Wednesday, 28 December 2011

Amber: In loving memory of

Just as leaves 
 are the tree, The leaves  
that help it grow, The tree remains, all in all, 
As leaves they come and go. // What is the tree is all the tree, 
The roots, the trunk, the leaves. Why mourn the loss of leaves and such, 
when all that is still breathes: when all that is is nourished, in sunshine and in rain,
by the bounties of the endless skies, in time and time again. // We are the leaves on the tree,
we help the tree to grow. The tree remains, all in all, as leaves we come and go.
We are the tree on which the leaves
help the tree to grow.
And we remain, 
all in all
as leaves, 
we come 
and go
.


Wednesday, 21 December 2011

The Ride of A Lifetime.


or, "The River of Life"

Aug 2011 - the rest of my life.
(latest edit - Dec 26th)

This is about how I found myself, metaphorically, in the relative calm of the middle of a large river after having emerged from what feels like a huge set of rapids lasting about 59 years. The metaphor gets a tad muddled when I consider that it is entirely possible that I wasn't really in rapids at all, but was just so conditioned to dealing with rapids from a very early age that I just kept on imagining and reacting to rapids where indeed there really were none. I remember the first time I got an inkling of this when I found myself in a situation that by all rights should have had me as the injured party, but somehow during the situation, found myself cast as the problem. Be that as it may, the point is that for the first time in my life, I am experiencing a calm with in myself that I can not remember ever experiencing, and that calm is translating into a whole different set of circumstances that I could never have imagined during the time when I felt myself to be rapid bound.

It all came to a hed in August of 2011, when I was visiting my father and steiffmutter, ostensibly to visit with my father and his therapist. During this visit, which I later termed our 'ten day (therapy) intensive,' subsequent to a rather meaningful catharsis, I became aware that I had choices regarding how to deal with our respective situations. I felt that if I closed my eyes, once again, metaphorically, and carefully proceeded, as though in the dark, 'feeling' my way as it were, I would wind up making better choices than if my eyes were open and the lights on. And I realized that I didn't need to concern myself with the family anymore. My life was now going somewhere else, and I could move on, leaving the whole mess more or less behind. Instead of getting hung up on the old family dynamics, which of course, had been a major part of my life at one point, I could just move on, as my family members and their dysfunctions really didn't concern me at all anymore, I was out of that emotional morass for once and for all, should I decide that was what I wanted. That was the first glimpse of the river for me. An epiphany I guess.

And move on I did, with me still metaphorically dipping in and out of the rapids. But I was really starting to get the picture that these rapids were indeed more self induced than real, or at least that when I did confront a real life rapid, I was somehow making more of it than was necessary. Then one day, at a holiday celebration, I experienced another rapid. Was it real, or was it me? Whatever, I got caught in it once again, reacting emotionally to the situation, and finding myself once more in troubled waters. Only this time, it wasn't long, a day at most, before I had calmed down and realized that I was over it somehow. "That it was sort of similar to the family thing, and I could get hung up on it, or just leave it behind. And that's when it hit me. Just let it all go. I told a friend that day that it was time for me to let go of the reins. That afternoon I pulled a tarot card. Oh yea, I had started up with tarot in September, after I returned from the ten day intensive with the pater and steiffmutter. Just as a point of interest really, but also because I felt that I had somehow slipped into the 'ether' of cosmic consideration, and needed something on that level to work with. Something to cogitate upon. On the one hand, for me, tarot is full of symbology that does relate to our human condition, and I see no  harm in meditating on the symbols I find there. Nothing really esoteric about it. However, there is the idea, a la  my poem, The Tree, that we are indeed all stardust, and not just stardust, but whatever stardust is made of. Energy? Consciousness? Something fundamental of the universe(s)? Are we are all indeed this stardust, and hence the energy that the stardust is comprised of, and that energy is somehow akin to, if not indeed, consciousnesses, and that all is all. Could it actually be that we are the emerging consciousness of the universe? That we, along with all the animals and other sentient beings in the world at least, are gawd, literally,and in the early developmental stages of a universal being? And the tarot, not just a bunch of cardboard cutouts with pretty pictures on them, but also part of the stardust/energy/consciousness matrix, and hence, relevant on some sort of  touchy feely, grope around in the dark kind of way. Who knows? I pulled a card.

It couldn't have been more synchronistic, more twighlight zone, more cosmic. A nod from the universe. I pulled the 'Hanged Man.' If this was coincidence, well, then how do we rate coincidences? Is there a scale? Or are all coincidences of the same magnitude, and hence, irrelevant? Many think so. From a subjective point of view however, it was kinda spooky. The Hanged Man is the card of letting go, 'of the reins,' as it were, and I couldn't have pulled a more on point card at that moment. A card of... faith basically. Not my strong suite, me usually of empirical bent, but considering my decision to 'let go of the reins,' now a major consideration. The point was that if I was in any doubt regarding my realization and decision to 'let go of the reins,' I was no longer in any such doubt. My course was clear, if I could just manage to shut my eyes and open my mind.

The next wrinkle in this little journey I seem to have begun was shortly thereafter when I realized that I felt this inner peace thing that I had not ever remembered experiencing before. (The closest I ever came to this was when I was stoned on coke and had reached that point in my pseudo transition from man to woman as to feel like I was... home somehow). The river metaphor applies here. This was when I realized that I felt  like I had just cleared this long series or rapids and had found myself  the middle of a very large, smoothly flowing river, and that all, including, and especially myself, was very calm. This was different than what I was used to. Very nice,together, collected, and I realized that I would like this to be my default position. This was a home base to hang on to. From this vantage I felt as if I could go anywhere I wanted, anytime, at a moment's notice, and with some experience, return to at any given moment, no matter the upset, the rapids real or imagined. I could then rest up, get my bearings, and, at my choosing, if  necessary, hed into whatever was in front of me, ready, equipped and able to face any situation.

And then last night I was at a neighbourhood pub with a friend. And I didn`t take my guitar, even though I knew it was an open mic night. Didn't know what I was going to do. Put my name on the list? I didn't feel like it really, but as was my usual bent, I was almost compelled to do so. The whole list thing that is. And every once in a while I would look in the host's direction to see if he was available to tell him i'd like to play maybe, but he was always busy. A sign? Then, he was sort of free, just casually talking to someone, so I went over, to say what the hell maybe. And he was talking, but still looking outwards, and I stood there waiting for him to either finish his casual conversation or take a moment to acknowledge me. And without saying anything, he turned away from me and into the person he was talking to. Not necessarily away from me so much, not in a pointed way, just more or less focused on the conversation at hand. However, even the person listening to the host had acknowledged my presence. But my target didn't even seem to notice I was there. Not that I felt it was anything personal. It was just as though a door had been closed, and so, I just walked away without a word. I wondered later if he would get out of that conversation and come over to me or something, but he didn't, and I left it there. The universe was not saying move ahead  with this, and for once, I was listening to the universe. At least, that's what I'm telling myself.

And this is what I mean about letting go of control and just letting myself go where the river is taking me. I'm now here for the ride. What else is there really? And I want to see if I just let go of all the stuff I think is important, and just watch what is happening without feeling that I have to accomplish this or do that, that I can just more or less let happen what is going to happen. If nothing else, it is intriguing. And it really can't be any worse than what has already happened. Does this mean I quit everything in my life that was hooked up prior to all of this river metaphor stuff? Maybe. Not really sure yet. Seems that some of the stuff is solid, like SRS, like Qmunity, maybe even el Barrio where I now play lead guitar and do some solo stuff. Not really sure yet. What I do know is that I am now watching as closely as I can, and doing my best to not let the hed cheeze get in the way. And I'm clearing that up as fast as I can. Time to stop thrashing about and see what's going on behind door 3.


Wednesday, 14 December 2011

State of the Art: Depressive Illnesses [(Manic) Depression] - a mental health seeker's perspective)

Further elucidation in the case of nanci blu, receptionist extraordinaire (last update Dec 28'11).

Thesis: If depression, and related conditions, i.e. anxiety disorders/manic-depression etc, are caused by emotional repression, then anti-depression medications, especially those that go to affecting mood (i.e.depression), are not only useless, but counter-productive to the release of emotions and such that are at the root of  depression. Today's Hoxey Elixirs.

The Dilemma: There is a predicament that faces all of us mental health seekers these days, with regard especially to those who experience depressive illnesses, and manic-depression in my particular. Much like the seemingly endless task of finding the right therapist, we are also faced, in the midst of our respective crises, with the daunting challenge of choosing which therapy will be effective. And given the plethora of choices, from cognitive to gestalt to IPT to analytical psychology to psychotherapy to shhhECThhh to a legion of pharmaceuticals ... well, you get the picture: one is hard pressed to make an informed decision. And in a lot of cases I suspect, one's decision is made by one's doctor, by default, because, well, they are the experts, and we tend to trust our experts, and go along with them. Why should we not?

The Scientific Method and the Common Man: Of course, doctors and the like are just people too, faced with much the same problems as the rest of us. And there is so much information out there, so many avenues to pursue, so little time, so much that seems promising but is not necessarily anything that any one is 100% certain about, that even the experts can fall behind the times. We are, after all, all part of the grand experiment, regardless of which side of the maze we think we're on. And in some cases, some professionals may feel they have to know, even when they don't really know, because they are supposed to know, because they have the degrees and certifications to prove they know, and because they are expected to know. Given this, some may make judgements and recommendations not because they do know, but because they feel they should know, and because, well, that's their job. But how does one know anything when one cannot, does not, or will not look in any other direction than the one one has been trained to look in. A philosophical pickle indeed, and one specifically targeted by differentiation, if one has a mind to. On the other hand, I have a neighbour who told me: "oh no, bipolar can never stop. It may go away, but it'll be back again.' How does one such as I refute such an assertion? Impossible, except perhaps with parallel experiences and intersecting theories, these latter validations of a sort, a la scientific method I guess. And there's the rub. The Scientific Method, entitlement for some, dogmatic hooey for others. And how redily does one give up one's socially and scientifically mandated authority to a mere supplicant asking for and perhaps at the same time challenging that authority? A sign in the whirlpool at my community centre reads "do not... without the consent of your doctor." Not advice. Consent! I have also talked to several people who have been diagnosed bi-polar, telling them of my claim, that I have succeeded in my battle with manic-depression, and to a person have been disregarded. I feel like Copernicus. It seems to be beyond comprehension that this could be so. To my mind, were I confronted with a person who claimed to have beaten what ails me, I would want a detailed account of just how that was. Not to be in these cases. These people have been convinced of their 'disability,' wear it like a badge, and nothing it seems is going to get in the way of that. And where did these people get this fatal certainty? Why, from doctors? Who else. So what is the poor health seeker supposed to do in the face of the ubiquitous "doctor's orders"  and the preponderance of scientific' (i.e.'most likely' - "Depression," the National Institute of Mental Health, USA, [NIMH] talking about what causes depression) opinion that prevails today?

I was diagnosed Bipolar 1 and Bipolar 2 at different stages of the game, by different doctors of course. Not to mention several other medical opinions that went by the way on my journey to the Self. Academic bean counters seeking to validate their regurgitated training. So much for scientific consistency, not to mention certainty. And not that I begrudge this necessarily. Doubt,  uncertainty, and even scientific method is the very bedrock of discovery. But what does one do when the one's mandated to help can not question their own firmly and prescribed beliefs. In the final analysis, the only real 'authority' of one's self is... one's Self. On a certain level (npi), it's all just opinion, and you know what they say about opinion.*
 
Self Disclosure - I call what I had manic-depression, because that's what it felt like to me. I've been manic, I've been depressed, but I can't say I've ever felt 'polar,' not to mention bipolar. Sounds like some kind of gay Santa's elve thing. Regardless of the diagnoses or the label, for more than twenty years I endured a pretty much steady annual cycle of  two three month periods of full blown depression and mania, interspersed with two three month 'transitional' periods, these transitions comprised of short, 9-14 day cycles of up and down, all of the above feeling like a ride on a particularly intense and screwy emotional roller coaster. In more prosaic terms, I know what it is to lay on a couch or in a bed for months at at time, depression the "pit of despond" I spiralled deeper and deeper into day by interminable day, unable to do anything outside of the bare essentials, stuck to my sofa like last week's spaghetti. And I know mania, believe me, mania so high cocaine doesn't touch it, songs, poems and other creative endevours pouring out of my mouth like "endless rain into a paper cup, my musicianship at a peak, I profoundly glib, my mood so jubilant and intense friends avoided me like the plague And I know what it's like to short cycle between both, one day just really great, the next not so thank you very much. And, just like that it seems, it's all gone. Like the calm after a hurricane. Ahhh. And not really just like that either. It took years, and a lot of trial and error, and a little serendipity along the way. But here I am, in uncharted territory, life a vast river and I, smack dab in the middle, moving along now with the flow, my once cycling and alternating moods morphing into a cohesive, unified whole. Not just feeling better, mind you, or 'coping,' thank  you very much, but now, after years of internal division and misapprehended repression, very much my Self, intact, whole, and with some significant data, however anecdotal to some, to back up the promise of my seemingly improbable prognosis. A significant factor: I wrote this article during my 'depression zone.' That is decidedly atypical.The only truly significant factor left, as far as I am concerned,** is time, and I'm experiencing that like I never have before. Ahhh indeed! After 50 years of being an emotional zombie, I am feeling, real time again. And it is "the best of times, [and] it [is] the worst of times."


To Drug or to Drone On: So what is the ‘state of the art’ regarding treatment of depressive 'disorders' these days? It seems that out of all the choices with which one is faced, it kind of all boils down to two main avenues of approach: pharmacology, or psychology, i.e. repress it, or express it. On the repress it side of the coin we have the National Institute of Mental Health, USA, (NIMH) and its "detailed booklet that describes Depression symptoms, - causes, and treatments, with information on getting help and coping." The NIMH more or less champions the pharmacological approach, with scant nod to psychology, this latter discipline relegated in the NIMH's estimation to gathering data regarding "any family history of depression or other mental disorder, [to] get a complete history of [one's] symptoms," (NIMH, Depression), I suppose to corroborate genetic hand me down theory, or to deal with the coping thing. No mention of psychology perhaps playing a major role. The heavy lifting according to the NIMH is to be done with drugs, or perhaps some light tinkering a la Cognitive or ITP Therapy for "for mild to moderate depression...," and once again, only for the coping thing. Hold your nose and turn around three times whispering.... Welcome to the lab. "Research [indicates] that depressive illnesses are disorders of the brain," and as such, according to the NIMH, are hard wired and need science, or at least, drugs or some other physical agent to dispel their deleterious effects. The NIMH creates the impression, if not quite out and out stating it, that manic-depression  is a physical condition of some sort, somatic, genetic perhaps, or chemically induced, a disorder that once manifest, is a permanent feature of one's singularity: a disability that "Most likely, [depression] is caused by a combination of genetic, biological, environmental, and psychological factors," i.e. just about anything under the sun. Most likely indeed, of course, and if one is looking at treating symptoms with chemicals while having basically no real idea as to what is causing them, then what else can one do really but try to minimize the adverse effects of those symptoms.

Trouble is, the NIMH and it's ilk doesn't just stop there, but at the same time, experiments on whomever with almost whatever comes to 'scientific' hand, because that's what the scientific method is all about.  But many 'anti-depressants' are not just high falutin pain killers and relaxants. They are mind altering chemicals aimed at manipulating or otherwise affecting the genetic/chemical/biological structure of the brain and the genetic/chemical/biological chimera that are to be found just around discovery's dark corner. And in the case of manic depression "...[it being] a long-term illness that must be carefully managed throughout a person's life," we have a model that makes the 'mental health consumer' not only a victim of their own biology, but a human lab rat sipping from the pharmaceutical trough, resigned to a lifetime of pharmacological dependency.  "Research indicates," a scientific proclamation on the one hand, and "most likely" a self serving disclaimer on the other. More opinion, but opinion etched in the very DNA of scientific supremacy, and dispensed in impressive little booklets with good English. Just, 'open up please, and tell me how does this one make you feel?' And what an impressive cornucopia of pharmacia does the NIMH indeed present in its list of chemical candidates they would like you to try out for them. The question is, how interested are you in joining the rest of the lab rat population?

On the other side of the coin we have the view that depression is a psychological effect, a signpost really, symptomatic perhaps of cognitive mal adaptations, current adverse circumstances etc, these causal agents resolvable thru various psychological and otherwise 'talk' therapies such as deep psychotherapy, cognitive, gestalt, group therapy and so on, with no end necessarily in sight. Another morass of confusion and indecision indeed. Where does one begin?

To my mind, there is but one place to begin, and that is at the beginning. And there is one approach that to me bears special scrutiny above and beyond and decidedly before the rest, and the championing of which in it's absence is remarkable to me. To Alice Miller (1923-2010), psychologist and world renowned author of such books as: Drama of the Gifted Child, Thou Shalt Not Be Aware, For Your Own Good, and many others, and to my mind, a leading if not the leading resource in these regards, one's childhood memories and emotions, repressed and unresolved, represent a fundamental denial of one's very Self, "the categorical denial of the pain we suffered at the beginning of our lives... harmful in the extreme,"(Alice Miller Depression: Compulsive Self-Deception), depression the debilitating result of this denial. Once the repressed and unresolved emotions are addressed, depression will dissipate like smog lifting from doused peat moss. Miller's advice: seek out these feelings and express them. (To someone significant if possible - nb). These feelings are in you, are you, and what it takes to heal oneself is listening to, hearing, recognizing, acknowledging and expressing those feelings.

And, if it is indeed as Alice Miller and her proponents say, that at the bottom of one's depression or other symptoms of repression, i.e. anxiety, mania, etc is a Self denied, histories and attendant feelings half dead carcasses rotting in the caverns of the unconscious as it were, mouldering in ambered childhood as we mosey along our prescribed and prescriptioned adult ways, pursuing all things worldly and in the final analysis, mostly irrelevant, then it would seem to me that not only are anti-depressants and the like not conducive to recovery, but that they are actually counter productive to recovery, as what they do is add yet another  layer to the denial of the Self and the feelings and such that are the cause of one's depressive and otherwise symptoms in the first place, these latter not disabilities or disorders, but rather, signposts indicating the nature of the problem, much as a Charlie Horse signals one to the existence of a muscle cramp.

In my case it took years of trying this and that, workshops here, therapists there, encounter and 12 step programs everywhere, trying on remedies and therapies like cheap clothing in a discount store, hoping for that nugget or personal truth that will make one's search worthwhile, and finally arriving where I am today, witness to the results I speak of, not slave to some theory or ideology, my ride on the bipolar express done (at least for now as my sceptics would have it),  my emotions now real time, my moods stable and a more tolerable range, my life a whole new ballgame. My path? Re-association, Individuation, Ego Death, Mindfulness, Anger Management, Reconciliation and Actualization, and in that order basically, all steps in a process leading to my very Self.  But that's another story, another article, another day.

And, if, as Alice Miller points out, "... we have to avoid mental pain at all costs... [and] there is basically not much left to sustain our vitality..." as a result of avoiding mental pain," then I can attest to that personally also, from a visceral perspective, and am, in fact, the very corroboration of Alice Miller's findings in this regard. Now free from the need to suppress my repressed childhood emotions, these now having been expressed in meaningful and ultimately cathartic ways, there is nothing which I need to keep the lid on, and I do indeed find I have much more... brainpower, ease,  libido (a la Jung?) perhaps, that sustains me somehow, and enables me to do things that I never could before, no matter how hard I tried, this new found vitality another unlooked for dividend in my pursuit of self awareness. Truly, I awake refreshed each day to a new and wonderfully stable emotional affect. Life is just getting better and better.

So there you have it, more or less, from a mental health seeker's perspective. The matters at hand:
  • Depressive Illnesses, especially manic-depression 
  • The Treatments: pharmacology or psychology. And let me restate my case in a nutshell. On the one side of the coin we have the notion, or perhaps belief is a better word, ironic that, that emotional childhood development has no significant basis in the outcome of a human adult, and that we are more or less meat machines with defective parts that need correcting, adjusting, replacing, tailoring, tinkering with or masking, whatever, and that a lifetime of coordinated pharmalogica is the required prospectus. On the other side of the coin we have observations and at least one experience that indicates that yes indeed, events and circumstance during one's developmental years have profound effects on who we are as adults, and that we can do something about the less pleasant symptoms of these early, negative circumstances by reaching into ourselves and coming to terms with what we find there. 
  • The Testimonial. One who has negotiated the trips and turns outlined above and has come to a personal and satisfactory resolution, drug and symptom free. 
  • The Conclusion.  Does one put one's faith in one's self, or in the hands and opinions of others who, while perhaps well meaning and knowledgeable to the nth degree, know nothing more than what they have been taught and have observed thru the lens of that training? I have never felt better in my life, and I now know what works for me. 
*Anonymous - Opinions are like assholes. Everyone has one, (and I'm no exception - nb).
** In the interest of full disclosure, I have two more time points to go, one regarding an inverted cycle anomaly, the other the next 'manic zone.' However, having just moved thru the depression period sans event, there being no 'there' there it seems, no deep pit of despond to cycle down to, I am reasonably confident of my positive prognosis. As I say, only time will tell. And in that, the bean counters have their way. 
***Gender specific pronouns et: Mz., + He/She/ZE, him/hir/ZIR, his/hers/ZIRZ =  'other' or genflex pronouns.

he, she, ZEE, it; 
him, her, ZIR, them
his, hers, ZIRZ, theirs
I, me, we, us, they you

Tuesday, 13 December 2011

Bumpy re-entry (into the calm of the river)

Proving to be a tad bumpy as I settle into this model of behaviour. It's going to take some serious regimen I think. I have to just shut my mouth and let things transpire without needing or trying to control these situations. The incident with Kristina was such an event. I felt I had to protect her. I was wrong.

Still, I feel I am succeeding here, that I know what I am doing, and am continuing on in this vein. It has the added thing of making me mindfull at all times, because I now know, sort of, in that eyes shut feely kind of way, what is going on. I am removing myself from these situations,  and passing thru them.At least, that's what it feels like.

Dec 18, Sunday.
This is working. I am managing to keep it all in, more or less, and more and more each day as I get used to it. To shut up and let happen what's happening. Still an awful lot of hed cheeze to let go, but I can feel I am succeeding, letting it all happen without me doing anything as best I can, other than what is necessary at the time - that's the tricky bit. What is necessary, and what not - to function peaceably, reasonably, and calmly any given situation. I know, I'm looking for perfection, but what else is there to do really? 

Thursday, 8 December 2011

Tweak # 1. On the Bus Again (Disassociation)

Was on the bus today. On my smart phone, smarting away when this woman, scratch that, girl, gets on the bus with a child in a stroller. She wheels the stroller in, sits on the right side of the bus in the seat facing the rest of the passengers, with her child, a two or so year old, pre-verbal, sitting not three feet away directly facing me. No biggie, as I love children, crying ones an' all. Chrono children that is. The larger variety are a different story. Simultaneously, as the girl sits, she whips out her cell phone and starts talking to someone, and her child starts to communicate displeasure. The mother keeps on talking on her phone, and as the child gets louder, the mother finally reaches over the stroller and dangles a small magazine somewhere in the child's head area. As far as the mother is concerned, it could be up the child's ass for all her intent. After some time, the child finally sees the book, and tries to take it but drops it almost immediately. The child tries to retrieve the mag,  but the book is just out of reach of her little fingers. The child starts communicating it's displeasure once more as it reaches and reaches for the magasine, signalling (at least in my eyes) that it can't get the book. The mother keeps on talking on her phone, in effect ignoring her child. This is Complication/trigger # 1. I am considering getting the book for the child, aware of the fact that I am not the kid's babysitter and it's not really my job, don't want to presume, when the mother finishes her phone conversation and then starts to dial again, further ignoring her child's call for assistance. "Could you pay attention to your child" I say, indicating the book and the child's pleas. Complication/Trigger # 2. The mother takes umbrage at this, and starts to hassle me, and I defend my self. I feel attacked, and retaliate in kind, rather than just shut up and leave it alone. I am, at this stage of my recovery, incapable of shutting up and leaving it alone. I am fully engaged. Trigger # 3. At this point, a woman behind me starts berating me, for what I really don't know, as I wasn't hurting anyone, only, in fact, sticking up for the child. Complication/trigger #3. I retaliate, on the offence again, telling her to mind her own business, that I am not doing anything wrong etc, and we all go thru a hissy fit, with no one hurt, but emotions higher than desired. I am not over angry though, only defending myself against a careless, uncommunicative mother and an intruding third party entry. I feel, and am attacked on all sides. Literally. With more to come.

Now, I do not intend to excuse myself here, nor do I intend to apologize. I did nothing wrong, in that I was not hurting anyone, and meant no harm. On the other hand, I was not able to prevent this, as I really do not, and did not see anything 'wrong' in what I did. Ill advised yes. Reactive yes. I was on the kid's side, although I have to admit, I was also telling the mother how to deal with her child. I did have thought that what was going on here, directly in front of me, the effect being that the child was basically yelling at me, was a direct result of this mother's negligence. And negligence it was, in no uncertain terms. The kid was trapped in its stroller, locked in, and needed its mother's assistance.

I would have put this on the Inner Bitch page, but the interesting thing about this to me is that I am not bitching about it. It is not eating at me, and I am resolved in this, in that it is not grist for the internal rationalization mill, and I really do not know what else I could have done, other than to pick up the book for the child, and thus get myself involved in a game of 'how many times can I get the stupid adult to pick up the magazine' game, the mother's job, or move away from the situation, which I just didn't think of, and which, upon reflection, would be the wisest thing to do, regardless of the fact that this mother doesn't deserve children, and that I would have felt like I was deserting a child in a reasonable time of need. No, the reason I put this here is to elicit advice or opinion on how to avoid this, for I truly do not see how to change my actions in this regard, considering that I don't think I actually did anything wrong. I do have a hair trigger though, and if I am attacked, am easily on the defensive, 'offence being the best defence.' Nor do I think I am "right" in this regard. I just don't know how "I" could have done anything different, being who I am.

Nor do I feel I have contradicted the theme of Progress Report # 2. If anything, I got caught in rapids I did not see, and am out of them now, back in the middle of the river, just wondering how to spot or avoid those rapids in the future. My best bet at this time is to go to the very back of the bus, sit in the corner seat with ear buds and blinders on. Ha Ha.


Complication # 3. Coda to this little fracas was that this young, white, black hat, black jacket, dark pants shithead, under the guise of some idea of modern day 'chivalry,' comes running up behind me just after I got off the bus yelling 'hassle my girlfriend you fucking transvestite" and hit me from behind in the back of the hed before running away. No biggie, just surprising, and I reported the assault for the record. He hit my skull with his knuckles, so he probably hurt himself more than he hurt me. Moron. I can only infer that he was on the bus, although I suppose his 'girlfriend' could have phoned him. And, while I am at it, I did pretty good in this. I fell to the ground to avoid being hit, and so only got hit on the back of my skull, on bone, so no biggie there, and I was up and ready to defend myself immediately, and phoning the police as soon as I saw he was running away. I have no doubt that had things gone a different way, I would have started to defend myself. I am no longer afraid.

ps - trying to keep mindfulness in mind here. If anything, that is my salvation in these on the bus and other similar regards. The question is, how to keep mindfulness 'on' all the time. Seems no matter what I do, I find myself in the state of mindlessness no matter what I do. I just end up there somehow, going along without that inner state of awareness, until woken up by something like this. I guess the answer really here is in this somehow. Is this a form of disassociation I wonder? A mild case perhaps, or not even mild perhaps, just is. Considering my history, why not? I am triggered, in this case, by the woman not paying attention to her child. Is that me? and I am identifying with this kid? Hmmm. And the disassociation is between me and the kid inside of me that is signaling what happened way back when? And if this is the case, then I just participated in a scenario from my past in the present, and was there to witness the event. I zero in on, and identify with, the kid as it is ignored by it's caregivers. This is Alice Miller land, where one is acting out, in all sorts of ways and variations, the scenarios, repressed and unresolved, from one's past onto the situations one encounters in one's later years. Double wow.

p.p.s. Now that I have let it rest overnight, I think I do indeed need to do a regimen of not expressing myself on the bus. I am going to put a muzzle on me for the next three months, and not talk at all on the bus, regardless, unless I am with someone I am talking to. That's all I can do. This is my path to mindfulness. The bus is a crucible for me, where things just happen all the time, and I don't know what else to do.

  • Actually, given my later thought regarding disassociation, I think I need to let this ride. This looks like very promising shit. I really think I am on to something here. This goes to the very core of who I am, and not on an academic level, but a visceral level, where I can do something about it. The regimen would be good to build mindfulness, except that the bus is where I get a lot done. Jeez.  
p.p.p.s. It also occurs to me this morning, as I edit and clean this piece up, that I did accomplish one thing. The girl with the child did end up paying attention to her kid after this, turning her child to face her, and talking to her. That she was telling the child that I was bad is immaterial. Yea, me and the kid won, even if it was a messy victory. Ha! Wow, isn't that interesting.

Monday, 5 December 2011

Progress Report #2

I feel like I have moved thru something quite large, like an endless series of rapids in a huge river, i.e. the past fifty years and some of my life. I am now in the relative calm of the middle of that river as it continues to flow on, and I am moving along with the flow quite comfortably, and am learning how to orient myself in a more or less forward and upright position from which I can see what's around me and what's coming quite easily, things like the sun and sky and the river banks and such, and more precarious things like rocks and stumps, flotsam and jetsam, and other rapids upcoming. I am now learning how to avoid these precariie with relative ease and fuss, needing only small adjustments to move myself out of their way. And even when I do snag on something, I am learning how to detach from these much more easily now, and so keep on moving without getting hung up on them overlong, the massively gentle flow of the river now the place where I live. Thusly am I now learning how to to keep in touch with the flow of "the river which is everything."

This is decidedly better than before, when i was trapped in the rapids, being tossed and turned willy nelly in a never ending froth of turbulence and roar, and I am now learning to relax and bask in the radiance of this new found metaphor extraordinaire as I consider its larger and more extensive extrapolations.

Saturday, 3 December 2011

So this is what's it's like to be alive. (nb-Dec 3, '11).

No need to couch this in poetic ambiguity. It's simple.

Back when I had a heart, years ago, I shut down.The pain too much to bear for my 9 year old frame, of mind, my heart.

I did it automatically. Somehow. I didn't have to be taught. No one had to teach me how. I did it all by myself. Instinct?

When too much is too much, the body, the psyche, just knows I guess

Just stops.
Feeling
Whatever

So easy.
Like breathing.
A baby could do it.

Turning it back on was another thing. Not so simple. A sticky trick one plays on one's self. One doesn't hurt if one doesn't feel. Or cry. Or laff. Whatever.

Empathy? Impossible.

But now, miraculously, I'm free. Petardless. Joy in its many rainbow hued splendours. Unbounded. Sorrow, deep as an ocean trench, wide as the south pacific. Pain. Like a knife sliding across a cornea, salty tears an electrified cat 'o nine tails lashing the freshly flayed bones clean.

Keen
Excruciating
Intoxicating
My heart doesn't know whether to burst or break.


So this is what it's like to be alive.





Here's the thing. When I shut down, I was too Jung to know better, unable to bear the "slings and arrows of [my] outrageous fortune."

50 years later, emerging from my self imposed solitary confinement like a bewildered Rumplestiltskin blinking in the friendly and intensely penetrating glare of the mid day sun, eyes watering, knees wobbling, yet so comforted by the warmth, so happy in the moment, joy a cherry popsicle, I look around to share the moment...

And

There's no one.

No "So glad you're back."
No "How are you"
No "You're safe now."
No "Tell me all about it."

To hold me and let me know I'm here.

Holy Shit!

Here's what I'm thinking. That the human race is the dawning of the consciousness of the universe. It's just possible that after all these millennia, that the universe, a babe in it's own life cycle, has finally figured out a way to be conscious of itself, and we are the first iteration of that process, as the life energy, the Universal Libido (a la Jung), evolves from it's pre-prescient, infantile state to the mature Universality that it is, and is becoming as it wends its way to self actualization.
 
That's just as possible as any of the nut bar, elitist and otherwise religions and philosophies out there. And all hubris aside, Holy shit! Why not? This is a conjecture that I can sink my belief into.