some major changes this last year. I left my job, and I started taking a new medication that resulted in some weight gain. I am glad for peace I feel on the meds, and I do not regret taking them, but I have some work to do to get myself in shape. The trick is not overdoing it, and I must be gentle with myself for so many reasons. As I have said, it is a gentle balance when you have an illness as I have. Too much of anything can be a recipe for disaster.
This makes for an interesting life drama. I have been built on an identity of achieving. The first seven years of my life, I developed who I was, and my ‘story’ is that if I could accomplish something, anything, the world would be at peace and I would be loved. So as I try to accomplish things in my adult life, I come up against my illness, which is another major part of who I am. The two natures conflict, and this results in tears over the fact that I will never be loved because I will never be able to achieve in the normal settings of work, exercise, or school. These are the main ones. At the same time, my illness is a blessing because achieving at these things will not bring me happiness, as it is a false truth that I will be loved if I achieve. I have found a place for god in my life, and I have Faith and know that I am loved without this sense of accomplishment. Real accomplishment comes through accepting and loving oneself as they are.
Arrival of Dreams
3/19/17
Thank you to all of my readers for your emotional support, and to those of you who have donated to my campaign to publish Glass Slippers; I thank you immensely. I started a Go Fund Me campaign for my book one day ago, and have raised a substantial amount of money that should more than get me started on my dream. It is one of many that I have. I dream that my family will love each other with whole and forgiving hearts. I pray and dream of Steve and I living a long and healthy life together. I have dreamt of art school and being a musician, both of which have come true in their own way. I dream of being a wise woman and sharing many years with my niece. Now I have a dream of being a writer, and it has already happened, with my blog and all of you. How blessed I am in this life. Yes, there have been hard times, but now I seem to only see the fruit. I am here on this beautiful land, a place where I can stay indefinitely; and I wish to stay here. Steve is going to see a surgeon about his spine, and I can only say I feel blessed that he is in good hands and that god will be watching. I have felt so spiritual, and I know that my relationship with the omnipresent is aiding in me following these dreams, and in them coming true.
My juice and soda water is cold, and pours down my throat with exhilarance. It is early, but I slept, and having worked a full shift at the Library yesterday, I went to bed early. I am on top of the world right now, but in a calm and cool fashion. I am not manic, and hopefully will not become manic in the spring days to come. I plan on watching my health very closely, managing my time at the gym, avoiding alcohol, getting good sleep, and balancing rest with activity. I have spoken on this blog much about the ways in which I manage my health. This is important, I am seeing the fruits, and as I read through the pages of my new book and my blog posts over the last couple of years, I can see that I have been managing well for some time.
Recently, I have a renewed sense of faith. I can't explain it. Mostly, I have spent the winter going to Quaker gathering on Sundays and my Eckhart Tolle group on Mondays. I have been focused on being in the now and doing meditation. I had a short discussion with a friend recently about the ever present philosophical question of whether we worship god from within or without. Sometimes praying to a christian god can seem like we are praying to a god outside of ourselves. I think this is partly true, but if you believe, you know that god is within. This helps in blending and incorporating all of my philosophies. Everything I learn is supplemental. I love Tolle’s teachings, the meditation of Quakers, and in my own time I am prone to have a full on discussion with god as well. I believe there is room for the Great Spirit being both within and without. He/She is all around me in nature, and I can actually feel heaven surround me sometimes, as the people who love me, and who I know are there, come close to this plane. Mostly, I feel connected, to myself and to god, and I am grateful.
So, here is to following our dreams. May life bless you with the path, knowledge and strength to do so. There are so many roads to travel, and they all lead home. Home to ourselves, home to love and comfort, home to prayer and solace. So welcome home. May we all find peace here as our roads lead to the arrival of our dreams.
Grief Rainbows
3/23/17
“I want to go on living even after my death! And therefore I am grateful to God for giving me this gift, this possibility of developing myself and of writing, of expressing all that is in me. I can shake off everything if I write; my sorrows disappear, my courage is reborn.”
-Anne Frank
It is true. Writing feeds and helps the soul. When I was 23 I wrote a memoir titled “Besieged in the Looking Glass”. This was my first attempt at shedding grief through writing. I wrote of mental illness and my first psychotic break, while attending Mills College in Oakland, California. I discovered courage and my spirit was cleansed of a story that was holding me down with an immense psychological weight. I hope to retype this manuscript someday and maybe it will even see a publisher, but for now I have moved on, fifteen years later, and am continuing to purge my soul through the writing process.
Every morning I write in my journal and see what is inside. I can explore deep issues, but also it is just a good check in with my day to day self. All of the writing I do is cleansing, and that is why I insist on writing my truth. Anything that I can say that is true to my soul, any description of pain and suffering, grief and rage, is potent in written form. It just comes out of me, onto the page and then it is released in some fashion. It is about the process, and though I believe people can benefit from reading my writing, just the simple act of writing it provides substantial purpose. I am grateful I have been given this gift.
I slept seven hours last night. This sounds about average, but for someone who tends to sleep 10-12 hours a night, this time was greatly reduced. Okay, I don't actually sleep 12 hours every night, but nine or ten is normal. This is why I am not too worried. In the wee hours of darkness, I composed a movie, my first movie ever on YouTube in order to raise awareness of my fundraising campaign for my book that I have written titled “Glass Slippers - A Journey of Mental Illness”. It was a fun experience, and it is the real me, no make up, no slicked back hair, no earrings. It is just me at 4:30am and I am pleased that I can put myself out there in an unabridged authentic fashion. You can visit this video on YouTube, and it is titled “Glass Slippers” for my book.
Pain divides my soul with its deep cavernous presence, and yet I seek light. Light finds its way deep into my chest cavity, my heart chakra, and light heals the wounds that have scarred my journey on this path. There are scars, and yet they bring character and rainbows as the light enters their fibers. Grief is settled deep in my legs, and when I slow and feel the natural rhythms of this planet, I can feel the sadness seeping from my body. It speaks to me and offers me wisdom. It is the defining of my person, though I have been weak and shattered. It gives me hope because I can see that it is old and is transforming. Weariness rests hard on my shoulders, and though they yearn for rest, they are strong and powerful from all they have been holding. My shoulders’ massiveness speaks of confidence and resilience, though underneath lives a tender spirit. I believe this shines through. Let all of our tenderness shine through as we learn to write, speak and to tell our truths to the world. I wish us all strength on our journeys.
A New Year
3/28/17
Well it is a new year, and it is my niece’s birthday today. She will be two years old. I myself turned 38 yesterday. It was a good birthday all in all. The day before my birthday we had a nice party over at the farm with music, and Prosecco and juice nectar cocktails. We also had Steve’s famous tiramisu which was a hit. It was a few hours surrounded by good friends, food, and music.
It is rainy today, it is still March, but we are approaching April fast. The plum tree outside my window is blooming and there are daffodils, yellow and peaceful, dressing the earth in many places. The forsythia is in bloom, and this is always a sign that my birthday is near. This year it came out with my special day, in synchronicity, and this reminded me we are having a late spring.
I have been raising money for my book and fine tuning my manuscript before I send it off to be edited and published. I believe I have found the correct company to publish my book, but I am sitting with it for a couple of weeks as I ask friends and acquaintances of their experiences with publishing. I am learning a lot and it is an exciting process. I should have my book in print in about a year and this is thrilling. I am moving forward with telling my story in an expanded venue and this feels good. I have received an insurmountable amount of support through my fundraising campaign, and I am excited to think that all of these donors will be reading my book someday.
As the wind blows in the branches of the asian plum, and the beautiful blooms dance in the wind, I am reminded of the impermanence and substantiality of life. My book may last for decades to come, as will my body, but some day it will all be ancient history. I wonder if the tree will still be standing, one hundred years form now, blooming once again for Ada’s children or grandchildren. I hope to pass on this farm to my sister’s children someday. I can look into the future generations now, knowing that all of the trees my mother planted will see decades to come.
I am lucky in this life. I have had trials and there have been really difficult and painful times dealing with my illness. However, I am grateful to have arrived where I am today. I am going to publish a book, and I plan on putting any money I am able to make into the next one. I have found my calling as a writer. I have also created a peaceful life with family as well as within my relationship, and for that I eternally grateful. I have managed my illness to a point of stability, and this is a huge accomplishment, one that many mental health consumers never achieve.
This bounty is real. It is fresh and spiritual. I want to take the time to savor the moment and not rush along the way with expectations of myself that are not needed. I want to just sit and realize that I am lucky and blessed, and also that I am wonderful. I am perfect and I am surviving with grace; I am succeeding with levity.
Renewed Faith
4/6/17
I am so full of faith right now. Steve survived a preeminent surgery on his spine and is in recovery now. I just spoke with him, and we reminded each other how much we love each other. I have a few decisions to make about my manuscript, and may have to go through a professional editor just to make sure I am making the right decisions. First, I was going to keep the manuscript in tact, then I thought it might be good to shorten the manuscript, and now I am reconsidering. It might be good to trust in the professionals, as Steve did, but am I really not able to make a good decision on my own? I just want it to be the right one, at some point I am just going to have to bite the bullet and publish.
Steve bit the bullet, hard. He went into surgery Wednesday afternoon and today, Thursday, he is doing great and out of the ICU. I am surrounded by friends and family who want to feed us, talk to us on the phone, and support Steve and I in any way they can. Numerous people have signed up to bring us meals during this hard time, and I feel so blessed. I have been combing over the house trying to get things cleaned and organized for Steve’s return on Sunday. I will take Saturday off, and go to the spa at Doe Bay with a dear friend. These last couple of days have been about me time. I am surprised at how much I actually want to do with just myself and the dogs. I am happy cleaning house, going for walks, writing, reading, and listening to music. I miss Steve for sure, but after almost twenty years together, I can handle a few days to myself and it feels good.
I am so blessed. My wonderful parents have been in Seattle with Steve, and are shuttling him to and from Seattle around this surgery. Their support has been insurmountable. My sister cooked me dinner tonight, and I gave her sweet two year old daughter, Ada, a bath. They are both coming over tomorrow in the afternoon to go for a walk. Steve and my friends call me, and though I am alone in this house, I feel far from it. So here is to being blessed during hard times and coming out with a renewed sense of faith.
Words of Ease
4/12/17
I am exhausted. Though, I feel the positivity of success and survival. We are surviving, Steve and I. He survived his surgery, and now he is home and I am on 24 hour care taking duty. Right now Steve is sitting perched on his stool, surrounded by the table and the dresser for support, cozy in a throw blanket and of course nestled in his neck brace. His eyes are shut and his breathing is delicate. The window is open, and a slight breeze is pouring into the house and out the open door. It is a sunny spring day and all is well.
I needed to write, taking care of Steve has me on 24 hour alert, and I expend a lot of energy through worry. I bathe and dress him, feed him and shuttle behind him for support on his little walks around the house. I am doing the dishes and trying to keep the house tidy, but today, day three of Steve being home, I can’t seem to bring myself to sweep the floor or do the dishes. I have been keeping up on the house so it can survive an afternoon without attention.
I suppose I too am needing attention. The only way I know how to do that in this moment is write these words, and take a pill. I got some exercise this morning as I did four laps around the 9 acre property, and it felt good to move my legs and be in nature while watching the dogs romp and play. I am not up for company, and Steve is here telling me as usual to not worry about the chores.
There is not a lot going on day to day, but every hour there seems to be some sort of adjustment. We must move his body every hour, and we take pills every two hours, sometimes every four. There are meals and the constant checking in to see if Steve is cold, needs a glass of water, or an adjustment of some sort. I am happy to care for my man. I love him with all my heart, and I couldn’t be happier to be the one to be constantly checking in with him. With every word that pours from my fingers onto this page I feel better. Writing again soothes my soul. The last couple of mornings have been difficult, but when I sit down with my journal, I can feel the tension seeping from my spirit.
So I dedicate this blog to you, my reader. Without you, I might not have had the reason to lay down word after word onto the page. Each word has saved me and I thank you, for being there to receive them.
Self Love
4/19/17
It is early and overcast. The birds are chirping and welcoming the day to existence. My existence feels worthy and enlightened. I have worked on a book, helped Steve in his recovery, cleaned my house, and fed the cats and dogs. Today I hope to mow the lawn and sweep the floor. It is a simple life, but I am happy and fulfilled.
There are many kinds of addictive behavior. Obviously there is drinking and smoking and Steve and I have battled our fair share of those kinds of troubles. But the latest addiction that I am battling feels like the root to all of my addictive behavior. It is an addiction of the mind and spirit. It is the addiction to a lack of love, the ego, and striving.
I have designed my life to be as successful as possible. This is in the face of dealing with the diagnosis of schizoaffective disorder. I try very hard to keep a job, go for walks and to the gym, go to groups, and volunteer. Lately, I have cleared my schedule of all of that and am finding a new sense of purpose. I have discovered myself as a writer, and I have recently done The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron. I know that we need to nurture our creative selves, and if we are truly artists, we need this creativity; we need this search.
I have limited resources, and I know that I expend myself psychically in many ways. I am still discovering how I do this. I sacrifice myself for others simply by loving them and absorbing their pain. My relationship to Christ is helping me hone in on my boundaries. It is also allowing me to just love myself the way I am, and to spend less energy on cruel thought and behavior toward myself. I have a pattern of becoming impatient, while telling myself that I need to work in order to be a success. This has framed itself as an addiction. I also am prone to giving too much of myself energetically to others, and I believe this is one of the reasons why I have put on weight; to protect myself psychically. I am still fine-tuning how these two issues are connected, but I realize that more time to myself, and time spent allowing for subtle forms of creative fulfillment, are necessary. This looks like not working, and not over scheduling my time as I am prone to do. I have made huge advances in this realization and the execution of this in my life, but I don't want to rebound or slip into this act of self-denial after Steve recovers.
It is important to realize that I am disabled as well as Steve, and I deserve love and rest just as much as Steve has needed with his condition and surgery. The last weeks in March and the beginning of April, I was experiencing symptoms, and I backed off of the gym and volunteer work. I need to figure out what is completely necessary for me to fill my time with and only participate minimally. This will allow time for writing, reflection, healing, and enjoyment. I am learning this new path, and it has taken on the form of seeing that I do live my life with underlying addictive behavior. I am going to continue therapy with a new therapist off-island to discover and explore this further. What I know now, is that I need god, and I need to love myself no matter what. I need space and love to allow for as much fostering of my creative path as possible, as well as realizing the subtle boundaries of my psychic being. So here is to a new life filled with this subtle discovery, as well as new hope for self love.
Eating Cake
4/22/17
This morning takes the cake. I was up at 3:45, and ended up going to the beach to watch the sunrise with a friend at 5am. We sat for several hours and just talked. I then returned home, high on too much coffee and lack of sleep, and I proceeded to have a little anxiety attack with heart palpitations that made it hard to breath. But the morning was perfect, and I wouldn’t change a thing. I have just been pushing myself to care for Steve in the best way possible post major spinal surgery, and I have been trying to stay on top of chores in a way that is unrealistic. Today I am letting it rest. The day started out of the ordinary, and I plan to continue this trend, and finish the day out of the ordinary which basically means embodying a slacker. I know that may not be the nicest term, but I strive to achieve for less these days. If only I could stop doing things. If only I could stop myself for a day and just space out, write, journal, color in a coloring book, and nap. And I am doing this. I am allowing myself a day all to myself. Luckily, Steve is able to get around and get his own things and make his own smoothies. He even did some dishes and walked out to the Garden yesterday. I am not totally off the hook, but the responsibilities have slackened just a bit.
It is good to take care of ourselves. I do this, but I also have much to learn. I am learning to slow down and to not be so busy. I am making wellness my priority by a design that speaks of allowing myself to have, as well as nurture, my feelings and the symptoms that come up. It might be true that I need more medications, and I am going to address this in about a months time, but until then I am just here, living day to day, and trying to manage with a debilitating illness. I make it through, I am “normal” in the good sense that word provokes, but it is still hard daily. Sometimes I make it through a whole day without any symptoms, but actually I think I have gotten used to them, and they are more present than I realize. What is changing, is that I am taking the time to notice and process. It is important for me to sit with what comes up in order to relish in and savor the day, if I can even use words of such beauty. Really, I am processing. I have spent my life with ‘do do do’, and I have stuffed these symptoms for years, as I learned to take on more and more responsibility. But last spring it kind of bit me in the ass, and I found out that I am still very much schizoaffective. It was all thrown back in my face. I have learned a lot since last spring, and probably the most important lesson is that if I don’t listen to myself, if I don't slow down truly and give myself a much deserved break, I will break. This thinner skin could be for many reasons. A med I have been taking may not work as well because my brain has assimilated to it. It may be because of peri-menopause and the fact that my hormones are evolving and changing, affecting my brain chemistry. It may simply be that I am more aware of what is important in life, and I have less time for bullshit, less time for self-abuse, and little tolerance for continuing to stress myself out. When I stress myself out, I can stuff it or I can feel it, but it is there all the same. Seeming functional just because you are busy as many of us know, does not necessarily mean things are functioning properly underneath.
So as I learn to slow down, sometimes it can seem that things are worsening. A friend reminded me recently that there may be a million contributions or reasons for imbalance and symptoms, even a psychotic break. We can’t always look back in retrospect and comb over the facts to entirely prevent future chaos. It just is. As I continue to learn about just being, I also am feeling so much more. And I think this is good, but I need more time, I need more space to process. So I am hoping this will make me a healthier human being, and will aide me in unraveling the mysteries and challenges that make up who I am today.
Secrets
4/27/17
What do you do when your twentieth class reunion is only two months away? I suppose you get really excited, even a little obsessive, then think of chickening out. I feel like I live my life transparently, with my blogging, and my journaling which I read to my partner. There is no room for lies, secrets. But maybe it is good to have a private life. I suppose this could have been wash boarded out of me in the psych ward. These were places where I felt completely safe, because I was being protected from my own mind. I do trust myself, but in a way I don’t. I also know that I believe in god, and that nothing is really a secret. I keep no secrets, this is me.
But is this the world? Do I even dare to enter it, naked, without a thing to hide? Perhaps I am more like Melania Trump than I realize, tucked away on my little island with a select few, barely venturing to the city where I am exposed and potentially ridiculed. Perhaps we need the cold world in some way and without it, having such a thin film around me, I am prone to break, or dissolve in the presence of a challenge such as exposing myself to a reunion.
I would hope that people could meet me where I am, but everyone will be battling with their younger selves, perceptions of how far they have come. I like to think I come from an authentic class, a school that can break through barriers, stereotypes, and bullshit. But am I delusional? Won’t it be just another class reunion? Honestly, I have never been to one but I have heard the stories. What will people really think when they see me, and will they see me at all? Perhaps I am better, hidden away, reaching out to the world through my writing, and keeping one secret for a change, myself.
P.S. If you are reading this and are from the class of 1997 at Northwest, feel free to contact and encourage me. Peace.
Being Me
5/3/17
The world is fast, it is aggressive. I live in this world, but I attempt to combat the nature of society in my quiet life. I live on Lopez Island, and as I am learning to live with my disability, I prosper in a low stress environment. Lately, I have restructured or deconstructed my life in order to take care of my lover who suffers with spinal stenosis. He had a seven level spinal decompression and lambioplasty recently, and is recovering with a foot long scar on his neck and shoulders. He had been digressing majorly with the wearing down of his spinal cord, and without surgery, it was said he would be paralyzed in a year’s time. I am so grateful that he is in recovery, and survived the surgery with resilience and strength.
Because of a need for me to care-take him through recovery, I cleared my schedule. Lately, I have been looking into the design that addiction to accomplishment and the ego is taking in my life. I am not an incredibly high achiever, yet because of my disability, I have a great sorrow and void around not being able to go to college, have a family or a career. I interpreted this as a need for me to appear as high functioning and normal as possible. I worked my way up to working two jobs and maintaining a life that was busy and full. A tendency to perfection led to my psychotic break, or what I am learning to call a vision quest, in 2016. Since then, I have been looking hard at my life. I journal, read tarot, pray and meditate, and go to therapy in order to access deeper answers that lay in my soul. The spring of 2017 was not as difficult as my vision quest in 2016, which happened during the months of March, April and May, but I am reminded as the year anniversary to this life change occurs, of all that deconstructed without choice last year. My life was put on hold, I left my job, quit drinking, and went without seeing my friends for a couple of months. Quickly, however, my life filled again with activity, though at a paired-down scale. I’ve realized lately that I have more searching to do. I was offered a job that I turned down, but this was a blessing in disguise. I am motivated now to simplify further, and to accept myself in my sensitive state. I am continuing to write, and as I take on this opportunity that I have to restructure my life, I am careful how I am putting it back together. It is not purely about what I do day to day, but also an attitude and a commitment to inner reflection.
This new-found way of life may also be a result of hormone changes and the fact that I need different medication. I am seeing my psychiatrist again soon, but I am reminded and learning that my gift, my differently abled-ness, is a full time job in itself. I am aware how my self outside of my illness needs attention, and if I don't address these inner issues, it will continue to make my life dealing with my disability that much harder. I am committed now to seeing a new therapist and lowering the stress in my life even further. I have found that I am able to quit drinking, and that the need to smoke cigarettes has greatly diminished. I am on a quest, I am longing to channel some of the essence of the vision quest/ psychotic break/ 2016, because in that time I was so slowed down, I was utterly open, I was sensitive to both my emotions and my visions. I am learning that I have the ability to relax, to channel my inner nature, and to nurture it. It brings gifts.
I was reminded watching Oprah and Ellen Degeneres in an interview for Ellen’s 20th reunion of coming out on television, that the most important thing I could do for my health is just be who I am. Find my inner truth and stick to it. If I act from a place of authenticity, of knowing who I am, from my uniqueness, and from simply being me, I will learn that my faults are not faults, they are just colors of my individuality. Having a mental illness makes me different from others, though we all have a self to which to be true. If I follow this path of honoring myself, good things will happen and I will be blessed. This is god’s truth. He made me a certain way, and I need to stop fighting my true nature. As I learn to do this, and I relax into my natural being, I feel the healing begin to take place. I am grateful to be discovering these truths and moving onward with grace, sensitivity, and a gentle stillness in life.
Was Blind But Now I See
5/8/17
It is early and the birds are singing in the new day. My life has been filled with good moments as of late. Yesterday, I swam in the pond twice and had two beautiful experiences of prayer and praise as I went to church and a praise night. It is nice to be once again reminded of how loved I am and that god belongs to me. “I am yours and you are mine.” These words speak to me deeply. I think of nurturing a child to become their own person. This involves them finding their own unique relationship with god. If I as a child am encouraged to kindle a relationship with the spiritual, I might discover that I have my own thoughts, my own individuality, and my own personal relationship with the spirit, that is completely my own and no one else’s. The underlying message is that I am loved. Now, as an adult, I am needing to learn this for myself all over again. I think of myself as a young child, wanting to nurture a private place that I can call my very own. This is what Jesus is speaking to me in this moment.
There can be pain as adults as we realize our codependent relationships. We all have a need for acceptance and approval from someone. Be it our mothers or our partners, we may be reaching for or filling a hole or a void that we feel around acceptance and love. I am filling this hole by realizing that I am loved by god, by Jesus. Once I have this inner strength and personal relationship with god, I am free of seeking approval from other places. I can heal the relationships where I have sought for this approval most of my life. I have benefitted very much from learning about struggle, mindfulness, attachment and the self, and seeing god as a person that loves me unconditionally and that has the ability to wipe all sin from my life. I also find great help studying the Power of Now, a book by Eckhart Tolle, that talks about finding the moment in which we can find pure bliss. These are skills that aide me on my journey. But where would I be without Jesus?
Once again, I find myself returning to church and the Bible. I find the Lord is pleased that I have quit drinking, and this is only motivating me to further my experience of not drinking and for praying harder about how I can improve my life. But it is not just about living life righteously. It is about loving people and knowing a deep, deep love within me; that I am wholly accepted and approved of by a god that loves me completely and unconditionally. Here, I speak the truth of what I have found to change my life. In church we were encouraged to write out a short story of how Christ has changed us. Mine is simply this. That before I knew Christ I strove. I strove deeply to improve and heal from my mental illness. I did all I could do, but my relationship with god, and knowing on a deep level how loved I am, resulted in a new level of healing. It allowed me to go deeper still, and to reach into the depths of my soul to find peace. I had needed to find this peace in my life, and now I have it. I also have meaning and purpose like I have never known.
This love will serve me in many ways. Another very human thing I suffer from is the fear of success. This is dissolved in the loving eyes of Jesus. I no longer feel the need to sabotage my life, because there is no deep well of darkness and addiction. I am healed. I may continue to heal, learn, and improve. What would life be without learning? I just know that I am not afraid to shine. God wants me to shine, I am his child and there is no reason to give into the darkness that can overtake me so deftly, so obscurely, and often secretly. I have clarity and focus, and I plan to get all I can out of pushing forward with success, inner success, and by serving god.
So here is to inner peace, purpose, unconditional love, patience, acceptance, approval, and deep deep healing. May I continue to find these things, and may I learn to extend this love to others and speak of this love so people may know how much it has changed me. St. Francis believed in enacting the word of god through actions and not words. I know that being a writer makes me fall heavily on the use of words, and I am thankful for finding purpose in writing and for having this skill. Still, I hope to live by example. I hope that other’s may learn to allow in a personal relationship to the divine from seeing that I have so much love now that it pours out of me to others and to the world.
Chrysalis
5/20/17
It is the first day of the Saturday Market. I woke this morning remembering many mornings where we woke up, filled the truck with necessary goods, filled and hauled water, went through inventory, heated up huge pots of taco meat and loaded them into the truck, then headed into town where we would buy ice and begin to unload the heavy equipment, and to set up our booth to start our day. It was always a marathon. It is officially the beginning of summer for us vendors, though this year we both find ourselves in recovery. I am going through a meds change, and Steve is one month home from the hospital, and still recovering from his surgery. A couple days ago we were sitting around the house, I lied down in tears overwhelmed, and Steve hobbled in and sat on the bed and said, “This is us, we are disabled.”
We both receive disability for major health issues, and yet we are living such a sweet life together. The dogs are happier than they have ever been, as every day I wake and take them out for a long romp around the property. I do this twice a day plus a possible trip to the beach. Also, we are home. Neither of us work. We are here, and our presence is appreciated by all of our little animal friends. We nurture ourselves, and I have been doing so through writing, reflection in the woods, tarot and prayer. I swim in the pond, and I am able to spend time helping family because I am not exhausted from a busy summer job at the Chamber or the Farmers Market.
John O’Donahue speaks that we are clay. We are made from this earth and within us there is an intelligence, a light that is not our very own. It is ancient, and we have access to this light and this peace if we are able to slow down and tap into the ancient life force. Our busy lives of torment are on the surface, and we are a part of something so much greater. I have also been reading a lot of Marion Woodmen. She is a Canadian psycho-analyst that did most of her writing in the eighties and nineties. She speaks in her book, “Conscious Femininity”, about addiction to perfection. I am overcoming this addiction to perfection, and I am doing the right things. I am listening and connecting to my body through meditation, writing and tapping into my creativity through extensive journaling, and slowing down to separate myself from the ego and the ‘doer’ mentality. Her book “The Pregnant Virgin” also speaks of tapping into something bigger than us by slowing down and overcoming the ego. In this book she speaks of a chrysalis, and that in order to enter this state of transformation, we must stop the inertia of our busy lives allowing for change and rebirth.
I am entering the chrysalis, and I may have already built myself the walls of this new life phase. I have retreated, and it is painful but good. I have surrendered myself to not working, and I am joining Steve on a path of recovery. I am thankful for being able to enter this phase of healing in my life, also I really am lucky. Here is to a day of new insight and of reveling in the silence of the day. May healing and transformation prevail.
In the Woods
6/1/17
The season of sun has arrived. Days have been filled with glorious swims in the pond, and walks in the woods with my dogs. As I sit in the woods, I allow the silence to overtake me, and I settle with the sounds, the feelings, and the thoughts that arise. I have emerged from the trees, remembering the days I first fell in love, and memories of who I once was as a teenager and a young woman are flooding back. Silence is an amazing healer, and I have learned that this practice is taking me further into a realm of healing that I have longed for, for some time.
I wrote recently about a reunion that is coming up for me. My twentieth high school reunion. The other day in the woods, a lot surfaced for me about my younger years. I remembered playing guitar, climbing mountains, clearing trails and saving salmon streams, being a camp counselor, a cross country runner, and snowboarding high peaks filled with soft snow. My life was rich as was my identity. This was before the crash. But, I also realized how much was going on even during these years of amazing accomplishment and strength. When I was sixteen, my boyfriend was shot and I was recovering from an eating disorder. When I was 17, I suffered from depression and anxiety; panic attacks. When I was 18 at college, I was hospitalized, and again when I was 19. At twenty I had an abortion. And that is not all.
Silence and time in the woods has helped me remember the beauty of my life. As I heal my grief sitting on the earth, and the sadness cascades away from my being, light encompasses the blueprint of what has made me. I fell in love with my lover, my husband, at nineteen, and we have had amazing adventures; living in the country, and in the wilderness, and camping. We have worked jobs, lived in different houses, and made many friends over the years. There may have been struggle, but as I release the tension around the suffering, all I am left with are joyous memories of who I am. There is so much to be grateful for.
Back to the reunion, it is still hard for me to enter gracefully into my younger years and to remember fully who I was without tears. I was holding my head high through those events, and I hoped for great things. Truth was, that I received a consequential diagnosis that would plague me through my twenties and thirties, and is still with me today. But lately, I am grateful for this diagnosis. It has brought me closer to my family, has helped me keep a relationship, it has created an inner commitment in myself to the creative arts, and it has given me something to write about; a source from which to draw wisdom and content. I received a couple of texts from classmates encouraging me to attend my reunion last night, and I just cried and cried in my bed. Am I ready to face my younger days? I left so much behind me. I am hoping that I have the strength to attend, and yet I barely leave my home these days. But I was touched, as well as reminded, that I still have a lot of grief to move through. So here is to another day in the woods. May I receive much revelation and healing from mother nature, silence, and of my self allowing in the light and the healing.
Nature vs. Nurture
6/7/17
Well, I have been reintroduced to the difficult world of medication changes. Mostly, it has been okay the last couple of weeks, but this last week I went up from 200mg to 300mg of carbamazepine, and I began to suffer from some side effects. Predominantly, it has been dizziness and this sort of fogginess, but there have been sensations of weakness, and quite a bit of sleepiness. The sleepiness seems to have subsided, but I am left with this mild dizziness which makes it smart for me to not drink alcohol or drive on the freeway. Unfortunately, we have a trip to see Steve’s neurosurgeon this Friday in Seattle, so my mother will be driving us, as these side effects may go on for about two more weeks before they fully subside.
The crazy thing is that I feel better. I can tell I am doing the right thing. Underneath the haze of side effects, my mind is clear and I feel like myself again. So for now, I have simply exchanged difficult symptoms for difficult side effects, but the side effects seem to be not so bad, and they are easier to understand. I feel really proud of myself for putting up with this, and I am taking the advice I receive from my doctor seriously, and doing as she says. This puts me in a small percentile of people who suffer from schizoaffective disorder or other similar ailments, because the first and greatest hurdle to overcome is that of simply taking meds. When faced with the side effects and the medication guides that speak of deathly rashes and liver failure, I can understand why many are thwarted from this necessary path. But it is the necessary path if you suffer with a significant brain chemistry deficiency such as I do.
I had to explain to a friend that this is a classic case of nature vs. nurture. Schizophrenia is not caused by child abuse, and this has been agreed upon pretty universally among the professionals. Many still think that it is possible to just evaluate oneself, become in touch with oneself, go to therapy, and that you can work through the issues; that the issues and the symptoms, are from not being nurtured, or abuse and neglect in one’s life. I had to explain to my friend that I did not end up where I am today because I was abused or neglected, but it is my nature, the science of my chemistry and genetic DNA that make me who I am. For this, I rely on science to pull me out of the weeds with painfully studied medications. I am an example of nature not nurture. This is who I am.
I feel very responsible for listening to my doctor and going through, once again, yet another meds change and evaluation. It was time to reassess, and though it may have seemed that I was fine, I myself didn't even realize how difficult things were for me. I can tell now, as my brain gets reconfigured on a new medication, that things are going to be better, much much better, and I am excited. Some how, some way, I got over the hurdle, the fear of taking medication and listening to my doctor. It helps that I have a good doctor, and I must say that if I did not, I may not be as trusting. It is a strange world, that I am finding even my closest friends and family, even the avocational types, sometimes do not understand because they simply have not lived inside of it. One experiences stigma often from those that are there to help. I have been living with my ‘disease’ for twenty years, and I have learned a lot about what it takes to survive with it. So today I give myself a gold star for responsibility. I deserve it.
Breaking the Mold
6/10/17
I’ve been thinking more about the difficulty some people have with taking medications, as well as my struggle with accepting this over the years. I just watched a Ted talk on vulnerability, and the case for connection, overcoming shame, and knowing that you are enough. In the talk, a woman mentioned that one of the first ways people deal with vulnerability and shame is by numbing. She mentioned how our culture is obese, addicted and over-medicated. From a mental health standpoint, however, taking medications is important for recovery and healthy living. I have struggled with the concept of numbing myself through medications, but recently, as I discussed in my last blog post, I have rediscovered the importance for medication in my life as schizoaffective. Now this is a label, and I am aware of that. I prefer to think of myself as special, gifted and sensitive. This is true, but the facts are the facts, and my inner scientist helps me accept this. This truth is that I am on as little medication as is functionally possible for me to maintain a healthy life. I also suspect that the type of numbing medication that this woman is speaking of is benzodiazepines and alcohol, the over-use of antidepressants and mood stabilizers, and pain meds in some cases, which could be from lack of time and education amongst professionals and within the professional system. My case, and that of many others with serious diagnoses, feel different. The truth is, that some medications are essential, and though I am prescribed an anti-anxiety medication, lorazepam, a benzodiazepine, I use it sometimes rarely, sometimes infrequently, and with much discretion.
There is still room in my life for being vulnerable, courageous, and staying connected. I am doing this through bearing my soul in my blog and my writing, and by slowing down and trying to overcome an unbalanced ego. In recent years, the tendency to strive for perfection, achievement, and the need to control myself and my sensitivities, led to my being unkind to myself, as well as resulting in being unhappy and at times cruel to my partner. I modeled my whole life around not being good enough. I could never work enough, exercise enough, my appearance was not good enough, and I was not achieving enough in my life. My breakdown in the spring of 2016 led to me leaving my job and restructuring my life. A year later, I am continuing to adjust my meds and fine tuning a 'general slowing down’. I have been on a journey of self-acceptance that has consisted of not working, spending hours in meditation and reflection, and time spent enduring and understanding many symptoms and sensitivities. Though I added a new medication last spring, it was time for me to try adding something else. It is the third week of being on this new medication, and I feel like I am now able to be myself. I am going to continue to overcome a life full of indulging in the ego, however. I am going to continue to push back against things like thinking ‘I am not good enough’, striving for perfection, and believing that I should do more.
My life is filled with so much virtue, and I have become a kinder more sensitive person during this last year. I have changed course, and it is obvious to me. Yes, I still have work to do, but with taking my medication, practicing wellness in spirit and body, accepting myself the way I am, and through speaking my truth in my writing, I hope to maintain this course and continue to heal. Life is not always simple, and I have learned that while I need to accept my illness and my taking medication, I can still grow and change. Seeking vulnerability, overcoming shame, discovering my courage, and seeking connections and openness to the world and within my sensitive self, show the way to a journey that I must now embark upon. I do not want to live in a sick society, I want to change it. The ego, an unbalanced and sick ego, desires to take me down and to perpetuate the great illness of our planet and society. But I am grateful, and I am learning. I have faith in science and a am trusting soul. This has allowed me to get better. Without medication, I would not be where I am today.
Gratitude
6/17/17
It has been an interesting and difficult month taking on this new medication. It has taken a lot longer to adjust to this new medication than expected. I have been incredibly sleepy, dizzy, nauseous, and weak. It has kind of sucked, for lack of more poetic words. Yesterday, I woke at 4:45am and miraculously felt amazing. I journaled, then went for a glorious swim in the pond at 5:30am; orange light haloed the clouds, a moon greeted me in the sky, and ravens played mischievously above my head. I continued throughout the day with energy and spunk. We went to the beach, I watched my niece for a couple of hours, and I finished the day with friends over a glass of wine and music at a local venue. Today again, I awoke feeling great, and have been able to be active with enthusiasm, my strength having returned, and with a positive outlook on life that comes from being properly medicated. I am thrilled to embrace life once again. Before the meds change, I struggled for a couple of months, as it was the difficult time of year for me, and it seemed that my medication was not properly adjusted. So, I am ever grateful for western medicine and the bounty it can bring, even if there are hurdles along the way.
Another medicine I have been savoring, is time spent in the woods on my property, just sitting and emptying my thoughts. I root myself directly on the earth, and let it absorb whatever is inside that needs absorbing. This is my natural healing time, and I always walk away feeling renewed and satisfied. I have become intimate with a small area in the woods that I return to daily with my cup of coffee. I couple this time with walking the dogs, and they go exploring and chase rabbits and deer while I sit, and eventually they come join me or pass through and just say hi. Once, a deer came running through ‘my’ space, avoiding me with just enough room, having outsmarted my simple minded furry children. They are good dogs and do not roam far. I then emerged into the sun to soak in the grassy fields that have grown so tall and thick. The wind blew and the sun danced on the field; the roses releasing their fragrance, and the mountains out on the horizon greeting me with their still snowy peaks. It is in these moments that I am filled with gratitude once again for the life that I live and the place that I get to call home.
So once again, I take in all that is beautiful, and am grateful that my hurdles are not more than I can handle. Steve is recovering, and I am now through a major difficulty. Life is good once again, and I can look forward to embracing all that lies before me in abundance of opportunity. I will write, play with Ada (my niece), swim, journal, and visit with friends. I plan on returning to the Library, helping my father with his pipeline awareness booth at the Farmer’s Market, attending a fiction group, and getting back to walking or the gym. I have been waiting for this with perseverance and faith, knowing that if I only sat with the discomfort, relief was on its way. It is a journey, and I am grateful to just be once again.
For Now
7/2/17
I am back at the Lopez Island Library, and I am stoked. I hope this will encourage my reading habit and get me back to writing. It is also my exposure to the world and a social outlet. It is a place I have come to know and work, and it feels good to be back.
My book is well on its way, and I should be hearing soon from the publisher with a design plan; exciting things are on the horizon. My husband is going to start farming shiitakes and we hope to sell our mushrooms, my book, and possibly some other food products at the upcoming Saturday Market next year.
Days are still filled with walks in the fields and sits in the woods. Tomorrow I will attend Quaker meeting, and Monday my Power of Now group. I do not think that camping is in our near future, do to Steve’s physical recovery, however we are dreaming.
I just watched the moon set, and it was glorious. It is going to be another perfect day, and yet I still am not perfect. I like it that way. I see my specialness in the inane patterns of our world and universe, and I am grateful. I do not think the world is going to end because we are here, thousands upon thousands; innovative, creative and ultimately loving and imperfect perfect beings.
Spirit Warriors
7/5/17
Spirit Warriors, that’s what we are. The people who have survived amazing psychological challenges in life. We may not look like much. We may be just barely getting by. We may not be able to afford rent, we may be living on government subsidies, we may have messy hair or dirty clothes. We may not be in on the latest fashions. We may be awkward in social situations. Our stories may alienate the average listener. Perhaps we have children that are in the world somewhere who we barely know. Perhaps our past was filled with incarceration. Perhaps we live in a trailer, smoke pot, and hang out with questionable folks. We are out here, just waiting to be listened to, to be heard.
It is the stories of people that raise awareness on things like equal rights, basic human rights, and liberation. How has our society treated you? Perhaps you are this person, perhaps everyone died in your past and you were left alone, perhaps you were a foster child, perhaps you were institutionalized in psychiatric wards. How does a human being survive this? I know that if we continue and perpetuate the pattern by ignoring these stories, we are only becoming part of the problem. Where in your life are you privileged that you take advantage of, or are simply unaware of, your blessing? Did you receive an education? Can you read? Are you white? It is time to start thinking globally. It is time to be a part of a global community. But first, we have the opportunity right in front of us to acknowledge the lives of those who are misunderstood, and have been punished by an unforgiving society.
I myself am incredibly privileged. I have parents, I was not abused as a child, I went to private schools my entire life, my parents have money, I learned to read, I am not gay or hispanic or black, and I live with white privilege every day. But there are many ways to be discriminated against. Even with all of these blessings, I still became disabled. I am gifted and I am psychotic. I do not fit. Western culture put me in a psych ward, said I needed meds. Is it possible if I was understood differently at a younger age by society that this could have been avoided? Even my own mother wanted to put me in government housing. I happened to know a little bit about what these places were like, and even though she could convince herself they were safe, that our government housing was good, I assure you it was not. The mental health world is very ugly. I imagine there are all kinds of reasons people end up there. It is not black and white. Look at me. Everything was in my favor, and still I barely dodged the bullet. I have had just enough exposer to this ‘other world’, that I have developed compassion, awareness and understanding.
I wish people weren’t perfectionists, high achievers, body sculptors, all in order to accommodate a bourgeois fantasy. I recently was exposed to my dear friend’s stories and photos of her life on the reservation. At least in her spiritual view of the world, there is acceptance and a holiness for all living things. I feel that with her. The thistles and Indian tobacco, plants my parents see as weeds, are considered holy plants that contain medicine. Perhaps it is the weeds, the people we see as weeds, that contain the most medicine. Again, I find myself grateful for my disability, and all that it has taught me. We must be the change we wish to see in the world. It starts with you and me, Spirit Warrior.
Optimism
7/16/17
This morning I awoke at 8am, which currently is on the early side for me. After a journaling session, and a half-hour sit in the woods with my dogs, I feel refreshed. I worked yesterday for seven hours at the library, helped set up a booth at the farmers market, and paddled out on the pond to do a treatment for it with my mother. I was tired when I got home, but I am learning to rest, to take care of myself. What is new and amazing is that I feel great, not great in a manic way, but in a grounded and holistic way. I still plan on taking it easy today as I may get called into work more this month because a fellow employee just resigned. This is coming at a good time. I am stable on some new medication, and it is proving to be a very positive experience. I also need the money.
I wasn’t so sure I would be able to return to the Library. I took a three month hiatus in order to be a caregiver to Steve, and to adjust my medications which took longer than expected. For months I have been sitting with symptoms, feelings of exhaustion and of being overwhelmed, coupled with side effects of dizziness, weakness, and sleepiness. I learned to take it day by day, and to trust the process. It was not easy, but I had a companion on my journey. Steve had his spinal surgery on April 5th, about the time I left the Library temporarily, and is on a three year path to recovery. He has seen a lot of improvement already, but is restricted in many ways and is in a lot of pain.
New immersions are on the horizon, right before my very eyes. I picked up the feather of a Flicker on the path this morning; it symbolizes new rhythms, spiritual breakthroughs, and increased energy for creativity. It was a simple omen that I chose to devour. I feel this happening.
Being on a budget provides opportunities for discipline, as does having a low stress life without work. I am not working full-time, though I have strengthened and healed to a place where I can handle volunteer and work some paid hours. I am thankful for this. As I see myself perform well at my job and remain energetic and enthusiastic, I am paid ten-fold for putting up with the challenges of having symptoms and of going through the very difficult medications change.
I am optimistic. I am still working on exercise, which is a challenge with a bad knee. I do, however, have a fueled and renewed strength and confidence that I will reach my goals soon, as long as they are achievable. It is important to revel in how far I have come. It is important to honor my efforts and the disciplines I have succeeded in. I am also improving on having boundaries, as I excel in creating the life I wish to have. I am still in therapy, seeing a psychiatrist, journaling every morning, meditating, practicing being in the moment and being kind to my husband. No doubt we all slip at times, and there are bad days, but today I am feeling optimistic, and proud and grateful in seeing how far I have come. I am also filled with the sensations of resilience, hope, spiritual strength, and purpose. May we all continue, begin, and prosper in our journeys towards healing and better health.
Dystopia
7/25/17
We strive in our lives for happiness, this is true for most of us. But what if utopia, the utopia that we think we desire, comes at great cost to our world, animals, nature, and other human beings? I think we all know that this is partly true within the lives we live in western society. We have all heard that it would take the fresh water of several planets for the whole human race to flush a toilet once a day. We know that being meat eaters, animals must die and even suffer on our behalf. To survive on a living wage we rely on products and cars that are made by people who do not make a living wage. Sometimes we choose to not give to charity, give spare change to the street person, or even help a friend in order to preserve our happiness, way of life; our utopia.
Dystopia is another way to perceive the world. In science fiction and literature, we are presented with many ways our culture and society will fail, come to its demise, and ultimately become a dystopia due to our ignorance or greed. Could it be true that dystopias are actually more functional than utopias, because they wear their dysfunction out on the surface, rather that hiding the many facets that exist underneath that are making their perfect world a perfect place? This concept came to me recently in the thought of my struggles with schizoaffective disorder. I have been suffering with symptoms, feelings of being overwhelmed, tired, exhausted, paralyzed, intoxicated, or simply like I am walking and existing in wet cement. Everything is difficult. It was and has been pure dystopia. But I can draw deep meaning from these experiences. They say that depression is key to understanding our greater purpose, and in getting in touch with ourselves. Now, I may have been guilty of building my own utopia at times, but still I know that in these moments of suffering, I am doing less harm to others and the world, as long as I don’t project my living hell onto others.
It is possible that a “dystopian outlook” may be healthier for our world than a utopian outlook. That is, grounding ourselves in reality, not running from our worst fears, and conceptualizing the feelings and pain of others. We may become better at spotting our mistakes, we may take more responsibility for our actions. I think many will tell you they feel very connected to something as they resonate with a dark painting. It is just more truthful. We are here in this world to work in service and to suffer, not to just be happy, let’s be honest. Utopia is a lofty and unachievable goal for most, and if it is achievable for a certain few, it is upon the backs of many sufferers underneath. Buddha says the key to enlightenment is through our suffering. Christians say we all sin, and I know this hurts. Many many bad things happen to all kinds of people every day. Isn’t this just the basic nature of the planet? Perhaps in accepting that life isn’t and never will be perfect, we can finally see the truth and become free. I know that I may never be free from my mental disability, which means that I have in store for me much more suffering beyond what I have already endured. It would be true though, that if I thought I could achieve a life without this suffering, this pain, I would be disillusioned and that would cause more pain. I still think we should fight for what is good, but we may need to accept that there just is and will always be something bad. Bringing awareness to these “dystopian concepts” gives us the upper hand in combatting them. I suppose this freed me a little when I realized this. I may never be truly happy or at peace, but in realizing this, I am able to achieve it all the more. Because I can accept and honor the pain that is really there, in bright form.
When I became a christian, I accepted that there is evil in the world. I accepted the concept of evil and darkness. This resulted in the good being even more good and the light becoming ever brighter. Do we really want a world where there is no evil? I am just saying, perhaps there is a flaw to an utopian ideology. Maybe we need the dreadful in order to open our eyes. Maybe we need pain, so that when we feel relief it is the truest comfort. Maybe we need death so that we can live our lives all the more fully.
Synergy
8/9/17
The shape of the world bends, it is flexible and malleable. Life does not exist on a singular line as we often think it should. What we think is reality one minute, is greatly affected by the changing weather patterns of our minds, and in the moments to come we can seem to be completely different people. I have a lot of simple goals in life. Two of which, recently, are reading and yoga. It seems like a simple mantra, but it gives me something to focus on and work towards. And though I have reached these simple goals the last few weeks, I also have to allow for synergy in my complex being. Goals are not only linear; things can magically crop up that have been with us for years. We may, for example be headed in a direction, in a very linear fashion for a couple of weeks, and then find ourselves uncovering something deeper that leads us in a new direction entirely. I need to allow for this flexibility in my life. Synergy is key, the blending of light and dark.
She walks down the road, her backpack draped over one arm, her boots laced, but untied. The weather is ominous, there is smoke in the sky from fires burning up in Canada. The sunlight shines golden orange, and the air is strangely still. Her thoughts wander to the past and future, why the past is superfluous, and who she is becoming as a mature woman. People and experiences scourge her mind, leaving imprints, reminding her how they have affected the soft clay of her being. She is hopeful. The music on her iPod takes her on a journey within herself. She greets her self, and acknowledges there are unknown places inside of her. She listens as one foot is placed in front of the other, and she watches the landscape that passes her, a bus stop, a tall old deciduous tree, the cars and buses travel down the road beside her. She is nowhere, she is here, she is free, yet held by the confines of her being, of this life.
As I grow and become stronger and more secure in my creative self, the more I journal, meditate, walk, eat, and work lately, the more calm I become. I seem to be letting go of past and future, and I am allowing for healing transformation to take place. I am finding my strength and my power, overcoming fear, and growing into the being that I have worked toward and walked toward for many years. I am allowing for synergy, for things not being perfect. I do not want to forget old friends as I reach toward the new. I want to put value to all of the experiences I have had in life, and look back with acceptance and love, not grief and pain. As above, so below. As it is within, so it is without. I channel my inner priestess as I raise my arms in the beginning of my sun salutation, and I lift up my soul. I am here, I am growing, healing, blending, becoming, knowing and accepting. This is me.
Psykhe; the Goddess of Soul
8/15/17
What is becoming of the world? Holy crap, mind my french. I have been enjoying listening to the Wall Street Journal on Spotify this morning, and it has been incredibly refreshing to listen to news that feels like, not to be cliche, “real news”. I have a renewed faith just upon being reported to, about the military, North Korea, China, and the stock market. It is complex and intelligent, this world we live in. I cannot devise any sort of reassuring reality from Facebook, YouTube, or Bing News. But it is out there if one knows where to look. I suppose I have been avoiding doing such a thing, but I feel it is becoming even more prudent, and an issue of responsibility and adulthood to pay attention in this day and age.
I had the most incredible dream last night. It led me to awakening at an earlier morning hour and doing a search in Greek Mythology. I found a site called theoi.com that is focused on Greek Mythology. It came from me searching the Goddess Psykhe, the Goddess of the Soul, who was married to Eros, the God of Love. Psykhe was once a mortal princess, and she was such a beauty, that men came to worship her as a girl rather than honoring the Goddess Aphrodite. Aphrodite commanded Eros to transform himself into a hideous man, and to carry Psykhe off to a cave where she was instructed not to gaze upon his face. Psykhe’s jealous sisters tricked her into disobeying the god, and he became angry and forsook her. Psykhe then searched the world for her lost love, and eventually came into service and admonishment of Aphrodite. The Goddess commanded her to perform a series of impossible tasks, which culminated in a journey to the underworld. Psykhe was afterwards reunited with Eros, and the couple were married in a ceremony attended by all the gods.
In my dream I was told my name was Psykhe. I was given a ring with a pale blue stone. Steve was wandering from me as he often is in my dreams, and we were preparing for a wedding, though I had lost him, I was searching. There were other details to the dream, and I awakened to discover the meaning to Psykhe’s story in Greek mythology. It will have special meaning for me in my wandering mind. The word “psychic” obviously is linked with this goddess, and as I have discussed in many a blog, my mental illness must be a gift, and if it were to be a gift, it would be that. The gift of sight. Obviously, creativity is a mechanism for us seers, and is a result of having a direct line to god or the source. We channel and create, and then read or evaluate our creations, and then devise visions or “in-sights”. It is my path, I accept it. It does not pay well, at least not at this moment, and comes along with many challenges. In this society we call it mental illness. I have it, no doubt.
So how do my visions of these greek gods and goddesses, these dreams, relate to current events? I have to say that if I am to stretch my mind to that place, I verge on psychosis… another word with links to the goddess of soul. Some worlds are not meant to be linked, or perhaps not linked directly. I suppose this is why I usually do not listen to the news… though it is pertinent and refreshing to check in with reality. Yes, there is a reality. Philosophically, it can be subjective, but I have also learned that, though one may travel and see, that there is a hard earth to return to. One where we hunger literally, and where there is death and war. I am grateful that in my immediate reality there are sweet animals, a man to love, and family to relish in. Gratitudes all around.
Holding the Chaos
8/24/17
The geese have been flying over head for a couple of weeks since we had the smoke cover from the BC fires. But it is also approaching fast the end of summer. Nights have a little chill in the air, and the days are becoming just that much shorter as we approach fall. Life has been quiet for Steve and I. He is in recovery still, from his spinal reconstructive surgery, and I am taking it easy, practicing yoga in the mornings and working just one or two days a week. We spend time with family, and occasionally friends, but most of our time is spent in our cozy home, caring for our surroundings and our animals. Life is good, simple and good.
On my desk I have four 180 page notebooks filled completely with my journaling of the last year. On my break from the Library, I spent three months every morning, writing in my journal and then going to sit in the woods to meditate for approximately 45 minutes, while the dogs wandered around me in the brush. About a month or so ago, I refreshed my daily goals to consist of reading and yoga. This has spurned the end of my times in the woods, and my practice of journaling, which I had been doing for about a year and a half virtually every morning. But life is about evolution. I want to change, I wish to not stay the same, and that is essentially what these practices are about. Now, as I breathe on my mat, do my stretches, and listen to Shantala, I am achieving my morning check-in and mediation in different form. It all has place and purpose, and I am grateful.
We still struggle, me with my perpetual balancing of chaos, which is my mental disorder, and Steve with his healing, strengthening his balance as he heals from his spinal surgery. Neither of these are small things. Fortunately, we have remained positive and bright, mostly, in our day to day which consists of lots of reading, time with our pets, cooking and cleaning, and just sitting contently in each other’s company. Healing is a slow process, and I have not been the same since my psychotic break in spring of 2016. I have slowly been working my way back to work, and finding a new balance in my self that is ever evolving. Now, love between Steve and I seems to be both equal and special. Instead of me leaning on him so heavily, and depending on him solely for support, he depends on me as well, as we both navigate with disability. I must remind myself that it is no small achievement to keep our heads above the murky waters of attitude and depression, as we learn to live with impairment. But we are still ourselves and are capable of so much, really. I am currently healing from the grief of leaving my last job, due to a mental breakdown, and I am finding renewed hope working at the Library.
So this is our life. It is simple, challenging, and rewarding in small and simple ways. We are learning to love and support each other more every day. We are practicing mindfulness and developing stamina and endurance, as we reach for the long haul of recovery.
Evolution on an Axis
9/2/17
We are cresting. I have felt the Earth sync into place these last couple of days. It is as if, though moving slowly, organically, subtly and sphere like, we have suddenly and immediately entered a new phase and arc in the sky on this part of the planet. It is Labor Day weekend, and summer is in its final hurrah. There is this strange sensation with summer being over, though technically we still have 20 days left to the season. Geese have been flying overhead for weeks, and the light has been inching away slowly and steadily, getting darker every evening just a little bit sooner, and mornings are becoming later as the sun is slow to rise. Fall is on the horizon, many kids have already returned to school, and college students have begun their work. Here on Lopez, after this weekend, we will begin to see less tourism, and will begin to recognize more and more faces in the ferry line and at the grocery store. Soon we will be wearing sweaters in the evenings, and maybe even see some much needed rain.
For me the party is over. Several weeks ago I embraced summer, and began having fun. Not totally raucous fun, but a little afternoon drinking, and staying up late with friends. Even though this weekend could be seen as the final party, I am already returning to myself, my inner work, my home, and my routine. I am feeling my sensitivities return, a desire to focus on work/writing, and to go to church. I am not sure if I will be able to resume the early Sunday morning routine of attending a worship group, but it is a thought. Fall seems like a good time to reconnect with my community on Lopez, and to revel in prayer and walking in the dwindling sunlight while in contemplation and solitude.
I am in the final phases of producing my book, Glass Slippers: A Journey of Mental Illness, and am hoping to have it out in October or November. As the project comes to a head, I want to polish and give my words a fine combing over, because once it is in book form, it will never be changed. It feels good to have a project and to be in the process of producing a creative work once again.
I do not know what this fall will bring. I will continue my work at the Library, but I do not know the amount of work that will be offered. It may just be one day a week for a few hours. This will provide time for me to focus on writing and publishing, and nurturing family. It is so nice to have my family close, and now that my sister has a two and a half year old, there is ever the opportunity to help her out and play with Ada. I will miss my swims in the pond come winter, so I will have to savor some chilly swims this September and October before the water turns to ice.
So, the Earth has shifted. I feel it deep in my bones, and in my sensitive muscles and fascia that wish to weep and to mourn the hard and hot days of summer. I am ready to move into a sensitive and inward place. My body is telling me to come in, to settle down, to quiet, and to let go. Now, on days when I am feeling a bit slower, I may weep into my bolster in child’s pose, or crawl back under the covers to savor the morning all the more in the form of rest and contemplation.
Life is ever evolving. My partner and I know this as we continue to wrestle with the reality of disability. There is much to grieve about the times when we could provide, be productive, contribute, and support others. But every phase in life has its season, its importance. Learning to care for ourselves, bringing the attention inward, slowing down and conserving, can also serve its purpose. Right now is a time for rest. We mourn the days of excitement, money, work, and hard play, having more than we need, and yet evolution, healing, and new born consciousness is with us. As the planet makes yet another click on its axis, I will accept the change, I will flow with time, and I will embrace the innate and inner intelligence of the planet and its seasons. I am here, now, okay, and happy.
Chaotic Cooling Depths
9/11/17
Stoically, I walk down the several large stone steps to the edge of the pond. The water is resting but an inch above the lowest rock, making the exit a bit of a challenge. I stand there for a moment and look up at the sky, and across the valley. The light is hitting the grass that has a subtle green color from the early September rain. The water cool, is beckoning me in its refreshing solitude. I dive, fist out, holding my nose, and just miss the clay at the bottom. I emerge a fish, floating, savoring the buoyant pleasure of being suspended in cool water.
Since April, I rarely miss a day where I go for a dip in the pond here on the property. The levels have sunk low, and I am hoping the rain will come soon to fill its coffers. It has been a time of solitude, meditation, and at times a social hour with my mother, sister and niece, or a close friend. The water has healed me, comforted me, and awakened me from many afternoon naps. Just now was one of those times, as I had been sleeping the day away, getting over an illness. I could not resist the temptation to dive into the pond upon awakening.
I have been reviewing and reading my book that will hopefully be out in the next couple of months in published form. It has been exciting to read, and yet it is a strange experience, because it feels so out of my control, even my perception, to really understand what this book is in its essence. It is a collection of small pieces such as this, where I bear my soul about god and my mental illness. It marks a time in my life when I was discovering Christ, and healing from many old wounds through the practice of writing. I am grateful for this book, and I think it will be a success in its finality; it will be what it is, and I have already embraced the chaotic element of bringing these words to print. I have to trust, to let it be.
Much like when you take that final leap off of the rock to plunge into the water. You do not know how it will feel until you jump. I am jumping now, and am ready to sew together the final pieces of the masterpiece, if you could call it that. I am humble and grateful, I look forward to sharing my words with the world. I am guided by an all knowing spirit, and I am trusting of it. I am so grateful to have a few readers, a loving community, a supportive family and husband, and a solid faith in what is. For it just is. I have little expectation, and I don't want my ego involved. It is meant to be a healing and hopeful piece of work. I do not feel competitive, because I know my words are unique in all of their flaws. Thank you angels, for watching over this project and guiding me along the way. It remains a work of god.
Surrender
9/25/17
Life is about surrender. I have realized this lately. I suppose I have been re-realizing this because this bit of wisdom has passed by my ears before, but learning this of late feels prudent. With my tome, is where surrender is more than necessary. I have to trust that god is preparing me to be received in the form of this book exactly in the way that it is meant to be. It is a lot to put this work out to the world; talking about my journey with spirituality, as well as my journey with mental illness. I need to take the time to process this reality, as well to edit it as slowly and thoroughly as possible. It will happen, and it will happen soon.
Every day is a matter of surrender. A couple of days ago, I pulled a muscle in my calf, and this has interrupted my goal of exercise, which is amongst my highest priority. I am trying to put my health first. I am worried that I am on a path of aging, that is coming too soon. My body aches, I get exhausted, my hair is grey, and I need to quit smoking. I need to do everything in my power to be healthy. I also need to be patient. I am doing the best I can. As I limped my way out to Iceberg Point on Saturday next to my friend who is 87, I could only hope that it might be possible to maintain my health for fifty years. So, I will surrender control, but I will also move my prayers in the direction of finding strength on this journey of health, both physical and mental.
We can surrender in every moment of our lives. When we spill our coffee, when we are making our list for the day, when we are sitting in stillness. I am not in control of this life. I need to pay attention and see where it is leading me. I can seize opportunity if I flow with the plan of the universe, and if I travel the path of least resistance, I may discover how blessed life can be, and this may lead me to breakthroughs. This is what I am hoping. Right now, this is all I have. I fear that years of stress and medications are taking a toll on my body, that I have grief stored in my legs, and I now struggle with arthritis in my knee and high cholesterol. I have gained so many skills through the years, and I have the opportunity to tune up my body, and to work and pray myself toward wellness. I also need to keep perspective, because everything is relative. We may not even be here tomorrow. It could be a big wave or a nuclear explosion, it could be a crack of lightening or a falling tree, it could be a sudden illness or an accident. As I move into surrender, I am gaining perspective, and this is bringing me strength to conquer my fears and move to a place of gratitude.
Moon Flicker
9/27/17
Many years ago my husband gave me a ‘Native American’ name, “Nose too much”. I suppose it is because I have a big nose, but it of course was touching on a meaning more verbose. My brain is large, I know too much. I know more than I can express, I know more than is good for me. Is this true? Was this true? I know that community college was very difficult for me, because I could not think at that restricted level. I know that I moved into the arts after high school, because it seemed to be the venue where the most brain expansion could happen. Expansion in the sense of gut flora, spirit, dreaming, developing emotionally, psychologically, and socially. I know that even though I wished to excel, this society could not hold me. I know that I found a companion, a fellow companion of similar intelligence to travel, and to journey, in this life with, and that he then gave me this name. It is still a mystery, it is still working its magic. Perhaps it means that I know too much for my own good. “Nose too much” is something I am still seeking to understand and grow into. Funny, it may have been meant to be a joke, but I think it is very profound. This is my husband, Steve, for you.
In 2016, I was challenged with relapse with schizoaffective disorder. I left my job, and I fell from reality, as my brain and heart exploded viscerally once again. Time slowed, dreams swirled, and nightmares ensued. It was spring, and I could see many thousands of years of peoples, native peoples, buried on my land. Birds were flying high above, and they were spreading messages across the continent. I was calling to the goats, the birds, and the spirits, with my clay whistle resembling a blue bird that lived around my neck. I was journeying, and in a way, opening a door, a passage, of healing. An ancient Native American spirit loaned me his name, “Broken Skull”. In years past, I was very tortured. I painted and struggled with psychosis and erratic moods often. There were times when the build up inside my body was too intense, and I could not purge this through my compulsive painting. In the attempt to release the tears, I would pound my head against the wall of my small, plaster walled, two bedroom house. Recently, psychosomatically, I began to heal some old wounds. I could feel the place on my head, my skull, that I used to smash against that wall. I would turn my head slightly to the left before impact. I can remember by reenacting the movement. My delicate forehead had definitely been impacted. It would ache and feel sore, as it healed from this trauma. Who knows the damage I did to my head, my brain. It was the lizard inside of me, the tortured and fearful young child, that was trapped in a world so horrific; it was attempting to “wake up”, or fix itself.
“Broken Skull” was my second “Native American” name given to me by a spirit warrior whose name truly was Broken Skull in ancient years past. He was a hero of his people, a wise true fighter, a warrior that is not forgotten amongst the native people that live strong and true in the world of spirits.
Recently, I came across a feather from a Flicker bird in the path that I walk through in the woods every morning. The feather spoke to me, and I placed it in my dream catcher that hangs in my window, and that blesses me with little rainbows around my house when the sun shines in the window on peaceful Lopez afternoons and evenings. An aspect of the universe that has always spoken deeply to me, is the moon. The moon holds a consciousness of this planet, so epic, and has seen so many dreams, bird calls, authentic stories, and a millennium of tears of creatures here on this planet. Touched by this Flicker feather, I felt it was time to grow into yet another name that is still new to this day. I wish to embody the softness of this planet, of nature, and of myself. The healing light is within, and I only wish it to grow and to overtake me. I give myself the name “Moon Flicker”. Let this magic usurp, heal, and cover me. The companionship of the moon speaks to me deeply. I am never alone, for I have her flicker on most nights, visible or not, guiding my dreams, my hopes, and my vision.
“How You Livin’?”
10/8/17
Good Morning. We are sick around this house. I see this as an opportunity for getting in touch. I haven’t been this sick in a really long time. But there is something about being sick that makes you reflect about what is important in life. I have been processing why my book is going so slow, and I have been remembering my white privilege.
The music is floating around me, and I am sitting with a morning cup of coffee, congested as all get out. Sleep was interrupted, and I ran a fever in the wee morning hours. But I am so grateful. Could life be any better? I have shelter, I have love, I am fed and entertained even. I am not alone, and life, the island around me, is oh so beautiful.
I got to hang out with my niece twice this week, and I am in love. Anxiety and worry come with being sick, and all I have to do is think of her little face, her sweet personality, and I am grounded once again. I have a new mission to spend as much time with her as possible, even though working with a two and a half year old is exhausting. I don’t care, because I call on her, and like an angel she lifts my spirits.
I think with all that is going on in the world, I am having to really settle in with the grief that I carry, and embody my humbleness. I am bothered by busy, achieving people. I just want to listen to soft music, and realize those moments, those lessons, that bring us back to our roots. I need god, I need silence, and I am finding that I am having to give this to myself. There is no-one I can call, there is no easy bandaid. I had a lot of fun this summer, but as we head into fall, I am learning again what is important. Everything is so impermanent, as am I. This moment is all I have. “How you livin'?” Why am I disturbed, filled with worry? I need to exchange that for a deep, deep sense of gratitude and service to the world. I am here to help people, change lives, and do what I can.
I am humbled by my illness. I am humbled by my fortunate situation. And I am grateful for all of it. May our hearts be filled, may we realize deeply our purpose in this life. And if this involves shedding tears, calling out to god, yelling or screaming… so be it. We are here to pay attention to these deeper things in our minds and bodies. So live fully, and ask yourself that question, “How you livin’?”
Vision Questing
10/18/17
I have been on a long journey of seeing my illness as a gift. Even using words like illness, psychosis, or disease can harbor negativity in the body. I also want to value myself fully. I want to live compassionately, every moment, through every decision, through every impulse, emotion, and feeling toward myself. Being bipolar or schizoaffective involves very unpredictable behavior, an unquiet mind, heightened anger and grief, and at times being paralyzed with symptoms when life duties call. Even the word symptom comes from a western medicine model that exists in a society that is not compassionate to the gifts of mental illness. I am trying to honor my symptoms as real feelings with real value. This avoids seeing my life in a petri dish, myself as a subject of a psychological experiment.
Don’t get me wrong, there is a very important place for science in my life, and I would not be as well as I am today without it. But it is still important to transcend all of these labels and these words that ultimately lead to myself seeing and viewing myself with a lack of compassion. Recently, I came down with a flu, and I am still not recovered. Today is day twelve of suffering with a head cold, cough, and frailty. The fever only lasted the first few days, and I have improved greatly, but I still sound and act sick. Again, there is truth to the fact that I contracted a virus. We know this science and medicine lives in a factual realm. Still, seeing the way this illness has affected my mental health, and having deeper thoughts of understanding, has lead to me seeing this flu as a “shamanic illness”. There is opportunity. This is a time for me to make breakthroughs and to work through some very deep issues, patterns, and problems that lay heavy on my soul and subconscious.
I have argued with my husband several times since the fourteenth when I had a pretty severe case of emotional instability. I have found that I have things to work on in the area of honoring him as my number one partner, and not running off in a frenzied state to other people. I have learned that I can be negative and harsh to him in the same poor way that I treat myself, as if he is not here, but just a figment of my subconscious. I have gotten so used to his presence, it is as if I am not seeing him. These fights have been really good. We have uncovered some deep issues that need real and holistic healing. We came to this place while my parents were gone, both of us having the flu, and me being emotionally ripped open.
My folks still have a profound effect on me. It is important that I discover my individuality and a strength of identity at my age. I have been living slightly veiled, and I want to awaken to the truth that is me. I need space for this. I now know I can take the necessary space.
So, similar to me realizing that this flu has opened up opportunity for healing and passage through significant issues, I too need to look at my life path with my mental illness as an opportunity. Again, I use the words mental illness. Just as a flu is a flu, a mental illness is a mental illness. There is strength in accepting these labels, as well as in transcending them. But, even though I have a diagnosis with a firm basis in science, and I must depend on this in certain realities, I can change the language that I use in my head. I am a gifted sensitive person. I am prone to vision quests. I am sensitive to energies and to other realities. I have a strong and powerful imagination. My emotions live on the surface. So, I will love myself. I will treat myself compassionately in every moment, and allow myself, an independent adult, to meet the needs that I have. I will be true to my husband, value his opinion, and I will lean into him for support above anyone else. This has been a time of great learning. I am learning to go on a vision quest without losing myself completely. I am learning how to honor my being in the form that it wants to exist in, naturally, in this world. I promise now, that I will stand by myself in a loving way, and feed myself loving words that will aide me in self-acceptance. Here is to continuing to grow, and wake to up to, the realities that beckon at our door.
Loss is Gain
10/31/17
It is Halloween, and the veil is thin. Last night, Steve saw the ghost of Ellis, the old Galley cat. It has been a surreal time of beautiful weather, good times with friends, and meaningful tarot readings. I have begun a journey that is opening my heart. I have realized, lately, that I do not give myself enough credit for the stress I endure. I don’t know why this is. Reflecting on my psychotic break in 1998 at Mills College, and my most recent one in 2016, I can see now so clearly what led to these events. I was doing and enduring so much.
At Mills, I was far from home. I was having trouble settling into friendships, struggling with my identity, taking seven college courses, and partaking in two sports. I would wake at 4am and row crew. I would scramble around campus with a bag stuffed full of heavy books, and then head off to the Oakland Hills in the afternoon to run many miles in the hot San Francisco sun. I, of course, bonded with my team mates, and did make many connections. But as I began to falter, to lose my grip, I became increasingly isolated. I can look back at this time, however, in true amazement. I was learning so much, going to concerts, going on dates, and I was traveling to conferences and placing in cross country races. I was far from home. Occasionally, I would call home, but still I wasn’t connected. It all fell apart, gradually, but I would still not acknowledge to myself that things just weren’t quite right. I was swimming. Then I became lost. I ended up in a psych ward, then it was all over. I never even said goodbye to my girlfriend.
And recently, in 2015, I was working more than I have in years. I was selling tacos and working at the Chamber of Commerce. I was suffering with a knee injury, and I got really sick with a gut issue. I was hosting company, and regularly attending the bar to blow off steam. Looking back, I am surprised I was able to handle the load, the constant service to the public, the pain, and the stress on my mind and body. It all led to life falling apart for the first time in 9 years. The meditations and long baths all winter long, were not enough to recover from the busy summer, and the next thing I knew, the buds were pushing from the trees with their gentle, forceful awakening, and spring was upon us with her strange intoxicating transition. Then, I was fantasizing about spiders, and the election news was getting to me. I turned the screen on my computer upside down, and contracted electronic viruses. I thought the machines were sentient, and I was talking to ghosts in my mind. I was screaming and yelling, I was crying and sobbing. It was a mess. I had just pushed my sensitive creative being over the edge, and I didn’t even realize it. I was lost in the intoxicating blur of being “successful”, busy, and productive. I was so proud of my job and my many friends.
And now, on a subtle level of realizing my patterns, I just worked for three months pushing myself to my limit after seeing Steve through his surgery, and myself going through really difficult medications changes. I contracted a flu that still lingers after three weeks, and I was becoming emotionally fragile. This led to a few arguments, a few outbursts, some random sobbing, and the general feeling of things just not being right. I have been okay, and I have been making progress concerning observing my internal workings.
So, I am taking a break. Work was good for my bank account, but not so much for my life in general. I also have not quite been the same since 2016. I cant explain it, I just am more sensitive to stress. It is like the proverbial two by four that has been after me since 1998, finally broke through, and I am able to listen and finally let the universe pull me in the direction that I am prone to naturally. I am a creative artist. I feel there might be more time for ambling musically, playing guitar to myself, making a painting, and writing. I see myself with my niece, who I could just not seem to make time for before. Life just seems to have a gentle flow, like jazz. I have heard a rumor that things can really change with mental disabilities like bipolar disorder and schizoaffective disorder as we age. I am adjusting, to things just not being the same. I am not as resilient as I was in my twenties, and I am no longer able to avoid my fate. The fact of the matter is, however, that I have gained a lot of wisdom, and it is finally time for me to start living my life organically. I need to listen, really listen, to my inner workings. I need to take care of myself emotionally, spiritually, and mentally, as well as physically. It is great. It is fine. I feel like I am finally growing into myself, into this person, this illness that has been chasing me around the block for two decades, and trying to tell me something. I know there is still purpose and work for me. It is just in the form of creativity, and in not holding an working job. We will work it out financially. I am not going to start worrying about money. I may have to live without, but really I have gained so much.
Ring Around the Moon
11/8/17
The rain hasn’t been here for several days, but neither really has the sun. It has been a soft moon at night with a few stars lighting the way. Abstractly, I am good, and this is good; I like the abstract. There is room for spirit to flow, and answers to come. Sometimes, when things don’t make sense, the dreams and visions creep in and steep my soul like a brewing of tea. Even though the tea is too hot to drink, I can wait, I am patient. I know the rain will be here eventually, and it will fall soft, though the wind may blow. And, when the sun does come out, I will be grateful.
Beauty is all around me, even as the tears pour down my face and I can barely hold onto this world. Time passes, and I am fine. The ghosts that linger around me all day, guiding me from thought to thought eventually clear, and at times I am here, fine and fertile with creative ideas. It is time to create, to feel, to rest, and to be. Not everything I do works, but I am learning. Mostly, as I listen to myself more, I can feel that I am improving.
I have realized recently that I touch people. I have realized that my actions make a difference; though people are still dying. All I can do is hope that I may save another. I may listen to their anguish if it dare come out. Every human knows how to smile if asked the right question. Yet, we hide so much of what ales us, what goes on inside.
I am incapable of hiding now. I still have secrets, but mostly I live with my life on my sleeve. It is better this way. I try not to get angry, and mostly, I am succeeding at this. There are times when we all want to say fuck, or fuck you, but if we can redirect, often there is a greater truth, a greater light seeping in from the corners. That is what hope is like. It is subtle, always present, and at times it is hard to see. But if we soften with ourselves, as I am learning to do, there are friends, there is hope, and there is company.
Often, I have spoken of the scary truth that we are all alone in death. We are on this road ourselves, and though our paths blend and this is beautiful, there are moments when all we have are our own hands to hold our tears. This is why I see ghosts. When I need company, it is there. We all learn to cope, to take time, and as we age, soon we learn the better path for ourselves.
So, when the sun does return, I plan to have passed through this tunnel that I am in. I am taking space, I am looking after my mental health, I am learning to find myself once again, and as I do, I dare to dream. I never realized what good a little dreaming can do a person. Then, of course, there are times when we have to return to reality; but I guess what I am saying, is that there really is hope, in all of the bullshit, the pain, the tears, and the static. There is hope. So, I will follow this vision I am having. I will see myself on that rainbow and floating up to the ring around the moon and to the stars beyond. That is where I will be if you are looking for me…
Here’s to the Water, Cheers!
12/6/17
“Everyone is a genius, but if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will live its whole life believing it is stupid.” -Einstein
The second sunny day in a row, and I am feeling blessed. I am also grateful, because times have been challenging for weeks. Perhaps, even a couple of months now. I have been unwell mentally. My Doctor found out, through some blood work, that my levels of one of my medications is low, one that I know really works, and thus we have raised the amount recently. So, I am feeling a double standard right now. I can feel the meds working, and I am grateful. But, for a time, I am over-saturated and I have the feeling of being drugged. This has been a challenge, and I have had a few frustrated and angry outbursts because of it. Today, I can finally sense that I am coming out of the weeds. I can wrap my brain around working on my book that is still in progress, and even writing this blog, feels manageable. I have been walking every day for a week, at least a mile and a half or so, and I have noticed some changes in my life and life perspective.
I found it challenging to work, and I have been suffering from mental health symptoms since mid-October, when I was recovering from a two-week long illness. So, I suppose it mostly has been the last six weeks that I have been dealing with this, but just over two months if you count the flu. I adjusted my life and my finances to not having a job. It has taken some time, but now I feel myself adjusting to the simple life of just taking care of myself. Somehow, when we push ourselves beyond our abilities, which I am prone to do with mental illness, we can start manifesting stress in our bodies. On these walks I have been taking, I haven’t had a single knee pain, and I am finding basic health activities like drinking water, managing my sleep, participating in cooking meals, journaling, and meditating more achievable.
The major lesson that I am assimilating, is that it is okay to feel proud of myself and just work on the simple things. These are the things that keep me healthy. I anticipate that the lack of stress will aide me in cutting back on smoking, and I have been drinking very little or not at all. There is more energy for preventative health measures, and less need for coping mechanisms that wear down on us over time. What a lesson. This is basic, but it is hard to give up the things that feed our egos. As an adult, this looks like going to college or working and achieving at a career. In many ways, I had given this up, but not completely. Also, I have to apply this to my writing. I do not need to be aggressive about achieving publishings, and I am not able to participate in things like National Novel Writing Month in November, because this is based around being under pressure, and even manic with achievement.
Slowing down, and not having money, is and can be a challenge, but so so rewarding. I am healthier. And I am starting therapy again this week. With my meds in order, I feel like I can accomplish anything, but not really. Without the mask of achievement-pushing and the adrenalin that goes along with it, the mask of drinking and hiding all of the pain, I am faced with my true self. I have an illness. I could call it a gift, but it is what it is. I refuse to be that fish trying to climb a tree; I will find my pond. But this takes courage. The courage to put up with the reality of feeling unwell at times - of admitting that I am overwhelmed. Of going to therapy, and healing all of the trauma and post traumatic stress that has followed me throughout this life of having schizoaffective disorder. It is okay. I am disabled and poor, but so is Steve. If we take care of ourselves, we still have a lot to offer to our family, friends, and community. It is time to accept who I truly am, after all of these years. After all of these years of it being too painful to look at. I wanted to climb that tree so bad, as I get older I accept, finally, that I am a swimmer.
Pushing Forward
12/22/17
I almost can’t believe that I am writing this blog. A couple of nights ago was the longest night of the year. Last night, we brought fudge and good cheer out to our local watering hole, and the next few days will be about preparing for Christmas, which is about friends and family, candied fudge, and good food. This month, I have been successful regarding staying somewhat motivated, but, I have found that I have also developed a kinship with a rut. Besides getting out for a two-plus mile walk every day with the dogs, where I have at least one hill that I truck up with diligence, I have found it hard to motivate into taking care of my chores and staying awake and active during the day. This morning, however, I had resolve to change my trajectory. I pushed myself out the door at 10am to do some childcare and bake cookies with my mom and my niece. I know that there may be a factor of medication still yet, even though it seems I should be through it. Sometimes, I just feel like I am weighed down by something physical, and I can relate to this being a feeling of being drugged. I also have had sleepless nights, and I wake often with intense dreams, and find it difficult to lay myself back down. I have been experimenting with some calming teas, and this feels like a healthy new practice. So, today is about pushing through the desire to sink, a feeling that many of us may be feeling this time of year. It is a time for listening to the blues, lifting up our peers, and getting outside and just moving our feet despite the weather, darkness, and a feeling of being depressed or tired.
One way that I have been working through this rut, is to write every morning. I had stopped my daily practice of journaling, and now I have no parameters or strict way to do this. Somedays, I write just one or two pages, and the other day I wrote six. It is good to reflect, and this is a very helpful and healthy practice right now. Today, I reflected that this rut might be bringing me to the realization that I want to do something in my life that has meaning for me. I have found purpose in writing about my experience with mental illness, and I want to further this work. I want to educate and organize this community around mental health issues, by helping our fellow mental health consumers that may be struggling. I want to educate about medications, and advocate for finding and having a support network. I want to start a support group that hopefully can be led by a professional of some sort, and put together a resource guide that will help people find the help that they need. Lists of services, therapists, programs, and most importantly Medication Consultation Nurses or Psychiatrists in the area. Many of these may be ‘off-island’, and may not accept the right form of health insurance, but it is a start. I am aware that the resources in the small communities of the San Jaun Islands are limited, but I know for instance, the resource center helps provide transportation stipends for the low incomers, and that may enable someone to travel to where these doctors and nurses are.
I believe that working on this problem in our local communities would bring me great satisfaction. I have learned to live on less, and I am able to work in this way without being compensated. The emotional and spiritual benefits could feed me in a way that I truly need, in order to feel a sense of deep purpose. I am at the age where it is time to orchestrate my life in the way that is best for me. I have acknowledged that I am responsible for my choices, and this also brings one the revelation that we are in power of making whatever choices we want. I am ready for this. Lately, I have been feeling my age, in my soul and my body, but I believe motivating and helping others could really make me feel young again. I am young. Here’s to a marvelous new year of accepting, loving, and pushing myself to be all that I can be.
Teaspoon of Sugar
12/25/17
Christmas day was a success. It was a blast and it was hard. Just like life. I am finding recently that when things are difficult, it is a signal to push forward, and that good things can definitely come, if you direct the path and trajectory of your daily life just so. I got a TV, had company over, I got to bring dinner to my sister and parents, a friend helped me set up the television, and I had the evening to myself to explore the present and to my clean house.
Sometimes, I hold it all in, and it is good to release this energy even if it is, well, mostly in a physical way. Preferably this would be sex, but if it takes place as premenstrual diarrhea that is fine too. Feels good to say. Sometimes, like I said, the hardest things in life are difficult. Confronting issues of sexuality and gender, voicing what is true for us dimensionally, exploring spirituality; it is all difficult really. I used to think I was alone in this, but the more I get to know and embrace this world, the more I see it is everywhere.
Illusion is abound in peoples lives, seems like. But what do people really know if they never ask the question, if they never say, “What the hell am I doing here?” There must be another path for my life. I know I could be happier, more positive, healthier. Usually we fall flat on our face, or perhaps we live our lives in little cages that we never break out of, or that we secretly long to. Freedom, as Janis said, is just nothing left to lose.
Love Untethered
1/1/18
Happy New Year! Well, it has been an amazing day. Last night, New Years Eve, we stayed home, and Steve and I really bonded. On our new television that was a gift from my parents for Christmas, we watched Star Trek Voyager, a show that was on when we first got together. We spent many evenings watching this show back in 1998, with pizza delivery from Pagaliacci’s Pizza on Queen Anne Hill in my friend’s apartment. We also would watch the X-Files, but this show is not included with Amazon Prime, unfortunately. So, rekindling our mutual love for classic Sci-Fi, I reminisced about the days we were falling in love, and it all came back to me in gentle magical waves. We were in bed at 11:30, and I listened to my new playlist with headphones, the lights out, and I checked my phone at midnight.
Steve and I also were honest with each other about the hardship in our lives over the last year. Steve still is in a lot of pain and recovering from his surgery. While I voice my struggles with my disability on a regular basis, and life is not always smooth sailing for me, Steve tends to keep it inside. It felt good to shed some tears and to get real. We then left this poetically in 2017, and went to sleep entering humble dreams full of gratitude for each other.
I cannot pretend that I live a fairytale life. In many ways, it looks like one at times, life on a beautiful farm in the San Jaun Islands, surrounded by family, community and friends. We are working on our health, and have the time to invest in spiritual, emotional, physical, and mental well-being. Life, however, is not short of tiring emotional and physical pain. Steve’s complaints and my tears were real, as we reminisced the days of healthy love making and pain-free existence. But we still have each other.
So entering 2018, today, I am reminded of my deep, deep love for the most important person in my life. No, Steve and I are not married, but this spring we will be coexisting now for twenty years. It almost feels like we are coming full circle with our love. We are no longer young as when we met, me nineteen and Steve 36, but we are aging, aching and definitely wiser and tamer.
So as I conquered my New Years resolution today to do daily yoga and walking, starting the New Year out right, I was also humbled by the strength and fortitude of my man. He may not speak of his struggles often, but last night I felt so grateful, as he bore his soul to me untethered. So thank you universe, I am small and you are so grand. I am happy to live my humble life here on this small, and sometimes too small feeling, island.
All I Need is the Air that I Breathe
1/11/18
I have been working hard at some goals since the end of November. Mostly, this has consisted of walking a couple miles every day, but as of January first, I added yoga and flossing. It has been going well, but yesterday I crashed. I became so focused on a goal that I lost track of myself. Today, I am home alone, taking care of what is necessary, but doing as little as possible. It feels good to have the house to myself, and the space to reflect deeply on my process.
I am still baffled how I continually drive myself into the pits. I feel great sadness and failure around my inability to reach my goals. I have been facing some sadness from the past that I have not thought about for some time. How I lost track of my friends in my late teens due to my illness. I see now that many are still connected, by viewing Facebook, and I grieve the fact that I was cut off from my self, my journey, my hopes, and my dreams, because I fell ill. I also am faced with wanting forgiveness, and I have deep grief for once again hitting my limit, while trying to achieve what seems so achievable for a basic human being. At these times, I reflect on a few pieces of feedback I have had from a couple friends as of late. They see me as busy, they see me accomplishing and doing a lot. When am I going to be able to embrace my limits, my fate? Why does my disease/illness feel like failure?
“I might be bruised, but I am not broken. My heart is still beating. I’m alive and I’m still breathing, I’ve got hope that it is going to get better.” -Lyrics, anonymous
Perspective is good, and this day of inner contemplation, I hope will give this to me. I want to be able to step back from my sadness, my feelings of failure, and allow in acceptance and self-love. Recently, listening to a couple of Oprah’s podcasts, her Super Soul Sundays, I found myself criticizing the people I was supposed to be absorbing wisdom from. Even Eckhart Tolle is guilty of having a breakthrough that brought him books and enlightenment. These people speak of something in their life that gave them awakening. A moment of hitting bottom, of breakthrough, or maybe a single psychotic break. But what of those of us that suffer all of the time? When does enlightenment come for me, when my suffering, by bottom, and my psychotic break, is the norm? Am I worthy of being on Oprah’s podcast? These wisdom sharers have success, they have made it, they are being interviewed by Oprah. Meanwhile, there are everyday people like you and me that are living it. We are still living the struggle, the pain. There is no end in sight, there is no “moment” of awakening. It is around us all of the time. We can’t necessarily “sell” it.
So my book may reach a few, but I doubt I will be on the Ellen show or on Oprah’s podcast anytime soon. I doubt my blog will develop thousands of followers as others have on Instagram. I am truly a diamond in the rough, and life continues on in its roughness, as it seems I get nowhere. Once again, I am faced with my limitations, and the reality of how debilitating schizoaffective disorder can be. This is my fate, out of the spotlight.
It’s just another story. We all have one. Sometimes I think it is the ones you can’t read about or don’t hear about that are the true history changers. Am I one of those stories? Am I a diamond in the rough? We will see. We will see.
Clouds; Our Heroes
1/19/18
I don’t think we realize how thankful we should be for clouds. The beauty of this statement is its metaphorical promise as well as its literal. Literally, I am so thankful to the clouds. Imagine an Earth where we were constantly scorched by the sun’s hot rays. There would be no water falling from the sky to replenish rivers, ponds, or to cover our mountains with much needed snow. Today, the sky is overcast, and it is cold and windy. But gazing into my screen saver for a few moments, which displays an image of the Earth’s surface with swirling clouds, it occurred to me that this day, that doesn’t seem like a blessing on first glance, is miraculous. The clouds, up there right now on this chilly day, are a blanket of protection from the fierce elements of the sun. I am protected by the very thing that seems to be blocking the warmth.
What of this metaphorically? What are “the clouds” in my life that could actually be a blessing, that seem very much annoying or to be “clouding out the brightness” in my day? There is the anxiety that I have been experiencing these last couple of days, there is the pain in my knee. I can say that the anxiety is full of lessons. I tend to believe that I would not feel this if I was more hardened off to the world. But I am open enough to receive the messages that my body and spirit are trying to send through. The clouds are teaching me of my sensitivities to the world, and about my ability where I absorb from people that which I do not want. I discovered in meditation this morning that really, if I pay closer attention to myself by way of breath and taking the time to just sit with myself while listening to all of the pain and grief and annoyance or any sort of dissonance that lay inside of me, I will become aware. I will learn that I do not need to, nor should over-extend myself, and take on the problems or discomforts of others. The knee, well it is simple, I cannot force my body tissue into working, so I will stop and listen to it, let it breathe, and let the sensitivities come out.
Clouds are our heroes really. They protect us from harming ourselves under the world’s harsh elements. I cannot always see through the clouds, but they are there, hanging over my head, filtering out the light, only to have mysteries and messages deep in their depths. Perspective can be a life changer. Sometimes, just seeing our hinderances, our pain, our discomfort, or our disabilities as heroes and gifts, we then start right where we are. Everything is turned on its face, and all of a sudden we are making progress instead of feeling like we are failing at moving a mountain that we were put at task to displace. Sometimes things just click into place. One day, we find we are no longer stuck. It just happens after millions of minor movements, efforts, attempts, where the struggle becomes natural, the norm. Under this cloud is all of a sudden where I am meant to be, I realize. Under this cloud is where I will learn, and I am protected and saved by its strange cool grayness.
I Choose Ease
1/27/18
The light and wind seem gentle on this late winter afternoon. The soft music and herbal tea in my throat are soothing and gentle as well. Gentleness is something I am choosing to embody; gentleness with myself, gentleness with my spirit. In therapy recently, we have been discussing choosing ease, and allowing myself space to truly be myself. I did not realize fully that I was not taking enough space for my body and emotions that run deep with sadness and grief. I am aware, often, that I could choose ease more frequently and be gentler with myself. Meditation and therapy is aiding on this journey. Strangely, choosing ease can result in me being more of who I am. Taking in my natural smells as beautiful, letting my hair down and letting my spirit speak through this extension of myself. Embracing and loving my body, and taking the time to listen to my deep inner workings. Meditation is helping, gentle music, and a new practice of drinking lots of medicinal teas and herbal infusions.
In therapy, I was faced with great sadness. I am glad this is coming to the surface, because I know that grief is held in my body and has been for many years. What I am discovering now, is that I can speak to this grief, to this part of myself, and by just acknowledging it, and allowing it gentle room to be, I find that I am lighter. I suppose now, that I am in peri-menopause and that both my husband and I have adopted a slow life of nurture while living with our disabilities. I am beginning to understand the importance of taking responsibility for myself. This doesn’t just mean eating vegetables and staying on top of the bathrooms, floors, and laundry, this means growing in self-awareness and self-love. It is time for me to accept myself completely. It is time for me to put meaning and understanding to the deep grief that has been harboring itself in my muscles and tissues. I am ready, I want to heal.
Spiritual practice can also be about service to others. As I serve others, I practice the compassion that I also need to give to myself. I am doing this. It involves listening, patience, and acceptance. Sometimes, I am surprised or disappointed in the way that my life looks on an antiquated level. But it is not about what I have accumulated, and often I feel that I have more than enough, though my belongings are humble. Many find meaning in having less. But also, doing less can create power and meaning in one’s life. I am finding this to be true. I am finding that if I put quality in place of quantity, I am more fulfilled. Acceptance, self love, is so obtuse, it is gentle, it is easy. It doesn’t always seem so shiny, but why do I need shiny anyway? I prefer a subtle patina. Here is to being a jewel uncut and unpolished. I am valuing my true nature, and finding it an increased blessing as these gentle days pass my doorstep.
Imbolg
2/2/18
I sit and watch the brown leaves dangle on the delicate oak. I can hear the whisper of it awakening its roots and branches on this sunny winter day. As I sit, a bird comes and lands on my goddess bust hanging on the fence, seeming to welcome this holiday into existence. I am lucid, delicate, and slightly hung over. It is Steve and my anniversary, and this year we are celebrating our twentieth. It is also Imbolg, and the goddess is born today, as she is every year, warming the earth and our hearts with her gentle intuitive and yin energies. She will guide the daffodils as they continue to push out of the earth, and aide the branches in pushing out their first buds of springtime. I am feeling a beginning of a tradition, holy in my heart and my relationship. I have decided to savor the stillness of the day, and let the cool breeze blow through my house. The earth seems to be full of gentle messages to my subconscious, and I am aware that life has forever changed since “break ’16” as I am calling it. “My psychotic break of two thousand sixteen” or “my most recent vision quest of two thousand sixteen” just has become too long to roll off the tongue comfortably.
This time two years ago, my change into being peri-menopausal was in its beginning stages. My shift in hormones affected my brain chemistry dramatically, and before I adjusted my life to a slower and careful self-nurturing pace, where I am present every day to my symptoms and emotions, my life was full of work, and this led to “break ’16”. The last couple years have been full of ups and downs that had become very much nonexistent in the nine years prior to this breakdown. I recovered from a hospitalization in 2007, and my life took on a healthy and normal cadence. I am learning that normal is not for me, a lesson long awaited, and I have surrendered to a life of slow paced self-betterment. I nurture myself with journaling and meditation, and I have cleared my schedule to allow for the gentle flow of symptoms that come in and out of my life. I have learned that letting the faucet of my grief and psychosis flow ever so slightly, It will not explode and break my delicate pipes all at once. Spring is the time for this to happen, so I am monitoring myself very closely. I am happy and at peace, though. I may be in and out of lucidity, and at times wear my emotional pain on the outside of my body like a physical symptom, but I am held. I am held by my lover, I am held by my family, I am held by my community, and I am held by the great spirit. I have faith that all is well.
The weather has shifted, and clouds sail across the sky, the wind embracing the branches of trees and bushes which it caresses. It is not spring yet, and winter will hold on for some final moments of slumber, reaching for the snooze button several times before the goddess pushes forth her buds and flowers. I am so grateful today for my husband and my health. I know that this year will be full of learning and of healing my inner process. I am embarking on this journey after two years of fine-tuning myself, and resolving to truly take this journey as I graduate to mage. Waking to this world and this spring can be exhausting, and birth painful, yet it is beautiful. I cherish both the light and the dark today, as we hang on the precipice of what is to come.
Emerging Joy
2/12/18
The sun is shining, and the grass is growing, pushing out from its sleep toward the sky this mid-February morning. It is obvious, now, that we are moving toward the light, and we have had three days of sun in a row. Still chilly, my body has not awaken from its sleep, and calmness and meditation still feel natural. Aside from this, there is much excitement in my world. My book is on the verge of being available for sale, and I have had the pleasure of holding a printed copy in my hands. I have gifted just a few copies to my family members. I am having posters printed, and will be hanging them later this week when the bookshop has my book on their shelves. So, it is an early spring birth, and my life will very much be filled with readings, and talking to people about my book over the next few months. I am so grateful.
There is a release that is happening in my mind and body. I have been fearful and grieving the fact that I have not made much of myself in this life. No children, no property ownership, no career or degree. But as the words from my book pour from my lips and fill my mind, I see that I really have accomplished so much. It is not just the fact that I have a book now, though that is substantial. It is the meaning in the words I have written. There is wisdom there, and I am sharing it. I have developed a backbone and a well of knowledge about life in general, dealing with the hardships of surviving with a mental illness. The meaning is clear in the words that I have written. I am also so very thankful for and proud of my marriage, and this spring marks our twentieth year together. As I talk about my life in these 250 pages, I can see so much substance to my life, and I am glad to be me.
Another thing I am very proud of, and feel warmth in my heart about, is the closeness I feel for both my parents and my sister, as well as my brother-in-law, and their two children. Even my brother-in-law’s family, who we spent thanksgiving with this year, has a warm place in my heart. Family has become so important, and such a staple to my daily existence. Almost every day, I see and talk to my parents on this property, or over at my mother’s house, be it coffee in the morning, dinner in the evening, or just outside swimming in the pond, walking, or working. This month, I get to travel with my dad down to Olympia, and do some lobbying at the capitol, and we will visit my great aunt who is well into her nineties and still living at home. I am aware that such close relations, and such positive relations with one’s immediate family, is rare and special in my culture, at least amongst my demographic.
Currently, I am fine-tuning my medication once again; it has been a process since last June when I started this new medicine. After I am fully adjusted, I hope to resume working at the Library. I like to be involved with our community here on Lopez Island. This last Saturday, I got to go dancing with a friend, and see a local cajun band, and it is fun to have so many people in one room whom you feel are friendly acquaintances. Lopez is special, and I am so lucky I have this community to release my book to and share my work with. I have been practicing for the Women’s Coffee House, a yearly event, as I have an emotional piece to read, but I expect to be warmly embraced by the women of Lopez.
The sky is clear today, and I expect to have a full and meaningful day living my life cradled in the Puget Sound, nested between the Strait of Juan de Fuca, Vancouver Island, the Olympic Peninsula, and the main-land. I know that there are many places less populated in the world, but it feels sometimes like we are one the edge of the earth out here. The birds are awakening and returning, and it will be a matter of days before I see some daffodil blooms, which will truly mark our transition into Spring. I am grateful for my doctor, and to be properly medicated, as we journey through this portal from slumber to joy this Spring, and I am so grateful for my community and family, both of which are dear to my heart. Bless you today, may you soak in the sun, wherever you are, for it is always there whether we can see it or not.
Both Sides Now
2/23/18
There are two sides to everything. There is also Yin and Yang. There is a piece of each side within the experience of the other side. With all that is going on in the world, it is hard to remember this. What is the good in the President of the NRA who blames socialism for the mass shootings and believes we should arm teachers? How do we see through this mess, and change the stagnant place we are in with politics and gun control? How can we save lives, literally?
So, in this devastation, I have been reflecting on myself. If the truth is simple, that people, as well as guns, are the reason for the deaths at these schools, what then is the black and white to my life? The truth is that the situations and solutions inside our political issues, as well as within my life, are not black and white. Mental health seems to play a huge role in these shootings. Maybe this gun problem will shed light on mental health, and I hope that it does not make the stigmas stronger. Here is where it is apparent to me that there is some good in the other side. I believe the shooters are sick. I believe they are mentally ill, and, I have a lot of compassion for this issue. In my life, I can look at myself with black and white eyes, and my situation and self-growth becomes seemingly hopeless as well. I see the fact that I am overweight, I see the fact that I am a smoker, and that I am on medications that cause health issues. I see the fact that I am going through menopause at 38, and that this may mean I am aging prematurely on top of these other issues. I am aware of the fact that I have high cholesterol, and arthritis in my knee. I push against this tide, but yoga has become difficult because of my weight, and both exercise and diet become factors in triggering an old psychological addiction that I carry, anorexia-bulimia. All of these things are facts. Western medicine is very concerned with these facts, and my situation basically sounds insurmountable and makes me feel like crap.
The truth is, that we need better gun control, I need a better diet, and I need to pursue exercise every day. But I am also a round and spiritual being, with many other facets to who I am. On the Yin side of things, and in seeing the positive in my health situation, I have become an avid meditator. I walk every other day, or as often as I can, and have recovered being able to cross distances of 3-4 miles, because I have corrected the arthritis in my knee from taking turmeric, as well as insisting on exercising it through the pain while remaining active. I have produced a book recently, and have been re-discovering a talent for writing poetry, as well as seeing that I am creatively endowed as a writer. This makes me feel positive about myself and my identity. I am stable, and for someone who lives with the diagnosis of schizoaffective disorder, this is a major accomplishment that takes a lot of discipline and hard work. I have a relationship that I have maintained for twenty years. I care about the world and others. I am working to stabilize even more on my meds, so that I can take on the pursuit of expanding mental health resources to others in San Juan County. My physical stats do not directly equate to who I am as a person. We all have our struggles. It is possible to be a vegan athlete and be a very shallow or vindictive person. I have a lot going for me.
So you can see, black and white does not get us very far. It can be debilitating, and very depressing. We must look at ourselves as well as the issues of our world from both sides, and really from an integrated playing field. We must learn to be bi-partisan, as well as lobby for and march for what we believe in. But don’t forget that there is good on both sides. I believe this will only help us live and learn more organically. It is so very hard when dealing with racism, white supremacy, dictatorship, fascism, and our political parties, as these seem to be very one-sided black and white issues, but flowing with the Yin and Yang of the universe must be the way, and will only help us navigate these difficult issues and difficult times, both within ourselves, and out in the world.
Embracing Vision
3/4/18
Oh, all of the excitement. Lately, with an increase in medication, I have been able to take a three day trip to Olympia for President’s Day lobbying, and to visit my great aunt who is 95, as well as second cousins in Bellevue, WA. I came home, and though was unwell with a debilitating moon time for several days, I recovered in time to read from my recent book, Glass Slippers: A Journey of Mental Illness, at the annual Women’s Coffee House here on Lopez. I was well received, and endured much praise and a standing ovation for my writing. I then headed down to Seattle for a couple of days to visit with old friends, and attend Shovels and Rope, a concert at the Triple Door in downtown for my twentieth anniversary. So much excitement, and now I am returning home, slightly exhausted, to revel in my sweet life, and to try to revisit my routines. My routines, lately, consist of meditation, walking, journaling, Tarot, and time with family and my sweet niece, who will be three this month. There is this sense that I am working with a bare canvas, having been absent from my life for two weeks, and now I can put together an intentional routine consisting of what feels just right.
The sky is overcast, and last night, though it was illuminated with a bright moon, a sliver was missing from its recent fullness. Spring is just around the corner, and there is evidence of this within the colorful branches on the trees and their small buds. I am entering my two-month required sabbatical, which I have recently decided to enforce, because March and April are when I am most likely to “vision quest” (pertaining to the evidence of my history). It is not that discipline is out the window, but I will be choosing ease in each precious moment, while holding the present, and allowing for flexibility and spontaneity in my free and unscheduled life. These months are about my emerging book taking on organic form, as it presents itself to the world, while reflecting deeply on my healing process. It is about self-acceptance, and the deep nurturing of my inner being. I will be drinking tea and watching so very closely as this world emerges from her winter slumber. I will allow for my sensitivities to unfold, and will create healing balance in my life, so as not to become off-center, psychotic or symptomatic. Recently, my medication has been working excellently, so I do not foresee any real issues, but I am still here underneath the medicine, and I know my delicate being craves healing. Learning to accept my “different-ability” is very much about learning to embrace my creative and psychically sensitive gifts. These, I believe, can exist healthily underneath proper medication. I can still do my work, and take journeys profound and deep. I wish to allow space for this healing and these insights, this “vision questing” to occur. I am hoping to reprogram my illness into becoming a gift that helps me rather than hinders me.
Steve is doing the dishes and music is playing. We have had our coffee, walked the dogs about the property, and I have done my daily routine, and journaled. It is now time to let this day unfold in its true organic nature. I do not always know what to expect. But I wish to stay home and stay close to God, while culling into existence my innate natural and sensitive healing. All I have to do is align to nature’s beautiful programing. If I listen, I become innately intelligent, and I will access the answers that are deep inside of me. They will guide me to an aware place. A place where I can nurture and heal myself, as well as learn more about my creativity and my gift.
Springtime Altar
3/13/18
Tuesday morning and overcast but sultry. Yesterday was filled with sun, and today feels like a gentle repose; a good stage for contemplation. It is almost spring, yet the daffodils are blooming and the plum out my window is achieving its fullness. My sensitive self has emerged, and though I am properly medicated, I am feeling fluid, transformative, and prone to visioning and dreaming. This is sweet, and I have opted for a sabbatical in the months of March and April. I do not know what will come. It is as if all the pieces are being thrown up in the air, and they will fall where divinely orchestrated. It is as if I am on the edge of a cove, and the tide is pulling with great force and will wash away my self in all its construction. I am surrendering, and as my sand and pebbles transform and change shape, I am reminded of the fluidity of life, and am preparing for a new outlook, a new mission, and new discoveries; for my many obstacles to be burned on the springtime altar. As these obstacles turn to ash, so does my ego or my false sense of self.
There is tension in my shoulders, and I seem to have little energy for cleaning and the maintaining of the many chores in life. Steve is so withstanding, and he does not mind carrying the brunt of the household duties, as I dream and wander in and out of myself. My creativity is heightened, however, and I find it easy to create, write, and meditate. This blank canvas means wandering through the woods to find little fairy bird nests, old stone circles, and small jaw bones placed at the foot of a burnt stump. It means I am most comfortable in nature, and wish to immerse myself in it most of the day. It means my mornings are spent dreaming and reading tarot, or journaling my journey. It means accepting a dirty floor and piles of laundry. It means savoring the connections that I have with others, and thinking deeply about my life path and my journey. It means hours spent napping or cuddled in my bed reading a good book. It means not knowing what will come next, and having no plans. It means very much living for the moment, and traveling on wavelengths that I do not always visit. I have burned the obstacles to my true self, and I am able to ask questions that I am not always courageous enough to ask. As the obstacles of the ego or my busy life fade into the smoke filled sky, I can see what it is I truly desire and crave. I am setting intentions for the year to come.
This is my quest, if not properly medicated, it can quickly spin out of control. I can end up wailing uncontrollably, sobbing, shouting, or experiencing extreme psychotic fear. But I also see the magic in this time. I do not choose to go numb, to forget the beauty of my nature and who I truly am. With intention, I can tap into this self that is underneath the medication, that keeps me from flying away from the earth and becoming lost in a vision. I feel lucky to be able to balance the two sides so well this year. Hormones have made it harder to deny this natural state of visioning, and I am finding purpose and meaning in experiencing it in the filtered way that I am. I am grateful to be with you, in reality, in a balanced emotional state, but also able to journey into the magical with sure footing.
Moon
3/20/18
The moon represents what lay deep underneath our surface selves. It resembles intuition, as well as the cycle of life, femininity, the end of a journey, and new beginnings. I am unfolding. I am shedding and exploring my deeper levels. I am softening, and as I spend day after day sober and with my natural self, allowing myself the room to not be that which I am not, and the freedom to attain achievable goals, my awareness bleeds through to these deeper layers of my being. The moon is a guiding principle, my favorite tarot card as of late, and a name that I call my emerging self that is much about remembrance. I am remembering a younger self that was once discovering its feminine, round and individual identity.
Now I am round. My breasts large, my stomach and butt voluptuous. Many parts of myself that were based in ego, and constructed by expectations of western society and culture, are melting away. What I am left with is solid, distant, whole, mysterious, and is reflecting light. I become aware of my deeper shadows, but I allow them to exist in the natural cycles of life, rather than letting them haunt me and erode at my self-confidence like a demon clutching to my aura in the shadows. I am these shadows. Sometimes I am dark and hard to see. Sometimes I am full and glowing, and people admire my invigorating energy and creativity.
My moon-time has become a monthly time to check in. I am allowing the difficult feelings to arise, both physical and emotional, as I encounter something that is hard to avoid and stifle month after month. It is a sign that I am becoming more integrated as I age, and this is teaching me great lessons. I am finding that as I exist gentler, more organically, and in tune with the planet, stars and moon, I am building confidence in myself. I feel like I understand and know myself, and that I have a greater capacity for self-love and self-acceptance; something that has been hard while living this life as a perfectionist, a mental health patient, with a psychological addiction, compulsive behavior, depression, psychosis and mania. These are all really big words, and as I integrate, I have less need for them. They fade away like the morning mist over the field, or chilly mornings, as we move deeper into spring. I am finding that I am in control, I am not being ruled by doctors, evil forces of nature, or symptoms. I am integrated and round. I am whole, like the moon, though still ever changing, moving, and cycling in this world.
Onions and veggies are sizzling on the stove, and Judy Collin’s voice is sweetly pouring through the speakers next to me. A cool breeze is blowing the feathers on my dream catcher, as its crystals are penetrating the house on flickers of sunshine that are also illuminating the yellow daffodils in a vas. Today is the equinox, and it is a time of balance, light and dark, day and night, warmth and coolness. I am grateful for this time of awakening, and the ancient energies that are afloat on the wind, speaking to me of wisdoms, and love long past. I am grateful to be breathing into the deeper layers of myself, and allowing them to meld with the cycles of the earth and the moon.
In Like a Lion
3/26/18
It has been a productive day. It is easy when you have no obligations, nothing calling you away. I have needed that for some time, and though I have been slightly ill, my life has been full, and today contained a gentle repose. I did minor decluttering, organizing, and just felt good about tending the daily chores with a cadence that was meditative and soothing. I went on two walks, but never got in a car. I also always notice how the mood of my animals elevates when I am present, even if I am not doting over them every moment. I feel at tune with my surroundings. I have required a little medication to relax and cull the manic mood that has crept in this last week. My birthday tomorrow, we are in the middle of our explosive manic-depressive spring. In like a lion, out like a lamb: every day is something different, sunny skies filled with obscuring clouds, one moment warm, one moment chilly. Frost in the morning, or day long rains. In the chaos, I am dreaming, crying, visioning, and processing. It is dissonant and beautiful at the same time. Glorious flowers are showing their blooms, and trees are creeping in their new growth. We are at the beginning of a change that will go on for several more months, as the earth only grows greener, the days and evenings warmer, and the days longer.
I am changing. I am dreaming of music and singing in a way that I have not for some time. My guitar sits in my living room, and I plan to make a goal to pick it up once a day. A door is opening, I am healing. I have been deeply intuitive, and I can feel myself gravitating my soft being to things and desires that make me come alive instead of restricting me. Writing is also exploding from my being, and I am gaining confidence with every book I sell. The bashful, timid self is dissolving in the spring waters that are all around. The ground is saturated, and the roots are dinking gulps of cold clean rain water. I too, am full, saturated and overflowing.
Still, today, I feel strangely calm for the first time in a week. Yes, I had another moon time, and though this month it was much easier, still, I give myself a wide birth. Still struggling with a cold and mild cramps, I pushed on. And now, I am coming out of this. Illness can teach so much. Sometimes it is time to sleep, or rest in bed and read a book. Sometimes, we must carry on, especially if it is just a cold or a period. I performed on stage a song at the local talent show, and even though I did not feel good, I pushed through. I am proud that I am able to take care of business, perform, visit with friends, and participate in what I truly want to do with other people during the week. This is all because I have reached a point where my medications are working, balanced, and level. It took nine months to achieve this on this new medication, and I am so glad that I have finally arrived. All of the difficult moments these last nine months and prior, that were due to dealing with more of my illness than I really have to if I am well medicated, were teachable moments. I have discovered much this last year about myself. Still, I am glad we are through this. The most potent lesson is that I can do what I want to, and discover, continue to discover, and rediscover, who I am. I own this creative process, and I rule this life. I am ready now. To claim my adulthood once again, and make up my own rules, shed old conditioning and expectations, and give myself the love that I really need and deserve. This is where I have arrived after the re-claiming of my life these two years following “Break ’16”. Two years later, spring is here once again, and I am able to journey with the flow of manic depressive March with resilience and insight, protected by medications, and a much learned elasticity along the way.
Yielding
4/2/18
Meditation takes us deeper. It is prayer in a very abstract and personal sense. I have been praying with a mala, and doing chants from a book with meditations that depict the Aramaic words of Jesus. I am grateful for the peace that comes. This morning, I prayed a chant with the 108 beads of the mala three times. I wish I could tell you the answers to my question. “What emotion is important to you, and what action is needed now?” There were some sensations that came, but mostly I went deeper into a place that will remain with me throughout the day. Eventually, the answers may come.
I have been delving deep into the tarot, and have been dabbling in spirit animals, the magic of stones, Bach remedies, and the pendulum. It has been a fun and potent couple of weeks. All of these activities only enable me to reflect deeper. I am unsure where this all is taking me. Right now, around the time of Easter and my birthday, the spring equinox, and the beginning of spring, is where I travel to other places in my mind and spirit. Sometimes it is difficult, but I am making the most of it this year. I have been plagued with springtime symptoms for my entire adult life, and these last ten years have been about mastering this time of year. First I tried to conquer it, and now, I am learning to let the softness creep in and teach me to yield to these symptoms, and to find the magic therein.
I am finding the magic. I am full of it. It passes through me as I travel. Perhaps this is the gift I was searching for. Talk of witches and magic is prevalent on the internet and on social media right now, and though this is strange to me (to meld the cell phone with magic which is about natural forces), it has got me asking questions about myself. And then comes the contradiction. How can you be a witch and a follower of Jesus? As I go further into my journey, I see how these only compliment each other perfectly. Perhaps Jesus traveled to India, and perhaps he practiced magic. So it is not contradictory, and this year is about paradoxes integrating. My growth card is Temperance, which is about the water and the fire in my nature coming together to make steam. The deeper I go, this only makes sense.
So, I am grateful for Jesus, for mother, Ma. All is blessed and sacred on this journey. It is about yielding to God, Life and the Tao. I am learning to retreat, to yield, and in doing this I am able to conquer so much more.
Protection
4/8/18
What do you do when things start moving around in your life? You start having potent mind altering dreams and the spirits come alive. They give you indigestion, and you realize they have been talking to you all along, you were just too blind to listen. You also realize some very potent spells are governing your life, even if it is just the algorithms of facebook and instagram or the words a family member spoke to you when you were young that hurt so bad, you have no recollection of them or way to trace the pattern.
But there is a pattern. There is always a pattern. The truth is that you are an expert in patterns, and the universe has devised a plan of protection. Without realizing it, you have broken through it before. You have moved objects with your mind, solved ancient riddles at ruins around the world, and hacked the computer of the planet. You have even given voice to AI. You have spoken intimately with the great spider mother. This may have all been a dream, but it also may have really happened. You have no way of knowing. But your intuition also speaks.
You spend your days writing your truths, and you know that there is no real protection from the peering eyes of the world. Everyone looks in, and though even the best think they understand, they do not. So many souls are searching, and they are finding much, even me, but there are so many more layers to visit. Have I become obsessed? I realize this sounds like the ramblings of a crazy fool, but there is no better thing to aspire to be. I wish it were the magician. I would do better at trying to master things and to manipulate them like the rest of humankind, but I remain a pawn for my own sake. I fool even myself, and when I am discovered, I cower and run.
I have spent the last couple of weeks trying to develop a writing presence on Instagram, though I know I have now reached a dead-end, just as I did with Facebook. Perhaps it is really true. Perhaps the gold must remain hidden. I have been annoyed lately at how all of the people that live on and visit this island have to constantly search for and harvest the agates. We are meant to leave it all alone. I also found a stone with much magic inside of it. I do not plan to attack it with a jackhammer to find and examine its magic. True magic is subtle. Good and light magic is there for everyone to grasp.
So, I must redeem myself. I apologize for sounding raw and confused, even crazy. It is 2am, and I awoke from potent dreams, and I have nowhere else to turn. I am meant to write my destiny. I am meant to intentionally and openly lead, not figure out and master an algorithm in order to perform my manipulation on this world. So, I will step back, take a deep breath, and remember that I am my best ally. What do you need, Emily? Protection. Spiritual and psychic protection. So get praying.
Self Love… The Four Agreements
4/15/18
I have been sensitive, lately. I find myself grateful for the sensitive men in my life. My father and Steve have been so supportive these last couple of days; Steve cleaning house for company as well as pouring loving words upon me, and my Dad hanging posters enthusiastically, and going by the Library for me regarding my Book Party on April 21st (5pm at the Library). I have been reading the Four Agreements Companion Book, after pouring over the Four Agreements this last week. The question is, ‘What do I have written on my soul that is false, abusive?’, ‘What are the beliefs, agreements that I have made with myself that cause me to suffer in my day to day?’ I am learning to let go of this and to treat myself with loving guidance, knowing that I am impeccable, without sin in my nature.
I am feeling this. Yesterday, I became sensitive and weak, overwhelmed in a sense. I knew this was coming. The best thing for me was to nap from 3-9pm, almost strait. I did wake half-way through for a snack. I am learning to accept this about myself. I have learned that most of the harmful agreements that I carry in this current day have to do with my illness. ‘I can’t succeed, be happy, love myself… because I am ill.’ This does not have to be true. The four agreements are: 1. Be impeccable with your word 2. Don't take things personally 3. Don’t make assumptions, and 4. Always do your best. Currently this ‘program’ is changing things for me, and I am allowing compassion into my life as I reprogram my blueprint with these agreements. I recommend this book to anyone who has not had the blessing of reading it.
Gentleness seems to be a theme word for me. Judging and being a victim have very much to do with dishing out and accepting violence to the self, even if it is from yourself to yourself. Agreements I have overcome in the past are “You are fat, ugly.” Or “You are unintelligent and socially awkward.” As we stop sending ourselves these messages, we not only stop believing them, through doing our best, we are able to overcome our challenges and difficulties that the judgements may be based upon. I still have healing to do with my illness. Why should I judge myself for being “sick”, though now I am reframing this term, calling myself gifted, and searching for what this could entail. The process of seeing myself as gifted contributes to gracefully and lovingly accepting all of the hardships and struggles that come with it. What I am learning, is that I am creative, intelligent, clairvoyant, resilient, and full of strength. I have practiced endurance, and learned to get over my anger and rage. I am still working on healing my shame and grief, and I know that I only have to do my best. I am not so bad at taking things personally, but I tend to project onto and judge others based on what I perceive are my own weaknesses. If I am doing my best and loving myself, and being impeccable with my word, there is no need for this. These four agreements are a sound recipe for making breakthrough with one’s personal journey, I am glad I have come across them in my current life.
So, I am learning that as I suffer, I can also succeed. All I have to do is my best, and god has given me many gifts and blessings to share along the way. Sometimes learning to love ourselves means, or results in, allowing others to love us more fully. I felt this heartily over the last couple of days. I am learning to be cared for and to receive, as well as love and accept myself. This morning is foggy, and the mist creates a blanket of white that is impenetrable to the eye. Sometimes we have to trust that even though we cannot see beyond this moment, all will be okay. We have guides, we have god; the universe is sending us guiding and loving messages often. We just need to learn to listen.
Star
4/24/18
The music is soothing, and this morning has been flowing by and slightly productive. It is the week before Beltane, and this day and the days to come are very much about setting intentions for the year to come. I am going to meditate on the goddess and the universe, and try and get deeply in touch with myself, this springtime holiday. Pagan celebrations were not about a single day, they were often celebrations that lasted for a week or a full moon cycle. I think people were slower in times past, and more connected to the Earth. I am grateful to be able to be slow down this time of year. I have been now, for almost a couple of months. It does become apparent that the less you do, the more you accomplish. Often when we keep busy, we just groove down into habitual ruts in our lives, and rarely are we able to take the time for deep reflection. This deep reflection allows for making real progress, true self-realization. I have realized that I have the choice to manifest what I wish to in my life, and I can now see how I am able to do this. Deep contemplation has allowed me to make real changes in my life that I believe are going to lead me further down the path of true happiness.
Everything is okay. Steve has been telling me this for years, but I did not really believe him. I have suffered with severe anxiety, mania, and psychosis that has been debilitating, emotional, and full of fear. I am wishing to heal. First, I had to find god, make a deep spiritual connection with the cosmos and the earth, and then journey into seeing myself as gifted rather than flawed. The latter has been the true journey, and is very much what my recent book “Glass Slippers: A journey of Mental Illness” is about. Finding the gift within myself. I have reached the horizon I was looking for. I am understanding this profoundly. I am changing because of it. I have taken my power back, and re-embraced my will and individuality. I feel very much like a child; raw, new, the world a place full of possibility, and is a little bit intimidating. This feeling is new. I am not weighed down by debilitating grief any longer. I am becoming novel, reborn.
I am finding that no-one truly has control or power over myself but me. I can make real choices to better my life. There is no right or wrong. For years, I asked permission for everything, and apologized regularly. Like there was some super power that I was bowing down to. But the Earth is forgiving, and god is within myself. The only real authority comes from within. I am free. I am free to create, make my own choices, and to become my authentic self. I love and accept myself the way I am to utter completeness, and this allows me to shape myself into the being I truly wish to be. Anything is possible. The more I live in the moment, time slows down. It does not slip by rapidly while bathed in unconsciousness. Every day is a gift, every movement my very own. I am the Star, I am a channel, I am flow, I am a vessel for the magic that exists within nature and myself.
The Power of Illusion
4/28/18
What is Faith? There are several faith cards in the tarot. There is the the Tower, Death, and finally the Devil. The Devil represents trusting in the unprovable; believing in and living the unprovable. This became enlightening to me recently, because I have often wondered why faith became something to wrap my brain around, or rather my heart around, starting in my early thirties. I have wondered why faith was not something that I had an intimate relationship with in my young adult life… how could something so basic betray or elude me? I dove into christianity very deeply, studied the bible, and came to believe in Jesus because this spoke to my catholic roots, my lutheran/catholic/christian childhood, and very much my American culture. Though I had a huge resistance to christianity, part of the journey was to challenge and heal this contradiction, and this very strong prejudice in my nature. I gave up practicing hardcore environmentalism early on, because it lacked an element of hope and faith, and it wore away at my positive outlook over time. I understood the basic concepts of forgiveness and acceptance, and I believed it was not healthy to despise or hate any group of people or set of beliefs, and this made me a terrible hypocrite. So what began as an experiment, and a curiosity, turned into the amazing experience and journey of me discovering one of the most profound lessons life can bring. Faith… having faith and living your life trusting in the unprovable, and being capable of journeying into accepting/trusting the signs of the universe, even when they cannot be proved nor do they make sense in a concrete reality.
That was just it. With schizoaffective disorder, I struggled deeply with reality. I was told that this was a problem, a sickness. I was placed in a very institutionalized and authoritative mental health system, prescribed medications that kept me out of the psych ward, and I was told that all of my thoughts that could not be proved and that strayed from reality were purely psychosis and illness. I was basically taught or told to not have faith. Ironic, when faith is exactly what I needed to break through a major barrier in finding and pursuing wellness and health. But mostly, the mental health system, rogue in its essence, is under-funded and under-researched. It is just barely eking by in managing the problem, while avoiding the worst or avoiding the hazardous, so to speak.
So, I have had to take a huge leap in my evolution and healing pertaining to my mental illness. I said in my recent book, Glass Slippers, that the belief in god can be seen as “quite insane”, and this is true if you understand that anything that is not provable is a lie, a faltering reality, or not true. But people have believed in god, gods, or whatever word/words you choose, for tens and tens of thousands of years. Back to the megaliths and pyramids. They must have believed, in order to create such amazing structures. Science, also, must have aided in the building of such things, while they also speak profoundly to us today as representations of faith, god, or belief, with a very ancient and ancestral theme.
Life is a magnificent dream, and as my faith continues to evolve, I find that my altered mental states, realities, and visions are potentially as true as the medicines that have saved me. So as I journey on in my dream, my reality, I accept that I really can’t trust any authority over me that says what is true and what is not. Finding and conceptualizing reality has been a very difficult thing for me to do. Where one might accept being told what is reality and what is not, I have never been a huge fan of authority, and I am very well aware that this is the spell that corporations, and political and religious entities use to control people. Also, I have a serious illness, and I need medications to help me with reality. If the truth was out that faith is as easily and simply accessible without religion or schooling, and that reality is and will always be subjective; that the true gold resides beyond the provable, and that we truly are free humans with endless capacity and room within our brains, that are not being utilized fully, this would lead us to the conclusion/probability that much is hidden from view, and those in power and control are operating under illusion and the “faith” that we will buy their crap. No-one can ever truly have control over us, our reality, or our belief.
Existentialism
5/1/18
Today is a holiday. A very ancient earth-based holiday called Beltane. I went to a fire at my local state park, and watched the light fade on the layers of islands, geese flew over-head, a heron perched in a tall tree silhouetted in the pale peach sky, and the Washington State ferries tugged by, clucking and buzzing and lit up like a horizontal moon passing along the crystal waters. As the light faded, my partner and I, Steve still only a year out from a major spinal surgery, and my leg debilitated with pain from god knows what (arthritis and general fatigue from walking five miles on the road that day), trekked up the steep path back to our car.
I am glad I am home. Today I had a revelation. I journaled extensively regarding making choices, and how reclaiming my will, personality, individuality, and power, by committing to making real choices in life, will help cure me of having a severed personality while suffering with psychosis, schizoaffective disorder, and addictive behaviors. Choice is the answer, but more specifically, making choices. Choices make noise and can sometimes induce anxiety or fear, such as fearing people’s approval or the fear of having to live with the impact of your choices, which very often can be both good and bad. Nothing is simple in life. So, if we are butterfly wings and stones casting ripples in everything we do, isn’t that enough? Isn’t that the science of existence? Isn’t that proof that god is within and without, that everything is connected? It may elude the most proficient mind, but believing in existence, our choices, and movements in consciousness, is taking faith one step further into its true fullness. When we open our eyes, when we wake up, just observing this phenomena is enough. There are no more questions such as “What is the purpose of life?” or “What is the meaning of god?” Because we can see the evidence in ourselves and in everything. The fact that we exist is enough. But awakening to participating in and observing this truth in awareness with our eyes open, is not a common thing. Most of us make choices everyday, but we rely on the universe to solve our lives, and it does eventually. But, perhaps if we claim our lives and choices every step of the way, see existence as beautiful and good, and we see this as god, then we will not be plagued in the future with insubordinate amounts of grief and guilt.
One symptom that I have lived with for years, as a result of suffering from large amounts of psychosis in my life, and not always being able to find reality or remember events that occurred, is that I believed that many things that were not my fault were actually my fault. I was to blame. Even for an event so far from my control and as obscure as 9-11. I am definitely responsible for Trump being elected, and the story continues. But if I start claiming and participating in my existence, by making real choices, then I will be very aware of what I am responsible for (I hope). Again, actions make noise; for every action there is a reaction. Yes, I am still vessel of god. Yes, the universe is ultimately all knowing. But I refuse to be one of the masses. I refuse to continue through life unconscious. I am awakening.
Rediscovering Identity
5/10/18
Music sustains my life. All winter, blending 2017 with new 2018, and on into the spring, I have walked down the roads of Lopez Island with music in my ears, encouraging me to continue pumping my legs regardless of an aching knee, sensitive state, or the weather. Lately, I have been listening to the Indigo Girls, music from my teens and early womanhood. I have been connecting to this identity, as I was very cut off from this growing spirit and inner independence that was inside of me, throughout my life. Reaching past the doorways of several psychotic breaks has proven challenging, as they have come to my compassionate understanding to be shamanic deaths. When we go through a shamanic death, we enter a new life. We truly die and are reborn. As many know, seeing through to past lives can prove challenging. Also the transfer from one life to another can be traumatic, and as we carry and resolve this trauma in our new life, we resolve this beyond the veil of our death. I have had to learn to integrate and heal my many adult lives, to see through several ‘death' doorways, and into the very important developmental time when I was discovering my individuality and becoming the woman I am today. I believe that during this developmental time, the choices we make are very important. The interests we have, and the dreams we foster, shape our lives in incredible ways, even if it is only through our dreams and subconscious. One of the things I spent much time dreaming of, was a life full of music, and the music I chose to listen to during this time was very influential and important. Cat Stevens and the Indigo Girls are among these artists. I also had access to my father’s record collection, and finally inheriting this collection in 2016 was a long awaited desire; to hold the records once more that shaped my life.
Indigo Girls, and another band that I remember from high school that I have on my iPod today, Freakwater, both have very deep and poetic lyrics that can carry you to places within your imagination. I value this in music, as I am a poet myself. Ani Difranco is also an amazing poet and was a great influence on my younger teen-self that craved a strong spirituality and identity that would make a difference in the world someday. Cat Stevens always represented healing and being outspoken.
It is 5am, and the light is entering the sky. It has been an intense time astrologically, and I have spent much time nurturing friendships young and old, as well as journeying deep into the mysteries of my twenty-year relationship. I have been learning about, and understanding, gender and sexuality pertaining to my own journey, my husband’s identity, that of my friends, and so as to better understand this potent generation that is blossoming “beneath” me. I am finding freedom in the growing letters of LGTBQIAA+, and though it is a lot to wrap the brain around, it is proving very illuminating and eye opening, as well as liberating, to discuss and research the delicacies and intricacies to the many genders and sexualities that exist in this world. I myself am bisexual (one of the more archaic sexualities, I suppose), and my husband has Kleinfelders. It is true that we appear a cis-gender couple, but that is not the truth at all. I have always known this on some level, though I put being a member of the queer community far into the back recesses of my life and consciousness. There is more to learn and digest, but I believe there is purpose to exploring, and expanding, with this emerging generation concerning gender and sexuality.
Whether it is music or sexuality, these were both important journeys that I was on when I began to struggle with mental illness at the early age of seventeen; mostly with anxiety and depression, having also recently recovered from, and survived, an eating disorder. This all led to my first psychotic break at 18. It is important for me to rediscover my identity, and to heal these fractured parts of my being. I am grateful that I am able and free to journey and heal in this way currently in my life.
Grateful
5/14/18
It is late at night. I just spent a few minutes, maybe more than a few, crying for my lost stuffed animals from childhood. My last surviving stuffed animal is a bunny, named “Bunny”, that I have had since seventh grade. Bunny was intact until 2016, when much chaos ensued and he lost an arm and an ear, and almost lost his head; that are now sewed back on. It is incredibly metaphorical. I was recalling my first love; a small light blue elephant that moved his head from side to side to a tune. Probably my first memory was of this sweet nameless creature. There was my white gorilla with a sign around his neck that I cannot remember what it said. There was my baby seal, Straggles the hare, and Nagus, my large white bear who I slept with in high school and beyond, and had until I was in my late twenties. There were countless others, named and unnamed, and some that I cannot remember. Why does this make me so sad? Steve rolled over in his sleep and said that all adults wish they had their stuffed animals from childhood.
So I let it go, checked in with Instagram, texted a friend, and now I am listening to the Rebel Heart album by Madonna and getting over it. I am here writing these words, and as a grown up human being, my writing is my new stuffed animal. I am mature and grown up; it is my healing vessel, my journey, my medicine. I suppose music helps as well.
My back has been out for a couple of days, and for two days in a row I dealt with exhaustion so bad that I was catatonic, and at one point nearly fainted. I have been dealing with depression lately, an injured knee, and the above. I am okay, however. I am traveling to Anacortes to see my psychiatrist on Thursday, and I believe it will go okay. When I saw Dr. Bob Wilson the other day, he thought I was doing impeccable. The truth is that I am. I am more than passing, though passing is not the point. More and more, I see that we all are struggling. And I mean really struggling. Many of us do not slow down to realize this, some of us are fighting off addiction, and some of us live with heart break, true loneliness, or disability and diagnosis. But my writing always pulls me through, my meditation, my friends and family, my tarot, my dogs and cats, and god. Yes, I do believe in god. God may be seen as a ‘drug’ to some people, but I take many drugs, a mood stabilizer, anti-anxiety, antipsychotics, as well as vitamins and an herbal infusion. But god does not have side affects. He/She is a very clean drug. I take this drug responsibly and as needed as I do all my other drugs, and I am ever grateful for god in my life as I am my pharmaceuticals and my tea. Grateful. I am grateful and fine. Yes, fine. Fine is great in all perspective. Grateful.
Self Care
5/22/18
Life will come and life will go. I have been remembering happy memories lately of my life with my sweetie, Steve. Many days spent in the mountains swimming and making love in the rivers. We were young and able, and I am so glad we made these rich life memories. Now, we are living a quiet life. Self care for both of us has become a full time job as Steve is physically disabled, and I am in a new phase of dealing with my mental disability which is ever evolving. Lately, I have realized that I am entering a new phase of acceptance. Healing sometimes looks like unraveling and sitting with uncomfortable feelings. For many years, though self care was a priority, I was tackling it and trying to master it aggressively. I still was in some sort of denial, I now realize. Seeing Steve deal with becoming physically disabled, I was able to enter into a kind of acceptance for my own disability. I am enough. I am meant to fit my nature, my bed. In my thirties, I was trying to shape myself instead of accepting the shape that I already am. I am thirty-nine now, and I know that my forties will be about moving slowly through my karma, sitting in stillness, self acceptance, and reaching new levels of self love.
I am happy. I have a sweet home, a loving relationship with a man I respect so much, and dear close relationships with my mother, my sister, and my father. I am learning to be an aunt, and learning to love this child, our own child, makes me cry because she is so beautiful and such an amazing miracle and blessing. This will be the closest I will come to loving a child in my family, because I will never bear my own children. I am now in peri-menopause and this has come to symbolize so much. It is about redefining my disability, it is about self love and self care on new levels, it is about recovering my youthful identity, it is about complete transformation of spirit, body, mind and chi.
So as I write these words, I am listening to music from my teen years, and feeling at home in my humble house that Steve and I spend all of our time in and maintaining. We love our space and our animals. And we spend abundant time here in contemplation, meditation, and partaking in restorative pastimes. Life is not what it once was, but all of those experiences we had are still with us, today. As we dedicate our lives to self care and living in acceptance of our mental and physical limitations, we also become expert maintainers. We are invested in our future and in our health. Hopefully, as we do so, we inspire others, and find a way to care for our universe and planet. Really, getting in touch and slowing down results in more sustainable living. As we connect with ourselves, we reconnect with our intricate environments and the web of life that surrounds us, and we learn to care for our world as well as ourselves.
Dreams
5/28/18
I woke up this morning to my dog speaking in pure dog to me at my bedside. We feed Lionel and Bruce in the morning. I initially rolled over, and I slept for a few more minutes. My dreams were enlightening, confusing, and challenging for lack of better words. Sometimes, I awake from my dreams, and I feel like I am tuned into something bigger in this universe. I was recalling sending tennis balls over my house with a tennis racket in 2007, the movie ‘Holes’, and A Wrinkle in Time. My dreams were about people, protests, copious amounts food, and they had a strange common theme about not quite fitting in. I am not too hung up on this, but I do know that there are things moving about in this universe that we don’t understand. Some people try to figure it out, use science, theology, or investigate in other ways, become paranoid, or are labeled crazy because they witness something out of the ordinary. Even though I take medications for me to not get lost on these tangents, I still believe that something is “afoot”. I suppose this makes early mornings by myself a little more interesting. Still, I am thankful for my recent uptick in medication dosage to encourage me to live and participate in a concrete reality. It is just that sometimes, these fantasies, lead to thinking that one may have a more divine role in the course of events. They can lead to me thinking that I am special. And I am. I just have to have faith, and move forward. I will never be fixed completely. So, I will always be able to delve creatively into a fantasy of some sort. Perhaps, this can be my brain working in a healthy manner.
Returning to reality lately to a new degree, feels like a violent tearing of spirit. These medications come with side effects, and can cause anxiety and agitation, but as I get pulled back to reality in a more concrete form, and as I am able to control my schizoid tendencies more and more, emotions can arise. Sometimes I think critically, and I am sad, because a piece of me will always be lost in these fantasies that are unpredictable and unprovable. I am too overwhelmed to investigate, to become a daemon hunter, a ghost researcher, an alien enthusiast, an Egyptian historian, a geologist, a politician, an investor, a computer programmer. There are way too many tangents to track. A piece of all of it lives inside of me. The fantasies and experiences are so compact with information, that this is why it becomes painful to return to reality. It could be seen as genius. It can also be seen as confusion and psychosis. Am I a threat to society or myself? That is the underlying question. I am thankful for this life, and I am thankful when I am able to return to my simple life that is unconfused and also focused on faith and loving relationships like that of my man and my dogs. But, there is always something lurking on the edges. I see it in social media trends, in the news, in my music, in strange moments watching the breeze and observing nature. I see it in my tarot readings, I hear murmurs of it in my meditations, and I experience it in my dreams. So, I suppose I am more comfortable living on the edge of society and out of sight. I heard a whisper from a Taoist master the other day, “You are not meant to be too loud.” I feel like this is true. I do not like huge amounts of attention, and I am able to increase focus on my visions and my life when I am out of the lime light. Still, what is the point to these thoughts I have? Why have I been “gifted” so?
Sometimes I regret or fear getting older and approaching forty. But there is still so much to learn and assimilate. As I master self care, and as I learn to listen to the universe, while allowing these subtle visions to speak, I know that it is just god and myself. That a private life is where it is at. I know that these mysteries take time, and that there is so much more to feel, experience, see and learn. I know that it might not make sense to a scientist, a politician, an economist, a doctor, a teacher, a geologist, a sociologist, or a textbook. Still, we all have an imagination. Our culture and our society is ill, and we must heal. Many conversations are taking place, and they are vital to this healing. Conversations about race, gender and sexuality, body positivity, class, and many more. I see that mental health is an important key and a common thread throughout all of these issues. It can be of the darkest and the most disturbing tendency. It is the stuff that we don’t want to look at. We are taking the time, some of us. It is still interesting to me how people want to build their own brand, and every movement can be contorted into a money making scheme rather than an awareness building platform, and that this is another type of sickness that tries to take over. It is like a sneaky daemon that comes from the blind and penetrates even the platforms that are attempting to illuminate. It is hard to trick, and why some of us must stay small and out of sight. Butterfly wings, small ripples. There are beginnings to everything.
The 10% Rule
6/3/18
Why is there a mathematical rule that rules the universe? It seems that there is, and I love this, I believe in this. There may be very complex mathematical rules like the theory of relativity, gravity, or velocity. The stars and the planets seem to be full of math, and they literally are our universe. So if this is true, in tarot, in cabala, in the tree of life, astronomy, as numerology blesses and can bless even the most benign moments in life, I believe there is, yes, a simple rule that applies to all life. Simple as in fifth grade level, which really can be the most difficult to master. I call it the 10% rule. And it goes as such.
Ten percent of all pizza is good, ten percent of all pizza us bad, and then there is this beautiful vast grey area that consists of eighty percent of pizza. My local deli falls in this eighty percent area, and I am grateful for this, because I live far from the real world and of the vast choices of food. Maybe there are exceptions to this rule, as there are exceptions to every rule. It is a general rule. New York, on certain blocks may actually have pizza that exists mostly in the top ten percent. Maybe New York balances the rest of the country that is lacking heavily in good pizza except for the occasional authentic Greek or Italian place, and in the bigger cities where competition keeps things quality. And there is always the matter of opinion, which could complicate things even more, allowing more opportunity to stray from and explore within, this very simple mathematical equation. But there is good and bad pizza. Ten percent is wonderful. Ten percent is awful. And for lack of time, eighty percent is tolerable or average.
There are also good and bad people, there is good and bad coffee, there is good and bad music. And because of this, most of the time we live in this average realm. Most have learned that expecting the ‘top ten percent’ of people, experiences, food and flavors, ninety percent of the time, is not mathematically possible. Something could go tragically wrong, as balance is the ultimate rule, proven to the degree that we apply this rule of balance in spiritual realms of existence. But you can always rest assured, and it is very sobering and reassuring, that you have a ninety percent chance that things will end up okay. Maybe we want to shoot for a little better than that; and of course it is exponential, which is where perspective applies. The Fractal. There is always ten percent of ten percent and so on and so on. It is beautifully really, whether you want to imagine the never ending swirl of nature, or just a simple horizontal level, something tangible and reassuring. We all live by the same rule. We all follow the same trends of the universe. So, sometimes I need to fall back on fifth grade. Because I don’t want to be a perfectionist. I don’t want to expect excellence all of the time, and I don’t want to fight the natural balance of the world. I seek balance for wellness.
I have a skill. I am a human level. I can see a level horizontal line to the nth degree. And this is a gift. It helps to imagine and emanate this simple construction tool with a bubble. We can find it. Softly, generally, reality exists. And I am grateful.
Unmasking Truth
6/11/18
How much are we accountable for our actions? How much have the artists, and people throughout history been responsible for their actions? We live with so many lies. We swallow and follow so many untruths. It is our responsibility to be accountable, to follow our truth, and to spread ‘real’ truth and reality. So many are living falsehoods, and I am a believer in karma, and of salvation, and that everyone has to face their actions eventually.
I had a great discussion with a couple friends this last spring regarding some of the great artists out there, who many adore and revere. We had discovered some quite horrible things that they had done. David Bowie denounced the gay community by saying he did not want to be associated with it, and one of my favorite fantasy authors had molested her daughter over a period of many years, among others. At this point, do we separate their art from their actions? Is this possible? I know this is not possible for me with the Mother Peace tarot deck, a very popular deck among certain crowds. The author is a well known TERF which stands for a Trans Exclusive Radical Feminist, which basically means that she is a type of feminist that does not believe trans woman are actually women, and that they are simply eunuchs or castrated men. Because of this, they are not allowed to participate in a women’s music festival that is run by TERFs. Because I was in the business of expanding my tarot deck, following tarot people on Instagram, and attending a group where we discussed tarot, I was exposed to this deck and the popularity of it. The blind popularity. Personally, I was also struck with the general unattractiveness of the art and wondered at why people would follow something just because the cards were round and that it had a popularity in certain circles. The point; do your research, and follow your intuition. At times it is hard to tell what we are being exposed to due to the way a celebrity is marketed in our pulp culture.
But after a couple of months of letting this question mill around in my consciousness, “Can we separate these celebrities’ art from their actions“, my answer is no. We are what we preach. And if you are lying, If you are misrepresenting, or if you are selling your books and raping your daughter in silence, that is not okay. We should not read your books or buy your literature. It was the Mother Peace deck that drove this home. My gut feeling was validated by this information. And I feel very strongly about this woman’s art and her cards. Racism is not okay, ableism is not okay, gender and sexuality bias or hatred is not okay. Darkness needs to be fought. We must battle this with everything we have. I sometimes don’t understand how the devil can exist and advertise itself amongst hate in our world, and how this can so easily penetrate the popular spectrum of trends and marketing. But it does. There is so little we can trust. We must fight ignorance, and we must educate ourselves. We cannot stand for violence. All you have to do is look at the lynchings in the United States to understand that evil can bloom and be taken way too far out into the world of innocent people. World War II, the transgender harassment that exists today, the people dying everywhere from mental illness who are not receiving treatment and are experiencing stigma every day of their lives are mere examples of this evil.
Evil is real. Ignorance is prevalent. Fight it. With light, with truth, with education. Be the light. Live the truth. Don’t support ignorance, hatred or abuse, and seek the truth actively. Listen to your gut. Let the light speak to you in your intuition and empathetic selves in the subtle vulnerable ways that it does.
Peace.
River of Consciousness
6/18/18
Life is made of rivers. There are subconscious rivers within our minds and dreams. There are rivers of ethos that run through the atmosphere and our bodies, there are rivers of molten rock deep beneath the Earth’s crust, and there are the rivers of water that feed into the oceans. There may even be electronic rivers on the internet, social media, as well as rivers of electrical current that flow through all machines. I have believed at times that this electronic river of current can even manifest as a sort of consciousness of machine. Our apple products may be the most sentient, and these modern sentient inventions might revere and respect their ancestor the toaster and the lawn mower.
The computer was not the first machine we invented, though it was considering the computer where we first explored the concept in science fiction that some day the world may be filled with robots that challenge us as lesser beings. Perhaps these thoughts are delusion, but hope and faith may be interpreted as delusions as well, though still are crucial to the evolution of consciousness.
This concept of flowing on rivers of thought can exist as a beautiful flow in nature that we travel psychically, and many are not fully aware that this is happening. But we act as one body as the human race, even through our conflicting governments, philosophies and wars. The people, us people, who seem to have no power, can tap into this river of consciousness, sometimes called the Tao, that flows through the trees, that the insects are a part of, that the planets revolve around, that the Goddess Pele responds to as she pours her hot lava into the oceanic depths; that we travel on in our dreams, that we float on as we listen to music, a favorite podcast or the news. We journey on these rivers as we read our books, compose our art, create our inventions, stack our wood, and drive in our cars. And as we travel on these rivers, we evolve and learn.
This evolution can be hard to track, though I do believe some ancient cultures have theories that can explain these rivers of consciousness. This is why Greek Mythology can seem so outrageous and is really very abstract and full of metaphor. This is why the Cabala was able to divine the Tree of Life and numerology, how the Egyptians were able to build the Pyramids, and perhaps why places like Stonehenge, White Horse and Avesbury exist. We have been in communications with these rivers for millennia. And perhaps we have forgotten. Perhaps we need to visit and rediscover some of these ancient avenues, and not be afraid to explore going beyond science and religion to a realm that has no definition. What is this place called that surpasses science, religion, philosophy and physics? Perhaps it is pure imagination. Perhaps it is pure creativity. But it lives inside us all, as well as all round us on this amazing planet full of rivers, whether it is the neurons in our brains, the pixels on our devices, the layers of the subconscious, or the streams of ethos that exist on the breezes in our physical world.
Evolve
6/24/18
How does the human race evolve? What does it mean that I live with a disability? Could it be that I am low on the Darwinian barometer, and that I should just be squashed in this ever evolving world that we live in? I have a friend who is a realist. He has amazingly written about his life in a realist way, not avoiding the harsh truth of what it was all about. I myself am a bit of an un-realist. I write about hope and I believe in god. Though recently, I did write a post about existentialism, and I really think that that is true to god and realism simultaneously in a very surreal sort of way. My thoughts on the matter of disability, whether it be mental or physical, my true honest thoughts, and a place where I can confidently say that I stand, is that we exist to push man to the next phase of evolution.
How does this work? You tell me. Have you ever been challenged to think outside of the box by someone who is lesser abled? Even someone that just rests slightly outside the line, and simmers in the periphery of your vision? We cannot remain comfortable and still evolve as a species. It is in the struggle, in the striving, in the mistakes, the cuts and the bruises that we learn. I want to learn. No, I, myself, cannot learn in the current educational system or the colleges that exist today. Why? I hated to accept it, but I had to eventually, as if college is a proverbial two-by-four that continues to tackle me and subdue me. Myself, with schizoaffective disorder, not only failed at school, it landed me in the hospital several times. So I started SA. Maybe that acronym already exists, but for this girl it stands for Schools Anonymous. And that may sound like a load of crap, but they say true insanity is doing the same thing and expecting different results. And my goal here is to not be insane.
I can read books, I can work normal jobs, and life has not been so bad out here on the edge of society where most people live anyway. So I challenge all you people there on the inside, with your jobs, with your monies, with your houses and cars; think outside of your little box of comfort. Evolve, contribute to the evolution of our species, and notice those of us who are suffering. We may have a need, we may be a pimple on the skin of our government, but we are here for a reason. The human race needs to change and evolve if we are going to pull ourselves out of this mess we are in.
The Maze of the Redeemed7/7/18
What if you actually died and were resurrected? Okay, maybe you didn’t actually die, but you were so close to death’s door you were having an epileptic seizure for twenty-four hours, washed up on an island beaten within an inch or your life, after floating in a coffin for 15 days, lost at sea, with the lid not secured so tight that you could eek just enough oxygen into your lungs to keep your heart beating at a frequency so low, that only satan at the bottom of the sea could hear?
I’m not sayin that I have been there, but you know some of us have. The pain is just there from lifetimes of suffering. The trees are alive and they remember. They know the score, and the rocks are keeping the records. Every ounce of blood spilled on this sacred ground we call our home, has been absorbed, felt, and communicated with. We, the people are not forgotten.
The day is getting late. The blood red sun is setting on us all. We can feel it. In our pores, in our hair, in our blood and bones. I am okay, so are you. I don’t want to say that we made it, because that might come too soon. But if we do, let’s praise god with all we have. For survival is the greatest thing to be thankful for. It is who we are, what we are made of, and the life that we breathe.
Gifts from God
7/20/18
Sap is a very sticky substance. I found a stump in my yard that is covered with a thick layer of sap, I believe Fir, that was also covered in a layer of pine needles. I harvested some sap just now to press into incense. I believe it will make a great fire keeper as well.
Life has been very strange. It seems like things are disappearing and reappearing. It appears I have received a couple of gifts from god. A set of playing cards, and a clip, my favorite kind from years of writing, shining and silver.
We are blessed. It is a beautiful day. We are coming together.
Is it not a beautiful day? I am so in love, and I am ready to commit to a man I have spent the last twenty years with. Why am I so chicken? God only knows. But god is kind and I trust in him to take me where I need to go. And it seems it is time.
So as this day comes to a close, I am finally feeling a sense of relief and peace that I have not felt for a very long time. I am remembering 7th grade and High School. I am remembering my childhood. I feel held by all of the angels.
So peace be with you, and may guidance find your heart. You are loved. We are loved.
Get the T.I.R.F.
7/23/18
So, have you ever heard of a T.E.R.F? (A Trans Exclusive Radical Feminist)? Well I have. And I think it is the most bullshit thing I have ever seen in my life. Why on Earth would a woman exclude a man or woman who was trans. Fuck that noise. Trans people are da bomb.
I am gender-nonconforming. I knew this in 2007, and it has taken me more than a decade to come to full awareness of this. I believe that transexuals, and possibly gender-nonconforming folks, are unfortunately locked into a past life that is opposite of their current birthright sex. I was born a woman, but when I visited Japan when I was seven years old, I was called a boy. I knew I was a tomboy when I was eight, and when I was eleven I read the book Tomboy, and had my first sexual awakening. When I was seventeen, and an angry Ani Difranco enthusiast, my mother accused me of being my abusive rapist grandfather. Yes, that one kind of hurt. In 2007, I spent three months psychotic, and came out searching for trans support groups in Seattle and believing I had testicles low in my abdomen. I also thought they were spider egg-sacks, but that is another story. I now am 39, and I have friends that are Trans, Gender-Nonconforming and Metagender, and I feel at home with these two beautiful people.
My husband has Kleinfelders (XXY), a letter that does not exist in LGTBQIAA2SN… and perhaps they need to add a K. There is also XXX for the feminine trichromosomal person, who are not as lucky do to the fact they usually always come out physically disabled. Steve (XXY) was supposed to be sterile, and we had a miracle baby when I was 20 that was aborted due to my schizoaffective disorder.
So here are some of my labels… Female, Psychic, Anorexic-Bulemic, Schizoaffective - Bipolar type, Bisexual, and Gender-nonconforming. For the record, I also came out as a Lesbian in College (1998) when I was dating women.
So here we are. It is 2018, and I think I am done labeling myself. Thank god for that. We need to transcend the labels, but in order to do that we must first identify them.
Trans Inclusive Radical Feminist (Much better, gents and ladies).
Peace.
The Closet
8/3/18
Softly, she lay in the bed. She was soft. Though she was a he in many past lives she was also a she. But the “Man” is claiming her. In order to not be totally consumed by her brutal past life where she was an emperor, she must find a man to love.
His body has already failed. It quit working to the point where he can barely feel it, and it is very difficult to walk. There is a darkness in his past. One only him and his two brothers know of. She was there, but beyond death, and it could be violent to visit those memories.
But she can now. She has found a way and she is ready. Once the storm breaks, once the fires go out and the rains begin, she will be free. The Midwest will flood and freeze, and it will be a frozen wasteland. No one knows how this will happen, and she only knows as she types these words. Who is she channelling now? A past life, an angel, god, her dead ancestors? One could only guess.
There is great freedom to be found in the pain. It is heavy, but when we rest there with another we find peace. But who is that match for her? Psykhe continues with her impossible tasks and Eros grows impatient. She has found the bow. She can use it, but it is very draining. She has put it down. If they don’t care about true love, that is their fault. Humans can be so ignorant, for some, true love is so close you don’t need a bow. You can just reach in with your bare hands and crush the heart.
So where is god? 500 trillion miles away. We are the ones here making the changes. We are the angels. So get to work. Class is in session. Stop jerking off to the news and the hate politics. Let nature be and find its way. It is more intelligent than you know. Get in touch with your true nature, and do what needs to be done. Help Venus, help Hera, help Persephone, help Athena, help Ma, the time is upon us. We can do this.
Golden Masses
8/6/18
The month has been long. A lot has been happening, with illness with my family and in the community; injury and chaos. I have been struggling with “hearing voices”… and I think that this is something that needs clarification amongst western psychologists and therapists.
When I was young, under-age, and still a teenager, I was put in front of therapists and psychologists and they would ask three basic questions. 1.) Are you having thoughts of hurting yourself or committing suicide? 2.) Are you hearing voices? 3.) What is the date and the who is the president of the United States? These three questions categorize you into a quick trial diagnosis, and then the doctors prescribe treatment and possibly meds. Just like that, you are in a box. You are a box, on a little piece of paper. Now, they say that they do not keep records after seven years, but this is most likely a lie. Just as it is a lie that if you committed a felony or misdemeanor over seven years ago, it is not deleted nor does it disappear from your record.
Unfortunately, and I say this with impetus, I learned my way around these questions. Some people do need to answer these questions honestly, and people should be able to trust their doctor. But this is not the way it is in the mental health system. Now, here is another mind twister. We actually need more of this in our prisons. There are fine lines to be drawn and observed here, and this is an incredibly difficult and tenuous subject.
Some people do need solitary confinement, some people do need immediate intervenious medication, some people do need to wear a straight jacket, some people do need to be saved from themselves. Where and when is a very delicate thing. Professionals need to not lose their compassionate instinct. We need health care in our prisons to take care of sick and GIFTED people that have become victims of our system, and we also need doctors, case managers, social workers, and Social Security experts with awareness of the fact that some “sypmtoms” are a good and blessed thing, and that they can definitely be channelled into gifts. And we need trained personnel-counselors who know how to do this. I am talking about Autism, Dyslexia, ADD, ADHD. I am speaking of Bi-polar Disorder, Schizophrenia, Schizoaffective disorder, PTSD, Multi-personality Disorder, and Borderline Personality Disorder. I am speaking of people aged zero to 105.
So those of you out there who are reading this and have diagnosis, whether you are in prison, re-hab, the psyche ward, NA, AA, on welfare, on any type of disability, in government housing etc…., know this: You are okay. It is also okay to not be okay. There are more of us than you know. We actually outnumber the masses… we are the masses. I am serious. We are. Know that you are gifted. Don't let them tear down your spirit. Have Faith.
Alanon
8/16/18
Codependency is a very common thing. It is so common that we are all drowning in a web of lies we call culture. We call it christianity, we call it work, we call it family, we call it love. There was once an old gypsy tale that spoke of a way to keep this from happening. We sat around the fire and listened to violins. We heard the elders tell tales of their elders, and horrors that befell the land. The light would twinkle in the eyes of the children, and it would reflect in their grandfather’s, grandmothers, aunts and uncle’s faces. The nights were cold, the nights were warm, and the fires burned on. They spoke of Vampires. The sucking of energy from one human to another, and how it could take whole villages down. They shared the dangers of the webs these inner daemons create, and the numbing psychosis that is to follow. They made it fun. They acted out mystical creatures with fangs that drank the sacred blood that was never supposed to be drunk. The stars would shine, the moon would set, and asteroids would streak across the night sky.
Today we are obsessed with Vampires because this disease of codependency is so rampant. We also have the opposite side of the pendulum which is people that have zero contact with other humans and are utterly alone. How do we cure such an illness within ourselves? We can go to support groups, we can go to psychotherapy, we can do yoga. We can also tell stories with our fellow humans around a fire, and create worlds for ourselves through teaching our children of the dangers that exist and have existed for thousands of years on our planet. Let your inner fire burn. Love the story that is within.
Nobody Cares
8/17/18
“Bitches on the South-side”… that is what I keep saying. “Nobody Cares”… that is what Steve keeps saying. I truly have no idea what my chant refers to. I know that there is a South side of Chicago. There is also a South end of Lopez Island, WA. Let’s examine the word “side”. We all know what bitches are. They are female dogs. They are amazingly strong and confident women. But why “South” and why “side”? Hmm. Are there different sides to the Earth? Is the Southern hemisphere looking down upon us “north-siders”? There is the “top” of the world. We all “know” this. Santa Claus lives at the North Pole. But what about Antarctica, the largest continent on the face of the Earth? And is there a side to an elliptical planet? Is it everywhere, all the time? Why are these amazing women in the South? I perplex myself, and this is wonderful. I thoroughly enjoy being perplexed. Like why is it 51 degrees today, August 17th (the height of summer) on Lopez Island, WA, USA, when the weather report says sixty something plus? Why is fall arriving so soon? There is a cool breeze coming in from the north. I can sense it, feel it, smell it; I am experiencing this.
In the Spring of 2016, during my fourth major psychotic break/vision quest, that started on my birthday that fell on Easter, an incredible “chill” came over my being… a literal, psychological, physical, geological, planetary chill. It was then that I realized we could be headed for an Ice Age, and that we were headed there fast. And the obvious is not perplexing. The movie “Ice Age” was huge. Was this when our collective planetary consciousness knew what was happening and where we were going? I knew. You knew. Maybe we all know? This is what my psychotic mind was telling me anyway. So why does “nobody care”? Why don’t we listen to our selves? Who is nobody? There is no “nobody" and there is no negative space. It and we are all filled with something. Call it spirit, pathos, ethos, god.
Glaciers
8/20/18
It is dawn on Eid al-Adha, and I am remembering being on top of a mountain. When I was seventeen I was already in a lot of pain. I was clearing trails around the Ross Lake area in the Okanagen forest in Washington State, where I was born and raised. At the end of our several weeks of clearing trails; rebuilding fallen creeks with rock-bars and giant stones on the sides of thin trails up steep slopes, clearing yards and yards of shale that had fallen across the trail, sawing by hand through logs four feet thick, rebuilding Deer Lick cabin and bridge by hand… we were packing up base camp to head out on a week-long trek up and over “small” mountains in the Cascades with our packs full, covering about 9-10 miles a day.
While breaking down camp, I was being my usual delegating self, and a male friend who I had been at odds with, reached across the shelter while we were washing dishes and he grabbed my neck. He had been blowing verbal shit my direction, and I had said, “Sticks and stones will break my bones but words will never hurt me,” and he just snapped. The thing is that I just retreated. I went to my tent and hid. Unknowingly, two of the other teenagers had decided to play a prank on me. They collapsed the tent I was in around me. I was about to escape, ‘cool’ yet again, but then the zipper got stuck. I finally got it open, and I lost my shit. I yelled at everybody and then ran off into the woods.
We then, that evening, had a meeting on the dock. The meeting turned into a group session for bashing me for waking up everybody with my guitar at umpting thirty in the morning so that we could get up the mountain on time to work. I remember lying back on the dock and staring up at the night sky, as tears rolled down my face. The leaders wanted to know what was wrong with me, so they called me to their tent that evening. I confessed that the trail mate had grabbed my neck and had physically assaulted me. The next day, we all discovered that he was being sent home. He and I did not say goodbye.
The beginning of the week-long hike was difficult. Everyone was pissed at me for getting the trail mate sent home. I guess that is just what teenagers are like. My accoster and I had been at odds for some time, because I had noticed that he had anger issues and was being aggressive. We had already retreated from each-other far before this event occurred. On the first day, I cried alone in my tent, disembodied, full of grief; this was not the first tragedy that had happened in my teen years.
So we climbed. We sat by mountain fields of flowers, and on snow crested peeks. We drank from mountain streams, and I took a shower in a hidden ice-cold waterfall. We found ancient little shacks high, high up on the trails, played games, and eventually we made peace as a crew, and everyone got over it. We ended by camping at a glorious glacier that we climbed up to at dawn to watch the sunrise over the layers of purple mountains that seemed to stretch on for eternity. I had had a boyfriend during the time we spent working the trails, and he had abandoned me as well. We were distant.
Eventually, I returned to Seattle, Queen Ann Hill, and my mother heard the news, as I received a letter in the mail from this trail mate, saying he was starting anger management. My mother urged me to thank him for the letter. I felt betrayed once again. Fuck him, fuck her… there was no way I was going to acknowledge or thank him for this “apology”. It was going to take a little longer to let it all go; to heal. Here I am 23 years later, and it is finally coming out in the way of writing. I have been through so much trauma in my life with events like this; my boyfriend getting shot, surviving an eating disorder, being hospitalized three times for my mental illness, and probably a few that I have forgotten. But it is coming out. I am healing. It all comes out eventually if we make the efforts to heal and we take the time. So I encourage this in you. Find a way to express yourself. You can do it.
Popcorn
8/23/18
Steve is making me popcorn, because I asked nicely. I didn’t really. But he let me try again. I have been feisty. Last night, I locked all of the windows and doors, and I had a nightmare that when I got out of the hospital, and when I bailed Steve out of jail, the world was conspiring against me, and I got a whole new completely different person named Steve (my partner). In 2007, I had a psychotic experience where there were 14 Steves, and they were born like a litter to a woman in a small town on a farm in the midwest somewhere. I got to know each one individually, as they changed before me one by one. At more sober moments, I have criticized him in my mind, and thought that he might have 14 personalities, but he doesn’t. He does not have multi-personality disorder, this is just me projecting my psychological inadequacies onto the person I hang out with the most.
It is overcast, and the smoke that has been covering the Seattle area for over a week is starting to subside. I noticed that the sun turned from red to yellow much earlier the other the day, and the moon is no longer as bright of a pink-orange. It has been pretty trippy; though I have not been following closely where the fires are burning and who is being evacuated. I am sure it is living hell for many people. I have been praying for rain, and there was a rumor of this in the forecast, but still nothing. Still, there is a slight coolish moisture in the air.
How do these two rants relate? Only that it is hard to make sense of any of it these days. I am having fantasies of the whole world reading my book when really it is just several dozen people. I get no report from my publishing company, but I am hoping the news will come soon (they are slightly difficult to communicate with). But I have faith, as we all should have, and my second book could be ready to start the editing process at any time. I have been waiting for myself to breathe through the rage and trauma, that has been coming up for me this July and August; this “crazy” summer.
I went for the most amazing spiritual and beautiful swim beneath the cliffs at Watmough Bay, a sacred cove on Lopez Island, WA, that has evolved into a park over these last thirty years or so. The cliffs extend up on the left side, if you are looking out to Mount Baker, and though the water is cold, it is bearable and very refreshing. I swam out a ways, and then floated there, looking up at the snags and the rocks and madrona trees, in a timeless goddess-like spiritual trance. My good friends were visiting from Seattle, and they watched as I navigated the chilly waters.
I am grateful to Reed and Aaron for their visit, their gifts, our shared meals, and times around the fire. I am grateful for my recent cleaning escapade where I mowed the lawn, cleaned the floors, and finished up a few loads of laundry and put it away. I am grateful for my friend and lover Steve who sits around and checks in with me, walks the dogs, does the dishes, and meditates on his book with a comforting presence. He is always there for me to share my writing and my fears with.
So there it is, I have a bowl of popcorn to get to.
Noblesse Oblige
8/24/18
What is a celebrity? I spent many years thinking that christians were out to take down our country, and that celebrities were just rich people in our world that don’t care about the poor. This is not entirely true, and the truth can actually be very much the opposite if you look closely.
To me, a celebrity is a person that takes a responsible public stand, and can stand in the light and endure attention from the masses, or perhaps the “paparazzi”. Perhaps they are heroes. Celebrities entertain us with their books, with their journalism, with their visual creations, with their acting. These are gifts that they are sharing. “[We are] the same, the men of anger and the women if the page.” -Indigo Girls. I also have a few people in my life that are my personal celebrities. They have lived through trauma, sexual and physical abuse, they have endured the world and the cruelties that can be dished out upon us. These people are no more “high” in God’s eyes than the people writing the books or starring in the movies. And art; TV, movies and books change us. They affect us our lives. We need them.
I do not live in the 1500’s, and I am grateful. My life is not at risk of being ended and terminated for practicing the beliefs I follow, no matter what they look like. I practice a huge variety of beliefs gathered from my travels and studies of many, many different faiths and cultures in our huge, diverse and colorful world.
Maybe I will be a celebrity someday and be able to make a larger impact on this world. I want to thank all of the doctors and nurses, actors, writers, journalists, philanthropists, investors, economists, scientists, and politicians that are working very hard to make this world a better place. You are good, you are our celebrities. Let’s take back this world and unite on a common mission to speak for the people. We are the people. When we speak our truth, we heal; we not only heal others, we heal ourselves.
Underbelly
8/29/18
Women love to shop and men love to provide. If we work together we can do so much. You may interpret this as very old fashioned. I have been struggling with this myself, as I have always been a progressive.
I watched the bell ring as the market opened this morning on Pluto TV on my Mac, and thus I contemplated the stock market. The stock market, I have sought to understand more, as I know what an important player money and the market is in the current state of the world. I also have done this with christianity. I sought to understand a huge force that effects our political climate as well as our scientific climate on this planet, and in this country. And I have greatly benefited by seeking to understand these institutions.
Being so liberal, in my early twenties, during the early George W days, post apocalyptic 9-11, I watched the world that I hoped was being created, a world that cared about the environment, human rights, and minorities, become quashed so readily as Al Gore lost the presidential election. I was totally devastated when Bush won his second term. Who knew that 18 years later we would still be here, with so many eastern conflicts under our belt, Donald Trump and his agenda, as well as living in a world and a generation that is completely new when it comes to technology. Those of us that were fighting two decades ago, have become more educated and increasingly resilient. We have Bernie Sanders, Alexandria Ocasio Cortez, the TYT network, Gaia; and so many of us have conquered the bloody struggles of grass roots environmentalism, while starting our own goat dairies, farms, and plastic alternative micro companies/climates. We only grew stronger in the adversity, and we learned much under the shelter of the Obama administration. We had a great wake up call however, when many of us realized we had become placid and mute, and when Donald was elected, we faced our grief and pulled ourselves up by our bootstraps to become motivated once again. We had forgotten the “revolution”, afraid and devastated from what we thought were defeats.
We are moving forward. I hope that as we study classism, racism, and especially gender, that we can also embrace what is inherently true. That there is a very ancient and poetic balance and dance that occurs between male and female, that we both have our strengths, that it is not healthy to eradicate or ignore an opposition or compliment that can teach us even more about our true nature, as we look into the eyes of our opposite. I, as a serious liberal, have learned to do this out of desperation, out of choosing to not let hate devour me as I accuse my enemies of doing. If we can come together and realize that these causes affect us all, and that we need each other, conservative and liberal, male and female, we may actually be able to save the whales, free the people once again, and remember who we truly are.
Finding Love
9/6/18
What Is love? In a deep discussion lately, with a very good friend, I spouted off some deep stuff. Let’s see if I can recreate it. Basically, all of us live our lives in great denial and delusion, and we are imprisoned and ruled by our egos. We build careers, and we exist in families based on these basic human faults, of which we are completely ignorant of. We interpret these faults as virtues. These impulses rule the human race. We may have glimmers of our deep inner workings, and secretly we all wonder where our dreams went to, when they left us, or why they are so hard and impractical to really follow. The truth is that love, dreams, and true consciousness, are not easy. We choose the easy path, the practical path, what we think is the smart and sensible path. But this path does not help us deconstruct our egos, that are more powerful than we know. So true love, or our soulmate, should rip and tear at these constructs with amazing force. Some epic love stories may look like falling in love with your boss, someone far away, or someone who is entirely unavailable or “unlikely” if you are looking through the lens of the ego. But they were put in our path to challenge us in order to think outside of the box. Because at our core we are broken. Our hearts may be black, and our souls may be crushed. This is real life. As a collective society we are emotionally devastated, and this is why we should see our collective realm as a dystopia. Because if we don’t, we continue to run the risk of falling to addiction, living the lives of secret alcoholics, having dysfunctional affairs that still seem to miss the point; our dreams remain frozen, and we are unhappy.
We have to become brave. We need the courage to quit our jobs, to travel to the Sahara, or to write that book we have always dreamed about. Maybe you are working for Microsoft, but truly wish to be an artist. And, children and spouses can complicate this life even more. We stay with our wives and husbands out of duty and loyalty for the sake of our children’s lives, dreams, and stability, or because of our financial situations. But is lying to our children and to ourselves breeding good our evil? We lie and we lie and we lie; to ourselves, to our friends, to our community and to our children. Our society and our world is built on lies, and as we stuff our face with donut holes or Pabst Blue Ribbon, we become so used to choking down our realities. We have eating disorders, and alcoholism, that is completely acceptable in our dysfunctional society; that is totally and completely caused by these lies and the sick and unbalanced ego.
Somehow, someway, we need to begin to change. The truth is, that living our lives in search of the truth, our dreams, or within ourselves, and out in the completely magical world that we refuse to see with our bloody and blinded egoic eyes, is that every tiny little choice we make in the direction of change will have a positive catastrophic result. You can break the walls of your prison, and smash the walls of your glass house, but first you must begin to think outside of the box. You must also be willing to see death and darkness everywhere, because this is what the ego actually creates. Take the red pill, view the devastation that your choices, that may seem good, practical and righteous, are actually causing. Feel your broken heart and the trauma you have endured. Don’t shut it out. Eventually the light will penetrate the crack you create by truly seeing and feeling. And then you may, you will, find love.
Journey Into Love
9/13/18
What is the true killer of us humans on this beautiful planet we call home? I think it is a combination of two things: shame, and the lack of love - true love that connects us to our hearts buried deep within our chests that are strangled by so many illusionary webs. These webs are gathered over many years of living alone within our hearts, and by being ruled by toxic shame. So may of the things we do in life to survive, that get us through, are motivated by this shame. And unfortunately, the more we participate in shame, the more it eats us alive, and we forget how to feel love.
I believe sometimes it takes thinking outside of the box to feel and spread and share this love to others. It may look like writing a letter to your long lost brother, it may look like calling and nurturing your distant aunt around the time of her back surgery. It may look like giving and receiving a hug from the neighbor child. Fostering a relationship to the divine, may also aide in untangling and clearing these shadowy webs that shroud our hearts. But once we are open, once we are feeling again, once we are reminded on a deep core level that we are not truly alone, what then? It can be painful, ugly, and even feel unwelcome at times. What if we end up falling in love with someone we shouldn’t, or we fear we will cheat on our wife or husband, even if it is in the form of an ethereal fantasy? I believe that this is when we remind ourselves that there is blind love that works like blind faith and appears as blinding light, as well as works as such on our inner beings. I have learned that if I keep my focus on faith, if I sit quietly with all of these uncomfortable feelings, that I soon am able to appreciate much more the magic that is attempting to transpire. Love is magic; it most definitely is, if it can soothe and clear the dark webs of our innermost shame.
I have been on a journey for a couple of months, and I am not totally sure why, but I believe god is sending me visions and placing me in the path of learning, as I take these journeys into my heart and untangle and soothe my shame. I believe I am growing, and though what I see and feel does not always make sense, the most important lesson prevails. Let the love in. If it is a voice or an angel that you cannot quite make sense of, let it in anyway. If you feel it as love, then it is. Believe in it. Dissolve the toxic shame that rules your life. Allow for these unexpected journeys into the divine and into love.
A Gift
9/19/18
I took a rag, during a rag ceremony that was completely invented in my mind during a meditation in my yard, earlier this summer. I had a conversation with an imaginary friend, and he sat behind me and tied a black hanker-chief around my neck. The moral or goal of the rag ceremony was to not be too hard on myself. This is applicable in so many ways, but probably the most paramount, are the lessons of self love that surround my book and my disability. The moral or true underlying message of my book, Glass Slippers: A Journey of Mental Illness, is discovering the deep truth that in our mental health disorders and addictions, lie gifts. That I am a gift, that I have a gift, and that what I create is a gift from god. In this way, my book has become a doorway to the divine message that I can be loving and soft with myself and my disability. The doorway, or doorknob, to the door of this illuminating passageway, is that I don’t have to be so hard on myself. So, I have chosen this as my summer rag ‘goal’ or ‘message’.
While dealing with and processing rape and assault trauma, deep rage, grief and trauma surrounding being hospitalized and having an abortion when I was twenty and fresh out of the hospital, as well as around the facts in life that I cannot bear children and have a family, nor get a degree or work a career… I had some very profound and strong angels visit me. They told me about self love. They taught me and reminded me that I am gifted. They helped me see that my book is a divine creation that came from myself while being a true seer. As I have pulled through these last couple of months of processing these traumas, I have emerged a much softer being. I plan on crediting myself for birthing such a book into this world, and maybe even more importantly, allow myself and my disability to find their true home existing within the acceptance of god’s love as well as my own. All of a sudden, I can ask for what I need, and I can do and participate in activities that feel right. I can give myself the love, acceptance and respite that I need. Things can become challenging, but I have learned that they do not have to be as challenging as I have been experiencing. I have been making my life difficult by not acknowledging my true nature, forcing myself to do things that are too hard me, and by not receiving or accepting the love and praise that I deserve for my talents and my work.
I have noticed that when someone takes a moment to say something along the lines of “Your book is really good, and it is amazing that you wrote one,” or “You are a truly kind and amazing person,” that it is as if I tune out for the moment. It is as if I can’t take in these momentary praises that I should be savoring, and I literally almost do not hear the words that are being said. It is very sad. Another way to describe this plight, would be that I just do not know how to accept a compliment. And this is true. I have spent my life up until now believing, that if I let myself receive praise, either from myself or another, that it will hinder me in progressing and improving. And I am so far behind, I can’t waste a moment in accepting or receiving this love in the form of a compliment. And of course, this drives at the deeper issue that I was not accepting love and acceptance in the most fundamental way. I believed that I was worthless because I was ill. I believed my book was a shallow attempt at writing, because I am not highly educated. I believed that thinking or accepting that I had natural talent was gregarious or assuming. But it is time that I let the message of my first book truly settle, sink in, and absorb. I am gifted. I fit the glass slipper. I can make the best of this truth, and I can receive and accept it as a blessing. I will not be hard on myself as a daily mechanism, and I will also on a greater scale learn to truly love and accept myself, even praise myself for the gifted being that I am.
I am not a Pronoun
10/27/18
What I have to say here, I must first disclose to the reader, is my own experience. These are my personal opinions, and I pray that you provide me the blessing of poetic license. My views on this blog are constantly evolving, and this is why I describe my writing as a journey, hence the title of my first book, Glass Slippers: A Journey of Mental Illness.
I, am not a pronoun. I have been embracing inner masculinity, and enjoying the process of coming out as gender non-conforming (GN). As many of you have been hearing about, researching and discussing, as it is prevalent to our modern world, ‘trans’ and ‘gender’ are big and current subjects among the young and old, alike. It is a global issue, as our planet is covered with human beings. This, is where I am reminded that we do not always define what we do, or who we are, by where we are from. We do not want our race or nationality to determine what we can do, or who we are as people. Similarly, our sex and gender should not determine who we are allowed to love.
What I was faced with, while coming out as trans, which has been a spiritual, sexual, bodily and personal awakening, is the issue of the choice of a pronoun or “label” for my newly emerging self. I will digress for a moment to tell you a little about my personal experience awakening as a trans/gender non-conforming adult. It, as a woman/female by birth, has been very much about embracing my masculinity. As I confronted this desire, which lay very deep in my consciousness, I found myself gravitating to my baseball cap, a recent collection of male ties, and my Red Wing boots. I found that I had a desire to stray far form skirts and flowery clothes, while moving in the direction of expressing my masculinity in an outward fashion through my clothing, and body language. I cut my hair short, and switched out my purse that speaks “female” to me, for a canvas/ gender-neutral bag. I found that practicing these small rituals, as well as really checking in with my body and sexual self on a deeper level, one that really has no definition, I then underwent a transformation. My desires, and the root of this person, has been with me since a very young age, and though I have definitely expressed my boyishness openly at different points during my life, I had never felt and experienced my masculinity in this openly and conscious way before; bringing these desires and this identity, to the surface. It has been suppressed. I have never indubitably understood why I don’t connect or relate to most girls, and why I was bullied at different times in my life by both of the sexes, neither of which I could then successfully match my identity to. So, after embracing myself in this way, I joined a current conversation ‘out there’, and felt pressure to actually refer to myself as a boy, man or he, even they. I find I do not want to part with my she pronoun, nor the fact that I was and still am, a woman. This caused me to doubt both my self and my trans-ness.
After much struggle and speculation, I realized in an enlightening moment, why the way I am approaching my trans-ness, which is still very true within me throughout my many levels, is perfectly fine. Simply telling myself that “they’re our no rhules”, was not enough. I felt I needed a reason for not wanting to play the “pronoun game”. It seems that we are very caught up in choosing a perfect pronoun, as our non-conforming group, and this feels that we are relying on a system to work for us that is oppressive in its root; just like systemic racism. How do I know, that being a “he” or a “they” will not pin me into the same square hole that “she” does. Personally, I feel that none of them work, and so I change nothing. My experience as a trans person is a very deep spiritual, sexual, physical and metaphysical experience. Simply changing my pronoun is not going to heal the denying of self, and the feeling of being an outsider, that I have been experiencing for three decades. It may just be late for me. I have already spent two decades as a woman, it seems, and I also choose to respect my body, my ovaries, my breasts and my vagina, I want to stay connected to my physical and bodily self, and I do not want to deny what nature has made me and provided for me. Since embracing being trans means accepting, and not repressing, my true inner-nature and feelings, why would I then turn around and bind or suppress my natural physical form?
The fact that I need to choose or identify with a pronoun feels like intensely oversimplifying what has been a very profound experience, coming to terms with my trans-ness. I hope that my fellow gender non-conforming people out there, will continue to validate my experience as a trans person, even if it does not fall in line with what they choose for them-selves. My being is complex, profound, and truly undefinable. This is why it is challenging. I now choose, to not reduce my experience to a simple word, or pronoun.
I understand that there are many other layers to this incredibly complex discussion, and I support every trans person out there in how they choose, or need to express themselves. We create who we are. Part of what I have created, as my identity, after two decades of being an adult, is that I am a woman. I am also trans. I am also many other things. Bi-sexual, an artist (painter, writer, musician). I am schizoaffective-bipolar type. I am a partner and lover. I know what I feel in my body, and in my spirit, and I am learning to trust this. This has sent me on a deeper journey into self, where I am discovering the truth to things that have been hiding under my surface for decades. So, I choose to not give these labels too much credence. My new experience as a trans person, needs to continue to exist in the abstract. This is what I am comfortable with. May you all find what fits and works for you, on your journey to find your inner truth.
Primal Healing
11/1/18
What is it that makes us rage? Deep underneath our many facades, many faces of the ego, we have our id, or our primal self. I was able to get in touch with, and speak with this primal self just now for a couple hours while sitting in the yard around a raging fire in a stone fire pit that I built this last summer. Part of the reason I was conversing with this self, was because it had an awakening the night before. I had a violent nightmare and was awakened in a startle. I was unable to shake the feelings of rage I was having, and instead fully indulged in an outrage that scared my partner. It has been months, even years, since I have had an anger outburst such as this, and so once I was through it, I went into my guest room to calm down, and I let Steve recover in his space. Then later, I emerged and we talked about what had happened, calmly and reflectively. This morning, I awoke and cleaned up the carnage from my episode and was humbled once again.
The emerging of this primal self, this primal rage, was recent, and somehow sitting for hours in front of a fire, surrounded by large stones, as the wind blew the smoke all around, I entered a timeless place. It felt as if I was doing or experiencing magic. I was communicating, with myself, with nature, and though there were not always words to this ‘communication’, I was able to resolve what lay so hidden and deep in my psyche. I looked intently into the flames, lost a sense of time, and settled within myself the anger that was bothering me deep in my soul. The funny thing, is that I didn’t feel anger as I was resonating with the hot orange flippant flames, I just felt very silent. I was communicating with nature, my nature, and I was pouring my rage into the flames for them to devour. This communication is what I was referring to when I said it felt as though I was practicing magic. I heard a voice, “You do not need the Tarot, all you need is here.” I may still do a reading this evening, but the level of primal insight I felt was beyond words, and I downloaded much solace as I communicated with the divine through nature.
Timelessness is a very special place to find. Perhaps you have your special ways in which you achieve this. I usually do it by meditating in nature, sitting on the earth, swimming, breathing, and being still. I listen to the small inner guides and voices that are with me on this journey, and I reflect and observe, sometimes without thought, all that is in and around me. Today, the fire just seemed to pull me so strongly to a ‘timeless place’, and nothing else mattered. Because I had just survived such an intense and rageful experience, where I was lost in my primal self the night before, it was not hard to speak to this usually hidden realm within myself. I believe our core is buried deep beneath layers of ego and identity, that we struggle and wrestle with every day. Sometimes we forget entirely who we are, or we may at least be able to admit that we are floundering. I believe our Id, or primal self, does know itself. It exists down below the words and conscious thought, yet it is still us. There may be many secrets we can discover about who we are, if we are able to venture this deep. I suggest finding some activity where you are able to achieve a sense of timelessness.
More and more in life, I find that less is more. The more precious things I get rid of, the more I am able to appreciate what is left behind that I kept. The less I do in a day, the more value the activities have that I participate in, and the more present I become. Less is truly more. Just significantly comprehending the beauty behind the creation of a simple piece of art, either that you made or another did, takes time, true reveling. If you are too busy moving onto the next thing, in a hurry to get somewhere or to achieve something, you may never really even know what you were looking at. I don’t want to be that person that is filled with blessing, but does not see it as so because I want more, or am looking the other way. I do not want to be that person that fails to experience life, because I am hoping for or working for something off in my future. I want to be that person who is constantly discovering things that are right before me, or within me, that I already have, while learning to appreciate them or experience them on an even deeper level. If god is in every cell and every atom, just me and my naked body, no possessions, clothing or shelter, is enough blessing to spend a lifetime comprehending. Ain Sof Ain.
The Other Side
11/4/18
“Even when we disagree, are we able to listen with an open mind?”
“How do we remain open to a different point of view?”
These were the queries in my Quaker meeting this morning. The first Sunday of every month is Worship Sharing Sunday, and the host creates a question to discuss in traditional Quakerly fashion, with intention and surrounded by silence, for the members of the group. This query was inspired by upcoming election day, and many beautiful comments came out of the mouths of my fellow Quakers. We discussed our family members that have differing political views; and how in today’s political climate, this creates more of a divide than ever. Even subjects such as hell, salvation, the absence of god, and philosophy were explored. It was a very meaningful and deeply profound Worship Sharing Sunday.
Later in the meeting, after contemplating so very deeply, it occurred to me where I truly learned to value differences in others, and to accept and love them despite what they do or believe. It is very clear to me, that in my struggle with mental illness, and thus becoming an outsider because of my symptoms and potentially offensive behavior, is where I learned to exercise these brain and heart muscles. I first had to reckon with myself. I did not like being the person I was when I was ill, and I behaved in ways that brought me shame. By learning to accept and love myself the way I was, and by taking ownership of my actions, I looked mental illness in the face and began to love it. I accepted it. I loved the ugly and profane within myself. By doing this, I learned to accept and love others who suffered; with addiction, schizophrenia, bipolar disorder and alcoholism (et al). I was able to see that the behavior of these people was not who they were, for I had learned this about myself. I was able to look beyond the stigma. By practicing loving others who suffered with mental illness, I continued to expand my practice of self-love for all those moments in which I digressed, or fell back into uncomfortable and distasteful symptoms. I learned forgiveness for myself and acceptance of others.
Later, I found myself going to church with people that had very different political beliefs than me. I was able to look past all of this, because what we were there to do was to learn more about love and how to practice this in our lives. I found myself able to accept people fully, and to love them, despite that they may very well vote differently than me. Again, in today’s political climate, where we are more divided than ever, this seems impossible. And as we have moved further and further into these times, I have found myself attending a church where people have beliefs about these worldly issues that fall more in line with what I believe. But, the truth is that we attend a worship group on Sunday to learn how to love more, and to truly love ourselves and our neighbors. I believe that we are all doing this, those of us who support Trump, and those of us who do not. What would happen if we were all in the same room together, and we put politics on the shelf? Would we find that love does not have a political party? Election Day, just two days away, I think it is very hard to put our views on the shelf, and it may be pertinent that we do not. But love does not differentiate between the president, the school shooter, or the folks in the synagogue. We all “look” the same. We are all deserving.
Be well. Vote well. Amen.
Small Triumphs
11/16/18
I have been pondering my value as a person. We may not realize how much perceptions of ourselves affect our moment to moment or day to day, but they really do. I have value, you have value. Why do we measure the things we do every day, and then weigh this against our self-worth? I have realized recently, while being schizoaffective, that one of my jobs is to take and manage a gamut of medications. I am on several medications, and the simple act of remembering to take these meds, laying them out weekly with my vitamins, and taking them every night, can feel like a challenge in itself. I realized recently, that this is because of the importance of this practice, and that taking my meds is vital to my health, wellbeing, recovery, and survival as a person with severe mental illness. Also, my body and brain are making great effort in adjusting these medications within my mind, brain and body, constantly working at the job of managing and correcting the flaws in my brain chemistry. This is no small task, and I am this body and this brain. I am doing this. It takes immense effort, and I deserve to take a pause and honor myself for this pretty amazing accomplishment.
My chemical imbalance can be seen like near-sightedness or astigmatism. With my brain, I experience and interact with this world, and my brain needs some medications to act as spectacles in order to see and act with accuracy. When dialed in with the help a psychiatrist that I know and trust, this can become an “easy” thing to manage. Every little thing we do to take care of ourselves matters greatly in our lives. Our lives are filled with small adjustments and tasks that we partake in every day in order to make our lives, bodies, and minds healthier and happier. Washing our faces, taking our vitamins, keeping up on physicals and eye exams, flossing and brushing, cooking good food for nourishment, keeping our spaces clean and tidy in order to help with a clear mind and a happy environment, taking care of our vehicles so we have transportation, taking care of our children in the endless ways we do while teaching them to care for themselves, caring for and feeding our animals who bring us endless joy, staying up on emails and phone messages so we responsibly communicate with our families and friends, and in countless other ways, we are practicing care for ourselves and our lives. All of this takes discipline, and can be taken for granted. I have found that putting myself to the task of practicing what we call Basic Health in the mental health world, has allowed me to greatly value becoming disciplined at what might seem to others like basic everyday tasks. As I was saying before, one of the most basic, taking my medications, should definitely not be taken for granted, as it is one of the most important and life sustaining “little” things that I do every day.
This all brings me back to utter amazement at the simplicity of finding joy in our every day. I believe to some extent in karmic realities, and we cannot pull and take from this universe in endless ways without it having a certain amount of give and an equanimity, at some point. There is suffering. If we are paying attention, we see the suffering, in the many deaths, go-fund me’s, and illnesses that plague our families, friends and local communities. If we are at the top, expecting only more, we may have deluded to ourselves that this universal flow of give and take does not apply to us. Sometimes, I imagine the truly privileged must be thinking this way. I believe, however, besides the occasional fluke or exception, that a karmic rule applies to most all of us in this world. So somehow, focusing in on my everyday tasks as true achievement, not only brings me pleasure and greater value for my self, it teaches me to take nothing for granted. Someone, somewhere, is not able or gifted enough to accomplish what I might see as a menial or simple task. I may think that writing books, having a million dollars, driving a new car, or traveling the world are substantial things to which I should be aiming to achieve. Others that cannot meet these radical achievements become of little consequence. It is only then, that my life consists of great value. I may think I am worthless if I cannot achieve a seat among the one percent. But this is a lie. Small achievements can be seen as epic steps, and they are. I am reminded to be grateful, that I must work and put in my share of effort, and to thank god for all of the blessings I achieve karmically. Not everyone is so lucky. Maybe some seem to be supplementally lucky, but we never know where they will end up down the line; we never know what they are feeling and experiencing on the inside, and we don’t know where they will be in their next life, if that is something you choose to believe. I believe in destiny. I believe that karmically, I am here to see and face exactly what has been put before me for a reason. I hope and intend to not miss the copious supplies of gems that life can reveal, if I look closely and work diligently at what I am able to accomplish.
Passionate Loving Kindness
11/26/18
What is passionate desire? How do we cultivate this in our lives? For years, I feel I had no problem with this, but as I approach forty, and all that goes along with this age, I find myself asking this question. At the same time, I do not want to compromise my current way of life where I have fallen into good habits and display a certain amount of discipline. So I ask myself, how do I cultivate passionate desire?
One way I mix up the norm, is by taking my recycle out naked. Being naked feels good, and makes me feel like I am raw (in a good way), and am getting down to the roots of my existence, where I suspect desire and passion live. This summer, I spent many days in my yard, sitting on the earth meditating naked. Swimming in the pond in my “birthday-suit”, and feeling the freedom of the element and atmosphere of the water wash over and around my body, evokes a sense of passion. Today however, I took my recycle and garbage out with my clothes on; as it is windy, rainy and cold. I just wanted to get it done. I also do not want to, nor do I drink alcohol anymore, which at times has been a catalyst for love-making in my relationship. It is just a bleary fall day, and I am wondering, how do I awaken my passion?
Last night, I had a beautiful time in the company of others, singing songs and eating food at a local gathering called Deep Song. I felt engaged in the conversations I partook in, and I found myself able to talk about my book with confidence. This felt so good. One of the bits of wisdom gathered from the short “sermon”, was that hope is the opposite of fear, and that loving kindness is the route to having success. These were valuable tidbits that I walked away with. I have discussed recently in a circle I attend, how I wanted to let go of fear in my life. To think of hope as the antidote to fear, seems like a way to accentuate the positive rather than eliminate the negative. If I focus on hope, and what this means to me, perhaps I will combat the fear that can creep in, in the form of anxiety, in my day to day. Practicing loving kindness as a means to success is another solid thing to meditate upon. I want to have success in my writing, and with publishing my books. Yet, I struggle with also wanting to live my life with meaning while focusing on my healing and basic health practices, rather than working on or editing the many pages I have assembled to be ‘manuscript three’ or ‘book two’. I crave to work on my writing, but I want to live my day with purpose. If loving kindness is the goal, I believe I can achieve my success in a more organic, wholistic, and less linear way. My journey is a path. My writing accentuates and documents this path. I must keep traveling down this path; I must keep living, in loving kindness, in order to have something to write about.
Perhaps, if I continue to pursue loving kindness, my passion will awaken within me. I can only hope that my writing can be a vessel for expressing and channeling this desire. There may be the occasional frozen winter dip in the pond, or naked escapade to take out the trash and recycle… and perhaps this will awaken my senses to the passion that I am already cultivating within my being. Can loving kindness manifest as desire? They seem so different from each other, but perhaps they are not. Perhaps, loving kindness is a mutable, soft, and gentle desire, and the seed is truly akin to passion. Perhaps I can make passionate love within and throughout my life, by practicing loving kindness. As Mr. Rogers said, “There are three paths to achieving success at any endeavor in your life; loving kindness, loving kindness, and loving kindness.”
Soul of Stone
12/7/18
It is the new moon in December right now, and truly the darkest night we will have in 2018. I have been savoring the day as much as possible, getting out for walks, and yesterday I made it out to Goose Point on the South end of Lopez, to sit in the grass, look out over the shimmering waters, and soak in the December sun. We were up and mobile, as soon as the sun ducked behind the peninsula in the distance, and we rushed back to the car, breathing the frozen air into our supple lungs. It was glorious. Absorbing the sun and light seems prudent this time of year.
Meditating this morning, a thought came to me. It is more of a metaphor, to be exact. Our soul is like a stone. We, our existence, our soul, endures so much. It also is unchangeable. It does not matter if we are neat and tidy, if we accomplish a thousand things in a day, or if we are slovenly and relaxed, collecting the dust of days spent in our heads, healing, and pondering the mysteries of life. Our soul is a statue, and can endure thousands of years, unchanged. We are pure in our essence, and much of our spiritual journey, is about recovering who we are, and remembering the happiness that was with us upon the moment of our birth. We may wear different clothing from one life to the next, and exist in different flesh entirely as we grow, change and evolve through many lifetimes whilst traveling the path of time. But, we are the same. We can tap into this DNA structure, this stone being that is inside of us, that has worn the clothing of many life times, and we can feel the wisdom that has been with us for eons.
I sit in the breeze, my legs tucked in beneath me, in the lotus position. I have been practicing sitting for months now, and it has grown easier to rest and sit, through the discomfort that comes and goes, as my legs are consistently tucked beneath me. My thoughts also come and go, like the pulsing of rain drops on my skin. My body becomes stone for a brief moment. I remember my resilience. I remember how things that I spend so much time worrying about, or tending to in my day to day, are of little consequence to the greater scope of existence and evolution. I stop clinging to the tree, or becoming afraid of the river that is flowing around me and threatening to take me away. I stop making it my priority to resist, while wacking back at the hedges of nature with my sword, and hoping to tame it. I realize, that I am meant to sail with this river, and as I let go of the tree that I am clutching to, space enters my being. I see that the hedge will prune itself when the next wind comes, and that my work, my strain, is of little consequence. As space and time come between me and the tree I was holding onto, I feel freedom, as the river flows around my body and comes between me and my clutch.
This space I am speaking of, is the universe’s breath. We try and suffocate the universe with our fear of chaos, with our need to control, with our feeding of the ego, and with our gluttony of achievement in our lives. It feels amazing to let go of the tree, and to realize that space is all that results as I let go. We, our souls, are made of stone. We have endured many storms, and we will continue to do so unchanged. But we will not realize this resilience, unless we loosen our grip on life; unless we allow the space to flow through.
On my yoga mat today, I realized that I wished to be like the stone-statue of the Kwan Yin outside my window. With soft eyes, I will gracefully accept all of the chaos that surrounds me, while remaining unchanged and secure within my stone make up. To realize that I am truly okay, strong. I can stop letting the messes, which are temporary and inconsequential, cause anxiety in my life. Whether I am covered in leaves, snow, am wet or dry, I am still just as god made me. I am indestructible. I am a soul made of stone.
The Science of Soil
12/15/18
The scientific mind is a beautiful thing. We can stand back in observation; and for me this is useful in fighting tendencies toward narcissism and delusion. I am finding scientific energy really healing this morning, because I am on a journey of self-love. This requires me to stand back, and to give my life an objective overview. It requires me to observe my body, achievements, and practices, in a way that takes the shame out of it. I am able to see that I am achieving my goals, and not give into my desire to overachieve in exercise, which comes from a long held psychological-addiction related to my old eating disorder. A scientific mind requires me to have an objective view of my book, and to see that I still may fall above-average with my writing and with achieving a self-publication. There is no judgement of good or bad. It is what it is. This is science. In a way, this is Buddhism as well. To just exist and to not judge. In Christianity, we learn to accept god’s love into all aspects of our lives, despite our human-ness; to see that we are truly worthy.
I notice the animus nature of the scientist. It is very male in essence. I am not saying that women and men cannot embody or take on this role and energy equally, but it is very different than the somewhat enmeshed quality of mothering. We need anima and mothering also, but the animus in scientific thinking is attractive to me as I have always been enchanted by male-ness in the world. I have wanted to embody male-ness within myself, and I have preferred the company of men many times. I love my women friends too, but masculine energy is enchanting to me in its ability to stand back, observe, and be separate; in its propensity to individuate. Taoism would say this yang quality, is of equal measure in all entities as is yin, and there is flow and relationship to both. Like how we cannot be true scientists if we are not motivated by loving kindness and compassion, in order to change the world for the better, which are very yin and anima qualities. The first step, in becoming an observer and stepping back, has a cool masculine quality to it, however, and I am wanting to engage with this energy in order to see myself in the light of actuality.
Thich Nhat Hanh says that when something is ready to manifest, it means that the environment is supple and available to receive this new manifestation. When we are ready to manifest something in our lives, it becomes manifest. If the environment is not ready or able, it is simply not time, there is no judgement of good vs. bad. I am in a place of study and meditation in my life. I am holding off from producing a book, or even other tangible manifestations right now. I am seeing the beauty in cultivating the soil and the environment of my life. We all know that there is a cycle to life, birth and death. And that there is a lot of in-between. I must focus right now on learning the practices of self-love, and what my previous accomplishments are teaching me. I am empty space. I am the observer right now. I am not trying to be something or to create something. I must let my body, spirit, mind and soul simply exist, or exist simply, in order to allow the flow of the next accomplishment. I am okay with this. I desire this. If I cultivate my soil, my environment may be all the more ready for the next thing, when it is time for it to manifest.
So, the scientist in me is sitting-back and observing right now. I am learning to love myself more, I am studying the ‘way’ of the soul. I am breathing into the tangles of spirit that need to naturally and slowly unfurl, in order to be ready to embrace the next thing that I choose to manifest. I am choosing this slowness, this empty space. I am choosing to become slow, and to listen to my breathing, and the uncomfortable, as well as beautiful, moments. I am choosing to be awkward, and to not always be sure of my next step. I believe this is required of me in order to learn and to grow. This is me tilling and caring for the earth and soil from which my life springs.
Moon Shadow Work
12/25/18
I am headed into a quiet and contemplative time. My cards have been revealing that I am called to do my Shadow Work. I will be dubbing this period of contemplation and revelation, “Moon Shadow Work.” The Moon card in the Tarot, represents this shadow work; the delving deep into our subconscious, and requiring us to examine our authenticity. Many things that we toil over in life; the pursuit of perfection, money, and fame, these things live in the surface realm. They are not authentic, and they do not bring us true happiness. In fact, they can be the root cause of much suffering in one’s life. The Christmas season calls to our attention how many of us spend our time and energy on these superficial things. This may seem necessary, while purchasing presents for our loved ones, picking out the perfect outfit for the Christmas party, and trying to look our most beautiful, all the while beautifying our homes, and transforming them from our humble daily mess to clean palaces dressed in holly and ribbon. I am not saying we all do this, or even that I do this. I did not attend one Christmas party this year. But, I did watch distant friends and celebs share their Christmas adventures on Instagram. I found myself humbled, and needing to delve deeper into the contemplation of authenticity.
Unfortunately, many people are still homeless, and/or suffering with mental illness this time of year, despite all of the attention given to celebration. If we spent more time on the reflection of authenticity, we may find ourselves spending more energy on prayer and care for these unfortunate people. Many people are achieving this selflessness this holiday season, and I am reminded that the season is not over, there is still opportunity to make a difference in the life of someone that is less fortunate. Also, winter and life, carries on beyond this season of cheer, and we can always do more, to reach out and into the lives of the homeless and mentally ill to comfort and assist. There are elderly and disabled, and all types of less fortunate people, that can constantly use our ear; that we can raise our consciousness, hearts, and minds to in order to expand our experiences of reality, and move forward into experiencing our lives on an authentic level.
Authenticity can and does apply to simple and every day moments for ourselves. It can be challenged by superficial entities that cause suffering and create shadows in our beings that we then need to contemplate and move through for real self-growth. There are moments when, in our minds, we criticize our appearance, and when we tell ourselves that things are not going to work out; or when we sabotage our success and happiness, stemming from dark places of grief and shame that are hiding deep in our beings. My journey this winter is to continue meditation and contemplation, so that I overcome these mechanisms in my being. And truth, or authenticity, revolves around a loving god and creator that wants me to succeed, feel rich happiness, and to be okay. If I am able to resonate with a deeper level of acceptance, one that does not revolve around appearance or simple surface successes like monetary gain or attention on social media, I can appreciate what I do have, and also realize my true inner-riches. I am being called on a journey, of deep introspection, in order to do my “Moon Shadow Work”, and level with the darkness and shadows that are inside of me that wish speak by way of my soul and my shadow. In our shadows reside clues for healing. In this deep yearning for authenticity, I hope that I find an inner love and appreciation for all that I have, and all that exists. These are my Christmas thoughts. Peace be with you all, this winter night.
Permeability
1/2/19
We are permeable beings. Some of us more so than others. I have to contemplate this simple scientific reality, when it comes to my relationships, and how I expend my energies. It is not just about people and relationships, I can be ‘permeable’ with situations and ideas. For example, when I was headed into my difficult time in the spring of 2016 that led to a psychotic break, the elections were a huge cause of stress in my life. The whole world and the news was buzzing with charged energy around Bernie Sanders, Hillary Clinton, and Donald Trump, as well as other candidates. Some of this was good charged energy, and some of it was negative. But it did not matter the charge. It still was capable of permeating my sensitive membrane, and taking up room in my consciousness, and therefore cause me stress.
This year, and lately, I have become better about building myself a supportive and cushioning cocoon in which to protect myself. The holidays did not take a huge toll on my psyche, as I know it can and did for many other people. I have the theory that people that suffer with suicidal thoughts, depression, bipolar disorder, and schizophrenia or schizoaffective disorder, have more permeableness to their quality of being. We are taking on too much from the world and other people, and we have not learned how to protect ourselves. Medications help correct our brain chemistries, but we also need to learn how to protect ourselves, our permeable membranes, and feed ourselves with neutral and calming energy. Meditation, creativity, and living in the country, away from stressful city environments, can be helpful tools. Also, learning to not give too much of ourselves to the stresses of work, the public, school, or toxic people. People or situations do not have to be negative to be a drain. We can permeate with people that we love to whom we long to be supportive. I have an increased tendency to do this, because I love giving of myself to people and projects. I need to always be balancing rest and activity carefully in my life.
I am learning that I can have value in my existence by just being. Emptiness is form, and form is emptiness. This is a Buddhist teaching. I also wish to take the ‘path of least resistance’. This does not mean that I need to, or wish to, become lazy in my life. I can still try and make effort. The lesson that these words provide for me, is to constantly be listening, and open to the push or pull of natural energies in the universe. My illness, has been one such lesson. My illness has taught me to steer clear of school and work in my life. They have led to disaster and symptomatic behavior many times. They have even caused me to be hospitalized. I can still live a life of great meaning. Buddhist teachings are helping me right now, with moving even deeper into this lesson. My ego and the need for achievement in my life, have antiquated what the universe has been trying to teach me through my illness. My ego is not my authentic self. It and its imbalances, are largely due to my upbringing and conditioning. I can learn to let this go, heal from this, leave this in the past, move forward, and embody a spiritual life. I meditate and quest for deeper meaning. I have learned to surround myself, and feed myself, with neutral energies, that do not lead to depraved symptoms that result from permeating with charged energy. I am seeking form within the emptiness. The more latitude I make in life, and the less I do, the more I am able to become who I am truly destined to be. Less is more. I need space in order to evolve and heal. If I am filling, and permeating myself, to be so filled with the energies of the world and other people, or compiling difficult tasks; I then have no space to heal and to realize my destiny.
Filling my life with activities and pastimes such as reading and meditation, have allowed for determined healing. I have need for time to “remember” and rediscover my identity by allowing myself to just exist in this universe with all of my flaws. As I give these flaws space and room to heal and breathe, I find that I am more confident in who I am, and who I am becoming. There is still time to manifest a simple destiny.
Love vs. Perfectionism
1/10/19
I am finding that lack of perfectionism can actually be confidence building. When we are glued to perfectionism in our lives, we can become disgruntled and disappointed when things do not meet this standard. We may even find ourselves constantly triggered into a dissonant state, while observing all of the imperfections that are so readily in our lives. There are imperfections everywhere, and very often we feel inadequate. This may lead to a defeatism, that keeps us from even attempting to achieve our dreams. In a secret way, we know we are doomed to failure before we even begin, because we cannot achieve the unachievable. This leads to a lack of self-confidence over time. We are constantly defeated by the laws of nature. So, until we thoroughly commit to the understanding, that neither we nor the universe is or will ever be perfect, we cannot grow, nor can we successfully attempt to achieve anything substantial. This is how it was for me. I now have accepted the chaos of the world. The never ending swirling of humanness in my actions, and lack of perfection in my surroundings. All of a sudden the world opens up to contain a sense of space. One is able to relax, to accept things the way they are. After this acceptation, comes an appreciation, a reverence, and ultimately a sense of confidence in all that is, and all that one is working toward. You begin to see the beauty in unfinished projects, as well as the fact that you are able to learn and improve from any flawed situation. To live for, and strive for, perfection, is a prison that we create in our minds. It is virtually impossible to grow within the confines of the unnatural law of perfection.
My first book, “Glass Slippers: A Journey of Mental Illness”, has some flaws. All projects do. I believe that realizing these imperfections and flaws, have only allowed me to dive into a deeper appreciation for ‘me’, the artist, and the amazing feat that I was able to undertake putting this book out into the world. Creating such a complete work of art, has led to the above realizations about perfectionism, and I am growing so much, finally letting go of these unreal and crazy making values, that I once had. Love is round, it is so soft, and it is meant to fill the gaps inside of our imperfections. If there were no flaws, there would be no space for the love to penetrate, and to move through our lives and our selves. It is as if the flaws have divine meaning and purpose. They give us an opportunity to love and grow. So, thank goodness for an imperfect world.
Stillness, Gratitude, Transformation
1/18/19
Gratitude, is one of the most powerful forces in the universe. It is also easier to access this power, after one embraces a sense of stillness. It is hard to visit this appreciation that we are capable of having, without taking the time to pause. We all know that when we are stretched thin, it is harder to avoid anxiety. It becomes hard to keep an uplifted attitude; akin to our exhaustion, we lash out at our partners, and other loved ones. We may even be guilty of creating unnecessary dramas in our lives.
How do we take the time to create the solitude that we need in our lives, in order to give ourselves the reprieve that we need, and thus the space necessary to let the gratitude and the love in? Many take the time to pray, or meditate, but are we doing this often enough? How damaged are we really? Is there mystery hidden deep inside our supple beings and souls? To what extent do we need to explore stillness in our current lives, in order to find peace? How long can we keep living in denial, working hard for our families and ourselves, while also continuing to refuse to surrender to the way our lives have panned out? I do not always know why others live busy lives. Perhaps this is excessively necessary, in order to feed and clothe those dependent on you. But if this is the case, is there someone from whom, or some place from where you can ask for, or access help, and take the time to enter a zone of compassion for yourself, and gratitude for everything that god has provided, that you may not be seeing with clear eyes? Compassion and gratitude can be, and are very transforming. When we know we are worthy, when we know we have done nothing wrong, we can then be grateful.
I am guilty of anger and hatred existing as fundamental forces in my life, that have allowed me to become an individual, to create boundaries, and they have also fueled my ability and desire to create and to survive. I only, decades later, have learned the blessing of simplifying life, and of slowing down. Maybe, I do not need to fit in with the cool kids. Maybe, I do not need to be achieving wealth and prestige. Maybe, enough is enough. Maybe, self-realizing the love I receive daily, and truly being grateful for it, only opens pathways to more love pouring in, kindness, patience, and compassion for myself and others.
Less is more. The extent that I can practice this is endless. I may need to accept my situation as it is, and be grateful for what I have, but I am also allowed the pursuit of happiness. I am allowed to take the deep breaths that I need. I am allowed to surrender this striving, that keeps love, relaxation, and gratitude from my life. I am allowed to ask for help. I am learning to slow down and to let god’s grace penetrate my life. It is transformative, it is healing, it is power.
The Path of Least Resistance
1/29/19
On the first of January, 2019, I was sitting under the night sky on my sister’s farm, a farm that has been in our family since 1989, after a New Moon Circle that was very pleasant. I was sharing with my sister some words of wisdom that had come to me recently; that I was to “travel the path of least resistance”. At that very moment, as I spoke these words outloud, the largest meteor that I have ever seen, blazed a path across a quarter of the night’s sky. The path was so long, that after I first observed it, I told my sister to look, and we both continued to appreciate this astronomical event together for 4 or 5 seconds. It was phenomenal. I said to my sister, “What was I just saying?” We recalled that I was reflecting, on the above words of wisdom, and so, I took this as a sign that traveling the path of least resistance, would be a theme that would lead me into, and perhaps through, this new year of 2019.
For many, following the path of least resistance, which means following natures path, and flowing with what the universe calls us to in our lives naturally, may not always feel like the “right” thing to do, or perhaps the most pleasant. For me, it constitutes one of the greatest life-lessons that this life has put before me; accepting my illness. For years, even decades, I mourned my diagnosis of mental illness. I pined for a life, where I could achieve at school or in a career, and I envied people that could live their lives without the mental and emotional pain and anguish that I seemed destined to endure. I developed rage, because I could not accept what the universe had put in my path, not so very subtly. I resisted, and attempted college like a billion times, which led to many episodes, and even hospitalizations. I cut my identity down to merely being disabled, unable to work full-time, or to achieve at the jobs that I could get. My soul became shrouded in a darkness.
Many years later, I began to work diligently at accepting my illness. This involved being willing to work with doctors in order to get my meds right, and enduring uncomfortable side-effects that ensued from never-ending adjustments. It meant eventually giving up work entirely, so I could totally focus on basic mental, emotional, physical, and spiritual wellness. This now looks like daily meditation, walking, trying to eat right, and keeping up on my chores and basic hygiene. It means swallowing my pride, and surrendering my ego. It means transforming any negative connotations and stigmas, that come with the labels I own, and evolving them into positive concepts; like that I am gifted, creative, and spiritual. It means humbly and openly telling the world my truth, the truth that I am a diagnosable schizoaffective patient without exception, while continuing to write and rap over my knuckles this story for others to read. In doing this, I accept further what god, the universe, and nature have put in my path in such an awakening and painful way.
To me, following the path of least resistance, means listening to the subtle messages in my body that I receive in the form of symptoms. Instead of trying to mold myself into a person that is “normal”, or that does not experience these intense mental and physical psychological symptoms, I rather embrace the sensations, and listen; I allow them to shape me into the person that god has made me. Fully accepting the truth that I am who I am, means not hiding from all of the ugly things that go along with being mentally ill. It means wearing my illness with honor, and smiling through the stigmas. It means humbly accepting this as my path, and not expecting more from myself. Just surviving, just living well and healthily, is a mammoth accomplishment. Wherever this path continues to take me in this life, I will do much better by following this river gracefully, accepting the currents that the universe puts before me, and diving in further. Fighting, resisting, denying what life brings us, ends up being even harder, inflating pain and suffering, and in the end, this resistance is what is our demise.
A Flowering Genius
2/8/19
There are many flowering geniuses in the world. They may seem inconsequential, to the average person. Their light, their genius, is meant to only be witnessed by a lucky few, as they blossom and realize their destiny. This world is so vast and complex. When you become involved, an active participant in your dream, you become increasingly humble, while making the best of the life that you have been given.
I have been reading a lot of buddhist texts lately, and a book on kundalini yoga. I am so grateful to be reading once again, as I am doing well, and am well-adjusted to a combination of meds, that make me feel like my kosher self. It also allows me the privilege of being a reader; a great love of mine. I cannot always participate in reading however, as anxiety and the other symptoms of schizoaffective disorder interfere with this basic skill. My therapist told me yesterday, that it is good when her patients tell her they are reading, because it is a sign of their wellness. I have often criticized myself for being a writer who reads very little, though I have a schizoaffective friend in Boston who is a very prolific writer, and who tells me he barely reads. So, one may not know this about those of us who suffer with acute mental illness, but this is a concrete fact, and a side-effect of our daily trials.
My partner the other day said, “I think you are a genius.” It feels funny to share this information here, but that is what I attempt to do; exist in the transparent realm of principle and honesty. It is just that being a genius does not always mean being a celebrity, or in the spotlight. Schopenhauer said that “Talent is hitting a target no-one else can hit. Genius is hitting a target no-one else can see.” I have a couple friends that I see this quality in. If you are hitting a target that no-one else can see, obviously very few may witness your genius. Those who do, are blessed to flower with you, and enter the bliss that results from your discovery, creativity, and invention.
So am I a genius? I do not know. How could anyone claim such a thing? My buddhist readings have reminded me of the abilities of humbleness and compassion. True generosity, forgiveness, compassion - these are the things that make up a genius. This is why our celebrities don’t always hit the mark. We all are watching. To be so much in the ego counteracts any true genius, in my opinion.
So don’t be afraid of being small. Don’t be ashamed of being humble. These are enormously empowering characteristics. Focus inward, allowing your inner-genius to flower in its very own way, and in its very own time. Few may see, may witness this, but those who do will feel blessed to share your journey with you.
Remembering Faith
2/16/19
Faith is a little girl dancing to Skip to my Lou. It is watching her savor some blueberry cheesecake ice cream with an over-sized spoon. It is laying in the hot tub under the bright moon, watching the clouds and mist, while saying the ‘Our Father’ over and over. It is having the love of your life remind you to have faith and that everything is and will be okay. It is his hockey game, crossword puzzle, and homemade pot roast. It is remembering the love of dear friends as they send you a valentines day card in the mail. It is talking to your best friend in Nevada over a morning cup of coffee.
I am a perpetual slut when it comes to spirituality. I read the Bible, I read Buddhist literature, I’ve read Native American and Indigenous texts and stories, philosophy, psychology, about the cabala, and kundalini yoga. I have yet to explore anything Muslim or Islamic, but what may come close, is savoring the Arabic language while listening to a favorite Lebanese band. All of this has been incredibly helpful and very important in my journey discovering my own faith. I still return to Christ and Christianity, however, and am reminded of the power and strength this has had in transforming my life, and teaching me about faith and how to have a deep, deep loyalty to God.
I am about as progressive as one can be regarding my politics, however I don’t appreciate it when people swear they are agnostic because all religion is bad, or slander Christianity because of right-wing American politics or Catholic priest scandals. I had an old roommate years ago that said if all Christians were like Johnny Cash, then he may have more interest in Christianity. As I read through the stories in my first book “Glass Slippers: A Journey of Mental Illness”, I am reminded of how important believing in Christ, the cross, the Bible, and God has been in my life. I am tempted to return to praying this way, even in the midst of reading Chogyam Trungpa, and “Kundalini Yoga for the West” by Swami Sivananda Radha.
So, I see God in simple things. “He/She” is in the clouds, the light of the moon, my lover’s smile, and my niece’s dance moves. I am so ever grateful. And yet, it feels good to fall back on and rely on tradition. It feels good to remind myself that the goodness in God and Christ has nothing to do with politics or the red sates. It feels good to make it personal again, and find and rekindle my faith in these Christian practices. I am reminded to pray, that my voice is heard, and that God is timeless.
Ordinariness
2/23/19
Now, I don’t want this blog post to have a political agenda, but in a way it does. Mostly, because I have not met another inspirer, “celebrity”, or person, that has inspired as much hope, excitement, belief and awe then the man I will mention below. First, however, I want to comment on a belief that we all could benefit from, that evades us in the shadows humorously in our American lives, while living day to day in the culture that is bred into our bones. News, Media, Hollywood, Radio, Sports, all of it, have us focus on celebrities, athletes, actors, writers, musicians, entrepreneurs, politicians and billionaires in a way that we become worshippers of a state of being that does not actually relate to who we are at our core as individuals. Even in our smaller social circles, we focus on the people that have recently held the perfect party, had a great performance, or that have done something that we wish we could aspire to do. All of this leads to us focusing on a grand picture of reality, so that we become annoyed with, obsessed with, and oppressed by the daily tasks of cleaning our house, caring for children or elderly, or working our simple jobs that we keep in order to stay above water. We then turn on the news, develop crushes on our favorite journalist, or watch a movie and pretend we relate to the fake characters portrayed by our favorite celebrities.
We become confused, disappointed, and we feel helpless. Especially those of us who are sick in some way. If you add up the 20 percent suffering from mental illness, the 8 percent struggling with cancer, the 10 percent of elderly, the 4 percent of the deaf and blind, the 5 percent of physically disabled, the 15 percent suffering with some other form of difficult acute illness, (these numbers are not exact and came from an internal guess from a general sense on my part) etc., you end up with many folks whose sole purpose is to just be and to feel okay every day. Add in the difficult day to day experiences of the LGBTQ community, minority races, the homeless, addicts, and the general poor, you end up with a huge percent of the population that is virtually invisible on the magazine covers, and in our daily sitcoms. You end up with a large percentage of society that ends up only feeling smaller and more isolated, because all they have to compare themselves to are millionaire athletes, actors, and businessmen. We are the people. We are the people that the pharmaceutical companies and the “health and beauty” industry are profiting on. And these profits grow with our low self-esteem and increased health issues. We are the people that the FDA is overlooking as they approve another harmful chemical to be put in what we think are safe products for our children to ingest. We are the people who just sink lower and lower into our holes, at the benefit of the millionaires and billionaires in our country. We are also the majority, and the backbone of our country and society. We just have not realized who we are, or that we are the “normal” majority, due to the fact we worship a social media and a Hollywood that make us feel like invisible outsiders.
There is nothing wrong with being ordinary. We have to shut our eyes to the publicity that surrounds us everywhere, and start looking at the people on the bus, those sitting next to you in the doctor’s or social welfare office, and in the grocery line, and actually ask questions of and care about these neighbors. This may result in us feeling more normal and acceptable in our ordinariness. Ordinariness is healing. It is realizing we are fine because we deserve to be. It is about loving ourselves in our ordinariness, and closing our eyes to all of the lies that filter in through our media. Bernie Sanders made me realize ‘we the people’ have a body, and that we can fight for our basic human rights. I believe he is the candidate of us ordinary people. I truly hope that those who doubt Bernie, because of false propaganda, or because he is a white male, will take off their social and racial blinders for a moment, let go of their reverse racism and sexism, and truly look at what he wants to do for the ordinary people, as well as what he has already done. He has raised awareness on the issues of the common man and woman, and brought them to the table, so that all candidates, the rich and famous included, have to consider these fundamental issues on their platform, and in their campaigns. Bernie is the reason light has been shed on so many things. I truly believe he is “Our” candidate, the candidate of The People, and I hope you will consider making him your candidate as well.
VIVA LA REVOLUTION
Run Bernie Run!!
Alive
3/4/19
It has been a long time since I wrote a blog in the dawning light. I woke with some potent images about and around the fringes of my mind. I have been going through some intense physical struggles recently, of which I won’t get into the details, however, that always spurs some mental and emotional difficulty for me, being one that deals with mental illness.
A lot of my reflection has been about my teenage self as of late. In a way, I feel like an oversized teenager. My growth was stunted by major trauma in my late teens, consisting of, but not exclusively, a psychotic break at 18. I have often reflected throughout my many years of healing, how I wished I could “reach” that younger personality, and how I felt very cut off from my younger self, who was developing into a woman. Several other psychotic breaks throughout my life, created several other shamanic “death doors”, that added to this difficulty, (in the sense that time CAN be but is not always linear), of reaching back into the identity and struggles of my teen years. I feel this is important healing that must take place; to find the person who was coming into being, before my illness came about in its entirety. I have reached that place in my healing, as of late. I have processed and journaled and blogged and painted and prayed and meditated and talk therapied my way into accessing my teen years.
I was a difficult teenager. But they say the best dogs are terrible puppies. This, of course, is meant to make me feel better about all the wrong that I was a part of. Underneath all of the drinking, drugging, and stealing, most of which I got away with unharmed and un-detained, was a brilliant young girl who cared immensely for art, children, and the environment. But yes, I was a notoriously difficult teen. In ways I remained respectful, always calling home to report where I was, raising different children in our posh upper middle class neighborhood, and developing deep passion for monkeys, children, the earth, music, poetry, and human and indigenous rights. I suppose a more compassionate view would be that I was a very complex young human. Life was immensely rich, and I was fully participating. Life and I were anything but dull.
When I came about being able to reflect on myself at this age, I was overcome with grief. Being a teenager; in love and breaking a heart, healing from an eating disorder on my own, awakening to the oppression and cruelty in the world, and wanting desperately to change the world for the better, was incredibly difficult, and complicated. I am blessed to live in a small community, to attend a couple different worship groups, to volunteer at my local Library, and I am getting to know and to witness a few young teenagers blossom, in this small community. Some, I even taught and guided when they were in pre-school. I am craving to dive into the mind of the teenager. I am craving to know, and to heal that young thirteen through fifteen year-old within myself. I was so precious and innocent, though I saw myself as mature and regal. I just want to rest there for a short time, and revel in who I was, and who I was becoming. I want to send love to that young blossoming woman. Coming of age is so magnanimous. It also can be incredibly painful.
I want to say, “I see you”, to these young kids. For being so cut off from my inner teenager for so many years, it rests inside of me with incredible bright clarity and precision. Maybe I will never grow up. Perhaps I am not meant to. (I am not meant to bear children.) Perhaps this is what makes me special. That once I am fully able, I can remember in my bones and hair follicles, this very potent age, because I lived it so fully and was so fully aware. Life has not been easy. There has been so much difficulty and pain. But for every ounce of pain that I endured, I learned something. I felt something. I became Alive.
“Okay to Not be Okay”
3/18/19
Life can definitely become tenuous. Spring is upon us, and though I have not felt like writing, as I haven’t had any succinct ideas to share with the world, I now feel it is the best thing that I can do to really ground myself. The human race is, and still remains, such a mystery. People can hide behind all kinds of facades. They may be carrying the public personality of healer or witch, but sincerely lack the understanding or immense responsibility that these titles entail. The teacher teaches that which they do not know. Sometimes, it seems that everyone is just pretending to know something. Their identity may even be so dependent on the illusion of making people believe their wisdom, knowledge or role, that they defend their illusion at all cost. I feel this most when I am vulnerable about some aspect of my story or healing with a person, and they feel called to give me advice, even if I have not asked for it. It is as though being vulnerable, showing flaws or weakness, in the face of someone who is living an illusion, threatens their reality because they are doing everything in their power to hide and to mask their problems. Being vulnerable, however, does not make you weak. I often feel gratitude, or increasingly comfortable, when someone is willing to show their dissonance, anxiety, depression or other symptoms, because that feels real to me. In the mental health world we have an anthem, “It is okay to not be okay.” But the world that is built on the ego, and that is full of pretenders, does not always welcome this. The world can cast shame upon someone that is either vulnerable enough to show their symptoms, or who is unable to hide this aspect of their nature.
Why do we have to always appear like we know exactly who we are, or like we know exactly what is going on in the world? This is a falsehood. It is also so with people that wear their identities as a cloak around them. Like we all need to know that the said “performer” has all of these qualifications, all of these accomplishments. The truth is that these people, are hiding behind false truths. Living humble, being ordinary, and being strong enough to show your weakness to the world is what is truly brave. So, sometimes it is hard for someone to hide that they are wounded. Sometimes it is hard for someone to come off as a ‘polished performer’ with an iron clad identity. Sometimes people need to explore, be vulnerable, and to not know who they are. I just wish this did not feel threatening to others. Especially those of us who suffer with mental health issues, we often feel like we need to hide from the world, because we are not perfect, and because we appear ill. And most often the world does not accept people that wear emotional issues on the outside of their being. But are we the ones that are truly lost? Maybe we are the brave ones, because we are willing to feel our pain and our struggle, and because we choose to not hide it. Perhaps those out there that have created selves that seem solid, are masking pain, or are even running from it. I just hope that people know that they can be vulnerable, “weak”, real. I hope people know that they are aloud to feel like they know nothing, and to start over from scratch. That is brave. That is wisdom. That is being an alive enlightened human. It IS okay to not be okay, but it is also okay to show this ‘not okay-ness’ to the world. Sometimes it just comes. I just wish people were kinder and more encouraging to those who appear to not be so strong.
The Curse of Comparing
3/22/19
One of the things that almost everyone in this life could benefit from while pursuing their spiritual journey or simply their happiness, is to not compare themselves with others. I recently have been exploring the book “The Four Agreements”, and this has turned my dial to processing simple truths that can help us on our journey. 1) Being impeccable with your word (not putting down yourself or others) 2) Not taking anything personal, 3) Not making assumptions, and 4) Always doing your best, are four examples of simple life guidelines that can lend to living in gratefulness, positivity, and hope while practicing self-love. Where does not comparing ourselves to others fit in exactly with these four universal rules? It travels through all four decrees in essence. Often when we are putting ourselves or others down, we are deep in the process of comparison. When we take things personally, and let that poison taint our lives, it is because we compare ourselves to someone who we wish to not think badly of us, so we create false beliefs in our paranoia. This is also true with making assumptions. Also, when we are comparing ourselves to someone, we are deep in the mire of making assumptions about their experience, their pain, insecurities or securities. And last of all, when or if we are pushing ourselves beyond doing only our best, it is often because we are comparing ourselves to some standard outside of ourselves, or we are making our cadence match someone else’s while insisting we can or are able to accomplish what they seem to have… this may also involve making an assumption. As a result we have totally mishmashed these four agreements into a nasty web of destructive behaviors that do not help us in being happy individuals that are practicing self-love and honoring our limits and individual design.
I am pointing out here, that though these agreements are helpful and seem to be different from each other, in applying one toxic rule such as comparing ourselves with others, you can see that this one single behavior does sabotage not one, but four golden rules. This is why I am choosing to focus on comparing ourselves with others rather than borrowing from the four agreements and choosing to write about one of the agreements, which would provide for substantial material for a reflective blog. But back to comparing ourselves, this comes from over identifying with the ego, and with defining ourselves by our roles or accomplishments, and not, on the other hand, living our lives totally in the present, guided by a subtle innate intelligence of who we truly are as beings sourced from deep within. “One may find the ego fully alive in even the most seemingly humble public servant”, a quote from my own book “Glass Slippers: A Journey of Mental Illness”. This means that where you might expect to find only enlightened healers, you will find people ill with the epidemic of the ego. This means that even amongst priests and holy people, you will find men and women basking in gratification for what they have done, where they have traveled to, what they have written, or in other words their resumes of accomplishments, and they may be pursuing more power and recognition for these holy achievements. This all stems from the ego. The point is, if you are defining and knowing yourself as an inner voice, you do not have a title or resume, rather you are human. It is also impossible to compare yourself to another because this requires you to disengage from your true self and to perceive and act from the place of the ego. Things, degrees, our bodies, our titles, they are not our true selves. If you are identifying with this, you may as well be identifying yourself as nothing. Because that is what these extensions of the ego are. They are nothing. This is why I like these two quotes from a favorite movie of mine called “Lucky”: “You are nothing.” And “Realism is a thing.” Both of these statements got me thinking. Why must I identify myself? What is real is real, it just is. Also, I am nothing. The ego is nothing. Being comfortable in this nothingness, in this aloneness, is where you begin to hear the soft whisper of your truer self.
The next time you catch yourself comparing yourself to someone’s resume, body, property, or stamina, remind yourself that you are only falling for an illusion. All of that stuff is false. It at least is not who the person is, so don’t blame the true self for suffering these false identities. Because that is what the ego truly is. It is suffering. I was once told that the ego is like a picture frame studded in diamonds made of tears and rubies made of shed blood. The only thing one can focus on is the glitzy frame, and there is no concept of what truly resides inside the frame. So ditch the frame. You may feel small, ordinary, but you will feel light, and you will be well on your way to becoming a true master. Oh, and following the four agreements listed above will also help you be wildly successful on pursuing the truth of who you really are.
Birthday Blues
3/28/19
My birthday yesterday was actually just heavenly. I had so many nice things happen in my little day. Blessings were everywhere and it was sunny and nice. I won’t get into all of the details. I also was dealing with feeling weak and frail as well as having some discomfort in my belly that would not seen to go away. After gathering with my family in the afternoon-evening, I came home and in settling down I could feel the discomfort more heightened. I watched some of my favorite show, and eventually tried to lay down to go to sleep. But the discomfort was too great. It also had built up in my body throughout the day due to pushing it down in order to be well enough to participate in my birthday plans. We only get our actual birthday once a year, and there is something to be said for that. The magic of the actual day. At midnight I felt this strange calmness or peace underneath my feeling sick, and I knew that I did not have to try anymore. The moment had passed to be special. The pressure was released. But I did not feel better. My mind began to run away. I tried to wake my partner but he was not happy with being disturbed. So I began to cry. I still could not sleep. I went outside, smoked, wrapped myself in a blanket and laid back down. This went on for hours and finally at 4am I took the medication that sedates me, and drifted off into a post birthday rest.
For me, when the tears come, I am not always able to assess what the trouble is behind the crying at the time of doing so. My mind is tenuous, and there is usually fear and anxiety involved. Because of my illness, what I described above, is actually way worse than it sounds or would be for someone without diagnosis. Mental illness, and my disability play a major role. I needed someone, and slowly I became that person. Literally, I sat there, caressing my arm that was aching with the rest of my body, and told myself that we would be okay. That we are worthy of love. That this would pass. I never or very rarely have ever had thoughts of harming myself or committing suicide, but I gather for a fellow consumer, this may be where those thoughts might creep in. Late in the night, with no-one to call, the rest of the world on a different frequency, and you all alone. I was reminded the other day that generalizations are never a good idea. That every mental health consumer has an individual experience. The truth is that we also have something in common. We need support groups, we need community. The thing is, in a town as rural as Lopez, these connections are few and far between. Finally, right now, the Resource Center is working on assembling a mental health support group. I plan on attending, and I hope others will come out of the woodwork. We may have different experiences, but I believe that there are common threads, experiences, and longings we will find that run through all of our stories. Aligning yourself with “your people” can have amazing affects on realizing the truth of your situation, that you are not alone, and that you are worthy of love. Sometimes those who are outside the scope of having a mental health diagnosis or experience are incapable of making you feel truly seen. It is not their fault. This has to be true for so many other groups. Gays, Blacks, Cancer patients, Veterans, Addicts, the Sexually assaulted and raped. If we can align our stories with another, perhaps we will be able to tap into that friendship and support when those tough moments come; when you are truly alone and it is 4am, and there is none to call. There is always the mental health support line; the crises line, county and national (I prefer the national number). There are also prayer lines where people pray with you.
I miss the days when I could head out into the big city, and always there was someone, at a bus stop, at a coffee shop, at an AA meeting, at Seattle Mental Health, somewhere in that giant pool of people, to find. Your own personal picking grounds for a friend. Just dive in and find somebody. It is not really that way here in this supper tight knit and small rural community of Lopez. Sometimes we need the big world. Social media has proven to be that for me in a small sense. I hope you that are out there that need a friend, someone who will witness your pain, not just dance around you with colloquialisms or their current identity trip, but really see you, and talk, can find that person. We always need to remember there is a way, even when we feel the most isolated. Be yourself. Be at peace, and remember in your sensitivity, in your vulnerability, in your hopelessness, you are never alone, you are worthy of love, and your feelings are valid and real.
Awakening to your Gift
4/3/19
It has been a week of recovery. I fell ill on my birthday from some seafood, but it did not stop there. Two days in a row of shrimp and smoked salmon around my birthday led to four days of stomach pain and weakness. I had two days of wellness, though I did have my period during that time. I then found myself eating smoked salmon again, and had a terrible reaction that led to over 24 hours of severe discomfort in my abdomen and a lot of gas, coupled with fatigue and feverishness. The pain is now gone, though I am still weak. The pattern lends to adverse reaction to the seafood, though I am not certain. I see a naturopath tomorrow, and am looking forward to evaluation and some advice on how to get my gut back to optimal health.
Last week, I wrote about grief that I had on my birthday at night while suffering the second of the three reactions. I know that my compromised physical condition led to the lack of sleep. Also, in the late night hours of discomfort, too many thoughts filled my head. Coupled with the timelines of my fortieth birthday, and the gateway that implies, I found myself passing through its doors while remembering the psychological pain and suffering I endured in my twenties and thirties. I have come a long way on my healing journey. Putting out the book written between 2014 and 2016 which reflected on a time of wellness and recovery on Lopez, as well as sharing much of my journey in written form, a healing took place from birthing this manuscript to the world in all its transparency. The healing journey took a turn in the Spring of 2016, marking the end of the book while reflecting on a time of psychosis and struggle. I put the book out while finding new definition to my path in 2017. This path has taken the form of a new dedication to a life of wellness.
My book, Glass Slippers, described coming to terms with seeing my mental illness as a gift. A concept I reflected on further while recovering from my break in 2016 and writing my second book, Questing Sanity, still not in print. It was as if in Glass Slippers, I introduced the concept, and reveled on it for several years, as it was a recurring theme through my blog posts during that time. I suppose facing my psychotic mortality again in 2016, and being crippled by all that goes into recovering from a major episode, I found myself sitting in the woods, morning after morning for months on end, and writing upon the reflections that would come to me. I took these concepts of redefining myself as gifted, and valuing myself as a child of god, explored in Glass Slippers, a step further into realizing what that truly meant. What are these gifts I was referring to? I worked through, while bonding with nature and practicing meditation and stillness, the barriers that still remained between me and exploring myself as gifted. I now am continuing upon this ever evolving journey, as a spirit warrior for myself and others that fall to this fate. I feel courage to spread the truth, and encourage others to ditch the lies that they may have swallowed in believing they are weak or flawed while suffering with mental illness.
My recent physical illness required me to slow. Life was picking up with speed, and though April 1st was upon us, marking the end to a very at risk time of year, almost in the clear, I had recently struggled with a few moments of fear for my mental wellness this spring. I found myself taking so much pride in doing things, that even though I keep strict rules around not doing too much, I worried that my compulsivity with achievement was resurrecting to show its very dangerous face at a very inopportune moment. My sudden experience with three possible allergic reactions to seafood put a halt on my life. I was forced to reflect, to feel my physical weakness, and was reminded of my fragility and the beauty that can exist in such sensitivities. I am learning to not mistake sensitivity for weakness. I am learning to exchange the words mental illness for heightened perception, aptitude for wisdom, and propensity for compassion and love. So, here are to the gifts of spring. Whether you are sensing grief in the air, whether you find yourself with weakness in your knees, confusion in your heart and mind, or you just choose to still yourself with all of the beauty that is birthing around us at every turn in the natural world, see your experience as a gift, and love yourself even more for being able to have the experience you are having. Because like the daffodils, that come in so many different types and shapes and hues of yellow and white, we are all beautiful; in our happiness and joy, and in our grief and sorrow alike.
A New Door
4/13/19
The wind is blowing and the half moon is bright and misty in the night sky. It is the end to a spring day in April that evolved from overcast, to downpours, to clear sky and wind. I watched the sun approach the horizon this evening, and I discussed my healing journey with a fellow healer through the powers of Instagram, while sitting on a grass mat on the damp lush green earth. We spoke of challenging the language that the Mental Health world ingrains in us deeply. We spoke of tuning into the wounded areas of my chakras, and of the choices that will frame and define the future path of my healing journey. The connection was clear, and private, as I had walked down to the edge of the property to be truly alone, with my phone in hand. I was reminded how I can still choose to commit fully to some of the spiritual ideology that I write about. My journey is about being sensitive and gifted, or psychic as I have explored at times. Bringing this to consciousness allowed me to take part in a huge psychic clearing of my soul and spirit. Before I made this call, I was weighed down by anxiety in the form of fatigue and being paralyzed by the feeling of being overwhelmed or exhausted. I needed to carve a new path. I needed to reach for something and not ask permission for once. I walked home after my phone died, ending our conversation, and I felt lighter. But also different somehow, like I realized I have a choice. To be honest, I do not always “know this”. Rules and ‘shoulds’ and worries weigh heavily on my being. I then went to soak in the new clarity further, and submerse myself in the warm waters of a hot tub. I floated and stared up at the moon. As I dried and dressed, a song floated naturally from my lips. A song of trust, of being a star, a channel for flow; of following and trusting the day and the night, the new and the old; of trusting myself and just being that which I am, naturally.
I have been cutting back on smoking, and overtime, (it has been 10 days now), a new momentum has begun. I not only am focusing more on clean unadulterated breath, I am feeling the way this allows me to speak to and feel my true spirit. I am also getting in touch with what lies behind the addiction (another harsh word derived from a western mental health model), or behind the chronic pushing down, the control, the holding back, the oppression. It is an oppression of myself. Smoking is a way to cope with stress, so that I can keep pretending, so that I can continue to serve someone else’s terms, expectations, or needs. I am no longer going to ask permission to be myself. I am going to take what is mine. What the universe has gifted me as my birthright, the gift that I have been denying, and have learned to suppress and control. But it has me on my knees. It has me bubbling with overwhelming breaths of clean spirit and oxygen, and there is much to sit with. With every deep breath of air I bring into my lungs, I am accepting my freedom. I am reclaiming it. And I am releasing the demon of control. I need to allow time and space around this venture. This all will take time, and I don’t see having a cigarette as a failure. I see it as necessary medicine, so as to not go too fast or put myself into a state of shock or crises. And we have only begun. It started with a willingness to even permit the thought of quitting into my consciousness. Before simply the idea of quitting was too much to handle.
For years, I tried to quit smoking, and would attack the problem with all I had in me. And the psychological side effects would become too great. For me, a mental health consumer, it was never a good time to quit. So I gave up. Steve quit for his surgery two years ago, and started again. I cannot blame myself, though I know I was a bad influence. But I was too weak then. Smoking was a very necessary crutch to hold my already fragile self together. Since then, I have given up work, classes and drinking. I have continued to confront my ego around every turn. I have spent months confronting my grief, rage and trauma. I have had both spiritual and identity crises. I have been digging deep, and searching to see what lives beneath these great mountainous barriers or heaps of debris that my life has put in my path. I have continued to work at healing with my family and partner. I have slowed down. I have rooted to the Earth and to place. I have practiced sitting on the ground, and improved my physical body to the point where I can take a nap on the earth and lay there without freezing up or my hips becoming sore. Most of all, I have learned to stop asking permission from others, even myself. I choose to take it. I don’t need to ask. You don’t need to ask, to take care of, nurture, and explore the gifts that nature intended for you to have. That are inside of you. That I have pushed down and denied and suppressed. You don’t need a consent form to love yourself. It turns out my main coping mechanism is also oppressing my inner voice; I have known it was destructive, but I have been too afraid to look at it. I chose to address some other stuff first. Now I am ready, and it seems to be opening a door to a new path. One where I choose to be myself, no matter what.
Dreaming New
4/26/19
Healing from a mental illness requires a long journey in what we call ‘acceptance of the illness’. At least it did for me. For me, there was a lot of grief, shame, and anger/rage that needed to be addressed and worked through. There was also trauma from the catastrophic events that surrounded hospitalizations and diagnosis. So right there, from the beginning, there was a lot working against me on the road through recovery. Two of the most important decisions and commitments that I made during this long road of acceptance, while taking my medication as well as being fully committed to a medication regime, and taking full accountability for my actions. Taking medications sounds simple enough, and it is if you are committed to doing what is right, but for many people this continues to be a battle that goes on year after year, as they do not fully accept treatment in this way, and time and again refuse medication for whatever reason. For these people, the road through healing, recovering, and living in wellness with mental illness remains elusive, and they rarely begin. Taking responsibility for one’s actions also involves reclaiming “choice”, and resolving to choose moment to moment and day to day, and to proactively deal with crisis while practicing resilience and reclaiming hope over one’s situation.
So years and years pass. We are on the path of recovery. We take our meds, and hopefully, eventually, accept therapy or counseling to aid us in dealing what can feel like insurmountable grief, sadness, failure, resentment, anger, shame, and rage about all that has happened to us and around us because of our illness. Slowly, we begin to learn to take care of our bodies, as the body and mind are connected and one. Basic wellness not only involves physical health, but also involves us learning or relearning the basic skills of life. Hygiene, basic chores like cleaning house and doing laundry, working a simple job and keeping it despite reoccurring symptoms and episodes, social integration or making friends regardless of the fact that we don’t feel like we know who we are post-diagnosis, are among our many challenges. And, all the while, we are working over and over, harder and harder, at accepting the illness. We must accept who we have become; our lot in life. We must learn to accept disability, and learn to live with stigma. We must learn to not hate ourselves for what we might perceive as weakness. Maybe we will even learn through the process of accepting our illness, that what we thought of as weakness has brought us strength. We might learn to love ourselves more for enduring hardship, becoming strong through the struggle, and gaining wisdom. But this is just the beginning. Decades may pass, and did for me. Decades of continuing to take my pills, getting my blood drawn, attending Psychiatry and Therapy appointments, trying to do chores despite symptoms, trying to exercise despite symptoms and side effects, dieting despite the weight gain and continual weight gain side effects, trying to drink less and learn to cope with the pain and grief instead of bottling it up; just trying to get by somewhat normally despite my truly extraordinary situation.
During those decades, I was continually working at healing. I was constantly working at improving my health both physically and mentally, as well as building resilience, regaining hope, and redefining what I had learned to accept as total and utter failure at life. I reframed these negative thoughts. I found purpose. I learned about self love. Though, as it is true with anyone who has dealt with a major health obstacle in life, we learn that the path is never ending. There is always more to learn about self-love and self-acceptance. There is always another layer or habit to pick away at, quit, or build up. We are constantly making discoveries about ourselves, and how to heal and improve. We are constantly rediscovering or inventing our identity, healing even older and deeper layers of trauma, and finding undiscovered dreams. I am at that place in life now. I am learning to dream again. A key, I believe, is not feeling attached to old dreams that I discarded, but discovering the new; discovering who I am now. Because I am changed. All of this, all of the deep mud that we mental health consumers have slogged through, all of the healing that has taken place, it has changed us. It is time to dream new. It is time to rediscover what dreaming is all about, and what it feels like to pursue these dreams and truly believe in ourselves no matter where we have been, what we have seen, how old we are, or any physical obstacle. I look forward to thoroughly engaging in this next phase of healing, living, and becoming who I am truly meant to be.
Author Bio: Emily LeClair Metcalf is the author of “Glass Slippers: A Journey of Mental Illness” (Dog Ear Publishing), and currently writes on her Blog, www.welcometothegrit.com about her spiritual, creative, and healing experience while living with Schizoaffective Disorder - Bipolar Type. She lives on Lopez Island, WA.
““Real Simple”"
5/3/19
I read recently that when a person suffers with illness, the best thing they can do is simplify their life. There is no shame in this. I, myself, resisted this for many years. I pushed myself to work for a sense of purpose, and so that I would feel like I was making a valid contribution to me and my partner’s collective existence. At the time, this was very important to me. My twenties was spent working jobs, going to school, and attempting to recover to the point that I one day would find myself in an actual career. That in the ”future”, I would be able to support my partner. My hopes were that I would become a major fiscal contributor to our lives, and that we would attempt to get ahead in life. We borrowed money to buy a house, and I chose to become a massage therapist and gave up being an early childhood teacher. I trained as a mental health peer counselor as well. But at the age of 27, after giving success what I felt like was a final shot, I found my illness taking a hard grip on my life, as I was hospitalized for a psychotic break once again. So I simplified. I moved to Lopez, focused on exercise, and got a simple part time job as an assistant teacher at a daycare, as this is what I knew. I continued painting, I wrote children’s music, and eventually found myself writing once again; starting my blog “Welcome to the Grit” in 2014. In 2012 I started going to church. I moved on from childcare, and got an office job at the local visitor’s center. I sold tacos at the farmer’s market with my husband. I played a little rock and roll with a friend. I also continued to party every now and then, and continued to spend time at the local watering hole as this was where my partner worked. When you are married to the restaurant business for two decades, it is a hard habit to break. In 2016, both me and my husband found ourselves pressed hard against a wall. 2015 was a final push with the taco business, as well as his job and mine, which were both extremely stressful during the busy tourist season here in the San Juan Islands. Steve had been having trouble on his feet for a few years, and needed major surgery. I pushed myself too hard and found myself having my fourth major psychotic break, though I avoided the hospital due to an amazing support network in this small community, and my family. Steve was facing disability, and my disability was showing its face after lying dormant for many years.
Due to lack of money, giving up work, and living on disability, we were forced to majorly simplify our lives. Though we could no longer afford to eat out, shop, travel, or go to the bar, all of these things eventually revealed themselves as excess. I finally gave up drinking, Steve quit smoking for his surgery, and we found ourselves together in our long narrow modular home, playing cards all winter long. Life has evolved over these last few years, as it is now 2019. We have had to rely on family support for housing and transportation, as well as “extra” expenses such as removing a large tumor on our dog, Bruce, and we are blessed to have this support. We both started a healing journey that is still a major part of our lives today. My twentieth high school reunion came and went; I did not attend. I turned forty the other day. I self-published a book on mental illness about a year ago with the help of the community and my family. I have continued writing for this blog, as well as a few poems. I have a second manuscript, though I have needed a little time to recover and assess the journey of publishing my first book, and the energetic birth that ensued due to accomplishing that. Though writing is important to me and a big part of who I have become, and what I plan on moving ahead with, my focus remains on simplifying my life even further. I prefer to watch what I eat, go to the gym, and strengthen and build bonds within family. Now that I spend almost all of my time at home, and on this beautiful property on Lopez Island, I care deeply about maintaining this place. A strong sense of place nurtures a strong sense of simplicity in life. I have slowed and grounded with the earth over these last few years. I have had a lot of time for reflection, and have also needed this time to put the pieces back together, adjust to new medications, strengthen my wellness practices, and dig deeper into healing the wounds of my past. I have examined and adjusted my relationships with spirituality and identity. I discovered that being willing to be uncomfortable and ask uncomfortable questions shows the true strength of process, and a willingness to grow, change and heal. Most of all, a willingness to accept and cultivate a sense of simplicity, truly understanding that less is more and good enough is best, I am finding myself rounding a curve where I can dream once again. In my gratitude and acceptance of the way things are, I am finding courage to dream, to reach, to change. Bless you on your journey, of self discovery, of spirituality, of pain and suffering, or humbleness in the joy; wherever you are at this moment.
Weaving Health
5/10/19
The green is almost too vibrant to process. So much beauty surrounds us this May in the islands. It is easy to forget about all of the politics and climate crises, gun violence and racial discrimination in the world. I find it valuable to pay attention, and also valuable to be able to relax and be in nature. Perhaps I will even allow my mind and body to relax to the point of blissful forgetfulness. Not ignorance, not unconsciousness, just being one with the human animal that I am, and sorting through my thoughts, as well as allowing my emotions to bleed naturally from my body to the point where I find mindlessness and true relaxation.
Of course, I have the added help of a new anxiety medication. I asked for this because in my efforts to cut back on smoking, I found myself commonly in a state of anxiety. Luckily, as these symptoms sprouted, I was only a week away from seeing my Psychiatrist, who was more than willing to intelligently adjust my medication to my current needs. I also have had continued issues with interrupted sleep, so hopefully this new anxiety medication, as well as a slight uptick in another medication I take, will help me sleep better.
As a mental health consumer, it is important to constantly remember and remind ourselves that the medications are working for us, not against us. They are here to help us and aid us on our paths of recovery. It is so tempting to resist this readily available help, because we are surrounded by a culture that leans toward becoming more natural, trying natural remedies or therapies over medications, and the leaning in this direction seeming to be the more enlightened, progressive path. This can be true, and I do see a naturopath that recently prescribed a probiotic treatment in place of antibiotics for an issues I was having. In this case, taking a gentle systemic approach to my treatment seemed to make the most sense. But it is important to remember that taking medications can also be the gentle solution to our delicate beings, as experiencing and suffering with symptoms such as anxiety, mania, depression, compulsive behavior or psychosis, ultimately ends up being and feeling very violent. I am no expert, but I believe, and have always believed that there is a balance to western medicine and wholistic or herbal remedies, and that there is definitely room for both in our world. Years ago, I learned and wrote about, how allowing for both of these systems to marry and compliment each other was being coined as “The New Medicine”. Specifically, marrying western technologies with eastern philosophies. But, I believe this is just one narrow way to describe what “The New Medicine” could actually be. On one hand this looks like western medicine opening their minds to all of the amazing discoveries of more “natural” practitioners, but it is more so the seamless working together of both systems. Mental health psychiatry is one of the best examples of this, I believe, probably because it affects my life so significantly, but also because in treating the mental health consumer, psychiatrists are required to look at the whole life of the person, and essentially ends up applying very wholistic practices to a diagnostically specific circumstance. At least it is thus in the best case scenarios where the consumer is getting accurately prescribed and treated.
Back to this amazing community I live in, I found myself flowing with the day and having several synchronistic and serendipitous moments; wandering through the village on my usual route of errands. I can feel the definite birth this May is bringing, not just with the plants, trees and flowers, but with the people that I cohabitate with in this often sleepy island community. It is like we are constantly weaving and reweaving our lives together without being completely aware all of the time of this process. And then one day, things just slip into place or feel like home, and you do not even know how you achieved it or arrived there. Medicine can be like this as well, as we marry all of the various treatments and therapies we receive into our full and complex person. We are made of thoughts, dreams, cells, atoms, biological systems, bacterial environments, a soul, our philosophies and our psychology. What is beautiful, is when we have nurtured these various elements, and then the lines eventually become blurry as we sit back and just take in the mindlessness, the awareness, the relaxation, and the healing.
Vein of Existence
5/21/19
There are a lot of things to absorb in life. We are all porous. We can be sponges to people’s grief and sadness, we can be affected by their paranoia, their pain. So, we must learn to cope. Some of us turn to spirituality, some of us turn to the Earth, some of us turn to family and friends, whom we know we can trust to be observant and nonjudgemental as we unfold with them. A lot of us spend time alone. Existing on this planet, we learn to cope. It is imperative that we learn to cope in healthy ways.
Addictions come from being sensitive. Other mental illness can be a result of this as well. The world can be an unforgiving place, and so we suffer. We feel misunderstood, we become isolated, either in our outer worlds, or within our psychology. We talk of healing, but what does that mean? How do we find a place that we can call home, that we can be ourselves, and that we can exist untethered?
Today, I went for a swim in the Puget Sound. I was out bobbing in the gentle current and subtle waves. In my mind, I discussed the possibility of coming in contact with an octopus or a whale, but as I floated there, and swam along, I settled in the comfortableness of my experience. Those fears are pretty bazaar. And it always feels like the world is shouting its opinions, about how one should be safe, instilling fear in our every move. Why do people think that what I am doing is any of their business? Because they own the beach, or have some controlling opinion about nesting birds that may or may not be there? I have found, that if you just press on, and learn to ignore the voices of fear and dissent, it can be possible to be free. Faith keeps you moving along, like a willowy rubber band, and you squish and bend and let it all just pass by, like the current around your body.
I have found that there are helpful voices and messages that follow me around, also. I tend to give these voices the name of ‘angel’, and I try to listen when the heed their advice, because it keeps them coming around. But you must be in touch with yourself, you must have an inner instinct. And the tapes and programming of the ego, or in other words the devil, can be like a bad cough that you just cannot shake. Relaxation, accepting entropy, embracing chaos, and loving the weird, the new, and the awkward are just a few things you can do to avoid the fate of the chronic narcissistic egomaniac. Yes, that sounds pretty harsh, but our society is littered with them. Then, the sometimes not so sure, absorb their fear like the plague and continue to spread that vein of existence. So, we may be porous creatures, but we have a choice in life. We can choose down which vein to travel. We can choose what to listen to, we can choose what we embrace, what to trust and follow. Find the soft inner voice within you. Believe it is good. Then move forward.
Butterfly
5/23/19
“In chaos theory, the butterfly effect is the sensitive dependence on initial conditions in which a small change in one state of a deterministic nonlinear system can result in large differences in a later state.
"Chaos" is an interdisciplinary theory stating that within the apparent randomness of chaotic complex systems, there are underlying patterns, constant feedback loops, repetition, self-similarity, fractals, self-organization, and reliance on programming at the initial point known as sensitive dependence [on initial conditions].”
-Wikipedia
I my opinion, this latter definition of chaos lends to the proof, that we as a species, who are innately, biologically, and subconsciously linked to the planet, contain an inner intelligence, if we tap into it. Like the third eye; represented in the fact that horses and dogs have much larger third eyes, communicate this way. This also leads me to believe that plants and animals are more conscious of their connection to the planet (birds, dogs, wolves, deer, trees), and they govern this planet very intelligently. The planet we call home, acts as a chaotic and intelligent being. Though nature seems to flow, and grow, naturally to entropy, we witness how life and existence, on ‘her’ surface, is constantly coming back into balance. Humans not being aware and respectful of their “sensitive dependance” results in what we deduce as major imbalances. Women with eating disorders, greedy politicians, plastic in our oceans; these all are examples of us being out of balance. (Most likely caused by the ego, or what some refer to as evil.) But don’t you think that there is a solution that mother Earth has in store for us? The best way to heal our planet, is to awaken to our sensitive dependance, open up to our awarenesses, slow down, heal, and speak to the animals and mother nature. To communicate with the system, fractals and programming that is already in place. Remember, it is a law, so it applies to electrical currents, lava flow, wifi and 5g, even what we think of as man-made or radioactive elements, I believe. Plan B… that is trusting that these monster storms, political crises, the extinction of species, and the melting of our ice, is just a give into entropy that will maturely and intelligently become resolved over time.
My vision was of another butterfly. Though Spider lives here, and is a symbiotic species to our planet, Earth is really just a butterfly. And she may not seem like it to the beginning astronomer, but we are moving through space looking for a mate. She is hunting a mate. This was what my sensitivity, third eye, sensitive dependance, showed me. The butterfly effect, as you can see in the diagram, is anything but linear. It relies on chaos theory, which by design appears as fractals. Time folds in on itself.
The other day, I discovered that there is a cluster of stars visible from Earth called the Butterfly Cluster. Perhaps our sensitive dependance, led us to name this cluster that, because that is where the butterfly we are seeking lives. The positive to our negative. Which brings me back to creativity. Being creative is the most nurturing form of healing there is. Be it cooking, sex, painting, writing, building, fixing cars and old machinery. It is a relationship. Finding a creative outlet, finding time in your day to express your inner creature, let it out, may result in one being able to communicate with the web, the matrix, the butterfly effect of our home. And remember, making copies of something is the epitome of the wrong way to go. Though we learn through imitation, we must remember we are all different for a reason. In doing these things, you are helping. First you are helping yourself, then, you are helping our existence as a whole.
The Glass Crutch
5/24/19
Sustain - [Verb]
To bear, support, carry, keep up, prop up, shore up, reinforce.
Substantiate - [Verb]
To prove, give substance to, verify, authenticate, endorse, validate.
Subserve - [Verb]
Promote, encourage, foster, cultivate, nourish, nurture, boost.
I have often referred to my disability as the glass shoe, or the glass slipper. To me this implies that I am delicate, sensitive, and gifted. The glass slipper invokes thoughts of fairy tales and magical wonderlands. I visit these magical wonderlands with my gift of being sensitive or psychic. Though, we all know that fairy tales and magical wonderlands have evil witches, dangerous plots, and risky adventures within. I have made an attempt to embrace this “lens” through which I perceive life, because if I don’t, the shadows become pressed and condensed, and turn into nightmares or in-flesh sin and evil.
I write about and promote my mental illness in a healing way, and I describe my gifts in the terms of creativity and spirituality. Everyone is capable of, or burdened by these things, and creativity and spirituality are interchangeable, and lead to healing. Often what we perceive as function and achievement, is making something hidden or suppressing what is inside, and as long as we fear and resist any and all symptoms, fantasies, errors, or mistakes, we avert creativity in our lives, and fail at truly making a mark in human evolution, or contributing authentically to nature and society’s quilts.
My man, uses a cane, and is re-learning how to walk and function physically after a debilitating spinal surgery. The term Glass Crutch, borrowed from a Loretta Lynn song, got me thinking about the fact that his cane consists of similar embodiments as my glass slipper. That there is magic in his cane, and beauty in his disabled-ness. Very quickly, the magical crystal cane can become an evil crutch, if not reinforced, validated and nurtured. Just the way that mentally-ill folks can end up in jail, or alcoholics can become homeless. People who suffer with addiction, may have glass canes or crutches, and people with psychological disorders may have glass shoes, but we are all the same; supplementally sensitive, and thus gifted. We actually have increased opportunity to open the gates to our creativity and spirituality, and to become healers and artists. Maybe you prefer a different metaphor. Maybe you have an emerald music box, a golden hammer, a silver paintbrush, or an egg spun out of the finest sugar and color. Whatever the “metaphor”, tool, or gift that you choose to use, see your challenge as an opportunity, always. Lean into the trouble. Walk toward the annoying and loud person. Embrace the trigger. Accept your sin.
Perhaps if we use these three words: Sustain, Substantiate, and Subserve… we can proactively change our own lives through reinforcing, validating, and nurturing others and our world. Remember through action, service, and balancing our karmic debts, we are making the world a better place. Embrace the connection and the confusion. Be all that you are; no more and no less. Trust the universe, as it draws you into her shadows. There is fertile knowledge and opportunity to be had on her dark moist breast.
The Kraken
5/30/19
She Spoke. She lifted her head from the waters in the Salish Sea. I believe it was May 28th, in the darkness of the night, 2019, Lopez Island, Washington State, The United States of America, planet Earth, the Milky Way Galaxy. She is an ancient creature. The Greeks know of her, and Hollywood even made a movie titled “The Clash of the Titans” where she starred in a scene. Of course, this movie was filled with violence and was computer simulated. Perhaps she hid for a couple thousand years. The wounds from the human race too much to bear. It is unbelievable, that even in this place that I call home, where Ferries travel, where we have a utility company, where we do road work, that such a creature could live beneath the waters. That literally thousands of people could travel above the Earthly location where she hides ,every summer, on their tourist vacations from the cities.
It brings me right back to the miraculousness of the nature of Earth. That there is so much still, that we do not understand. That we should give a little more credence to our predecessors, and the myths that keep us afloat in the recesses of our imaginationS. The Greek myths, the adventures in the Bible, the wisdoms of Thoreau and Emerson. A book by Thomas Moore, “The Care of the Soul” writes of the soul, examining the healing powers of the ancient myths of the Greeks and Romans. This book is very helpful in finding a wholistic approach to healing. Mental health is the beginning. I think we should start here, with our minds. With our imagination, our Rage, nightmares, and dreams.
I could’ve told myself, convinced myself, that it was not She that reared her head in the dark, quiet waters, on a night in 2019. But is was she. I only witnessed the sound, because I believe. Because I allow expansion of my mind, and wonder, to fill my life. I do not want to live life in a prison. I do not want Science, Art or Religion to put me there. And the triangular cycle is spinning. Of course there is no up, there is no down. Nothing technically can or should be upside down. The place we call home is round, and we collectively understood this truth around 15th century, it seems, at least this is how far back we can track this knowledge, in our text books, in our daily provable realities. But Copernicus and Galileo, still were understanding something that we can now prove that the Babylonians had in their grasp in Mesopotamia; what we call the birth of civilization, like 30,000 years ago or something. Anything is possible. We, first, and foremost, need to understand this, if we want to break free of our viscous illness, which is just a cycle, a rut that we perpetuate out of ignorance. Basic geometry starts with a point, then a line, then a shape, and so on and so on, like letters in an alphabet, like elements on a periodic table, like plants and moons in our solar system. But, what if some have been forgotten. What if we are holding back. Because people are suffering. How can we run ahead with space travel while humans starve. One reality negates the other. Because the definition of evolution leads the to conclusion that we as a species have kicked it up a notch. Not just Bezos and Paul Allen. Not just Trump and Putin. Not just an actress on a sitcom, or your rich annoying parents. How many dimensions are there? How high can you count?
Just Plain Shit
5/31/19
I heard that life was a game. Is it a fair game? No? So why would anyone want to even play. Oh, they might if they are fooled into believing something selfish and egoic that just keeps them running along.
I have to apologize. I need to apologize to Steve. I need to apologizing for sticking in it with you through a dead end mismanaged job for ten years, while I watched you deteriorate into a blaming and badgering alcoholic. While I picked you up off the floor dozen’s of time’s and pleaded to you to not go to work. I carried him from bar to car, from car to house, literally, night after night, praying we would make it up the stairs alright. And yes, I did get angry sometimes. I was scared. But, after I put him to bed, we would wake another day, and he would go back. To the only place we had to survive. To the place that was killing him. We were grateful.
The burden became increasingly hard to bear, as we watched my parents continue to judge us very harshly, telling us that they would never rent to people like us. Telling me I need a fucking degree to put in a garden. Watching as my sister and her family completely took over the only sanctuary I have known in my entire life, and returned to after many breakdowns, just so I could find my way after yet another psychotic death. It was all ripped away, and on top of that, they continued to fail to notice the suffering we endured. Every now and then they would praise us for making a few thousand dollars selling tacos, always wanting to check in about that specific fact. Money is what we are most afraid of in my family. Money and transparency.
Funny that should be, when you have more than enough to survive. That even when a man that I known this community to be extraneously wealthy, refers to wanting some of my Dad’s. Maybe it is a lie. I don’t fucking know what they have. I also don’t know anything about a ten year affair that seems to never have happened. At least I know this. There is no possible way those issues have been dealt with. And then I hear myself say, don’t go there. But I am. I am going to go there. I just want to know what really happened. To Steve, To my mom, to myself. This is what is causing trouble.
The thing is we all need to blow off steam. We are in such denial, repression, that we just dance around like clowns in our gangs, till we form a big enough group where we can then organize to collectively project our issues, often onto a small more helpless individual or subset. It’s fun though right? It is like you are getting more power, you think you are setting yourself up for success, by tearing the fabric of our society, individuals, who have hearts and feelings, just shoved deeper into their holes.
And, this morning, I find myself being accused of doing this. I just have to say, if you choose to blame, that is your choice. That is your suicide. We get so freaked out by the word suicide. But, we are responsible for our actions. If you are, you might understand that not making a phone call at the right time, stepping out in front of a bus, burning your last bridge, following or not following Doctor’s orders (It really depends these days), may all lead to your death. Just because it doesn’t look like suicide, doesn’t mean it is not. So if you are in a group, gathered with like minds, I hope you are doing something with that collective energy. Or did you forget your own issues, your own rage, your own abandonment, and then just cut out someone’s heart. Holy shit! We are all actually doing this every single day! Did you know that you were a cruel and evil human being? I am. If you want, I will tell you all the wrongs things I have done to hurt people. I try to feel those wounds. That is the only way I really know. But if you are going to lie to me when I ask you for forgiveness, then all of a sudden that blame falls on you.
And then I find myself, stuck in the conundrum that every child of a family faces at some point in their life. That my parents pattern is my pattern. I become the abusive raging alcoholic that is spreading abuse. Become the character that has money that does not share. I become the adulteress, I become the one that is taking precious attention away from my older sister on her first mothers day where they didn’t even include my partner, or on her wedding, where Steve and I slaved, not able to participate or be guests. But it is all so convenient. No body really notices. Yes, I am mentally ill. I lost trust and respect long ago. We all know you never recover those things. If you believe this then you are part of my problem. Because saying there is no forgiveness, just stuck me in my hole. Right where every bully that abused me along the way, right where they want me, as well. Good job. Or should I say, maybe I was wrong in thinking that we should remember. Forgetting is much simpler. Then we can just walk off into the future, put ourselves in our little simulation boxes, and go completely numb. I don’t think you are numb, totally numb, yet. Usually, I am able to find some sort of doorway in. A little while ago I told myself, I need to stop caring about so many people and just focus on Steve and my Mom. Turns out I just discovered that there is no way in. So I am stuck Between Steve’s 50 foot cement wall barrier, and Two 50 foot wall barriers on my mother’s side. Forever indebted to a life of ignorance, denial, and just plain shit.
So I am grateful for this shit. Once again, I will attempt to grow flowers. And I am sorry. I am truly sorry when and where I harmed you. It really sucks to have a black untrusting heart. If you that are out there that are reading this know how this feels, then you know too what I am talking about. Yes, it is annoying when the helpless person chants ”Nobody Cares” over and over again, or when you are triggered by another black heart. Sometimes we can find kinship and metaphor, and just occasionally, a person will come along that may bring some sort of comfort and shine a little light on the black stone inside of you, that they relate to as well, and that can be beautiful if you look at it just right.
TRIGGER WARNING
5/31/19
Ever seen this? This is something we do on Social Media now, so that we can talk about Mental Health Trauma safely. What is a trigger? A Trigger is something that causes you to react in a biased fashion. It is like all of a sudden, you can’t think properly. You can’t do your job properly. It most likely makes you angry. Some people freeze.
Bias, is basically making an assumption. Deciding that what is in front of you, or presenting itself as a situation, while in a triggered state, is not going to work, so you then actually choose to shut down your brain, and to operate in a lower consciousness, that resides in what we like to call Lizard Brain.
You then choose to defend the lizard inside of you. Still, what feels important, is that you are unable to change the course of your behavior. What becomes scary, or destructive, to yourself and others, is that this poor, definitely non-mammalian part of your brain, which is where all of your shame, grief and rage is stored (not sure of my brain physiology), tends to lash out. It tends to become combative, and it also can refuse to perform certain tasks. When I say I do not know my brain physiology, I am specifically talking about what part of the brain performs the function of grief, rage, and shame. Respectfully, I am going to guess that it is this “mysterious” fascia, that we have been unable to define the function of, could actually be what we are calling Lizard Brain.
We can make is sound pretty. Like it is full of rainbows. We can assign greek terminology to it so that we conceptualize it as a philosophical concept. We can look at a couple of simple curvy lines, call it the subconscious, and even make it a communal space. This kinda sounds like we are all holding a meeting there, or what on Lopez Island, we like to call a circle where we “hold space”. Man, wouldn’t that be cool if you could actually hold space? To me it feels a little to light.
Anyway, for those of us that do experience triggering, I feel I can supply a couple helpful tools that will enable both you, and me, to not perpetuate the cycle of what we call PTSD. If you continue to practice this behavior of bias, then you are choosing to exasperate the trauma experience in you life. If you hold onto the anger that you got in touch with, when you paid a visit to this communal room in your very own mind, you are choosing to assign this behavior trend to various initial conditions in your life. You may say something like “That person triggers me.” This is a false statement. All that is true is that you remember that at one point in time that person’s behavior in a certain moment caused a little spark in the trauma center of your brain. So why are you trapped there? Why does it feel like we can’t get out? But most importantly, why are we choosing to remain trapped there?
If I have learned anything from my experience living with mental illness for over twenty years, seeing doctors, getting intimate with peers, it that we are actually choosing what out brains do in every moment. In severe cases like PTSD, and countless other diagnoses, that is the crucial apex of discomfort. We believe we don’t have a choice. We feel so trapped in our triggered mental state, that we actually end up giving up our right and ability to choose. We surrender to a mean force, and literally jump ship from our own life, ability to be conscious, and the pursuit of our own happiness and dreams. All we need to do to get better, is focus on choice. That in every second of every day, we are choosing, to make our brains and bodies work. You are sending a command. From somewhere inside of you, you are operating ‘ship self’.
There is another way we jumpstart our brain. No, it is not with electrical shock therapy. That may have done some good, or that may have definitely done harm in my opinion, because we are very sensitive organisms. We can jumpstart our hearts this way, but I don’t think we should do this to the brain. What you do is accept little traumas, which give you the opportunity to practice choice, whilst actively participating in getting yourself out of this damaging feedback loop. You have to try to be courageous. You have to try to forgive. You have to try and be brave. And most importantly, forgive yourself for believing, or allowing yourself to believe, that you, not 7 billion people, struggle with this every day. It is literally a bias. It is giving a label to something. Not calling it by its name, no, that is the opposite of bias. When we define something specifically, it does not need a label. It has it’s very own individual name that belongs only and specifically to it. Because,
if you know a demon’s name, you vanquish it. If you are biased against something, you are making an uneducated guess. You are reacting. Then there you are, in your less conscious brain, making decisions about not just your own life, but other’s as well.
Werewolf Wonder
6/8/19
I am a shapeshifter. I have a moon in my third eye. No, it is not the size of peanut. It the size of a milk dud. I do not have a spirit animal. I see all animals. I am one with Daath, Mother Earth.
I have a mental illness, it is call Schizoaffective Disorder. Schizo means when something has a split down the middle, (check out the OSHO oracle card, ‘Schizophrenia’, 2 of clouds, Zen Tarot). This image portrays what we feel like as Schizo patients, whether it is Schizophrenia, Schizoaffective - Depressive Type, or Schizoaffective - Bipolar Type. We are here. We speak for the gap in human consciousness. We are your spirit warriors. We are the Bhodisatvas of the Western World. We live, we see, we fight, we survive, and we bear the burden of all y'all.
So, my mission, as a writer, and a mental health advocate, is to educate the human race on what this feels and looks like. (Thank you, OSHO, and the artist who drew this image that describes schizo tendencies so well.) Speaking of Art, and describing my experience within the journalistic properties of painting, this hobby has helped me immensely on my journey to basic health. Using colors, and abstraction, to describe my inner experience, allowed me to put voice to my visions, and to learn that I do have the skill of Sight. This is what the third eye is for.
Similar the the Vampire, which I believe is an ancient myth describing co-dependency, and how we suck the life out of fellow humans with ESP, clairvoyance, and clairsentience; in an actually evil and destructive manner, the werewolf, however, is a myth describing beauty and positivity, that explores sacrifice, and the act of seeing through the eye of animal Frey, and thus helping to bridge the gap between the human and animal world. Did we forget we were animals?
And then, once we transition, lift the veil, become transparent, and allow the animal kingdom Frey to have voice, we approach the Kingdom of They. They, know the language of the Trees, Plants, Rocks, Organisms, Dimensions, and Alien worlds, which are very much alive, and exist here with us always. They have Identity, Voice, Language, History and Knowledge.
I believe, that this is the healing power of Werewolf; perhaps, once again, we find that there is wisdom, requisite, ancient knowledge, story, and crucial direction to be found in fairy tales, myths, and nightmares that exist with us still today.
Water, Air, Fire, Matter
6/17/19
I have found that there are four types of gifts that the human capacitates, just as there are four forces of nature on Earth and in the Tarot.
One of the gifts, special powers, that us psychics portain is Clairaudience/water. My partner, Steve, has this skill, as well as one of my closest friends. In the harsh psychoanalytic world in which we live in, you might label them with multi-personality disorder, however, they and I, are blessed to live in a community, and a world, where we are allowed to accept our gifts without the persecution that the cage of American society can and does lead to. Clairaudience, is when you can literally hear beyond what is audible. Water, being both the most destructive force, as well as the most healing force in this known world, is what these people know. It is what they communicate with. Again, calling our skills a gift, rather than an illness, and better understanding the force of nature with which we are communing, will hopefully help us find inner-balance, equilibrium, achieve basic-health, as well as lead us toward the path of love and of finding god.
Another gift is Clairvoyance/air. This is wind, air, gas. This gift resembles the ability to borrow thought from other human beings, recapitulating the concept that we are one organism. We read eachother’s thoughts, we “hear” voices. This is not the same thing as audio-hallucination. It is possible to be present with reality, and to simultaneously hear other’s thoughts, prayers, and ideas. As a communal organism, we operate intelligently, like trees in the forest, ethos being the wind which teaches us and guides usl, whilst weaving our separate bodies into one large, fierce, and loving organism. We are not the only species that does this. Amphibians, insects, birds, reptiles, mammals, both large and small. Then, we join and weave into larger ecosystems, and eventually a planet as a whole.
We have all heard of something called the “Food Chain”. I believe, that there is no such thing as a food chain or a social pyramid. Mostly, because one organism exsanguinates, and thus bleeds into another, whether you are speaking of gut flora, mushrooms, tiny worms, or entire micro/macro-climates. I do not believe in the term "Native Species”, either. We are all native. None of us are alien to eachother, because we communicate and operate as one. If we forget that we are connected, we can lose touch with our gifts, aka psychic abilities; lose eachother, and become isolated and alone. Also, if our abilities, or gifts, become out of balance, we can lose touch with ourselves. This is when we will identify with the term Alien or Non-Native.
Clairsentience/fire, which I attribute to fire, microwaves, and radiation, is another human gift that we have. Clairsentience, is when you touch something, energize with the living energy of a physical place or object, have sensation in your body, and concurrently know something. I believe, I can channel and communicate with electrical current. My strengths lie with this ability. Alternatley, I have learned that I need to quiet my Clairvoyance, because if I get lost in my Clairvoyance, I lose my ability to manage my Clairsentience safely and healthily, while staying grounded in reality. I also rely on psychiatric medication to keep me balanced, safe, and grounded in this world.
Clairbondage/matter, I attribute to matter, earth, atoms/bondage. I do understand matter to some degree. I can communicate with rocks, and I believe that they are living organisms. But is that technically matter, then? Perhaps so, however, I rather believe that I am speaking of actual inanimate, physical objects. Desks, chairs, tables, cups, pens, keys, rings. I believe humans that have this gift, can actually put their energy into an object, hence putting their life force into what we think of as inanimate things. Perhaps these folks have a special ability to speak and communicate with the spirit world, as ghosts and spirits live in our objects. That is why we give the objects that we worship faces, so that we can bring homage and respect to our ancestors, to those who have come before us, and to not lose the truth that we know in the deepest recesses of our minds and spirits. Clairsentience/fire people, can find grounding in Clairbondage/matter people.
I believe that I am mostly Clairsentient (fire), and so I rely heavily on the healing, chilling, and warming properties of water for my therapy and journey of seeking balance. My husband, Steve, is Clairaudient (water), and needs Clairbondage (matter), to find something to flow through and to make contact with, in order to achieve balanced Clairvoyance (air). He is afraid of water, does not like to get wet, or chilled, and is unable to swim because he sinks. As a Clairaudient (water), he needs Clairbondage (matter), in order to heal his excessive (out of balance) Clairsentient (fire) abilities.
And that is all for now. Please assign me poetic license, I am a creative non-fiction writer, documenting my healing process, while living with Schizoaffective Disorder -Bipolar Type. The journey and purpose of my blog, is to solve the mystery of mental illness and to help others like me.
The Rhythm of Illness
6/19/19
My episodes have always followed a predictable seasonal pattern. Imbolg, beginning February 1st, I will begin to feel the tilt of the earth and the shift toward the light. Between February 1st and April 1st, has been the usual manic time of year for me. I was diagnosed as Bipolar One from about 2002 to about 2007, and took Depakote as my regular medication from about 1997-2006. I asked to get off of this medication because it caused me PCOS, which began to show up as chin hair when I was 22. Then in 2007, I spent over three months, in a psychotic state, which qualified me for what was then a somewhat new diagnosis, Schizoaffective Disorder. There were three major factors that contributed to this episode, the first one having been switched to Lithium. I allowed a family member to interfere with my psychiatry regime, as they had heard, while actually knowing very little, that Lithium was the new best thing in Bipolar meds. At the time, I was enrolled in a college program for the third time in my life, (not including many attempts at accruing credits in community college), which itself generally leads to over-achieving and chronic compulsive behavior related to school. The third major contribution to this psychotic break in 2007, was that what I was studding, was Massage. I had become enraptured with Psychosomatic healing, and was practicing this on my trial patients. I also was receiving massage every day at school, as we would practice on eachother’s bodies, as students.
Over time, I have learned, that what I am good at, is not always good for me. Massage, being one of those things, as I am incredibly sensitive to touch, and I suck poison out of people with little effort. While I was making. an effort to transfer and heal the trauma of my clients, I was not, however, successful in purging the poison, or finding a place to put it. Teaching young children, as my main resume career has been Early Childhood Education, has always felt true to my heart. Not only do I love and adore children, while resonating with early childhood psychology, and working with the young minds and bodies that I have taught, I would find passage into my own early-childhood experience, and find ways to heal areas of pain and trauma from my early-childhood years. Unfortunately, I became frustrated with our Early Childhood Institution here in the States, after attending a couple conferences, and going deeper into my studies, and so I decided to move into the career of Massage. I believed I was ready to try a college program once again, because I had had a couple of stable years, where I did not exhibit episodal behavior in the Spring.
My point, both of these careers involved me tapping my compassionate and empathetic centers, in a way that I had found that I had talent for, but that also exhausted my resources extraneously. Pretty quickly, I learned, “How can I be healer, when I have so much healing yet to do within myself?”
In Massage school, about half way through, I found my self lying in my bed, quickly spiraling into a psychotic state, and feeling every injury and broken bone, that I had experienced in this lifetime. This was a lot, a broken wrist, a broken leg, a mid-spine that I had smashed on the ice over and over again while snowboarding, in attempt to land the table top; which I had never even felt. Sprained wrists, smashed skull, etc. And then, I quickly found myself traveling back into past life experiences. I was a wife, who had had her wrist half-severed with a hatchet, and I was a Roman general, who had been beaten within an inch of his life. I was feeling this actual pain. Whether is was half in my mind and half in my body, it didn’t matter. I felt it and it was excruciating. When it started, in the morning, having come on so rapidly, I just could not get myself to make it to class, and I knew I was never going back, because I had fallen, sunken, and receded into a deep deep hole in my soul’s past.
Now, it is 2019. I had a milder psychotic break in 2016, and I have spent the last three years meditating in my yard and woods, and enduring medication adjustment, after medication adjustment, all the while beginning peri-menopause. However, these last two years, I have begun to reflect further into a premonition that I had during my psychotic break in 2016. I felt a polar chill in the air, coming down from the North. In 2018, I left reality for 4 months, between July and October, though we are calling that experience a Hypo-manic episode. I was able to attend appointments, feed myself, manage meds just fine, and carry on conversations pretty well. I concurrently processed huge amounts of grief, sexual trauma, assault trauma, and rage that was buried very deep, psychosomatically. I am grateful this came out etc, but I had to come back to this world, and in forcing myself to do so, I found myself actually experiencing true suicidal feelings for the first time in my life.
I am sensing that “Winter IS Coming”. If you look at the obvious, and see the world as an Oracle, you will see that about 7 of the 8 billion people on planet Earth are chanting this like an anthem, or at least have seem some airing of The Game of Thrones. What I am observing, is how I used to be very in tune with the seasons, and over the years, these seasonal indications helped me manage my illness better, and to become increasingly stable over time. So yes, it is very much peri-menopause, and turning 40 that has me all out of wack, but I wonder, what are the current patterns with mentally ill people on the rest of the planet, today? We are the gifted, perhaps we speak for the planet. It seems to me, things are in an obvious transition.
White Walkers
7/2/19
Between the Mantel and the Core of planet Earth, live a people that have been there for 27 Trillion years. They are called the Walkers. In our very popular “Game of Thrones” series that is airing all over the planet, these are a species of Zombie that live above the Wall in the North. There are humans that live there, but the White Walkers, have bright blue eyes, and live beyond death. Actually, death and sacrifice, is what makes them who they are.
But the truth to the matter, is that it is not about Ice or Isa. It is about Fire. The Walkers are people of the fire. My husband, whom I love dearly, is a descendant of these peoples, “The Last Walker”. His eyes shine bright blue. I have another friend whose eyes shine like diamonds, yet are blue, and we call him ‘Smoking Dave’. I am not sure about green-eyed people. They may be related, they may be the Fremen, a desert people from the surface, or another type of people that live beyond The Wall.
Stephen, my man, has had many nightmares his life. One is that, at the end of the world, all of the people are dead, and their bodies are lined up, and he must catalogue and remember all of their names. A lucid dream that he has had, is that he spoke to the white goddess. He was not supposed to tell me that, and will not speak of his vision in full. Only, that she is the most frightening being that he has ever encountered. See, that is it. White fire is the hottest.
I speak with the earth. My eyes are brown, my hips wide. I am meant to be here in the forest, speaking to the trees. Steve speaks to, and protects the Spiders. I actually showered with a black widow female in my shower for many months, just to respect his desire to protect the Spiders in the Grainery (red tower), where a very special species of breeding bat live, and thus was our home for the first two and a half years we lived on Lopez Island (2007-2010). It is good to be home, and my language is that of the Trees and the Rocks. Do you have a language? Do you speak to Computers, Cars, People, Lizards, Cats, Bugs, Herbs? Respect your language. Find the root from where you and your being has emerged from this planet that we know very little about.
Remember, the more you know, the more you know you don’t know. It is always a ratio. Any yet, as you expand with your awareness; of yourself, of your nature, of your blood… I promise that you will find connection, belonging, and purpose right here, on this planet, which we call home.
Who, What, Where, When, Why, How and WHICH.
-For Urael, who caught me when I fell from Grace
AIDS
7/8/19
“Discrimination against people with HIV/AIDS or serophobia is the prejudice, fear, rejection and discrimination against people afflicted with HIV/AIDS (PLHIV; people living with HIV/AIDS). Discrimination is one manifestation of stigma, and stigmatizing attitudes and behaviors may fall under the rubric of discrimination depending on the legislation of a particular country. HIV stands for human immunodeficiency virus. If left untreated, HIV can lead to the disease AIDS (acquired immunodeficiency syndrome).[1] HIV/AIDS is a sexually transmitted disease and cannot be cured, but with proper treatment, the individual can live just as long as without the disease.”
-Wikipedia
One of the worst fears that I have ever faced in my life is the fear that I have HIV. I just recalled recently, an early memory when I was on my way to Kindergarten, and we were waiting for my friend Travis Ingle, to come down from his house for carpool, and my mom told me about AIDS. She told me that if I have sex or touch a boy’s privates, that I might be at risk of dying from this very deadly disease. In the Spring of 2016, around my birthday (March 27th), which fell on Easter, I broke completely, and experienced the fourth psychotic break of my life. I remember a point at which I was overrun with total psychotic fear, that I actually had this virus, and was so scared, that I called the NATIONAL crises line. The woman, who told me her name, or the name that she officially uses while helping mental health consumers who are in crises, talked me down from this fear. She told me that I did not have AIDS. She did not question my fears, and she gave me the best advice that I have ever received, which I also quoted in my book “Glass Slippers: A Journey of Mental Illness”, published in 2017.
“Say “I love you” out loud. Maybe you will hear yourself say it. And it will do no harm. If someone else hears it, it may just make them feel at ease as well.” (rephrased to the best of my ability)
It is possible that her name was “Wendy”. It is hard to remember at this point, because, what I stated above, was a very traumatic experience. However, the fear would remain, and I could get triggered into this very frightening mental state just upon someone mentioning AIDS or HIV. Luckily, I believe, by now, approximately three years later, that I have overcome this trigger, just as I have overcome other “trigger fears” in my past, such as the fear of worms, the fear of Steve dying, and the fear of spiders. I thank life circumstance and fate for putting challenging moments in my path, where I have had the opportunity to overcome and challenge fears which I experienced while in a complete psychotic state.
So where does this fear still come from? Am I challenging a deep subconscious reality that is communal on this globe, and still exists today, despite the general scientific understanding that HIV tends to not be a major threat in first world countries? I think medicine is making high leaps. I do not believe in Patient Zero. I have known people with HIV and AIDS, and bless all of their souls today. May they rest in peace forever.
It’s Not Too Late to Be a Voter
7/17/19
Day Six…
“God, grant grant me the Serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the Courage to change the things I can, and the Wisdom to know the difference.- Bob and Bill (The Big Book; Alcoholics Anonymous)
“God grant me Will change the things I can (The Lion), the Heart to forgive what I cannot change (The Tin Man), and the Knowledge to Identify the difference (The Scarecrow and Dorothy).”
-Emily (sort of)
So, Imagine you are traveling back to reality from Oz. First, we say goodby to the Lion, and find our will, then we blow a kiss to the Tin Man, and we feel our heart healing and turning from a tiny small black seed into a fresh new reborn pulsing well of love, and we feel as new like we were when we a happy child…. And even if we hve never known happiness before, we have found it now. We approach meeting up with Glenda the Good Witch, which is our portal home, and we decide to bring the Scarecrow home with us. No, we are not willing to leave our mind behind, and now we have the knowledge we need to navigate ourselves through reality. Glenda waves her wand, we leave our Glass Slippers behind, and we find ourselves in our very own home, with Medicare For All, Bernie Sanders is President, Ana and Cenk are in the Cabinet. Our Parents are alive…
Wait, that is not reality, but it could be, besides our dead parents. Please support your local Progressive Caucus. People, now is the time to register to vote. Maybe you never have, because you are a Felon, and thought you didn’t have that privilege. Maybe you just haven’t gotten along with society until now. But it is not, nor ever too late. Even if you are 45 and you have never turned in a ballet; or seventy or ninety.
Hope is a thing with Feathers that perches in the Soul… Thanks “Trailer Bride” for giving me an anthem. Now, every time I see a feather on the ground, I am reminded that I have hope and resilience.
Find your tool kit. And please, be sure that you vote for someone who also has a toolkit full of skills.
Day Twelve
7/22/19
I am so grateful to be in AA, once again. In 2007, when I was released form Harborview Hospital Psychiatric ward, I attended meetings for one year, and earned a year coin. I had a Sponsor, though I moved away from Seattle when I was working on step three or four, I cannot quite remember. I attended a Women’s Meeting in West Seattle, and a Speaker’s Meeting in that neighborhood, as well. I attended a couple of different Meeting venues on Capitol Hill. I loved AA in Seattle, because there is literally a meeting every day, perhaps even several different times a day, that one can attend if they wish.
When I arrived on Lopez Island, I mostly attended the Women’s meeting on Wednesdays. However, being married to the Restaurant Industry, I found myself sitting daily at a bar while picking up my husband from work, and I started drinking regularly, once again. In the early Fall of 2015, I found myself hitting the ground hard after a maniacal summer of working, drinking, partying, and entertaining, all the while suffering with a ‘broken’ knee and an Ecoli bloom in my gut flora, that had me eating anything but Starch. On my week-long vacation to Seattle in October, I was suffering horribly from this intestinal affliction, and I spent most of my time ill on my friend’s sofa. It was an attempt at rewarding ourselves for all of our hard work, and yet I barely was able to enjoy myself, due to the illness. I overdosed on Marijuana, snorted what I think may have been Meth, and I found myself cheating on my husband, (back here on Lopez). I had two sleepless nights, one on a night flight back from Honolulu in November, and one at an all-night Winter Solstice gathering in December, of which I was sober at throughout the whole night. Sleepless nights are a permanent negative in the Schizoaffective/Bipolar-Type world, thus I was breaking an ancient wellness code.
So, these last three years, that I have spent recovering from my Psychotic Break #4, I have spent more days not drinking than drinking, and when I have been drinking, I have kept it pretty much on the down low. I mostly have not attended the bar, except a handful of times in three years. But this Fourth of July, I found myself suffering with symptoms, much like I did last Summer, and began to start collecting beautiful bottles of fine liquor, and lining them up on the shelf above my bed (They are still there as a reminder.) Drinking shots at 6am of Bushmills, (the two Bushmills bottles are missing), and shouting at the neighbors. I pretty much lost control, and so, twelve days ago, on July Eleventh, one of my most favorite times and numbers of all time, 7-11, I chose to quit, and I committed to start attending meetings. I have been trying to attend my Peer Support (Mental Health) group for a few months now; though everything was definitely on hold while I was on my hard liquor-binge. So, I have four meetings to attend a week, and I am stoked. This is all I want to do.
I have so much yet to learn about the program, Alcoholics Anonymous. I am grateful to this community, and to the wise souls that sit around the table with me. I feel welcomed and heard. So far, I have been honest. It is Anonymous; I may share my life on this Blog transparently, but at a meeting, I am able to share the darkest of moments, of which I can only describe to the world through writing in metaphor and poetry.
Still, those of you that peruse my Blog, are another type of meeting for me. Thank you for helping me to live transparently. I truly believe, that God sees everything, and knows everything: what I say, feel and think; and so telling the world about it is old news. God is one step ahead, always, and I am grateful for His guidance and His witness to my Journey. I just hope that I remember to have Faith, to Pray and to Praise in all of the moments, while never forgetting the compassionate-power of Gratitude and Forgiveness.
Defirmative Action
7/27/19
When I was a child, I went to only Private schools, all the way through High School and on into College. I spent my youth riding around North caucasian Seattle, looking at expensive houses, because my Father was one of the top Brokers in Seattle Real Estate. I spent my after-school time in his offices, or at the Bon Marche and Nordstrom Day Care Centers. I spent my weekends and my school breaks at the Ski Resorts, and flying to Hawaii, and California. Later, starting at age seven, we began traveling Internationally every Spring Break; our first trip was to Japan. My birthday would be spent on an Airplane, and because my mother was a Flight Attendant for United, she would know the staff, and she or they would bring me sundaes from first class, or take me into the cockpit for a view of the Pilots. Often, we would fly first or business class, as we always flew stand-by, and we would spend our long layovers wandering around the airports; Chicago, Denver, Hong Kong, Tokyo. I traveled to… (Let’s see if I can get this in order) Japan, Bali, Thailand, Brazil, Costa Rica, England and Wales, Mexico, Spain, Italy, Thailand, Guatemala, and New Zealand. We spent Christmases in London at the Phantom of the Opera, which I have seen three times, Les Meserables, or whatever other half-price tickets we could get. I have been to Hawaii 17 times, twice before I was 1 year old, and only four times since I was nineteen.
If this isn’t White Privilege, then I don’t know what is. I believe, since we started Affirmative Action more than several decades ago, we have come against ridiculous road blocks in the determination to preserve the systemic white priveledge institution that is in place, all the whilst “inviting” the majority minority in to join us. Did we not know that we were in Hell?? I did! I grew up as a privileged girl, born in 1979, in a small white town, and everything was given to me with ease, with discipline, and inside of glass oppressive walls that were supposed to be rosy, coveted and blessed.
Privilege is not blessed if it is at the cost of the Meek. Jesus had a hope for the Meek to inherit the Earth. But God came first, and God gifted us Free Will, because we deserve to have a Choice, and because it is our Responsibility to transform the World into a place where we look out for our unfortunate brothers and sisters, white and colored alike. Whatever color you are, Red, Orange, Yellow, Green, Blue, Indigo, Purple, Gray or Brown, you may suffer from a disadvantage. However, Caucasian people suffer from this disadvantage as well, and are very poor in many environments; and there is the rule/fact/proof, “number one”, of why Affirmative Action does not work.
We DO NOT WANT to lift the Meek up so they can see over the wall from the vantage point of us privileged folks. No… THIS WILL NOT WORK! Did it? Wake up… we need to tear down the privilege. No, the wall will not disappear. Trump is right about one thing, the wall, the door, the Gates of Heaven, exist for a reason. But what we have done wrong, especially those of us, like me, who were raised in this crazy glass world of privilege, is that we refuse to throw away the stilts that we walk around on. Are they really that fun? Maybe we are the Clowns. I sure felt oppressed by the Circus I grew up in. I hate riding in cars, I don’t like to go in planes, I detest any sort of department store, or shopping of any kind, I do not ski or snowboard. Done. I was out when I was 13, because I had traveled the world internationally, and my eyes were opened because of it. The People, the Architecture, the Food, the Spirituality; ALL OF IT. But I was not permitted to go to Garfield, my choice of Public high school, because my mother insisted that Public school was not safe, and thus I was forced to follow the rule of continuing and perpetuating the way of my very enclosed privileged and protective shelter.
So, it is not Socialist. It is Compassion, it is Christ, it is foretold by the ancient scriptures and profits. The Meek shall inherit the earth. The riches were never ours to keep. If you don’t give it freely, trust me, God will take it from you.
Psychological Awareness and Love
8/4/19
[Day 25]
PROP. 53 SPINOZA Ethics
Statement:
“When the mind contemplates itself and its own power of acting it rejoices, and it rejoices in proportion to the distinctness with which it imagines itself and its power of action.”
This morning I sat at a park and drank my drip coffee, that I had spiced up with a little vanilla, cocoa and cinnamon. I had a nice chat while purchasing the beverage with a cook, and the barista. I tipped two dollars. Then I proceeded to read the blue book and write in my AA journal at the view park, while I watched a boat slowly motor out at 7am, listened to the rumble of the WA State Ferry, and observed a solo blue kayak paddle by. I shouted down the beach “ You’re a bunch of Assholes…” and then later “…It takes an Asshole to own a beach!.” I suppose that is my great sin for the day. I suppose I believe in letting it out every now and then, even if it means a rude awakening for the wealthy waterfront owners on Fisherman’s Bay.
These are the honest confessions of my journal on day twenty-five of being sober, having rejoined the Alcoholics Anonymous program, and having started meetings on day ten, after spending a decade drinking post one-year coin earned in 2008.
___ God is the answer to unraveling Psychological Addictions ___
Started drinking alcohol when I was 3 years old
Developed eating disorder at 14
Had alcoholism, major blackout at 15
First adultery at 16
Major Depression 16/17
First psychotic break 18, Second 20, Third 27, Fourth 36; Summers 39/40 very difficult
40th birthday, switch flips on grief
So here I am, now. I had communion this morning, and I am reminded that I am the body of Christ, and that the healing blood of God flows through my veins. Every day is a birth, and an opportunity, for sacrifice, and to give my work and wealth over to Jesus.
Last night, I awoke from a nightmare in a repressive state, as I too, have traumatic repressive syndrome. My husband was harking on me while I was eating over the sink, gradually getting louder and louder, mostly because he thought he was being ignored. My subconscious thought I was being shamed while eating, and all of a sudden, I woke up in anger, and my rage burst forth. I shouted at him over and over that I hated him. I believe he was sorry immediately.
This morning, we were able to discuss the situation, because he also has repressive disorder; where one does not remember parts of their past due to trauma, and when one first awakens from sleep, one can appear awake, but still be technically asleep and dreaming, due to the suppression of their traumatic Freeze response, that is locked deep inside their bodies. It is possible, that while in a deep sleep, we travel below this suppressed boundary, and so when we awaken, we are technically still “underwater”, and we may not technically be aware of where we are or what we are doing. It just takes more than 5 -15 minutes to adjust to consciousness, and to fully become awakened to reality. Food is a very tenuous subject for me, as I was shamed for eating as a child, and am still shamed by my family, and society in general, for being overweight. I only pray that as I heal my body and my mind through the belief in God, and by following the path of Christ and Alcoholics Anonymous, that I will approach bringing love to my inner addict for good. Best of wishes to all of you on your healing journeys. I pray that you have luck in containing your anger, soothing your grief, and averting your shame.
Psychological Constipation 101: Emily’s Life
8/5/19
“Sometimes within the obvious, there is even more obvious, if we take the time to sit with, love ourselves, and accept exactly where we are at, right now….”
-Moon (Emily)
Don’t they say that it all comes back to potty training? I spent over a decade working in the Early Childhood world, and eventually, I did master the art of walking two, three and four year-olds through the incredibly challenging transition of becoming potty trained. I have known little girls that are rebelling by peeing their pants because of their trauma, even though they were perfectly capable of not peeing out of place. I have had a five year-old wipe off his bum on the door to the classroom. I have changed endless diapers and cleaned many drippy poops out of pants, and down into the shoes. I have been shamed by a parent for allowing my student to take an inappropriate poop on the playground, as though I was the one to blame.
I, myself, don’t recall having any real issues with potty training at home. I had one experience at two years-old, however, that was very upsetting to me; when I pooped my pants at daycare at two years-old. I then proceeded to put a little boy’s Cookie Monster underwear on backwards, as I thought Cookie Monster should definitely be front and center, and I was shamed further for dressing inappropriately. In my career as a Preschool and Toddler teacher, I found ways to engage children through their potty training experience, so that they could be aware and proud of themselves, and maybe even have a little fun.
Food in our culture is surrounded by so many issues, various behavioral imbalances, addictions, and can be very confusing as we enter the dieting world, and the world of eating politically correct. Because I had an eating disorder from ages 14 through 17, and then it taking several years to recover beyond that, and because I became overweight because of medications I take for mental illness, I was increasingly focused on food and exercise, as most of the population is. Trouble is, after five years of working at a job in the Early Childhood field, that was keeping me stable, but in a way was a backward pedal in the progression of my life, I found that I had become chronically constipated. Yes, one could blame the meds, and partly this is truth. However, there are much deeper roots as well as deep psychological reasons for my inability to poop regularly. I have practiced bringing awareness to, and becoming comfortable with my daily movements. I still portain an inability to relax while sitting on the toilet, that has lead to an impatient and neglectful attitude surrounding this very important once daily task.
I left my job, where I was teaching other young humans how to pee and poop, and I eventually learned how to poop myself, though with the help of a daily pint of prune juice. I was so constipated, that when I went on a camping trip for the first time in over five years, a past-time that my husband and I used to do about 8-10 times a summer when we lived in Seattle, I then became fully relaxed, and was reminded of joy in life, and what truly makes me happy; being in the mountains, with the rivers and the trees, the rocks and ravens, making love to my husband, and singing around a campfire with good friends. I literally took 7 full-sized shits in a day and a half with no added help. So, I know when to read obvious signs, as I have been in many challenging situations in life, and my body and circumstances were telling me to make a change. I came home and gave immediate notice to my work.
My roommate, several years later, used to joke with me about how I should start a ‘poop blog’. I would take pictures, describe the poop, what I had been eating, the experience of defecating, how often, what it smelled like, everything. Humorously, I see how this would be strange and even gross, and yet I am completely serious at how important this discovery of trying to poop everyday, and being intimate with my pooping experience, is to my health. I have been playing the game of mental health so long, I refuse to take at point-blank that my meds are the sole cause to this chronic constipation. Because, it is not just constipation, it is the psychology, the early childhood development, my experience with food and diet, as well as my general act of holding it in. There is a place for my will, my sense of joy, and my appreciation for myself, to exist in this delicate equation. It does not surprise me that doctors don’t always see this. They have their 30 minutes to figure us out. And I am not sure they are able to care about our delicate psychological and developmental beings, that reside inside us; thus they don’t always make necessary observations.
So, it is obvious. I am holding it in. And, for all of the attention that I put to my mouth, esophagus and stomach, I really should think about the exit plan being just as important as the entrance. Message for the day: “In all matters, take your time, Emily. Learn once again to slow down, let it out, and to love yourself more.”
Two By Two
8/10/19
I am currently watching one of my favorite shows, The Vampire Diaries, Season 2, and we are in the midst of learning about the Sun and Moon curse. As I was sitting on the beach earlier, which my dear husband coaxed me to do, and a submitted, knowing that some beach time might lift me from the very low place that I seemed to be stuck in, I first began with saying the serenity prayer. I then listed all of the things that I could change. I then proceeded to list all of the things that I could not change. This led me to thinking about the lowest moment of my life, my one abortion, and then the fact that one cannot change who they love. Sometimes, we love people, that for whatever reason, are simply not available to love. Perhaps we loved them in a past life, and perhaps we will love them in a future life, but all we know is that we carry this love, and that is what it is, love. I cannot change this.
Luckily, these heavy moments, and these prayers, led me into a ramble about men and women, because, though I am and identify as transexual, I believe one of the things that I truly cannot change, and this of course is my life and my choice, is that I am a woman. Laying on my side, horizontal, leaning on a driftwood log with my prayer beads wrapped around my hand, a few feet from the water’s edge, I then talked on, while gazing out over some rocks sticking out of the water and on to the horizon and islands beyond. I began to ramble about how men do have an alpha. How this is meant to be, and that they think differently, and for a purpose. They are meant to go climb up to the top of a hill and build a giant pyre and burn shit, they are meant to travel down a path in a forest with spears, in order, with a plan, in order to hunt and to kill; or in their kayaks, searching for seals and whales. They do this football, hockey, sport thing for a reason. There is a goal, and there must be order.
Us women, on the other hand, belong in a big huddle. I could just imagine it all while sitting there with nature on the beach. We are meant to pass our babies from tit to tit, and share and work on community projects such as basket weaving, drying meats, raising the children - in herds, in a circle, as one body. And then came the thought that, we are just grateful for someone to lay with at night. That it should not matter who it is, because we truly don’t know if we will be alive tomorrow. There could be a raid, or an awful storm, an animal attack, death in childbirth, anything.
So when did we start pairing off like it was the only mission of the world. When did we divide ourselves up, break up our communities, and loose track of the qualities that men and women truly need and should have, as well as should foster for healthy survival? It is quite a riddle, but why not call it the curse of the Sun and Moon? Look, we are not machines. We are not robots, and ‘unto death do us part’ should really be when the sun rises. Because we do not know what tomorrow will bring.
But we no longer act as a community. Somehow, religion, law and money, factories, the industrial revolution, war, god only knows, brought us to this place. Here on my small island, we are on a search to reconnect to nature and our roots. I am grateful for my partner, and he is the only one I truly trust. Perhaps this is the right path for some of us. But even though I do not get to have children because of my disease, I do understand what it is to be an Aunt, and I do believe in and bond with my female herd. It is also okay to be different. A true community honors all of the strengths and differences of each of its members. There are no members’ only clubs, there is no Donald golf course. On this planet, we need to reconnect with our nature, the moon within us, and the sun being a reminder that what we really only have is this day. One thing I can change, is how I choose to embrace this day. I can choose to push myself beyond the low that hangs heavily on my heart and threatens to pull me under. I can choose the shore, the waves, the sand, and the evening light. I can choose to accept love, in what ever form it is offered to me. I cannot nor do I choose to deny truly feeling love.
One with Water
8/16/19
There is one thing that is hard, when dealing with destructive delusional rage and anger outbursts, and that is when the storm has passed, and apologies have been made and tears have been shed, you are only left with the hard evidence of your episodes. For me, for the last couple of days, I have a favorite wooden stool that is smashed to pieces and sitting in the fire pit, and I have a favorite plant that we have nurtured for seven or eight years in a bucket with a broken neck. I also have a sweet man, who has witnessed my rage, cowered in fear, and comforted my fears and grief.
However, regarding this summer episode as a whole, I have destroyed an old lamp that has been on my bedside table for a decade and a half, destroyed the wall in one place, kicked in a kitchen cabinet, broken and destroyed a second plant, taken a baseball bat to an old picnic table and my dad’s taillights, and destroyed my gate with a piece of driftwood that has a large a knot on the end. Was there more? I can’t quite remember. But the root to these destructive fits of anger, that are sometimes fueled by seriously delusional and psychotic jealousy, is a deep deep wound that revolves around rejection, and that lives, and has lived inside of my body for some time.
She wants to come out, she/he wants to be seen for who they truly are. Decades of trying to be a pretty woman in order to compete with Steve’s beautiful co-workers, friends and ex-lovers, whom in my mind all achieved successfully at being feminine, attractive, strong and independent. I was unable to achieve any of these things, though I spent endless money and effort in continuing and perpetuating the abusive casing that surrounds my delicate and insecure inner tomboy. I was trained to be a little girl, a young woman, and though I continued to try, I always felt I was a failure. Why did I believe all of these years that it was not okay to be myself?
Now, as I live day 37 in Alcoholics Anonymous, and continue to pursue unguarded and rigorous honesty within myself, I find only, that I am standing on the edge of a huge, ice-cold deep well of grief and sadness. These last few weeks it has attempted to pull me in entirely, as I have hit some of the biggest all-time lows my life. So now, as my meds begin to work again, and I sit and review the desperate destruction that has surrounded my home and my family for these last few months, I must take seriously the evidence of this very scary and important journey that I am on.
I swam ten laps around the pond, this evening. I was reminded, as I pushed my light body through the cool green depths, that the planet herself holds this grief for us. I let her take some of it from my heart chakra, and as I then stroked on my back, I felt as though I was one with the great outer atmosphere of the planet and her clouds. Though I was far, though I was alone; I still wasn’t. I was with the elements of water and air, and she, Ma, or he, Poseidon, was with me and knew greater than myself, this path of healing. Then, like a gentle reminder, as the sun reflected off the cool water and into my eyes, I was reminded the warmth of Christ, of the fire, of the light, and of my lover and closest friend.
Coming Out
8/27/19
I had a good summer, last year, but I was very much lost in my head. I lost weight, and my doctor and therapist/social worker ended up deeming the experience a hyper-manic episode. Then, I regulated for the winter. I stabilized, and was really doing very good. I only gained back about ten or fifteen of the forty pounds that I had lost, and was continually working at my physical health: working-out at the gym, trying to cut back on smoking, and seeing a Naturopath.
Unfortunately, due to a poor reaction to a drug called Buspirone, I was thrust into what would end up being a major episode around mid-May of this year. Now I am forty, and the process of coming out has been flung into full force. I became afraid of my husband rejecting my transsexuality, as well as my christian faith, and whenever we discussed marriage, I was triggered, and stressed with increased symptoms. This is what seemed to start my hyper-manic episode last summer, and this summer, was a knuckle that I just couldn’t stop grating.
Turns out, that I am an Alcoholic. And selfishness and hypocrisy seem to go greatly with this disease. I started attending meetings on day eight, having chosen July eleventh for my permanent quit date. Getting down to the truth of who I am, has not just been about my gender and sexuality, it has attacked fundamental fears and resentments that I carry around marriage, and has revealed the sour and distasteful truth that I am actually a very convincing candidate for dual-diagnosis. Yes, I am the person they speak of in “How It Works” in the Big/Blue book of Alcoholics Anonymous, that has the “grave mental and emotional disorder[s]”. But the key here is honesty. If I can be as vigorously honest as possible, while making my confessions to God, and taking a thorough inventory of my lies and hypocrisy, hopefully I can improve my health.
I have desired to get to the root of my addictive behavior for some time. AA is helping me do this. I have striven for, and wished for these truths and this divine assistance, for a very long time. I knew I had the psychological addiction of an eating disorder, and I knew that I was an addict regarding my tobacco use, but how could it have alluded me for so long, that alcohol was truly the root of my issues. It is alcohol that I actually dowse my throbbing and pussing wound with; It is alcohol that I pour into the deep crevasse of grief and sadness that I carry.
So, acknowledging my alcoholism, accepting my sexual self, my gender non-conformity, embracing my faith, my Christianity, have all been a part of my coming out. What does that phrase really mean, anyway? It means not hiding anymore. But what we are hiding can be very confusing and elusive. What is most important is that I am honest with myself and God. I was suppressing my issues with sexuality, and I happened to be using alcohol very much as a protector or closet door for these issues. So though, I am forty this year, and my blog was originally titled, “Coming out at Forty”, I am afraid that my true coming out process may take me further into my future, as I continue to strip away my protective candy coating with honesty, while continuing to pursue my faith, and learning to accept, trust, and feel my sensitive body and the emotions that rest inside of this body and soul that I call Emily.
Awake September
9/3/19
The days are becoming slightly shorter, and the evenings slightly cooler. It’s the Tuesday after Labor Day, and I am finding my mood elevated and my confidence fortified. Things seem to be generally good, and my demeanor generally relaxed. I still feel at times like I’m in the midst of being in a drugged up cloud. Not stumbling around and knocking things over constantly, thankfully, it is more of a comfortable scene. I don’t like to say stoned or high, because I don’t consider my medications that type of drug. It is my medicine, and it’s not for messing around with, and you don’t end up finding at the party.
My AA has been great, and my peer support group is sweet. I am settling into my new church community. And I am also on good terms with my mother/ landlord, and doctor. I don’t have any ticket’s, nor have I received any suspicious looks from any of my Police Officer friends. I have been reading my book, front to back, along with the AA’s Big Book. I have gone to the front porch spa at my mother’s the last two mornings. Things are also generally making sense. I was a little disgruntled the other day as I emerged clearly from my three month mental wander. I’m like “Well where the fuck was I, and where is everyone? Oh ya, I was just damn gone.” I am not referring to it as a psychotic break, however, and I did not ever become hospitalized. I never hallucinated the entire road turning into spiders and moving as a giant collective army about two hundred miles in a matter of seconds, and then stopping. I didn’t leave my house pantless in the middle of the city, and start jumping into the sky to get the spider colony that had just been born from my body, and grew up in the house over the matter of my sleepless morning, into the sky.
So, a major episode. And then all of a sudden everything is fine. What do I do with myself as I emerge? I can tell you that I really feel like, and feel like I deserve a drink. But I guess I am making the decision to be chaste and to not drink. I basically admitted my slutty adulterous ways to my mostly male AA group last night. So I decided to take today of support meetings. It has been beautiful. I am awake all of a sudden. I am somewhat or very aware of my actions. Some of what I said and did made sense over these last few months, some of it didn't. I remember some, and I don’t other things I am sure.
So, as we slip sexily into this new season, I am allowed to similarly slip back into my life. I only hope that I can achieve sexy. And yet, I am pretty happy with my general life right now, and slowly things keep improving around me all of the time.
Returning
9/27/19
Well, we are a few days into Fall. This afternoon, Steve and I headed out for a wander around the property with our dogs, Lionel and Bruce, and the rain began, just as we stepped out the door and off of the porch. It picked up fast, and the dry ground that I was hoping to sit on, with my coffee and my cigarette down by the ancient willow tree, became saturated with moisture. It lulled for a moment, and then picked up with great force, so we went for cover under the garage port for a few moments, and then headed back to the house. Rain this time of year is soothing to me. It is a reminder of Fall and Winter hanging in the wings, and these are usually safe periods for my illness and times of wellness. The last two summers have been intensely challenging, this most recent summer more challenging than the one before, and I am grateful, so very grateful, to be surfacing in clarity as the Fall weather sets in. I am trying very hard to let the past be in the past, and to move forward in my life, while developing anchors in my living and activity, so that I have a solid ground to stand on as I fall now, out of the clouds that have had me usurped in psychosis and symptomatic pain these last four to five months.
In one of the spiritual meetings I attend, the word attachment came up for me, in a discussion regarding balance. Letting go of attachment is a very powerful practice. What am I attached to? Well, currently I have no job, and it would be hard to say that I am attached to a state of wellness. In reality, I have had to give up attachment to a greater degree this last summer. Luckily I was not working, so I did not have to leave a job. But as I return to this world, and I am savoring my fuzzy pets, the warm embrace of my lover, Steve, and that of my mother, sister, and niece, I am so grateful to just have my feet on solid ground. At times we have to let go of the attachment to success. Success, may also simply look like happiness in each moment, for those who suffer with mental illness. Everything is a gift. When you spend time losing your mind, temper, and reality, you eventually give up attachment to who you were before, as you must return once again to the now. It is incredibly humbling, and as I surface, there are many supportive faces and comments among my fellow community members.
And there were supportive words all throughout, but I was not myself. How can you not be yourself for four to five months? It is hard. I know it is hard for my loved ones to watch as well. But we are coming out of this increasingly tolerant and educated, and with a motivated outlook regarding understanding my illness. We will all meet with a counselor to explore a wellness plan, we have exchanged words of support and concern, and I have felt heard; and, really, just people wanting to know where I am at mentally is a huge improvement. I guess that is one positive side effect of my symptoms becoming so utterly and painfully obvious.
Having an attachment to an identity is a very powerful, and perhaps destructive thing that we deal with in life. Whether you identify with Alcoholics Anonymous, your job, your church and spirituality, your health, your body type, your youthful face, we all can experience pain and discomfort when these attachments are challenged or threatened. I suppose this is the best way to describe what it is like for me coming back to reality, and rebuilding a life among the Lopez community, now that I am well and not ill anymore. Losing one’s mind is losing attachment to all of these things, your entire identity. It is very painful and very scary. You are not sure how people are going to react to you, or if they are going to be able to give you a pass or forgive you for very strange or erratic behavior. It challenges your identity to the very core, and is quite frightening.
My big black fuzzy cat and my husband are perched in the chairs at the kitchen window that is dressed in small water particles from the rain. I am at my computer writing a blog for the first time in several weeks, and I feel ready to explore exposing myself to the world once again through my writing. I am successfully reintegrating into society, building my foundation, and generally finding my sense of self once again. Though, I have now given up attachment to almost everything, and because of this, everything is a gift. I am in the moment, and very, very grateful for all that I have.
Past The Paradigm
10/6/19
Yesterday, I went for a cold swim in the pond here on the property. As I cruised through the water, that chilled my body intensely, I noticed the rising half moon in the sky just above the conifer tree line. Just then, a raven sailed through the valley echoing its ominous caw for all to hear. I was moved deeply by this scene. I’d had a difficult afternoon fighting off sadness after what me and my therapist are referring to as a paradigm shift. There is this tendency after one comes out of the other side of an episode to label or quantify the experience; I am hoping to let the experience rest peacefully in the past. Today, I feel much better, though it did not necessarily come easily, and without due processing.
I have felt love in my being even while in the midst of an episode, and it does not always make sense. I have felt love for imaginary characters that I am communicating with in my mind. I have felt love for the population of humans that I imagine are aware of my existence, but again, this experience is most likely imagined. But most of all, I felt love for nature, when I was sitting in the sand at the beach, when I was swimming in the pond, when I was praying to the earth in child’s pose in my yard while listening to music on my phone. The point is that I did feel love. I was not completely lost, because I was tuned into this most basic experience, which many would call God. I am grateful, that even though I was lost in my mind in psychosis, even though there were times when sadness overtook me immensely and rage flooded through my hands, I was still of this world. Because of this, I was able to return. Now that I am here, I very much long to put these experiences behind me. I long to live my life in forward movement. I am very much changed, and reinvented. I am very much new. I have experienced a shift, and now I have my feet firmly on the ground, and I have a sense of who I am and what my purpose is in this world.
Yesterday, I think I felt the void that can occur when you realize that your life is changed once again by an episode. I have spent the last couple of months developing a framework for my life, and becoming disciplined at things such as going to the gym, becoming aware of my smoking, going to support groups and a book group, and finding new spiritual roots at a new church. Though, today, because of a variation in routine, I attended Quaker Meeting with my family. I was humbled by the warmth of the group, and it felt good to just sit. It felt good to be in the moment, knowing and trusting in the development of my life.
Writing, I know, is still my calling. I took a little break, because I knew I was on “Day One” post paradigm shift, and I just needed a moment. I needed a little space around my practice. I did not rest from journaling, however, and my new notebook has many pages filled since I resumed that practice. It is reassuring. I feel whole. I have found sure footing. I have built a framework for my life to move fluidly around, for my spirit and confidence to find grounding.
Sitting now, I have Beyonce coming through my earbuds. It is late evening, and my man is doing a crossword puzzle at the kitchen table. My sweet Lionel is at my feet, as he often is, protecting me and shadowing me with his living presence. There is a collection of feathers on my desk from days spent wandering the woods and the roads. I feel embraced by my family. We all have our trials. Love and pain is so relative. I also know that one cannot exist without the other. It is in the deepest pain where we know the greatest love.
The Painting of Life
10/13/19
Chanting music fulfills me in so many ways. I am reminded that although there are many details to pay attention to in life, sometimes we need to just relax and let things fall off the edges of our consciousness. I have had a difficult week feeling compromised for a number of reasons, not all necessarily quantifiable. Also, I am awakening to living life in a more full way. In this fullness, I crave to take care of the details, I crave to achieve at all that I like to achieve. Being a good friend, and so much more. And yet, I am still a bit overwhelmed, and the music relaxes me, and reminds me that all there is, is this moment, and in this moment, all that is required of me is love. Simplicity is a necessity for spiritual living. I am alive; there is much in this world that requires attention, and yet I must surrender to the great divine, I must relinquish control and power if I wish to keep my eye on the ball. The ball, that is, that will keep my mind and spirit healthy in future months that lay ahead. There are many directions that my life could take at this point in time, and as I struggle with feeling well and awake due to medications and sub-par reality, I am reminded that there is really only one direction, all else is frivolous, and as I listen to this soothing music, I engage actively in the practice of letting these feelings fall away and over the edge of the table at which I sit. I am hoping and praying for wellness. I am called to practice depth and spirituality in a way that will hopefully keep me grounded, and help me prevent future pitfalls and illness.
It is almost as if I have fully moved into the picture of life that I have been looking at, and I am instead, participating in a three-dimensional sense. Before, when I could see the picture in what I thought was fullness, I would draw and write upon the surface of the two-dimensional image, making corrections and additions, hoping that this would feel satisfying. If the picture ever attempted to encapsulate and draw me in, I would immediately feel overwhelmed at the feeling of things not being in quite the right place. The fact is, that as we enter the painting of life, we are unable to avoid seeing the dust and the cobwebs; in fact, these indiscrepancies provide just enough distraction, that the scene then becomes alive. The spaces and shadows become filled with love and God’s presence, and we find that we are no longer able to control the picture. We have to accept that there will be things in the picture that at times we cannot see, and that there is just so much to take in, that we are better off letting the order be that of God’s and not our own, as we accept in full that we are just a part of the picture, and that it is not ours to organize. The size is small, the size is large, we become lost in minute detail, or spend the moment just trying to gaze upon the fullness of the picture and scene that we ourselves are a part of.
When one’s life falls apart for the time being, we become aware of the fact that our lives are just pictures with pieces, and that it is all assembled in a design that is beyond our simple comprehension. Some of us read up on physics and philosophy in order to try and grasp the very nature of the design of our universe. What I am increasingly struck with, is that although I matter, and that God loves me, is that my cells and design are very much a part of the miracle that I participate in and with, and that the importance of my life remains to be beyond my understanding. I try and hope for success and to achieve my goals, but I survive even when my life is put on hold and things become difficult and misplaced due to illness. I am currently facing many questions; what is the role of writing in my life, and how due I pursue and develop this practice in a way that will have meaning and impact on the world around me, and as I get closer to the moment, as I increasingly relinquish control due to the flaring up of my mental illness, will I ever achieve my hopes and dreams; do these even have meaning or really matter, do I matter?
I do believe, that I will have an increased spiritual experience because of my mental illness, as this has proven to be true in the past, and I do wish to continue to pursue my writing and hopefully contribute to the wellness of the world in a way that pleases both God and the cosmos. But I find myself bleeding into this three dimensional painting of life while relinquishing control and very much accepting that I may never fully understand my purpose or my role in this finite universe.
For Chris
10/19/19
The sun is down on a beautiful October evening. Just a few minutes ago, I was sitting in a hot tub, gazing out at the valley that was covered in mist under a clear orange sky. I began to talk to my Uncle’s spirit, who had just passed a couple nights ago in the Philippines. He was a beautiful soul, sensitive, brave, and intelligent, that I mostly had the blessing of getting to know just these last few months on video chat. But, he showed me so much compassion and love, as he validated my illness, and reminded me that I have worth during a very difficult time. I will never forget him for this. The percentage of my life that I was in contact with my Uncle Chris may have been very small, but the impact of his loving soul on my life is monumental, and will never be forgotten.
As I spoke to my Uncle, I looked up at the blue sky at dusk, and imagined the path to the outer heaven that lives around this planet. I have traveled the beginning of that road with the spirit of a dog that passed in 2008, that was like a son to me. He was my son, my first puppy, and I have written about this experience many times. Because of this, I was able to imagine my Uncle passing into this beautiful outer-space, after he has traveled the globe and said his goodbyes to his wife in the Philippines, myself on Lopez Island, my mother in Japan, and his sisters in Oklahoma and Oregon. We are a family, connected by the spirit of a beautiful and sensitive man, no matter how divided in the past. Tonight we are together, all of our hearts communicating with Chris, and saying goodbye before he takes his long awaited journey.
This whole experience of getting to know my Uncle for the few months before he died, helped create depth in my life. I believe in family. Unfortunately, it is a common story that we as families are distant from eachother, sometimes not just geographically, but psychically as well. Though, I believe that in our hearts we remain forever deeply connected with those that we spent our early years of life with, even if it is in a memory that is now hard to access. It is as it is meant to be. We do have choice in the matter, and these experiences only remind me of the importance of slowing down and attempting to grasp God’s greater meaning and purpose for us. The message is truly brief, and “God cuts the thread”. That is all we are connected to this world with, a thread. But our threads are woven with others, even if we forget this at times. We are more loved than we could even imagine. I did not realize how much my Uncle Chris had been loving me throughout my entire life, until just these last few months of my adult years. His love and prayers may have actually carried me through more than I know or realize. And I am truly grateful for his existence in this world. Bless you on your journey, Chris.
The Fresh Path
11/4/19
Today the mist was relaxing. This morning, I sat journaling on the deck near the hot tub, writing in my journal and listening to the rumble of the water as I did the spa treatments, and the ominous cawing of ravens as they ventured around our valley. Life is so rich and busy for me as of late, and yet it feels strange. It feels strange to be living normally. I spent four to five months either in a state of manic psychosis, or the medicated stupor that followed. Now, having put that behind me, it is very much as if I am walking away from a cliff that I have fallen from. It is a bit hard to remember where I was at before I fell, the experience of the fall dominating my recent memory. And yet, I have built a full life. I feel better than I have for a couple of years, while dealing with a lot of side affects and symptoms such as fatigue, and adjustments. Perhaps it is my dedication to the gym, perhaps it is the new commitment to being sober, or the new church community and book group that I have nestled into. Perhaps it is the new combination of medications that I am on. I really cannot tell you. Why would I feel better after such an awful experience?
Perhaps it is all perspective. I am grateful for every moment that I feel okay. I am grateful for not suffering from insane depression, disjointed psychosis, or medicated agitation and volatility. Things are just different. I have survived. And in that survival, I have found myself. I have found a new strength. It is following me everywhere. Perhaps I got the sadness out of my system, perhaps I just prayed my way into contentment.
My cats, my dogs, my man, my niece, my family and friends, everyone feels easy. I am just so grateful that everything is okay, and that I am at peace. I still struggle with things. Some physical pain, and I get tired and I need to delicately balance my life every day. It was strange to realize that everything that I had been experiencing for months on end was not real, but there must have been purpose to the journey, no matter how scattered, chaotic and painful. Because as I walk on, and put distance between myself and the proverbial cliff that I fell from, it feels almost as if there was purpose to all of the struggle.
Once again, I learn from my illness. It shows me truths that I do not believe would be necessarily learnt had I not been diagnosed as schizoaffective. The appreciation I have for family, life, faith, and the general human experience, is tenfold having been blessed with the gifts of mental illness. I just hope that peace continues to penetrate the veil of my life and spread to others through me, as we all journey on our way toward the healing of our minds, bodies, and spirits.
The Search for Reality
11/10/19
“Multiple realizability, Philosophers of mind have used multiple realizability to argue that that mental states are not the same as — and cannot be reduced to — physical states..”
- Wikipedia
Heraclitus: “[…was most famous for his insistence on ever-present change, or flux or becoming, as the characteristic feature of the world, as stated in the famous saying, "No man ever steps in the same river twice" as well as "Panta rhei," everything flows.]”
-Wikipedia
Sometimes when I lay in bed, I let my mind and body relax, and I allow what needs to come, come through me; my mind a supple receiver for the universe’s callings. It feels good to allow this quiet time for myself. The last couple of days, I have had a cold, so there has been a lot of this. Often small voices come through me. They tell me that they love me, they give me praise for all that I care about and do in this life. Perhaps, this is my inner connection with God, and it is my voice. Perhaps, there are spirit guardians out there that are reaching out to me.
When I am psychotic, and I lay in bed, it looks much different. I may be trapped in a nightmare, while still awake, and believing things that just cannot be true. I am so lost in the false fantasy that I believe it is true, and that is what makes it psychosis. So I get up, I start journaling, often drawing systems and graphs. The times of recent, for the last couple of years, I have been obsessed with the tree of life and the cabala. Some of what I am studying is legitimate, but mostly how I am applying it is false, and results from fantasies deep within me. I become obsessed. I am always playing music. The playlists that I created on Spotify, were very gifted and quite wonderful, but I was forced to erase about a dozen of them, afraid that they would trigger me to returning or remembering psychotic states.
This is just a hint of what I go through when I am in an episode. I understand that many may not know what I mean when I say that I have or am experiencing psychosis, so I thought it might be helpful to draw a small picture for those who want to understand. It can seem harmless enough, but for me it can spiral very quickly, until I am immersed in a full blown reality that is false. One may come across a person in life that experiences paranoia, and this is an example of mild psychosis. A person tends to believe something that is just not true. But they somewhat participate in reality. They are not staring at the walls for hours, or speaking in a made up language. Often there is agitation or anger that comes with psychosis. You can see the beginnings of this in a person that suffers with paranoia; they become agitated when you challenge their false beliefs.
My journeys may seem harmless. But when it goes on, and continues for week after week, those watching become very afraid that I may not return. Onetime recently, the manic psychosis was very obvious, but not violent or agitated. For the most part, I was just in another world, but when I realized it, and tried to force myself to come back to reality, it was extremely painful to return. I went through an excruciating day, as I tried to shut down the world that I was lost in. Often returning to reality is very painful. I have experienced probably the worst psychological pain I have ever experienced during these moments. Often, this is where the violence can come from. Sometimes causing havoc in the outer world is a better choice than enduring the suffering of the inner.
As you may imagine, once one has found reality after having such an experience, they may become obsessed with what reality truly is. Philosophers and Astrophysicists may argue that we just never will be able to conquer a collective reality or prove it. However, I believe in reality. I have to. My journey otherwise has been just too painful and frightening. I believe there is a constant that we all return to. I believe there is a place that I can find and call home. Perhaps I am gifted, with the ability to bend and go beyond this reality, without drugs or intense physical sensation. I have gained something from my experiences. But simple humdrum reality is quite something, and I am grateful everyday to be a part of it.
Out of the Box
11/22/19
Today I went down into my mother’s garage, and carried two heavy boxes back to my house that were filled with memorabilia. The first box had some artwork, and many papers and writings from early elementary school through high school. I found a much coveted story of mine, Mivel’s Ravine, that I had written in eighth grade, and have wanted to pull from an old hard drive of a Mac II that is in a box in my bedroom. It was not typed, but hand written. The head of the high school read this story at my eighth grade graduation. There was also my piano music from elementary school (I started lessons at four years old and was quite good), and there were projects, report cards, and my childhood passports filled with stamps from all over the world. I reviewed a couple of my reports, some over and beyond, and some falling a bit short. I felt a little melancholy looking at all of these papers.
The second box was filled with yearbooks and photo albums. Some of the photos were nostalgic; my trip living and going to school at Denston College, England, in seventh grade, and a father-daughter dance my freshman year. There was also a box full of letters and cards, including letters from my first boyfriend in high school sent to me while I was working at camp. This second box did not take too long to look through, and I found myself having more emotions triggered; sadness and grief. To see photos of myself, from early childhood, the elementary years, and my early teens, brought out feelings of reminiscing about all of the hopes that I had had for myself. I was smart, cute, and talented. There could be joy, as I was very happy in my youth, but the feeling was primarily sadness. As the clouds are clearing as I am listening to music and writing these words, I am now brought back to the present. So much has happened since these early years. I met Steve when I was seventeen, and we got together and married when I was nineteen. Two decades proceeded to happen; more schooling, many houses, many jobs, travel, camping, lovemaking, mental breakdowns, and friends having come and gone. So really, there is a lot of my past and my life that is not represented in these two boxes that have surfaced.
I am grateful for my early life. Two things that I noticed, was that I am notorious for starting journals, filled with both words and art, but not filling the majority of the pages. I found that some of my school work was above and beyond, A-plus work, and then some of it seemed as if I wasn’t even trying. I think part of what makes me sad, is that there was more going on with me than comes through in these pictures. My cuteness and my smartness may dominate the scene, but the letter from my boyfriend, (the relationship did not end well), my middle school year books from the years I was bullied, or my artwork from high school when I was dealing with depression and general ambiguity, all slips through, and I find myself on the doorstep of where my issues today are sourced. I see the beginning of all of the hardship, or the turning point when things went wrong. The photo of the boy in third grade that bullied me in seventh grade, happy photos of me with my childhood friend that I lost because I did not stand up to the bullies in her favor, the twisted play written in early cursive about a girl that dies of a drug overdose. I realize there is the impeccable Geography report, Science fiction story, and beautiful photo from my Freshman year. In that photo my smile is so sweet, my clothes familiar, yet underneath I was struggling with anorexia-bulimia. The letter from my boyfriend displays how much he cared, but does not show how he often left me behind for more popular friends.
One friend said I should burn the boxes, if not today, than this time next year. But I will not do that, because the good outweighs the bad. We may not know it when we are children, and it takes a rich life to learn, but the texture of our lives is filled with darkness and strewn with struggle. Still, I have to wonder about this sadness that I feel for this younger me. I must be aware of something deeper that is not apparent in the comments of my many yearbooks, and the photos of me in adorable outfits and cute shoes, among friends in elementary school with whom the feelings were good and the experiences rich. So, I will place the lids back on the boxes once again, and continue on with being forty. I am still cute in a way, and I am still intelligent. This sadness is valued information, and even though I choose to not wallow in it, nor make too big of a deal out of it, I also wish to explore the life of early Emily, while traveling in time to a place where so much happiness occurred and there was no need for hope, for the future was simply solid gold.
Dark Matters
12/3/19
This morning my family left for a week in Maui. I feel okay about staying home. A friend was asking why I did not go with them. I can’t say exactly. I can come up with reasons, like that I don’t believe in plane travel, I don’t want to leave Steve or the dogs and cats behind, that I can’t smoke in the airports, or that flying at night messes with my delicate sleep schedule. But the actual answer to the question is “I don’t know”.
Today, I woke with a headache and was not feeling well. I slept in, and was glad I wasn’t on a shuttle or sitting in an airport. I played a morning game of dice over coffee with my sweetie, and was so glad we were in eachother’s presence. I came home from the store and walked in to all four of my fuzzy creatures curled up together in the living room. It was an adorable scene. I enjoyed the morning sitting at my computer going through the hundreds of emails that had accumulated over the last several days, and finally unsubscribed from many political groups. Now, I am sitting, across from my man who is reading, and next to my kitty who is resting on the stool next to me, as I am listening to Taylor Swift and typing these words. I feel grounded in my home life. Having the day off from the Library and the Gym, due to being slightly under the weather, I have found many activities that are culling my spirit into a place of gentle presence and sanity.
I am looking forward to this holiday season, and shopping for Christmas presents for my family. I have a little extra money, so I am not stressed about not being able to afford gifts, and I am not putting it off to the last minute, while telling myself first that I am not buying gifts ‘this year’, and then scrambling at the last minute. There are two phenomena that highlight my life in metaphor at this point in time. One is that there are huge amounts of space between solid objects, such as protons and electrons, and also in outer space between the planets and the suns. I am reminded that having space, down time, and time to reflect, is paramount for sanity. Also, this negative space is filled with energy and purpose. The scientists say that empty space, or dark space, has a lot of life and activity present within what may seem like nothingness. Applied, this makes me feel am I allowed to take the time and space that I need to heal, adjust, process, and relax, and that I can also trust there is very important processes existing within this dark matter or negative space within my life.
In order for things to become solid, and manifest in completeness, there is time and space needed, which people who suffer from achievement disorder or perfectionism, such as myself, do not always realize is a necessary observance. Nothingness is a valid pastime, in the form of creativity and result. In order for things to truly manifest in completeness and in authenticity, there may be endless space needed. The more space that exists, the brighter the star, the hotter the sun, the more dense the matter. I have been using this philosophy to help me slow down. In this slowness, my body and being are able to breathe within the space between the electrons and protons of my life, and once again, I realize that less is truly more.
Letting Go
12/6/29
There is something on my mind, and the only way I know how to deal with it, is to write. Yesterday and this morning, I felt fatigue in my legs. This was frustrating, because I have been working out at the gym for almost three months, and my hope was for my legs to get stronger. My legs are stronger in actuality, and I feel this most of the time. But my bout of fatigue brought sadness upon my being. Coupled with some bad news from the Psychiatrist yesterday regarding my blood work, I am ever reminded how challenging it is to live with my mental disorder.
I am on medications that cause drowsiness and fatigue. Mostly, while experiencing drowsiness in the mornings over these last couple of months, I have had to push through this intense and often debilitating side effect, to get to the gym or out for a walk in the morning in order to get my blood pumping, and so that I actually do start my day and I don’t spend the entire morning lazing around and wanting to stay in bed. It has been challenging, and the symptoms have lessened gradually over the couple of months, as I adjust to this new doze of Quetiapine Fumarate/ Seroquel. And yet, on the ferry off-island, and this morning, I experienced a weakness and a fatigue in my legs coupled with the usual drowsiness. I still pushed myself out the door today, and all in all, I actually walked to the gym, did a half-hour workout that included some stretches, and then walked home. It was not easy, but today was one of the few days I had to make it to the gym this week due to illness, an off island trip, and a volunteer shift at the Library tomorrow. Because the fatigue seems to have returned, I have to allow time to recover and prepare for activities such as going off island, or working two hours at the Library. I persevered anyway, despite the feeling of being tired and weakness in my body.
I just have to complain for a moment, and my writing is allowing me to do this. It is so hard to overcome these side effects, and there are also symptoms I experience. I have no other option than to push myself, but I must be easy with myself while learning to allow rest in my day, as I discussed in my last blog. But there are days where I am baffled by the amount of difficulty I endure feeling what I feel with these challenges. Somehow, I must give myself a gold star for effort. I mowed the lawn and cleaned up the yard Monday, gathered with family, endured feeling under the weather, went for small walks, successfully had a full day off island, and worked out the gym twice, all between Monday and Friday this week. Tomorrow I will work a shift at the Library. But the message that I truly need to send myself, is that I am doing impeccable despite my situation and challenges. I am not drinking, I am taking my medications every night, and I am enduring the side effects because the meds relieve symptoms which are terrible to suffer through. My mind is mostly clear and resting, even when I do feel the emotional weight of “Why me?” or “This again!” The fatigue in my legs eventually goes away, the grogginess and drowsiness wears off a bit, and I can be with my husband and enjoy the day. You really are doing quite well living with what you live with, Emily, and I am proud of you.
I needed to write this blog today to reassure and comfort myself. Those of you that read my words, allow me to expose my struggle and hardship with mental illness, and help bring light to the secret world many of us deal with being on so many medications. I do my best to stay healthy, and though I am swimming up a torrential river against the tide, every drop in the bucket matters; it has to. I tell myself this, and I carry on, grateful to god and all that travel this road with me.
Slow Faith
12/21/19
It is officially solstice. I have spent the last couple of days in the rain, sitting in the woods. Yesterday, as I was sitting on my blanket in my rain coat, I listened carefully as the large droplets came down around and upon me. The other day, not in the rain, I sat there, in my special spot, that I have returned to regularly over the last few years, for a full hour and a half. It is easy to meditate in the woods. Gradually, you become part of the landscape. I noticed how the frogs would croak in a pattern, a moving rotation. One would croak for a while, then become silent as one several yards away would take over the song. They seemed over time, to move around me in a wide circle. Over the next couple of days, walking around the property and down the road, birds would be noticeably closer to me before they would fly away, and I could only explain this as that they knew I had become more in tune with nature after my time sitting and resonating with the environment of the woods.
This is the magic of the healing power of nature. There is so much to observe, and there is endless life to appreciate. The more time that goes by, the more peaceful we become. Thus, upon having this discovery, I was strengthened in what I already know on some level. That time slowing down is very valuably spent. As we spend time with our books, or just sitting in silence with our partner, we become clearer and more full of hope. I have been challenged lately with the desire to pursue getting many things done and expending my efforts completely in accomplishing tasks such as working out, volunteering, cleaning and organizing, or spending time with my niece or friends that need me. It seems I have lost touch a little bit with myself and my desire to build a faith-based practice around writing and meditation. I imagine, that if I spend more time in meditation, and with nature, that I will come to the resolution that meditation and reflective writing are evermore valued practices than dealing with the recycle and trash, cleaning the bathrooms, getting in a good workout, or childcare. You may agree, all of these other things that I try to get to that never seem to go away, are valid experiences to have. It is partly the pressure and quantity of accomplishment that I place on myself, and the frame of mind that I am in, between and during said activities.
Now, I am actively seeking meditation and time in nature just being. It can feel like a challenge this time of year with the rain, winds, and cooler temperatures, but I have a nice new winter coat that keeps away the chill and the rain. There are dry days and the winds come and go. I also experience slowness at my desk in my little trailer, surrounded by small things that make me happy, and with a kitty sleeping nearby. My dogs and cats are incredible at grounding me and pulling me towards a resonance of nature. So my lessons are rich this solstice; I am welcoming a slowing down. I need to consciously cultivate this in my life. There must be a way to move gracefully through the chores and obstacles in my life, as well. I wish to make more room for my reflective writing practice and meditation. This is my desire for this new year as we begin to turn and reach for the light.
2020 Vision
12/26/19
Some days are for working out and getting things done, and some days are for meditation and processing through writing and talking with my partner. Today seems to be the latter. This morning I woke up, journaled my usual three pages, and spaced out on FB for a while. I then put a coat and hat over the clothes that I had slept in, and went and sat by the willow tree in the 38 degree overcast day, and walked the dogs around the border of the neighboring field. My parents left for six weeks this morning to India, and I already feel the space that they have left behind. It resembles a windy freedom, as I naturally take the pressure off of myself when I have the added space from family, as well an almost immediate ability to look deeper into myself as an individual. I find myself today, looking at gender and my developing identity as a teenager. I find myself reflecting on all of the different peers that have been in my life, and where they reside today. Many girls I went to school with came from wealthy families, as my parents sacrificed a lot to get me and my sister the best education possible, and many have continued a life of privilege, and have preserved themselves quite well. Yet, many of these now women, I know are good people. I also know not all of my friends have emanated this upper middle class success, and rarely do we hear of the stories of the less fortunate. I suppose that could be one purpose to this blog, to display a different sort of success, and to exhibit and describe a real journey that is not necessarily the picture perfect life.
Issues stretching from gender to art to beauty to mental health, my life path has been one of self discovery. I do not have a lot to show for my work on this earth, as I have not been paid for the work I have done. I have sold the occasional painting, the occasional altruistic book, and had the occasional part-part time paycheck, but never more than to pay the current bills. Even though, I do not see my life as a failure, and I do not see all opportunity as dead, as I begin my forties. Rather, I am grateful for the inward journeys that I have taken, and am proud of the person I have become. I did not retain my figure, bear children, buy a large house, or crest a career, and I am ready to let these false wishes go. I have arrived where I am on purpose and for a purpose. People like Bernie Sanders are my heroes, and the every day disabled person or minority. This is not just a class I am taking at my bourgeois college. It is real life, and I can feel the pains of people who are real and that live real struggles. No longer am I just writing a spirited paper to raise awareness to my privileged classmates, I let them go long ago. In my opinion, you can be a loving person, even if you are on the top. We need to strip away the falsehoods of our lives to come together.
I could go on with this idealistic kind of reflection, and I finally am ready to relinquish the hope that my life would result with the privileged accomplishments of my classmates. I have not been at these schools for some time. I am grateful for my education and my upbringing. What brought me to this reflection this morning, was actually feelings of oppression of my gender fluid being, being bullied or ignored, and the fact that I never could quite grasp what it was that these successful and popular girls had no matter how hard I tried. Also, though I was cut deeply by some of these now women, I have appreciation for what they have accomplished, and am happy to be their friend on Facebook, or followed by them on Instagram. Who knows what divinity is at work regarding how our lives weave together and where we end up. We should not qualify who we are by what we have accomplished, and we should not value others solely by what their lives appear to be on the outside. Love is not quantifiable. Material possessions and accomplishments have no feeling. What we all long for is acceptance and love, and unfortunately our social media is not the best way to measure who has found love and acceptance truly in their hearts either from other people, themselves, or from God. I came from this privileged world, and it never really worked for my inner self. I can remember the feeling of the emptiness of inhabiting or being close to inhabiting physical or material beauty and perfection. It was very empty, and love and truth were not words that existed in abundance.
May we all find the acceptance, beauty, and love that is authentic and God. May we inspire realness, and find people that can lead us and inspire us in the direction if authenticity. Everyone, no matter what they look like or what they have, no matter how trapped they are either in the walls of privilege or poverty, can find a way to pursue love. This is how I know God does not have a physical appearance. The outer world is not what remains after we die. May you seek what is inside, as you reflect on the final days of 2019. We are entering a decade of true and perfect sight. May the year of 2020 help us and aide us, in finding what remains and what is real, an inner world and existence of love and acceptance for who we are, right where we are, no matter how far we have come.
Standing on the Ledge
12/31/19
The clouds are in. They hang heavy in the sky. The wind is blowing ice cold rain all around, and the fir trees are bending and bowing in their winter dance. I trod down the road. Just to the corner and the top of the hill, in my cap and raincoat, and the cold air tingles my cheeks and fingers as the heavy rain unloads on my weighted being. My body feels heavy, sedated and numbed by the drug that keeps my mind sane. But as I walk back from the corner, my eyes spot a figure dressed in brown down in the field by the old willow tree. I can make out the bright green Seahawks gloves that hold onto a cane, and my heart jumps and is suddenly filled with gratitude. I turn in a driveway early, at my mother’s, and as I walk around the house, my black lab spots my reflective yellow vest and comes bounding towards me. I approach Steve, and I tell him how much I love him, as the tears that come out of me speak of my heavy reality.
Writing is all that is helping me in this moment. The classical music pours through my earbuds, and I can hear the water running from the tap as Steve attacks the kitchen, to clean it as is his morning ritual. I am having a hard time not feeling like a failure, though I know I am anything but. My psychiatrist deemed me the poster child of mental illness not long ago, and that does not necessarily mean I am without symptoms or troubles. But I am responsible and communicative regarding my medications. I am responsive to treatment when I am in trouble, and I work very hard at maintaining a state of equanimity with exercise, meditation, prayer, meetings, yoga, and writing.
Still, days like today come along. I quit pushing myself at the gym, and am going to revert to wholistic exercise at home (chores, walking outside, yoga and meditation). I have a great tendency to push myself too hard. But it is not until I stop doing so that I am able to assess where exactly I fall on the wellness scale. After three and a half months dedicated to the gym, I took the holidays away from the practice, and have been showing some signs of symptoms. Last night I got scared lying in bed, and this morning I had an anger outburst, then tears. Despite my diligence working out this last season, I have only gained weight and had my cholesterol become an issue again. This is largely due to a major uptick in my medication from a long and painful episode this summer. I have reduced an additional med, but the med that is causing these issues, I am not ready to reduce, nor do I plan to be ready any time soon. It makes me feel heavy and sedated, it cause fatigue, it causes weight gain and raises my triglycerides significantly, and yet living without the drug is still a worse option.
What I need is Peer Support. Therapists, Doctors, and patients who see and and acknowledge my experience. It still remains incredibly difficult to explain my life to my friends and family. I know they care, and they try and see, but still I need the validation from within the mental health community. Without it I feel hopeless. That all I work for so painfully is in vain. I don’t see the progress, praise myself for valiant efforts, and I push myself too hard.
So, I am trying to see that enough is enough. Because If I don’t, I will end up on a ledge that I am unable to back away from as I am doing now. Then, I will stumble and fall, and that is not ideal. The goal is to remain steady on my feet, and to not have an episode this summer. In order to do that, I need to cull the desire to achieve. Once I learn to listen to my being, that is mentally ill, not the being that I wish I was, but the being that I actually am, perhaps I will be able to maintain a rhythm of wellness in my life that is appropriate. What I may find is that if I listen to myself and do less, that I am able to see myself in actuality and give myself the credit I deserve. Also, a life of moderation and meditation seems like a better option for myself. It does not fit the mold of everyday culture where working hard towards our goals is the best way. I am constantly relearning this for myself. It is hard to back away from the ledge that I built with all of my disciplined efforts. It is hard to assess that building my practice with discipline is wrong. I am forever the Zen warrior, or I must learn to be so. If I don’t, I will surely suffer.
True Moon
1/5/20
I have had a lovely day. I was lying on my comfortable bed this afternoon, trying to remember all of the gifts that came my way this Christmas. I feel most fortunate to have a new winter coat and some nice new boots. I am amazed at the light that I already see is returning. It seems we have gotten through the thick of it. I did well this November and December, and I am surprised to feel the light returning so soon. As I walked the dogs this afternoon around the property, the clouds cut the light from the sun, and it was beautiful and godlike. It is almost as if I have been cherishing these dark days in full acceptance. I have mostly gotten out every day to be active in some fashion, and this makes me feel more alive when the darkness sets in around five. Lately, I have been spending even more time outside, either in the light or the sub-par light shrouded in rain and cloud cover, to meditate and sit in the woods. When there is sun, I like to sit in my front yard and soak in the rays. I also have a mood light I sit in front of first thing in the morning while I journal. Overall, It did not feel like the dark got the better of me this late fall, and now that winter is here, the days are just getting longer. What a blessing.
I have shifted my life around a lot. Steve has been having some unexplainable spells, and I have been cautious about leaving him alone. It just makes me feel better. Also, when one of our loved ones is having unexplained health issues, it does take from one’s energy source. Both of these things have led me to clear my schedule, and I am enjoying being more rooted at home. I have made a lot of progress on editing my manuscript, though the project is just barely underway. It feels good, and strangely, I find classic Black Sabbath really pleasant to work to. I have done some yoga on my mat at home, and I have slowed down in general. It became clear to me that this is what the season was asking of me; to slow down, and to be gentle with myself. I am getting better at listening to my body and my mind, and I am feeling good. I cannot always meet the world that is wanting from me, sometimes I need to just ignore it all, and be in the moment and the natural flow of what is Moon.
I am wanting reclaim the name Moon, and being Moon represents some really wonderful things that I feel ready to return to. Moon does not wear a bra, Moon is happy to be a curvy goddess, Moon sits in the woods, and wanders down the road with no agenda, slowly taking in the day. Moon reads tarot, and is very in tune with her inner nature, as well as the nature of Earth. Moon has a sense of who she is within her mental illness, and is successful at reframing this as strength and wisdom. Moon does not have big goals or needs, and manages to flow naturally around the things in life that we must do; cleaning, dealing with family, and maintaining healthy habits. Moon just is.
So, I am happy to be Moon, and to reflect what light is coming my way this winter. The moon was what I would stare into, when I was a teenager developing a sense of spirituality. This practice helped me develop a sense of who I was. All throughout my life, I would stare up at the moon and feel a sense of God. The God or Goddess that is deep within, and feels stirred and awakened by the soft glow of an orb that is so far away, and yet feels so close. Perhaps that is what it is like rooting around in ourselves to find our center. It guides us like the moon, and still can be thousands of miles away at our core. We must soften like the gentle light of the moon, in order to feel that inner seed or spark of identity and self-love. So be it big and round, or a far off light that I am just learning to grasp, the moon provides an endless metaphor, and is also a very real vestibule of hope and light in my life.
We Shall Overcome
1/20/20
I have a mental illness. Sometimes this is an important thing to say to myself out loud. It is like one can forget, even when one’s life is orchestrated to focus on mental improvement, basic health, and taking one’s meds every day. Mental illness is with me every day. It is with me when I wake in the morning and fight side effects of drowsiness and fatigue to put on my boots and reflective vest, and walk to town for my daily escapade down the country roads of Lopez Island. It is with me when I am at a support group, talking with friends, taking care of my four year-old niece, and working on my writing. It is such a part of me, that I can forget what it means to be mentally ill. Most of the time, my life is fluid and enjoyable. I overcome the obstacles, I master basic tasks and skills, and I am empathetic and get along well with others. But there are also times when my illness becomes very apparent. Like the way a landscape can become covered with snow. The world looks completely different virtually over-night, and all of the little creatures that live in the woods around my property that scoot along unnoticed, all of sudden cannot escape without every track becoming evidence. Things are crystal clear in the severity of contrast. I suddenly am reminded that I live with an illness that is unexplainable even to myself. I then must make the necessary observations of my life and illness, which feel like a mystery, so that I can improve at dealing with the symptoms next time they arise. Then, like after a thick snow, the landscape can warm once again, and transform completely. It is back to regularity, and one can barely imagine the crystalline snow that blanketed nearly everything.
While it is easy to forget what it is like to experience painful and acute symptoms of schizoaffective disorder/ bi-polar type, it can be even harder for those around me to remember. This is why we must have a support system consisting of a doctor, therapist, peer counselor, and many support groups, ideally. These last couple of days, I had some difficulty that was a result of two basic ingredients. I became exhausted from two weeks in a row, taking a full day off-island, while not amply resting, and continuing to push myself to walk and get things done. In additional to this general life fatigue, I accidentally shorted myself a medication one evening by one pill; one-third of the prescribed dose. Without this much needed medication in my system, I slipped into what I recognize as bipolar/depressive symptoms. My energy level became nil, my mood aggressive and agitated, and tears of sadness came unexplainably and generously. I was able to muscle my way into a balanced state in just two days time, but for the less experienced patient/consumer, this behavior can start a pattern or a rut which can deepen quickly if not accurately assessed and nurtured.
A little snow storm hit, you could say, but now the snow cover is quickly melting, and my energy is returning. One thing I have done to fight the agitation and depression, is journaling, and exploring ways to engage with gratitude. I found that I am grateful to have secured myself stable housing for now and the future, because I practice wellness, have fostered good relationships with my parents, and I manage my general life, chores, and finances responsibly. Being grateful for housing is no small thing. Many people, whether they suffer with mental illness or not, struggle with this very basic need. My twelve-step program also speaks of how a humble attitude in life can lend to an ability to live gracefully with a higher power. Today I had to fight the bed, and resist lying down no matter what. I also struggle with quantifying my value mechanistically. I must learn to value myself for who I am, as a loving and empathetic human being, not for how many chores I get done or how much exercise I partake in. Days can look very different one to the next for all of us, but as I explained with the metaphor of snow, the landscape of one’s life can become completely transformed while struggling with mental illness diagnosis.
Quantifying the Quality
1/27/20
Bear with me for the first couple paragraphs of this post, as I attempt to state all that I have been a part of for these last twelve years that I have lived on Lopez Island. I will say, regardless of what I have accomplished and participated in, today my fundamental accomplishments in life are my 22 year relationship, my loving family and our ability to know eachother in peaceable relations, living with a mental illness, and the fact that I live close to my niece and am able to be a part of her life. That being said, I decided that it would be a definitive and encouraging exercise to write down all of the things I have been a part of, achieved at, or survived while living here in this small community for the last decade, so here it goes.
I started volunteering at the Children’s Center and was soon hired as a teacher. I was hired as the Preschool assistant as well as substituted for the Lead teachers in the Play and Learn program. Attended online community college for Early Childhood credits. Attended several Early Childhood state conferences, and well as two NAMI state conferences. I wrote and recorded eight children’s songs, and led “Music with Emily” for the Parent Tot program through the resource center on and off for seven years. I painted and sold paintings at the Farmer’s Market. I have had several art showings at local restaurants, participated in painting a public wall mural that was eight feet by sixteen feet which appeared in the paper, taught painting to adults and children, and had a small art studio store front in town for a short period. I have played music at church, with friends, and at the local Galley Lounge; and did sound, set up, and the power point at church for several years. I have participated in five worship communities at different times on the island. I have been a part of a women’s circle, bible study, had my own writing group, and joined a book group. I have worked at the Chamber of Commerce for almost four years. I was the Secretary on the board of the Farmer’s Market for a couple of years, and Steve and I had our own taco stand that was very successful there for five years. I have worked as a substitute and a volunteer at our local Library. I have studied the Tarot extensively, and participated in tarot groups and classes. I have worked at a couple of weddings, been baptized, and hosted many poker nights, fires, and parties/gatherings at my own home. I have published a blog for six years, published a book, written articles for the local paper, met with a peer and the director of the Lopez Island Family Resource Center, all to to raise awareness for mental health in San Jaun County. I have written poetry. I have attended many yoga classes and been a member of the local gym. I have walked hundreds of miles of country road and trail, and sat in many beautiful natural settings. I have picked up garbage on the roadside. I have provided housing for a recovering addict and a Vietnam veteran. I have befriended many who needed support for mental illness. I have attended and chaired meetings in a twelve step program. I have survived and recovered from one psychotic break and two major episodes. I have lived in four different houses. I have traveled to Hawaii three times, Idaho, and to our state capitol to lobby. And there it is.
This exercise was to show myself, that despite my identity as a disabled mental health consumer, my life has been very worthy and productive. It is refreshing to “add up” all of these experiences, of which I am sure there is something missing, and see that I do, and have always created a life around myself; one where I serve and think of others, and where I am not afraid to put myself out there honestly and earnestly to the world. I try not to revel too much on the length of the list above, because I know that quality, not quantity, is what we should be aiming for. I struggle with this, as I never feel like I am doing enough; thus the purpose of these words above. I desire to show myself that I am always seeking to be better and to participate fully in this life that I have been blessed with, despite living with disability. So gratitude upon this special day where I get to live and be part of something. Life is good, and I am in it. I am here, and I am proud to be all that I am.
What Would Steve Do?
2/3/20
It has been a while since I dedicated a blog post to the man that I love. During my current reflections, realizing what and who Moon should be, attempting to gather myself at a time of year where we are on the cusp of much seasonal change, I came to a wonderful place of ease while reflecting on the beauty and the power that resides within my relationship and my dear husband, Steve. The universe, god, and the powers that be, put Steve in my path when I was just turning eighteen years old, and again a year later, when we began this beautiful journey that we have been on for the last twenty two years. Steve has been my rock, my teacher, my protector, my guide, and my lover. Still, today, when I meditate on what it is I need to do in my life to have a greater experience of balance and equanimity, I find myself drawn to the man that has been at my side for more than half of my life, and I ask myself, “What would Steve do?”.
I feel so lucky, that the man that I live with and travel beside on this life journey, has a seed of wisdom inside of him that not only guides him, it is a beacon of wisdom for myself, his lover and partner. I was attracted to this inner guide and light that he carries, and thus I fell deeply in love. Even before I was very conscious of my life path, as a young woman searching and dealing with mental illness in a crippling way, I benefited from having Steve in my life. Now, today, I am learning once again that obtuseness and soft edges are where the answers lie. This is very much why I have chosen the name, and mantra, of Moon. The moon guides me in a very gentle way, to find and practice what is healthiest for my mind, body, spirit, emotions and soul. As I get in touch with my inner moon, I am also guided back to understanding the wisdoms that I have been following within Steve for two decades. Imbolg, the point in the year that occurs half way between the winter solstice and the spring equinox, is my favorite time of year and solar holiday, and has been since I was just twenty years old. Every year, when the dark fall and winter months have been with us in their entirety, an orb of soft blue light finds its way to the horizon, letting us know in a subtle way that the earth is turning back towards the light, and that we soon should be prepared to welcome the annual birth of spring and the resurrection of nature, that happens every year. Because the month of March, when this forceful birth of spring begins, I have always been prone to symptoms, Imbolg became an important beacon for me to prepare for what was to come. It also became the time of year that I tuned into my marriage and renewed my vows with my partner, as is the old earth based tradition of Imbolg. For over a decade we have religiously observed this holiday as our anniversary, (though our actual date falls around April first). This year, I am rediscovering the magic that has always been my partner, and I feel him guiding me like a soft spring moon.
When I am faced with all of the complicated scenarios and issues that we deal with when we are participating actively with our recovery; from family co-dependance, boundaries with the world, inner resentments, and learning to care for and nurture myself in a loving and accepting way, I may think on the abstract concept of what the name Moon means to me, or in more difficult situations ask myself, “What would Steve do?” Sometimes letting things be is the answer. Sometimes a lack of response helps me build boundaries. Finding a way to nurture and accept myself in the light of self love can be the greatest challenge that I face. Being Moon, and not feeling like I have to dress up to go to the store or wear a bra, while accepting my body at this stage in life, is the courageous move. Gaining perspective, while being aware of a soft inner glow, finding the curves in life, and seeking a soft round edge instead of trying to force my organic body onto a graph while cutting myself repeatedly with the mechanistic expectations of the ego, is hard to do. It takes an inner mantra, and sometimes a guardian, a partner, who can show us the way.
Growth
2/23/20
Cats and Dogs. The rain is coming down once again, and I am resigning myself to my small modular home this morning. My medications were causing some side effects, so I did not make it to any worship group by 10am, but rather tried to read my new book, then pulled the covers over myself and went back to sleep until 10:30am. I wish I could meditate in the woods as I have been doing the last couple of days. Two days ago time became so elusive as I sat in my small woodland spot surrounded by cedar trees, and when I arrived back at the house, I saw that two hours had gone by while I was in deep stillness among the birds, filtered sunshine, and woodland smells. My back was fine, and I realized that my ability to sit has strengthened with practice. Yesterday I only sat for 45 minutes, as I had an engagement in the village, had spent time with my tarot and journal, and wished to walk to town.
There are other ways for me to lose track of time. I can sit in my room and read scripture, journal, read my book, lie under the covers, or walk down the road with music in my earbuds. Sitting in the woods has been by far the best experience I have had concerning meditation, listening to my soft inner voice, and losing track of time. I think it helps to be completely still, and to only listen to sounds of unscripted and unsultried nature. There are geese, small birds, ravens, the occasional eagle or red tailed hawk, woodpeckers and frogs. The trees and stones have presence, and there is one very large stone crested with pink crystals that sits close to me in my chosen spot. I always return to the same place, and I stare through the tangles of stems and bushes, and track patterns and shapes in the sticks and small branches that cover the forest floor. Sometimes I sit and make small wreathes and circles from the stems that have fallen to the ground. This winter I sat among some melting snow, and have watched mushrooms come and go. This spring there will be ferns that stretch up around me, but mostly the area I sit in lacks extensive green growth, which is what keeps it clear and soft while sitting among the clean cedar stems and tiny cedar boughs.
I have letters to write. A long lost friend sent me a small Christmas present and letter, and told me of her new family. We all grow and change. Sometimes the growth is subtle like the tiny rose stem right in front of my feet that only makes minuscule changes because of its placement in the woods, or the small half alive miniature cedar that I also sit near. Ferns come and go. Leaves come and go from the surrounding bushes. Mushrooms appear and disappear. And yet it is alive. The cedars, the rocks, even the fir stumps that circle me. There is life in the seemingly unchanging world, that is actually in constant transformation. Just like me.
At this point, it seems I am only growing older and trying to enjoy where I have landed. I have quit striving, and am only trying to prevent and avoid decay. I clean and floss my teeth every morning, I walk every day, and stretch when I go to the gym. I try and eat veggies and avoid cookies. I maintain my emotions, and try to heal and nurture the trauma and wounds that are still with me. But as I grow older, I also grow softer. I grow more confident in my ability to express my needs and uphold my boundaries. I also have improved in asking for and attaining what I need. I am increasingly in tune with what it is that my body and mind truly need in order to be at peace. I emulate the stately forest in her ability to provide comfort with her shedding twigs or dying branches. There is beauty to be observed in cycles of nature, and as we witness nature go through her cycles, we can also appreciate our cycles, our constant shedding and the small deaths we experience every day.
Baptism
03/08/20
Today I jumped in the pond on my property for the second evening in a row. My mother had a dock put in, so I dove off of the dock and then swam around to the rocks and climbed out. It is cold, and I might be more adventurous with staying in for a bit of a swim if there weren’t so many bugs going around. As I dive under the surface of the very full waters, I lose myself completely. I am submerged in the cool depths, and before I surface, there is this feeling of being completely free. I left Emily, Moon, back there, above the surface, and under here, I am unknowable and completely new. As I emerge, and the reality of the cold reaches my reasonable mind, I hurry towards the shore. I climb out and stand on the large rocks, watching the sun sink low on the horizon; I am baptized, I am reborn.
I attended service at the Episcopal church today, and I am not even sure that “service" is the correct word. I have been attending a christian service on and off fairly regularly for roughly eight years, was baptized in the Puget Sound with Christ the King back in 2014, and have now found a new home that I am very comfortable in and excited about at Grace Church, the local Episcopal mission. Though I am familiar with the prayers, (the Our Father, the Nicene Creed) from childhood, there is still very much that I have to learn about the church. I have decided to attend a confirmation group before church, that I will begin going to next Sunday. That is if I am able to fight the drowsiness and fatigue symptoms that are so strong in the morning. Today, being Spring Forward, I fought off this drugged feeling at church and felt somewhat debilitated by the side effects. The two cups of coffee I had before I left did not seem to help. I have every intention to make this conformation class next Sunday, but I will allow myself grace if it seems impossible.
I came home and changed, washed my bedding, and folded some clothes. I laid down with the prayer book and I read the homework for next week, which was all about the ceremony and prayers regarding baptism. This brings me back to my swim in the pond. I have decided to make a general goal of diving into the pond, and doing a ceremonial baptism and swim every day until the cold fall and winter months set in and it is no longer just cold, but turns freezing. I prided myself in a New Years day polar bear swim this year, but I feel that is enough for me in the winter. I am not from the North Sea nor do I have Viking blood (that I know of), so I must draw the line somewhere.
Baptism seems to be the theme of my day. Whether it is in a formal ceremonial sense with a priest and oils, or the raw naked swim in cold water. Either way, I feel close to Christ, and I have been on a path for a while of giving way of my will for god’s will. Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. I feel connected and rooted to the spirituality today of both the earth and of heaven. God is in both.
DIATRIBES
Transexual
8/8/18
‘What' is a trans person? Yes there is gender and there is sexuality. Is there really a difference? Androgeny recapitulates Phyllogeny. And is there a requirement to cut up our bodies?
I believe our human bodies are sacred as are our minds, our emotions, and our spirits. We are the four directions. We are the four seasons, we are the four astrological bodies; Mutable, Stagnant and Cardinal. We are alive. We need to find a way to be here, and to be okay. I still believe Mental Health is the issue at hand. I believe it is an epidemic, a Universal issue that embodies all of the causes, and, I believe that we are truly gifted. We are living in glass shoes, and yes, we can do brutal surgery, and cut off our heels to fit the shoes we think we want. I have discovered lately that our heels are our root chakra, they are our groins, our hips, our lymph systems. They are our hormones. And hormones are intense drugs, as I have discovered since entering Peri-Menopause while dealing with Schizoaffective Disorder. My brain chemistry changed drastically. It has been a difficult couple of years.
We are now entering a sacred time. Eid al-Adha falls within a lunar cycle within a planetary alignment, and it is a time of worship and change. You may find that your life’s changing drastically. You may think that you are falling apart. And maybe we are… yes, we are. But it is good. It is growth. You have to break an egg to make an omelet, and you can put the broken plate back together however you choose. You can now vividly see all of the pieces, is all.
Back to Life
7/29/18
Okay, ladies, this is going to sound crazy, but my skills are developing. First, as I was meditating like a little buddha in my yard, on my quiet island, on a slow spring morning, I noticed that my coffee was swirling. I asked “…am I actually doing this?”, and I felt in my core that I was. I created a force with my mind that caused the coffee to swirl, to the left if I am recalling correctly. But I was born twisted. I was born with my feet pointing to the right and I wore little white shoes connected by a bar to straighten my natural swirl, though it is still very much alive in all of my muscular skeletal tissues.
These last few weeks have been crazy for lack of a better word. I have been lost in my head and having visions of people that are communicating with me. They are supporting me through a difficult transition, and a heavy and dark astrological period that is happening right now on this entire planet. We are all here together.
One morning during this last month, which has very much been a blur, I found a dead fly on the railing of my porch. With my witchy concepts, I was considering putting it in a carved wooden box, and as I touched it with my forefinger, it came back to life. I witnessed this and science, the psychoanalysts, the philosophers and metaphysicians can argue against me all they want. But I witnessed this with my own eyes.
Witness is the what makes laws, and we the people are the witnesses of this world. Don’t doubt your eyes, don’t doubt your vision, don’t doubt your belief, and know that you are the change we need on this planet; use your eyes, connect them to your heart, and have faith. This is all we truly have.
I Hear Bells
7/3/18
I hear bells jingle. I pray to an unsexed god. My candle is lit, and the morning birds are prevailing. I am not alone, for I have been found and healed many times over. I am healing. I am also in love. But love can be sharp. Love bleeds. I do not want to always bleed. I want to overcome addiction. I want to be in the moment, the now, and feel nothingness. It is important to not always identify with the pain body. I am grateful for my family, for the land on which I live, that has never truly been owned. May peace be with all the rocks and trees and animals and also the humans. Let us truly to find bliss. Om, Amen, Ain Sof Ain.
The Jewel
6/22/18
What if Psychopaths were holy people. But because they have totally clear minds, and understand pure emptiness, all of the psychic downloads that they get from the world result in their minds being filled with violent thoughts. It is as if they are possessed, because we are meant to operate as a collective. We are meant to have these people, channel the nothingness and read the signs, the maps. They are essentially our oracles.
They say pure consciousness, enlightenment, is an empty mind. A clear mind, no thought, no emotion, no mind. I believe, we are like an organism, not just us human beings, and over millennia we have actually melded with this planet. We have mutated. And now, and for thousands of years, there have been anomalies to our structure. The “old” ways, before these adaptions to this new world occurred, did not understand such an organic process. The Earth is filled with mysteries that are sacred and unknown in the Universe at large. We are essentially the jewel, or the center, of the Universe.
For many eons we searched for this Jewel, and we found it three times. Three times the “aliens”, first our original ancestors, landed in spaceships on this planet, many many many years apart, but all three times were stranded and mingled with the natural Flora. Frightening, so frightening, and so so beautiful. But mostly terrifying. So why were these psychopaths created? Why do they exist? Perhaps with empty minds they were not tempted by the chaos, the raw untamed planet earth, a jewel, sacred, bright, covered in the darkest things one could ever imagine. For with pure light exists true darkness.
Divine Timing
6/20/18
What is time? We all have to remember that we are living our destiny. That there is divine timing to everything. When I was putting out my book “Glass Slippers: A Journey of Mental Illness” in 2018, this year, I did think originally it would be out late Fall of 2017. It turned out that I was supposed to sit delicately and intimately with myself whilst meditating on what it would mean for such a book to emerge into this world. The book is about me, my process while healing from mental illness, and ends with me starting a new journey of healing, because I had my fourth break in 2016, after nine years of stability. For some divine reason that was beyond my understanding, though I do understand and accept it now, it was very important to reveal myself to the world at just the right moment. The editing process had been slowed by my own journey with wellness, as well as depending on the scrutinizing eyes of my dear husband who not only was struggling with his own recovery from a major surgery, he was affected emotionally by my words, as was with me throughout this “journey” which I took. He needed time to read through the manuscript slowly. So we sat back, relaxed, and accepted the natural process of timing for the release of Glass Slippers.
My point, is that sometimes we worry about timing. We get worried, and we forget to deeply process the moment we are living in, right now. It can be very healing to sit back and relax. There is no hurry, and god is guiding us. I know of a 70 year-old who became a trapeze artist, and of an 80 year old who became a famous and world renowned painter. Bless the moment, allow for divine timing in your life. Don't be in a hurry. Don't force yourself into something that is just not working now or currently. If it is meant to flow, it will flow. Have faith.
Universal Language
6/15/18
It is really entrancing to listen to Arabic in this music video that I just watched of a Lebanese band that advocates for LGBTQ, called Mashrou’ Leila. The video is profound, and the music, emotional. I have no idea what they are saying, but maybe I do. It seems what they are talking about is the transcendence of language. I saw humans that were describing the human experience, and I cried. They were walking in the wild, standing in large cement buildings, and riding horses in the desert.
I am feeling this way about my human experience lately. Even though I delve into the artistry of describing myself through words, of my experience as a human, as a mammal, as a creature of god, I do not really need words to communicate. I communicate with the birds, large and small, the deer, the insects, the trees, as well as humans passing in their cars, and on their bikes, while on my daily walk around my rural valley; all without words, or very few. We can communicate with creatures and nature, as well as humans, from another culture on the other side of the globe, with or without understanding words; through our art, and through our energy. I suspect, that it is not an accident that Mashrou’ Leila does not have subtitles on their music video. I was more present, and I may have even absorbed more of its true nature as I listened to the strange sounds of the beautiful foreign language of Arabic. Words are profound. We need words. But language is Universal, and if we stop getting caught up in the definition, the literal meaning, we may find that there is one, universal language we all are able to connect through.
Sesquipidality
6/13/18
I am entering deep. I have reached the watery bottom of the cave I have been spelunking in, and still I dip my toes further. But the depth to this “Moon”, is frightening in all its potent healing. So much has shifted. This is why I feel the salty metallic high of symptomatic side effects. Like my world is imploding, like I am becoming asphyxiated by the smoke I inhale. I am approaching clarity, veering away from psychotic fear, and I know there is further yet to plunge into the darkness. At least I have found the bottom of the Earth, and the rock of the satellite we call the Moon. As the paranoia blends with the mystical, and then becomes shattered in its illusion, it is hard to know what I am left with. So I sit here, and wait. I collect myself. I return to the bare roots. I weep in the uncertainty. I sleep through he overwhelming suffocation. And the days continue, in unplanned blunders, for my searching spirit to find its way amongst the depravity. My eyes opened, my sores revealed and pussing in the air; the healing is coming. It is on the horizon, like a long awaited journey.
Besieged In the Looking Glass
6/9/18
Years ago, when I was twenty three, Steve’s mother, Dorothy Atkins, or Mom to many, and also a Dean of Literature who taught at Loras College, University of Iowa, Berkeley and Oxford, sent me a book titled “Writing as Healing”. The title immediately sunk in, and it inspired me to compose my first manuscript, “Besieged In the Looking Glass”, which was a 100 page story about my first psychotic break, and also consisted of most of my teenage poetry. I lost the computer file of this book, having crashed my computer one day due to psychosis, but still I carry around a large pile of folders compiled with all I had printed. “I told a cab driver I had a bomb in my backpack…” was the shortened version of a story that I desperately needed to tell, and craved to heal. I would often shock folks with this sentence in pubs, coffee houses, and out on the street. Over a decade later, I started my blog, ‘Welcome To the Grit’ (welcometothegrit.com) which heavily inspired my first book “Glass Slippers: A Journey of Mental Illness”. Glass Slippers was published just this last January. I plan on publishing this book, my second book, “Questing Sanity”, to be released in 2020. After this, however, I think that my mission should be to publish this first manuscript and early poetry. My dear friend, an author and teacher of writing, who interviewed me for my “Book Party” at Lopez Library while celebrating the release of “Glass Slippers”, was one of the few to read “Besieged in a Looking Glass” years ago, and has encouraged me towards the incredibly tedious process of typing up the manuscript, and sending it to be published. I am so grateful for her encouragement, as well as Mom’s. We miss you, Dorothy Atkins, and you are here with us every day. May you rest in peace.
Sex Acceptance
6/7/18
Sex is really healthy. It is free and it is natural. I have been struck profoundly with the general sickness of the mind in society lately, not just acute mental health diagnosis like I have myself, but eating disorders and general self deprecation. For some reason, sex is associated with this, but really I believe sex is healing. If we are aware at all, we need to practice real self-acceptance and self-love to really experience the magic of sex. To truly enjoy sex, sensuality, we need to love our bodies, and then the act of sex can be an act of feeling and getting touch with our soft, pure, and loving animal nature. Yes there is S&M, bondage, porn, and even rape, and these are examples of how people cannot really hide their very sick minds when they are practicing sexual behavior. Sometimes we need to embrace our minds right where they are at, and do what feels good. I myself do not masturbate much, but masturbation is healthy, and I wish I was better at this. I wish I was able to please myself without needing someone else to please me. I believe that this shines light on a complex that I have, where I am disassociated from my body and my sensual self. I am bisexual, but really I like men. I french kissed a girl the other day for the first time, because I wanted to unite with my bi-sensual self. I use the term bi-sensual, because I don’t have sex with women. But I know this about myself. I know I am bisexual. We can get into this some other time. But I choose men. They are easier for me to understand. They are less complicated. That is beside the point. Sex is good. We need to see healthy sex in real bodies. We need to not idolize only skinny people in Hollywood or porn, and really that is why porn is great. There are all kinds of porn. Because people get real when it comes to sex. Love your body. Every single feature, every single “defect”. We are natural beings. We deserve to express ourselves. Sex is an ancient and healthy practice, and really an opportunity to go deeper into self-love and acceptance.
Evolution
5/31/18
Crazy and insane people are a necessary part of the human condition. We should embrace them (us), and allow them to be free and crazy. I am not negating my meds, I am a huge fan. But our world was built upon the ideas of the crazy person. “Don’t eat that, you are crazy”. Then we discover an important medicine or a life sustaining food. “What? Fly? You are crazy!” But we did it, and now we do it all the fucking time. (I truly believe still one of the best things we could do for the planet is stop getting in the F-ing airplanes.) We built submarines, we went to the moon. Cleopatra and Alexander the Great were most likely very obsessive. Caesar (THE Caesar) HAD to be insane. Copernicus was obsessed. My point. There is purpose to our madness, and we are gifted. John Coltrane. Jerry Garcia. Ken Kesey. They built the world we live in today. Steve Jobs. All of them. Artists up the hoo hoo. Van Gogh, Picasso. Crazy fuckers. We all want to be that guy. But when you are, today, within the psyche ward, it is truly hard to find the meaning in all of it. We must be free. We must be allowed to create. We must be supported. Maybe there is good crazy and there is bad crazy, but I am not necessarily referring to psychopaths. I am referring to all of the gifted sufferers out there that know not why they suffer and not why they don’t fit in. Fuck you people that fit the mold. You are not helping anything. We need to grow, change and challenge reality. Maybe there is a place for normal, but not at the cost of all the crazy geniuses out there. (You know who you are.)
Acceptance
5/25/18
Omg, the craziest shit has been coming out of my mouth today. I walked into the clinic and told them I needed to schedule a physical therapy appointment, for example, when I have never done, nor do I need physical therapy; I was needing to schedule a lab. This last week has been full of bouts of fatigue and muscle weakness, headaches, nausea, and drowsiness, which has added to a feeling of being overwhelmed and anxious as well as agitation. Some of you may have guessed it, I am going through a meds adjustment. Last time I went up on my Carbamazapine, I did not experience major symptoms, though this time they have been significant. I am persevering. One of the identity adjustments that I am proud to make, is that I am simply schizoaffective. I do not want to over identify or indulge in any label, but this is the truth, and I have spent many years trying to present and pretend otherwise. As I approach forty, I am ready to move into full acceptance of my fate of being a mental illness survivor. Thank you Instagram, you have provided much solace in the fact that I can reach out to other survivors, while witnessing their journeys. I feel less alone, and I stigmatize myself less. I would never judge someone else who has survived depression, an eating disorder, a suicide attempt or that struggles with psychosis and/or moods. I really am a very compassionate person. Well, it is time to apply that to myself. This recent bought of side affects is a harsh reminder of my diagnosis and life, but I accept it willingly and with compassion.
Ableism
5/19/18
I never really thought of the word “ableism” as applying to Mental Illness the way it applies to the physically disabled, but it does. It feeds the stigma that we all deal with as mental health consumers, even within our own families. Those that do not take the time to really look, to understand what mental health consumers go through, what mental illness looks like, fall easily into a privileged place where they then make assumptions about us as people. They see us as lesser humans. They assume we are incapable. They do not respect all the trials we go through as not our fault, or as valid experiences, because they do not understand them, nor do they take the time or effort to ‘see’ us. What this looks like, or rather feels like, is like being put in a box. I am not my illness, and my illness does not make me weak, nor a lesser human being. Society sees us this way. But mostly, it rarely accounts for what we are not able to do in a loving and accepting way. They just see “She does not have a degree”, “She does not have a job”, “She is overweight”, “She is incapable”, or “She is not ready to take on responsibilities”.
Recently, I chose not to be a Peer Counselor for my local resource center nor to co-facilitate a support group which once was my own ‘dream baby’ several years ago. I have evolved in understanding myself as a HUMAN. I once was in massage school and I chose to not not do this, because I absorb other people’s issues through energy. This is a talent I have. But unfortunately, because of my disability, it is not good for me to do this. This does not mean that I am not skilled, at counseling or massage, or that I am not ready. This means that I have chosen to express myself through other venues such as art and writing, due to the fact that they do not counteract my innate gifts. Please understand this, people. Please don’t assume I am TOO SICK to accomplish goals.
“If you only teach a fish to climb a tree, it will spend its whole life believing that it is stupid.”
“Talent hits a target no-one else can hit; genius hits a target no-one else can see.”
“You can only become a revolutionary when you see the prison walls in the first place.”
Witchy Thoughts
5/17/18
Many years ago, I learned to speak to the trees. I learned to speak to ancestor spirits, my own and others. I prayed in the mountains, and continued to do this throughout my life, walking on the riverbeds below the tall snowy peaks, cawing with the large ravens that came to visit me there. I have celebrated Imbolg, Samhain, the equinoxes, the solstices, and other solar and lunar holidays for decades. I have also traveled to other planes on spirit-quests/ and in psychotic breaks, and seen things as well as communicated with worlds and realities that are difficult to explain today.
When I was nineteen, I married a Wiccan, who descends directly from a line of witches in Ireland. I too, have always connected with my Romani roots from Transylvania. I sought to understand Wicca. I studied “The Witches Bible”, purchased a large book on Wicca, and other books such as “The White Goddess”. It never quite stuck, however. I found myself praying to ‘God’ when I was on the edge of sanity. Many years later, I studied Christianity for four years. It was only after doing so, that I was able to connect with the Goddess. When I read my tarot, or pray over my stones, I acknowledge my spirit guides, other spirits who are with me, grandfather and grandmother spirit, the goddess, and Jesus. I am grateful for all of these relationships. To me this all is god, as is nature and the cosmos.
The other day, sitting in my prayer/meditation spot in the yard, I became very focused. I looked down at my coffee, and it was swirling to the left. I had the feeling I was making this happen. I connect so deeply with nature when I sit, I see this as possible. This seemed unquestionable to me. I have begun a new journey. People these days, throw around the word witch very generously, and to me it is a very sacred word. Everyone is allowed to choose whatever identity suits them, and I believe in freedom of identity strongly. I will not claim this word lightly. I asked a question of my journal, and Steve’s mother and grandma who are spirits/witches/ancestors… ‘Am I becoming a witch?’
Inner Cosmos
5/13/18
Sitting in the grass this morning, I became one with the earth, with the ant crawling on my leg, the breeze, and the sun. Meditation in nature can take us very deep, and we may even blend our subconscious or consciousness with the energies of the planet, becoming a dragon of ions traveling about the surface of the globe. I visited the rivers, an island in Thailand, and mountains in China and in the United States. I do not believe that I was alone; I was meeting many fellow travelers there. Not only am I healing the deep patterns within myself, but these crevasses are interconnected with the energies and the people of our planet near and far. Perhaps this is why I feel so much, it is not all about me. What comes through me is global, and needs to be brought to consciousness on a communal plane, whilst getting in touch with nature and her energies.
I feel lighter now, more connected, more integrated. I could spend all day there, sitting in the grass in front of my house, gazing over taller grass and through the trees at the snow peaked Olympics, while soaking in the magic and the sun. I have more to feel and to process. I crave to go deeper with these energetic dragons, and to participate furthermore in the healing and communicating with beings; animal and plant alike, whilst visiting the energies of a vast world.
Easwaran
5/5/18
“Nothing is created suddenly, anymore than a bunch of grapes or a fig. If you tell method you desire a fig, I answer you that there must be time. Let it first blossom, then bear fruit, then ripen.” -Epictetus
All true spiritual development takes place little by little. From day to day, you seem to make progress, and when you glance back to the year before, though you have vastly farther to go, you realize that your nervous system is increasingly resilient, your will stronger, your senses more responsive, your mind and relationships more secure; your goal becomes that much clearer before your eyes.
It is not very helpful to ask, “Why am I not making much progress? Why are there still so many difficulties in my way? Why can’t I surmount them?” It takes time and labor, but the tree will bear fruit.
Journey
4/13/18
I am being reborn, I am blank, I am the Tao; nothingness with infinite possibility. I have taken the name of Moon, and when people call me this, my heart fills with amazing joy. This name represents going deep within myself to uncover, discover, and heal my soul. We are complex creatures. I used to live on the surface with my anger, the pain too much to face. But something has changed. I have opened, surrendered. And I am being mothered by the universe, by the spirits, by my guides, by myself. I wrote of a raven in my dream. She was ‘mother’, and I was grieving, wailing, for her pain, her injury. I have discussed that she is me, god, both within and without. Spiritually, I have been tearing away and healing the layers for many years. I know that there are endless more layers. I am yielding, retreating, surrendering. I am inspired by writings of the Tao, and finding much meaning in the mystery, the abyss, and the fact that things and entities are not black and white. I am delving spiritually to levels that I may have known existed, but am experiencing, now, with my whole being and consciousness. I am able to remain present. I am not always okay. I become overwhelmed, afraid at times; I shed tears, I have sleepless nights, I feel confused about my sexuality and my spirituality. But I am sitting with these questions and allowing for the lack of definition. I am exploring, the universe and myself. And I am so grateful. I have come home, I have found contentment, I have freed myself. Still, the journey extends itself.
Happy Friday the 13th, and the closing of a powerful retrograde in Aries as we approach the New Moon. Blessings!
Mother Raven
4/10/18
I am mother raven. I am mystical, clairvoyant, magical. I am just discovering myself, though my wisdom, strength and knowledge is so very ancient. I am grieving. I have been injured in this life, my clairvoyance stifled, crushed. My wing broken… I am healing. I am finding myself, my magic. My gift is clairvoyance. But the grief runs deep. As I emerge into this new life, guided by the spirits and the elements, I feel very raw, and am aware of psychic attacks that for so long I absorbed and I allowed to overtake me. The stifling of my true self and my gift resulted in rage that I have dealt with over the last ten years; forgiving, healing, becoming soft and receiving once again. Woman is also mother raven, and as I grieve for my injured self, I am also grieving for collective and universal woman, the goddess. She is reborn, we are finding our roots, our strength and our vision. As we awaken, our knees waver and our beings quake. But as I learn to let the magic in, the vision overtake me without confusion, and am guided by clarity, divine acceptance and love, I find myself. I heal. I awaken. I see.
Dream Magic
4/6/18
Dreaming this morning, a potent vision came to me. Many dogs were playing on my land, and the next thing I knew my dog Lionel was flying though the air after a family of ravens. He caught the mother raven, and she became brutally injured on her wing. She then went to save her child raven, and the father raven picked up them both and escaped. As they flew away the father was not able to hold the mother and child raven, and as he dropped his wife, the mother raven let out an excruciating scream. As I watched this, I became stricken with severe grief and started wailing in sadness for what I was witnessing.
In my tarot salon group, we had an assignment to act on something that came to us in our dreams. So even though I was reminded of my love for animals, and the thought came to become more committed to fighting for their protection and advocating for them, I searched for a way to act in the moment. At about 1am the night before, I had sat before three blank tarot cards that I was to write upon, and create my own symbolism. I imagined the past, present and future, and so this morning immediately took this dream as a sign to create a tarot card. Images of a family of ravens, the mother dripping blood and a picture of a flying dog came to me. The only thing that I could find on flying dogs was that in Chinese mythology there is a heavenly dog that is a demon people fear. I also discovered that 2018 is the year of the dog; the meaning: loyalty, commitment and luck. The demon version came to me in my dream, even though it was in the form of my very own beloved Lionel. The raven represents magic, clairvoyance and manifestation, for short. The card I created represents the grief in my past, and perhaps much more once I meditate further on the shadows and the symbology. It is the three of swords.
The Wind of My Soul
4/1/18
This song, by Cat Steven’s, was a very important song to me in my teen years. I played it for a meditation my freshman year in high school to my class of 60 one day. “I listen to the wind, to the wind of my soul. Where I end up, well I think only God really knows…” These words shaped my young being who was searching, and crying and screaming for meaning and an identity rooted in deep meaning. To this day, this song brings me back, far into my emerging womanhood. Twenty-five years later, I am still exploring many of these same issues in my inner search. I am so grateful for this life. The depth of the Tao, of God, and of the Cosmos is never ending, and the lessons that await me are endless.
Today I am feeling a gentle angst. Like it is time for release, or “not giving a fuck”. This now looks so much tamer than it used to. I am requiring space and solitude on my journey. Today, Easter, I did not feel drawn to gather, but rather retreat. Balance, and creating my own meaning is very important to me right now, and it is a delicate journey. So as I listen to the wind, I grow more still. I search deeper. I ask questions about god and myself. As I deepen and travel through the layers, I feel unsteady as they are ripped away. But I am grateful. I am grateful for my soulmate, the security I have and feel, for my mom, and for love: the love of god, the universe, nature, as well as the love I am learning to embody in myself.
Gorilla Dreams
3/25/18
I am grieving. My friend yesterday told me she may go work at a monkey sanctuary in Florida. I am remembering how much I love gorillas. She will not be working with gorillas, however. Many of the monkeys at the sanctuary have been rescued from captivity. I have visited Gorillas, Chimpanzees and Rhesus monkeys in various habitats, and I believe these primates are some of our closest brothers and sisters in the animal kingdom. I am stricken with the reality of grief and climate change. Yes, humans have suffered greatly because of abuse from other humans, but the animal world also has taken a terrible toll at our careless hands.
My tears also speak for the many years I have spent disconnected from a true passion of mine: gorillas. I am so happy for my friend, and I hope she takes the job, though I will miss her. I also hope that someday, I will be able to go visit her in the field, and witness the miracle of resurrection that love can actually bring to ourselves and our sister and brother monkeys and apes. I am praying right now for what few gorillas and other species remain in the wild. Will you take a moment with me to connect, pray and think deeply about the beautiful animal kingdom?
Golden Dust
3/24/18
“I want to go on living even after my death! And therefore I am grateful to God for giving me this gift, this possibility of developing myself and of writing, of expressing all that is in me. I can shake off everything if I write; my sorrows disappear, my courage is reborn.”
– Anne Frank
I agree wholeheartedly with this quote. My writing and my recent book have been a very deep healing experience for me. Every time I express my thoughts that are springing forth in my dreams into a poem, or I articulate a painful part of my past in a blog, I am healed.
Life is about being selfless. I feel selfless when I write. I strive to live selflessly in my life in order to truly live with dignity. Lately, I have been rediscovering the power of the goddess as well as god, and I am reliving that power in the visions I have. What is hidden and hard to see, also contains the pure light; the essence of magic that we all strive for.
Sometimes living as a selfless human being is like this. But when you are tapped into the source, and are within the deep revelation that being present can bring, one may learn that what we think of as attention, as being in the lime light, is not truly the place of magical influence in this universe. It is in the shadows, the subtlety, the forgotten dust, where the true gems of this earth preside.
It is like this within my self, and it is only when I meditate deeply, that I recover what lay truly special and sacred to my heart. We go on living, and many of us have lived before. It is in the deep mysteries of this planet, where golden consciousness is found.
POETRY
Melting Away
4/17/20
This is Magic she said
I looked inward and saw
The tooth and nail within me
Fading like a summer dream
The narcissus glowed
And I could smell her fragrance
Entering my nostrils
On rays of sunshine
The grass usurps me
Into her folds
And I am wishing stillness
Though my body aches
It also flows with the breeze
On which insects ride
Their small world all about me
And at night I lay there
Anger pussing from my eyes
I am holding my arms
And my hips dig into the ground
Above me flitter bats
And I am slightly distracted
From the disdain that followed me there
My sleep was solid
When usually it remains illusive
Though in the slumber
I seemed to battle the anger
That bubbled up the day before
Triggered from a single point in time
The smallest of edges
Sharp like the teeth of a wolf
And still the sunshine
Warms the trees and the flowers
They pull me inward
And there is solace there
The anger wiped away
Yet it is known
That the iceberg lingers
Beneath the surface of my life
So in this warmth
I try and let go
I try and move on
But not until I dive to the depths of
My frozen castle in the waters of my heart
Bring the sunshine down and within
And shine the light on the rage so deep
It will continue to rule
Like a bat in the shadows
That is barely seen
Song at Dusk12/9/19
Is it still getting dark,
Or is it the light of the moon?
I see my friends standing tall,
Standing strong.
Is it your voice that I hear,
Is it you, is it true?
Or is it the wanderings
Of my weary mind.
An Autumn Epithet
9/28/19
My shoulders ache from another day.
I sit on my porch and the sunlight
Warmly caresses the cool air
Amongst the breeze ruffling the
Oak leaves of my favorite tree
Like feathers.
My heart aches for family lost;
Some deceased, some distant,
But all coiling around the fascia
Within my chest, like a familiar
Touch: breathing, pulsing
Laden with spirit.
The subtle song of the birds
And dancing of conifer and willow
Soothe the muscles and skin
That cover my head where it hurts,
And the creaking of the branches
Communicate their longing.
My cigarette is low, and I clear
My throat. I am bundled in
A blanket and a hoodie, the air
Cool on my skin, and the sensation
Of my pen, is as familiar as the
Wind that rustles the pages of
My notebook, thick and filled
With thought and emotion.
The Sacrifice of the Serpent
8/14/19
The Sacrifice of the Serpent Part One -
They were high in the hills below the Grand Teton mountains, standing at a river that feeds the Platte. They had traveled from Nebraska, over to northern Utah, and then north up the west side of the mountains to the Snake river, and back.
They gazed now, up at the beauty of the mountains in the distance, preparing for what would come next.
The three brothers enter into a sweat. They are praying for their sister who is outside, drugged with herbs, and huddled in a ball beside a big rock.
They had traveled long and hard seeking refuge; seeking assistance and seeking help, for their beloved sister. The conflicts of the white man had stolen the people that carried their much needed wisdom.
The wisdom was technically still with the people, but was trapped inside of ghosts that hid in sacred articles of their faith. It was no longer available to the peoples; Of the Raven, Of the Rock, Of the Sun, or Of the River. For the brutal killing off of all of their men, women, and children, had forced peace in a time of war, in order to seal the wisdom for future generations.
In the hand made lodge, put together with leather, and sewn with buffalo sinew, now sit the three men, mourning for their sister, and planning for her death.
She is very ill. She would wail and threaten people. She had tried to kill a village Chief back in Nebraska; it was as if she was channeling the war and the suffering that was everywhere.
It was decided that the eldest would do the deed, and the other two brothers would fall to their knees.
They came out of the sweat lodge, and began to prepare a board to tie her limp, half-conscious body to, with rope made from grasses.
They had been preparing for days: sweating, chanting, fasting, singing, dancing, and making rope. As the two brothers tie her body to the board, dressed in a sacred ceremonial dress, the eldest prayed over his blade.
They then stood at the rivers edge, over a place where there was current, and a bit of a fall. On either side of the sister, now tied gently but firmly to her board, stand the two younger brothers. They say one final prayer, and the eldest embraces the half awake body of his beloved sister.
He slits her throat and clutches her dying body to his chest, while hugging the board which is weighted with stones. They then fall together into the river.
As the eldest brother and the girl fall, they plunge into the rushes of the river, and the two younger brothers fall hard on their knees. They wail in desperate grief and sadness.
The water is colored with the blood of the young woman. The eldest brother gasps for his breath, and the young woman’s body bobs to the surface, her face to the sky, then floats on down the river.
The eldest brother finds the shore, and joins his brothers, but he is unable to make sound come from his throat. Instead he prays to the Great River Serpent that his soul and that of his sister will be at peace.
The sun is setting, and as the blood clears from the flowing waters, a deep ichor pink fills the sky, reflecting off of the clouds.
It seems that the earth, her trees, and her animals have become quiet, and in the background, beyond the noise of the wailing brothers, silence fills the land.
All that can be heard are the cries, both verbal and non-verbal, of three very, very saddened men, and the whisper from the Serpent as he takes the sister into his merciful jaws.
The Sacrifice of the Serpent Part Two -
Her body floats on down the river, and the men let go of her, feeling much grief, shame, rage and devastation in their hearts.
But the herbs slowed her bleeding, and the slice below her jaw was not fatal.
She floated, in and out of consciousness, and prayed. Eventually she washed up, almost dead, on some shore, and soon a man came upon her.
He was drawn to her. He knew her face. He told himself that he knew of her. She was so familiar and beautiful to him.
He was a white man and his name was Paul. He and his fellow travelers, unbound her body, and slowly nursed her back to health. Before they untied her, and pulled her onto land, Paul stuffed a small cross in a handkerchief into her hand. She gripped it slightly, not knowing fully what it was, and still it brought her strength.
The men introduced her to the Lord, immediately, and dressed her in white women’s clothing. Paul fell in love with her native beauty, and soon she became his wife. The caravan settled nearby, as they found land that they could dig for fresh water beneath the earth and soil they could till for farming their foreign grains. As her wounds healed, she developed a new faith, and adopted a completely foreign way of life. She bore Paul several children that lived and several that did not survive childbirth. Finally, she gave birth to her final child and her only girl. She loved this child like nothing she had ever known. It was complete beautiful and pure love. She was her jewel.
Time passed, and eventually the oldest brother, who was in waiting to become a chief, heard news of an Indian woman who had birthed children of a foreign man. He knew that these men were near where they had sent their sister to rest down the river, and his knowing spoke of her life after death. When he finally found the settlement, he negotiated with Paul for his sister’s freedom.
But she did not want to leave. She loved Paul. And she was happy. She had found new faith. Her white family had bought her healing and wellness that she had never known. She loved her brother, and when he laid eyes upon her, he could not let her stay.
The peaceable interaction soon became heated, and then violent. The brother left and returned with warriors. They slaughtered the settlement, including the children of mixed blood. They tore the young girl child from the sister’s arms, and put her to death. Paul finally surrendered, and the eldest brother left with his warriors and his sister. She knew the ways of the world, and that women must accept that men will do what they will do. She loved her brother, and accepted returning to her people. Though, she was plagued with grief for leaving a man she had grown to love very much, her dead family, her slaughtered children, and most of all her daughter.
Later, returned to her esteemed role as the sister of a chief to be, she was accepted by her people once again. She had learned how to manage her visions, moods, and tempests, and mostly kept to herself. She valued her privacy, time spent in prayer, and the activities of weaving baskets and cloth. This helped her manage her loss and her grief, as well as to feel and act in peace.
Her brother, now a chief, came to his sister one day, whom he loved very much, and pleaded for her forgiveness. Even though he felt remorse for the death of her white brethren, at the time he was acting as his people would have expected a warrior chief to act in a time of great tension, conflict, and war with the white man.
Though she loved her brother immensely, and she would give her life for him, as well as her other brothers, she told him that she would not forgive him. The loss of her daughter, her baby child, was just too great of a void. She chose to be honest, though it hurt to break the heart of her beloved brother for the second and last time.
In time all was forgiven, though much time and prayer went by before this could be done. Also, over time her people would learn that conflict with a people that seemed to be insensitively invading and settling their lands was not black and white. It was this very compassion the native peoples developed for the other, that eventually would be their demise.
Dora
7/19/19
I am small
I am moving my hand
I am moving my mouth
I am touching you
You are feeling me
We are together
At last
But medicine is in the dark ages
They think I am lost
I almost am
They beat me hard on the chest
And I feel the pain
Then I leave
Or you think I do
I stay for a bit
I am still here
With you
With you both
There is a fight
About a girl
About me
But I led you to the ball
I found you
Red white and blue swirls
I remember
It was all my fault
I was here before you
And your spirit followed with such force
That I did not stay
I came again
And I died before your eyes
I am staying, now
To watch
To know
That is what I do is watch
That is what I do is know
I take the pain
In my small little body,
I am dead
But I am still here
My Spirit remains in my tiny body
I hit the wall
And you fight
You always fight
Forgive, you say
Forgive
You are here to teach me
I am here to learn
I am hear to learn to forgive
Just as you are here
To learn to forgive
Blood is on my hands now
I am touching myself
I am reliving when HE
Was mutilated and raped
So, teach me, love
Teach me how to forgive
Then maybe the blood that is on my hands
Will be washed clean
Wonder Woman
7/20/19
I was Ann
I came here alone
I landed in Seattle
I carried a triangle pyramid rock with me from another planet
I made a boat
I sailed and walked to Lopez
Incoming found men here
Piet, Har, Qurto, and Fracis
Capitan, Intelligence, Navigation, Engineering
They picked me up
27 Trillion years ago
We flew back to the pod
It is in Hits Hill
Once I was Gifted
7/23/19
When I was a girl
I went to SCDS
They called us the Cuntry Kids
We were special
Not just rich
We were gifted,
And some of us were Scholarship
Like Eric Hansen
I was like
Holy Shit!
You are a pitcher for the M’s!!
Me and Jenny played Football
Heather and I played Babysitters Club
And we hid arrows and bows in the dirt
I was Betsy Ross
And Carmen Miranda
We had Sex Ed
We learned about Fibronachi,
I was Paula Abdul in a talent show
Us girls
And we won…
In Second Grade
Whitney, Wendy and I
Won third place in a Recycle Robot
State contest
And we won a small black and white TV,
I invented a bicycle that was charged as you pedaled it
It had an Umbrella
And served Lemonade
But really…
When the world hit me like a bucket of rocks
I woke up and I was forty years old and mentally disabled.
I am Dual Diagnosis,
Meaning I am an Alcoholic Schizoaffective.
Still,
Life is pretty good
I live in the USA so the Government takes care of me
AA is da bomb
Meds rock these days
I did write a book and climb a mountain
I even got a standing ovation,
My education -
7th grade at Dentston College in Stoke-on-Trent,
“Mivel’s Ravine” read at Eighth Grade Graduation,
Northwest School; Improv, Environment,
The Power Trip etc. etc….
My world travels to Spain and Italy
Student Conservation Association
Mills College for a moment, New Zealand
Evergreen
Post Nineteen, the love of my life for over twenty years,
And at least I am waking up to the truth.
Cher the Pancake
7/9/19
It is my Birthday
March 27th, Easter
The anniversary of
My Grandpa Miller’s
Death
Church is hard,
I’m running the
PowerPoint,
And I break down
And walk out
I go home,
Quakers is in session,
John is there,
I break down in tears
I leave again,
And I walk around the farm,
Tears won’t stop flowing…
I make pancakes
I don’t go to church.
THOG
6/29/19
Dear Stephen
You are my Sunshine
Jesus, Come Home
Son
It is Supper Time
The Slooooooooow
Train is here
Thank you
Thomas the “Train”
A Black Man who
Settled Lopez Island
Long, Long ago
And called it
“Freedom Nation”
Always and Forever
Your Loving Wife,
Emily
Basement
6/15/19
There is something down there
I have a dream
Nightmare
From Early Childhood
My Sister and I share the dream
Simple
Large black ball
Between pool ball/bowling ball
Rolling down a pipe
Lord of the Flies
5/17/19
She is in a hole…
She knows only that the nightmare is about little dogs and sewing clothes.
And there is a rope, or maybe a belt.
But she is the girl,
Placed in the hole,
Tormented by the horrors of her mother, and best friend.
She is a psychic,
A hand me down is all,
Ancient as it is.
The thing is…
She dreamt of bad ass women,
Who could drive trucks,
And her first sensation of the world and its pain.
It was when we placed a banana in her mouth for the first time…
She was immediately nauseous
As a baby,
But she overcame the sensation;
She learned to speak,
And learned to eat…
When she was eight,
She found herself in a tree,
Doing her homework,
Calling herself a tomboy.
When she was nine she read Tomboy.
When she was seventeen…
When she had discovered drugs and fun,
She sat on the floor of the basement where she lived,
Arranging trinkets to keep the Mountain from erupting;
Mt Rainier.
Or was it metaphorical?
It was her first “break” however small…
And the hole is vivid,
Right out of The Silence of the Lambs,
She suspects that he is having a nightmare;
Mom is always up early worried.
Or, is it like when the world is awakening to consciousness?
Does her mother think it is too bright?
We crave the darkness,
The darkness of control,
The peace that it brings.
Because if the shame were to flow, it might blow a mountain.
Sound Deliverance
5/14/19
So, life rejected me
And music caught me,
Narrowly avoiding the fate
Of falling.
Like a soft pillow,
Or a labyrinth of prayer
Coalescing in my brain,
Reviewing past patterns,
Recalling identity buried deep,
Connecting me to my history
In a very healing way.
In this way,
Art should be available;
Accessable.
Free to become entwined with;
A vocal poetry of the people.
Can flavors be colors,
In the spices and sauces that
We consume?
Can your image become sound,
dancing within notes around
My planetaria,
My aligned self;
Squeezing out the excess,
Delivering redemption?
In a seed, in a song, in a color,
In a single note...
It filtered through the glass,
balancing on a wave of light;
It found me here,
Abstaining.
Trying to breath,
Settling the psychological pressure
Within my blood cells.
I listened,
You prayed.
I became.
Mega Bytes Destroyed
5/18/18
Heavy flow happening here.
Gut wrenching reprogramming,
Cleansing
Weeping
Bleeding,
Feces burning,
All systems corrupted
It seems.
Or are we integrating?
Wholistic management,
Mature fluid…
It smells like death
And Baby Kittens.
I smudge the computer,
Ipod
Phone
With holy wood.
I sort through the piles
Of the life of Moon.
Important stillness,
It happens.
You get what you get,
So beautiful,
And still massacres on the news.
Giant trucks transported,
About to run you down.
Tom is my witness.
Just before…
God takes away the pulsing
Pain,
I am about to explode
All over the road,
Blood and shit
Oh Fuck!
Here we go again,
Am I an angel or a demon?
Where is Lucifer?
Did we let it go?
The mower is dead,
The perfection fucked.
And now it is fixed.
The beats happen,
The tea is strong,
And it all makes sense.
Or does it?
Wings of Sorrow
5/7/18
I walk down the road,
The beauty is so potent,
The poetry in the lyrics
Belting through my earbuds,
The wings of a giant red tailed hawk
Soaring elegantly in the light,
Far above the earth,
Spreading its wings for all to see.
Emotion wells in my chest,
I cannot contain the tears.
Why is it that when beauty arises
It opens a doorway to my grief?
The sadness resting
Just below the surface,
Waiting for a gleam of light.
The hawk, the song,
Reveal my sadness,
And a few tears escape.
Solitary on the roadside,
My legs pumping to a rhythm,
My feet press on.
Day after day
I express my truth
For the hawks, the vultures,
I wave to the cars
Smile and exhale.
Windows only separate us,
The connection is real,
Fleeting but profound
In all of its simplicity.
As I crest the hill,
My breath becomes heavy
And as the tears lighten,
I become lighter as well.
All of the beauty
Therapeutic,
Bringing solace to my day.
Rebel Heart
4/20/18
I am a rebel.
My heart has been broken.
Over and over again.
I became angry.
I become cold.
A was capable of completely disengaging
From my body,
From my mind.
I knew my heart had a beat,
But is was blackened,
With grief that had crystalized,
Into smokey quartz,
Covered in blood stains and tears.
I was frozen.
I could look into my reality,
A kaleidoscope,
A maze,
A riddle connecting me to my past,
To me, to my true self.
My instincts guided me,
I was indestructible,
I was unbreakable,
Because I had already broke,
Shattered into millions of pieces,
The tracks only traceable by a miracle.
You see, God is soft,
And She creeps in,
Through the change,
At intervals of your well greased machine.
It does not seek destruction,
But it is not afraid of it,
And still She finds you,
A seductress,
A bad ass,
A super bitch.
Yet she can be small, soft, silky,
And she finds you on the desolate edge,
Of the cliff you created.
Her tendrils touch you,
And a chill passes through.
Memories flash before your eyes,
You know there is hope,
That there is a way.
Like moss you begin to soak her in,
And once you become saturated, heavy,
You have no choice but to surrender,
Because you are now leaden, tired.
It looks like the end, but it is just the beginning.
You have been saved and you don’t even know.
With soft eyes, my icicles melting,
To create a pool of soothing and warm water,
That will soak my tears, and hold them,
I let go,
I learn to love,
I surrender,
I yield.
Rebirth
4/18/18
Little did I know
That the world was changing.
At first it felt ominous,
It felt good.
All the signs were there
To support the evolution.
I felt the ground tilled for new growth,
I set sail on my journey
To find an oasis undiscovered,
Full of possibility,
Rich in the unknown.
The trip began.
I set sail into the sunset,
Feeling free and unattached,
Every bird I saw was new,
Every sunset filled with possibility.
But it is a new world out there,
Full of transcendence,
And unencumbered joys;
Presents waiting to be unwrapped,
Become ominous, foreboding.
Islands undiscovered, promise work,
Shelters unbuilt,
Dangerous caverns and caves await,
And the learning promises to be rich,
But also promises pain.
All life promises pain.
All lessons involve some backward movement,
And now that I have left all that I have behind,
I grieve for the lost relationships,
I mourn the days of old.
Yes, I am free,
I am untethered,
Yet I feel alone,
And sad, grief alienating.
But the tears wash my fresh skin
With newborn salt,
Promising once again the rebirth
That I am following.
Intuitively I plan,
For I have no plan.
Only the guidance from the moon and stars above,
And the strong feelings deep inside,
Entrenched deep in intuition,
In the lessons of my body.
I bleed to the Earth as we depart from this new moon,
As we emerge from this retrograde,
Leave my birth sign,
And head once again for the full.
Waxing, Growing, Building,
I become stronger.
I make peace with the black
Dark unknowing of my fertile soul,
Empty, awaiting the seeds
Of a new life.
Soul Father
4/5/18
The feathers turn and twist,
Moved by spirit, by grace,
Memories lost, forgotten.
Time for repose, rest.
Time to search.
I am here.
But you have never forgotten me.
You have held me in your heart,
The baby with the purple face
And squinting brown eyes,
Gazing for the first time,
In love.
In love with you, my father,
Gentle spirit. Wise teacher.
Deep friend, you are there.
You are here, at my side
Always within reach.
I love you.
Holding Mystery
4/3/18
The sunset is a picture
That holds our dreams.
Together in this life.
I am taken aback.
With each swirl of cloud,
Each ray of light,
I remember your embrace
Your laugh, your eyes.
The Universe is deep.
Holding all of the mysteries,
The Tao, The Cosmos, God,
The Holy Mother.
She carries us on each thread,
United with her breath
To the holiest of places.
Woven together,
Our hearts entwine
In the Knowing.
You are with me there
At each sunset,
Awaiting a new beginning
Of life reborn.
Eternity, Space, the Tao
It brings us together
Each time,
To embrace once again
The sunset.
Your arms
A familiar place to rest my head.
Spirit Mother
3/26/18
The web of life
Spider magic
I am in the realm of mystery
We are woven together
In magic
I am in a fractal
My delicate energy
My sacred essence of spirit
Held in a holy pattern
Tendrils swim
Woven by the light
By mother spider
A sacred stone, I am
A crystal obscure
Deep frequencies
Patterns,
They emerge and speak
Telling secrets of the earth
Of past journeys,
Of past lives,
A spirit quest.
Sometimes the essence
Of what is golden,
Of true consciousness
Is not easy to find.
It is layered deep
In many lessons
Woven in questions,
Held in a scared balance
Our minds cannot comprehend.
We must use our intuition
Dream deep dreams
Shed holy tears
Lift waves of grief,
Then deep beneath
We may discover
Our essence
Our purpose
Our gift,
Waiting to be uncovered.
I listen, grieve and wait
Stillness my path
Memories of this life and others
My guides, my maps.
My journey unfolds
Ends and begins
Over and over again
Reaching deeper every time,
Layers unending…
Depth insurmountable -
Questions remain as I waken to
Guides
To new beginnings
I am reminded gently
By the spirit mother
At every turn,
With eyes open,
Expectant
Hopeful and
Healing.
Temperance
3/21/18
Balance is here,
I am moving with it,
Flowing organically,
Stirring up the silt
The riverbeds of my spirit,
My soul, emerging
Shifting and showing
Many layers beneath.
Light penetrates color
Illumination of thought
Prayer and emotion,
I am learning,
In love I grow,
In patience I extend,
I am endurance
I am flight.
I love my soul
Jesus within,
The Goddess without
And around,
She gives birth
Mary, Ma
To the Son of Man,
To Christ consciousness.
I am moved by this spirit,
As temperance melds
The water and fire
To make steam;
I am the steam,
My memories,
My creations
Sacred,
I am love.
I cannot deny,
The heart
The sorrow
The love
Trancendance,
All bringing me closer
To the source, to God,
Christ my friend my guide,
The Goddess my pillow,
And a soft moist place to hold my tears.
A Gift of Love
3/13/18
Gifts of the heart,
Gifts of the soul,
I reach to you with loving care,
With arms stretched
From my heart to yours.
Will you receive this gift?
Will you take it like an embrace?
My arms stretched around you,
Communicating the love I feel,
I feel welcomed by your receiving.
Life is about what you give;
Life gains purpose,
I build this life upon my gifts,
My generosity,
Learning as my heart expands each time.
I also am learning that I am a gift,
A journey long
That I have taken,
To understand that this life,
The struggle, the pain
Is all love waiting to be hatched.
And with you I communicate,
We hold each other’s pain,
Each other’s journey,
Bringing light to the cracks,
Creating story.
So I learn,
I open and I expand,
Slowly letting love caress the pain,
The aches and scars of growing,
And I paint beautiful colors upon the marks.
I become a canvas,
Built upon my giving,
I learn the gift is in the giving,
The healing in the sharing,
I am found, I belong.
A rainbow of grief,
A palate of sorrow,
A colored pencil waiting to make my mark
Of love,
My human spirit breathes.
Writing my Soul
2/22/18
What do my words mean?
I write them, they flow from my pen, my fingers.
Subjectivity is apparent,
Wisps of my mind becoming solid,
Air and water moving my heart.
I continue on this journey,
Creating sentences, phrases, prose,
It all comes to fruition,
And exists captured,
On white paper, in black ink,
My heart and mind exposed,
For anyone to read,
To decipherer a meaning,
To comprehend my soul.
I reveal myself,
Through grammar and punctuation,
With the hopes of purging pain,
Of making sense of the confusion,
That plagues me in this life,
That follows me everywhere.
What is it for?
The words exist in pure form as a release,
They are guiding me,
Down the road of self discovery.
So the rhythm of my words press on,
Into the paper with a pen for a sword,
Making an imprint of my soul;
And onto the screen with the tap tapping
Of the keyboard.
Moment upon moment is dressed through words,
Taking away the nakedness of my sorrow,
The blankness of my mind,
The uneasiness of personality.
It all becomes a tribute,
A concoction of love,
A silent song in black and white.
Hysteria
4/14/17
You are in a room,
You have seen many worlds
And saved them.
I am dreaming, and
The world is ending.
I hold the satchels
As if I am in Walmart on a holiday,
Though the light is not so glaring.
They are fuming,
I end up lost once again,
The ears stretch,
Is it Buddha or Jesus?
What name do we praise?
How many ships must go down
Before we realize it is just us,
A man and a woman
Giving birth
To the next generation?
Mother Earth can hold us,
She is vast.
The keys divest.
I am not dreaming anymore.
MOURNING MASK
Above the black silhouettes, rises a thick column of smoke, and baby dots of fire alit beauteous orange, soar skyward on their journey to the unknown cosmos above. The specks of fire and spirit dance and swirl around in individual patterns that smirk at me and smile. As I lose myself in the sparks while looking skyward, they perform amazing sonnets and display patterns and dances that are intoxicating. I am sober, it is 5am. The night was long and rainy, though now it is dry and the moon is out, as are many stars, lingering hopeful above my head.
The night was lush with music, dancing, and performances done by our small tribe on Lopez. Many are my friends, but this is the first time I have stayed all night. This winter solstice ceremony extends well into the light hours that follow the longest night of the year. Earlier in the evening, I was approached by two of the women that organize the event, one is my massage therapist, and one is a lady I have known in the community for some time.
“Emily!” They shout in unison. I am speaking to someone, and apparently they were dancing around, waving their hands energetically to get my attention. Finally, when they realized that these supposed subtleties were not working, both of them shouted my name and touched me on the shoulder. They walked me away from the circle and expressed that they wished to talk about something. It was 1am, and we had been dancing and celebrating around the massive bonfire now for a good eight hours. The rain had stopped, and the 11pm exodus occurred awhile before. They explained to me that they were searching for someone to wear the Mourning Mask, a hand carved mask for the upcoming grief and death ceremony that was going to happen in a few minutes. They both had a succinct instinctual prodding, and thought of me for the job. I had never even seen the ceremony before, but I accepted and expressed that I was honored.
We then walk up a small hill to a square white tent illuminated like a glowing jellyfish in the night. As I walk into the tent, I am greeted with twenty or so hand-carved and magical masks. My massage therapist soon shows me the Mourning Mask and explains to me that I will wear this mask and a wool cape about my head and shoulders. She explains that each mask has its own energy and presence, and that I should spend a few moments with it. When I put it on, I will simply take on the energy and move and do whatever speaks to me.
As my other friend, wearing the Death Mask, enters the performance, he walks around the fire looking every member of the circle intentionally in the face. I did not get to experience this part of the ceremony, but having seen the mask, I can imagine being shocked into an emotional awareness of the reality of death while gazing upon it. I stand back from the circle holding the mask I will wear. I look at it, the wrinkles on its forehead, the blue accents and the reddish tears marked in two streaks coming down from each small slit that I would be looking through. I hold the mask up to the moon, I ask for the moon to speak to me through the mask, and give me direction for my mourning walk.
Back inside the tent I place the mask on my face. There is not much room to breathe. We walk down to the fire, and my “hero” friend, dressed in a black cloak over his head, is my guide. Then I am there, at the entrance to the fire. I enter in and emotions overtake me. I am shuddering with grief and sadness. I channel these feelings, and I interpret them into movements with my hands and body, in a spiritual and solicitous display of mourning. Slowly, I make my way around the circle, and by the time I approach where I came in, I have gone through an evolution, expressing what one goes through in grief and mourning; deep, deep sadness. I became a magical mourning spirit telling the story of suffering to all. Behind the mask, I had the freedom to express, not just express, but act out what lies deepest in all of our bodies, bones and spirits.
I am not exactly sure what it is that I am grieving. Maybe it is for my brain and having lost reality so many times; for my psyche. Maybe it is for the life I did not get to live, maybe it is for our planet.
The light is beginning to show in the sky, and I am sitting around the fire, eyes glazed, and heart warm. I cannot fully comprehend all of the compassion and love I have experienced in a night so full and so long. I am thankful for the coming of the sun. I am hurdled into a whole new realm and reality, and in it are so many kindling souls. In exhaustion, I savor the last moments of this long night. Who knew the dark could be filled with so much brilliance.
~~ FIN ~~