Stuff I think about (1)....

Here I am again, keyboarding
instead of letting my fingers
draw the chosen alphabet
with a pen, upon paper

Here I am again
thinking of how sleepy and tired I feel
responding with thoughts of why,
again

I don't like the word "wisdom"
I don't like unsolicited advice
I don't like when others assume

that they know what I'm feeling,
what I'm thinking

Projection
autonomic response
of the human psyche

Awareness
a deliberate decision
to notice

Perspective
a deliberate decision
to view from various directions

Are not those deliberate decisions
a type of "wisdom"

Perhaps I'm okay with that wisdom

but not okay with pseudo-wisdom
where another assumes they know,
when they don't

Stuff that comes off my keyboard

Tap, tap

Man made machines and replaced his labor.

Now computers think for us.

What's next?

11/10/18

I've got to get out of this funk

Thursday was so very, very dark
I cannot pretend it did not happen
And move along to the next thing
Nor do I need to dwell on it
But I do need to be cognizant of it

I cannot fight my illness
I cannot run from it
So neither fight nor flight can apply
Yet, that is sometimes the response
So one fights with one's self
Or runs from one's self

But there is no escape

Reality is
I have a serious, rare, long term disease
For which, supposedly, there is
No cure
So, the symptoms and all their derivatives
Must be managed
That is the best I can do
For now

My first and foremost responsibility is
Selfcare
Which isn't selfish
It is a lonesome task

Variety of pains
Shooting, aches, tenderness
Spasms
Muscle weakness
Movement in slow motion
Vertigo
Nausea
Headaches
Migraines
Overwhelming fatigue
Utter exhaustion
Scrambled eggs for brains
Anxiety
Depression
Suicidal ideation
Insomnia
Lowered immunity
Bone loss
Heartburn
Bloating

I am aware of and watchful for these
On a daily basis
I manage them as they arise
Not necessarily all at one time
But sometimes it is
All at once
The severity fluctuates
On any given day

So Carol, go easy on yourself
You really do a damn, good job

Us and them: Maybe I prefer boredom

Why is the world so cruel?
Or is ugly more apt?
Violent? Mean? Hateful?
Hard-hearted? Greedy?
Suspicious? Paranoid?
Scapegoat-seeking?

Ah, yes.
"Negativity bias."
The human instinct to feel and see
the worst
so we are not overtaken by it,
so we can protect against it
for the survival of our progeny.

At some point, or points,
we all play the hypocrite.
The "interpreter from underneath."

Yet, as I mentally note the voluminous
shared aspects of our common humanity,
in the back of my mind lurks the question,

What about the sociopath?

That category of humanity who, supposedly,
cannot feel empathy?

The rules do not apply to them.
Yet, they are human.
Are they not also subject to
our common emotions,
our shared humanity?
Some good must dwell somewhere
within them?

How can I describe it?
Understand it?
This lurking question,
this not-quite-human reality,
working at cross-purposes with my
desire to believe
there is good in all humanity?
Is it difficult because it is so foreign?
Or is it difficult because it is too intimate?

Questions to which there are no clear answers.

Am I unable to see the sociopath as fully human?
What are they, if not fully human?
My only conclusion is that,
either in the womb or later,
an empathy-void developed
for which there is no cure.
If I cannot have empathy toward that,
am I fully human?

That's what life is.
A whole lotta damn questions.
And not as many answers.
Life would be pretty boring otherwise.

Maybe I prefer boredom.

*~*

"Some humans ain't human..."



But still, "I wanna believe in humanity..."

Validity

Why is your opinion more valid?
Because of confidence?
Because of belief?

I used to say,
"I don't just believe;
I know,"
when it came to the "right-dividing"
of the Scripture,
which spanned all life
and time and circumstance.

The Lion King

Three friends
lying on their backs,
staring up at the night sky
filled with tiny, twinkling lights.

One friend, Pumbaa, asks,
"Timon, ever wonder
what those sparkly dots are
up there?"

Timon answers,
"Pumbaa, I don't wonder.
I know."

Pumbaa replies,
"Oh.
What are they?"

Timon answers,
"They're fireflies.
Fireflies that got stuck up in that
big bluish, black thing."

Pumbaa replies,
"Oh. Gee.
I always thought they were
balls of gas
burning billions of miles away."

"Simba, what do you think?"

Simba is hesitant,
timid to reply.
But with some cajoling
he gets it out.

"Somebody once told me that
the great kings of the past
are up there,
watching over us."

Timon and Pumbaa ponder
for a moment.
And then burst into
laughter
at the thought of
dead royals watching over them.

Unknown to Pumbaa and Timon,
Simba is a royal.
A runaway, hiding in exile.
His father had been a great king
who was murdered when Simba,
now a young adult,
was a cub.

Whose opinion is more valid?
Mine? Yours?
His? Hers?

Puddle

I don't like feeling hate
And I will not allow another
That power over me

To cause me to feel such hatred
At least, for a prolonged amount
Of time

Yet, for this moment, I feel
Hatred
A rottenness in my belly

Forty-five
I steel against his lies
And the division he spews

His life motto is
If you bellow a lie often enough
People will believe it

He squawks and shrills
Refusing accountability
Exposing his own guilt

I wonder if he feels
At all
I wonder if his constant chaos is an effort
To feel

I doubt the man has an inkling of humility
In his soul
This week he tweeted,
"...I have already MADE America Great Again..."

I thought of Proverbs, Chapter 16
"Pride goeth before destruction"
I thought of Lucifer's "I wills"
In Isaiah, Chapter 14

Lucifer fell
Yet he retained great power
Trump just needs to fall

And cease

I pray Trump's pride is his demise
But instead of retaining any power
May he melt away

Without recognition

More than

Been pretty depressed this week
More than my typical amount
Yes, my ongoing health struggles are a big part of the cause

It's just so everyday
And discouraging
And can get quite lonely

Yet, I have so much compared to most of the world
I am not bedridden
Just limited in
Mobility and sociality and cognitivity

My main support is Hubby
And Olivia, my bike
Even though she's inanimate

I'm thankful I can still pet sit
That too is more limited than it once was
I feel love from my animal friends

I hope the next life is
Run by animals
Who are
More humane than humans

Reflecting in the wee morning hours...

6/30/2016, 4:20 AM

I feel alive when I'm

in the mountains
in the woods

Solo
along a trail

I don't feel alone

I feel connection
I feel awe
I feel reverence

What a privilege it is
to feel

What a privilege and pleasure
to feel

gratitude
charity
passion
wonderment

Now, I'm tired

It Again

As of Friday, this past, I hit the uphill climb

until my neck injections,

eleven days away.

It's tough.

The pain.
The cognitive dysfunction.
The fatigue.
Battling the shame and guilt and loss that comes

with the "it."

It's hard.

And even if I hadn't hit that hill, I still couldn't

coordinate a gathering,

like for Father's Day or a birthday or such.

I can't even commit to going to one, much less hosting one.

So...

that's just the way it is.
I feel like an absent mom and wife and friend

and maker of home.

An absent giver.

And, I am absent.
Those parts of me cannot function, like they once did.
It is another loss.

Wonder?
If I'd compile my thoughts, would any of them be deep enough

to stimulate food for thought?

But if I make them public, I'll probably be so self conscious

that I'll lose sleep.

Yet, if I would post them, maybe someone

could relate?

Maybe not.
Or would I just sound like a whiner?

Remember when you used to journal on paper, with a pen, in books,

in your first chronic illness life?

And you would wonder,

Why? Why am I doing this? What does it matter that I write all

these thoughts in these books?

And then your life changed.
Remember?

That could happen again, you know.

Earthen Vessels

I survived Yesterday.

If I hadn't, there would be no Today.

Thus far, in my life,

I've survived every Yesterday.

But one day, when I die,

there will be no Today.

Like every living creature on the planet,

one day, I will die.

My to-do list includes making arrangements

for that future time of "no Today."

I'd like my body donated to science,

if they'll take it and if it's not too complicated a task.

I'd like my gold crowns extracted from my teeth,

before my body is committed to scalpels or flames.

Maybe the gold will be worth something,

or can be put in an urn.

I don't know if science cremates body parts

once those parts have run their teaching course.

If not, maybe I'll have some hair-locks instead of ashes

stored with the gold crowns in the urn.

If my body is turned to ash via cremation,

I'd like some of it spread at Grayson Highlands,

and maybe some at Roan,

and maybe some stored in an urn

which I'd select while I still have my faculties,

and maybe have the urn stored in the grotto

at the Episcopal Church of the Frescoes in Glendale Springs,

which is on the way to Grayson Highlands,

and maybe Hubby would do that too,

our ash could share the same urn,

and we'd have our names engraved in a small, rectangular, golden plaque,

and have the plaque attached on the outer wall of the grotto

along with the other plaques

engraved with others' names whose ashes also abide

in handpicked vessels in the grotto.

~vessels in the grotto, 1/21/17~

~vessels in the grotto, 1/21/17~

Easy. Easy.

What do you feel right now, Carol? 

A sense of shame?
Lack of confidence?
Like a slacker?
Pressure to do another person's "right" thing?
To heed another's instruction for what will "heal" you?

Stop.

Ask your own body...
What are you able to do today?
What will bring you grounding?
What will allow you to ride the river?

But are those soul questions?
Instead of body questions?
I'd say both.

I ask Body because it houses Soul.
The two are really one.
Soul is Self.
Self includes Body.

It's okay to not accomplish what I feel culture demands.
It's okay to only breathe today, if that's all I can do.
But I feel like more than just breathing today.
Yet I haven't popped my morning pills.
And it's almost noon.

I had to nap this morning.
It was needful.

"Easy. Easy."
That's what I say to my blind-dog friend.
When he is about to run into a wall.
He slows down and most often doesn't hit the wall.

I don't want to hit the wall either.
"Easy. Easy."

My blind-d0c friend, who sees with his heart. 

Drifting unedited

So much i want to say that never gets said.
It's like my brain is too tired to get the words to my tongue
or thru the pen.
Lots of ideas.
Lots of thoughts.

Self talk though...
criticizes me & then tries to pretend i'm confident.
Optimistic.

How can i accept this illness as a permanent state?
How can i express this struggle?

Taxidermy

Heart of the lion
represents courage.
Who can defy his
might?

Yet a small bullet aimed
just right, arrests the pulse
stops the
flow.

Instantaneous or slow
life is drained,
no more
hope.

Stuffed trophy head
high on the wall,
marksman treads upon the
paws.

Heart of the child
represents hope.
Yet one fatal aim,
silence.


judith piper
february o3, 2oo8

Falling together in increments

Symptoms.
Symptoms.
Symptoms.

Doesn't "sym" mean same?
I wonder if "tom" means tome?

The same heavy script.
Over and over.
Again and again.

Some are heavy.
Some are a just a nuisance.
Some are side effects.

Headaches.
Nausea.
Migraines.

Bloating.
Weird tastes.
Tummy spasms.

Brittle, thinning hair.
Wig in the bathtub.
Last appointment, my massage therapist asked, "Did you cut your hair?"

Random purpura on my arms.
Red patches and dots from broken blood vessels.
Beneath my skin.

Eye hemorrhages.
Sometimes I don't know vessels have burst.
Until the person I'm with avoids looking at my eyes.

Tender palms.
Tender soles.
Pain, but only slight.

Back pain.
Leg pain.
Wrist pain.

But not enough for an oxy.

Weakness.
Shortness of breath.
Fatigue.

Brain mud.
Talking self through simple tasks.
Minutia matters.

I'm sure I've left something out.

Like the back spasms a couple months ago.
With burning pain that shot through my groin.
It's gone now.

And muscle atrophy from years of nerve damage.
Toothpick legs.
Shriveled biceps.

Depression.
Anxiety.
Isolation.

Continuous process of balancing.

Do I push now?
Do I rest now?
If I rest, will it be restful?

This too will pass.
There is always a brighter day.
Even my biceps are becoming less shriveled.

I was able to cut my finger nails yesterday.
Without assistance.
Hubby spotted me, just in case.

I have improved
In increments.
Increments matter.

*~*

"Sym" means together.
"Ptom" derives from piptein which means "to fall."

symptom (n.) 1540s, re-Latinized from sinthoma (late 14c.), from Medieval Latin sinthoma "symptom of a disease," altered from Late Latin symptoma, from Greek symptoma "a happening, accident, disease," from stem of sympiptein "to befall, happen; coincide, fall together," from assimilated form of syn- "together" (see syn-) + piptein "to fall," from PIE *pi-pt-, reduplicated form of root *pet- "to rush; to fly" (see petition (n.)).

Ode to Email

T'was a middle-aged lady who lived in a house.
Her functions were many; she wasn't a souse.
She was secretary, cook, cab driver too,
activities planner, home maintenance guru.
Doctor, nurse, janitorial clerk,
counselor, teacher, overseer of work.
Just a few of the functions for which she stayed perk.

Then to add to her list? The computer pimple
Pop ups and adds wrinkles and dimples!
Upgrade! Upgrade! It makes your life simple!
But beware of viruses; you need that program too!
And identity theft; so your name is who?
Got too much spam? Pay more and it's through!

First there was junk mail to take up her time
and now more info to boggle the mind.
This middle-aged woman stepped back and breathed deep,
"It's time to make simple this communication heap."

She decided, yes, her email to keep
but now only checks it every two weeks.
So if her attention you immediately need
please call her by phone to get sooner heed.

moi
1999

beauty, purpose

fruit falls
flesh rots
seeds bury

many die
others root
struggle through
the soil

push, crack
inhale, exhale

emerge upward
sun, air
reach downward
water, food

storms, wind
ice, fire

survival, strength
night, day
inch, inch
taller, wider

nourishment, life
buds, fruit

fruit falls
flesh rots
seeds bury

i too
am seed


12/19/2017
judithpiper