Squirrel and Hiram

Peering out my kitchen window
I observe a squirrel
perched on the ground

Head down
back arched
tail high in the air

Still as a statue

But I know she isn't a statue
she's concentrating
totally absorbed in her job

Burrowing a hole
to bury a nut
I presume

The ground is ripe
for digging
it rained last night

A few moments later
she raises her head
tail twitches

Job complete

She scampers
to the giant scarlet oak
whom I have named Hiram

Bedrock

Parts of my brain feel blank. Missing. Inaccessible.
Do I use proper punctuation, or not?
Not.
I will leave those periods in place, even though the one-word script does not make a sentence.
In the context, those dots provide a pause. For emphasis.

Physically I am faring better.
I actually felt rested after my nap yesterday.
And I feel rested this morning.
Will it last? I do not know.

Perhaps I'm in that place where I feel good enough to start on one of my home projects.
But my fear overrides that impulse, thinking it is just an impulse.
The reality will end up as it always does. I can't follow through, so why begin?
It is a type of action-paralysis.
Lack of confidence in my own decisions, intuitions, opinions.
But I've always suffered from those lacks; have I not?

I waiver on the answer.

That's how my brain feels.
Indecisive. But not choosing is still a choice.
I fake it well.
I remember when Marie was surprised that I lacked confidence.
She said, "No one would know it."
But, oh how I battled.

Remember Carol? How you battled against thinking you were unintelligent?
You still battle it.
Except now, I feel I have less to hold onto.
Is that what this is?


Friday, 10/18/19

Bubble Trouble

I lived in a bubble
for a long time
Sometimes I'd try
to poke through

I'd push and push
Stretch that bubble
But then.....BOING

I'd bounce right back
to the same place again

Finally one day along came a pin
Pricked a hole in the bubble's skin
Decompression pulled me out
Sadly, others were crushed within

Then I'll be befuddled
when I find myself
stuck to another bubble

Damn this bubble trouble!

Stuck to the outside
A force trying to pull me in
I almost slip through

But then I remember
I'd been given a pin

POKE!

Some inside escape like I
Others are crushed within
One thing for sure that I've determined

Ain't no way in hell I'm going back in!



March 12, 2007

Restless Sea

Sometimes my soul, a restless sea
Thoughts bombard, torrential rain
Emotions struggle, waves collide
Internal storm, unseen on the external plane

Within me I search for a haven of calm
The place equipped with the compass
The gauge disentangled from the storm
Revealing the truth, the facts
The instrument that guides my way

I find it....the gauge to guide
I rivet my focus upon it
What are the facts?
What is the truth clearly stated?
What direction do I take to safety?

I collect the data and plot a course
To steer me safely through the storm
I traverse the winds and torrential rain
By reading the truth upon the gauge

My emotions do not guide me
Nor the bombarding thoughts like rain
Focused on the gauge I find my way
Soon safety and calm replace the pain

I log that success, the steps that were taken
To traverse the wind and the rain
I will remember and not forget
The truth...the gauge...the course...the steps
To guide me to safety again

~*~

Written September 2001, as I was struggling with mood swings and learning to apply cognitive behavioral therapy.

Take your time

Take your time
Even though
you do not know
if time
is on your side

Take your time
Even though
you do not know
if time future
will exceed
time past

One thing for sure
Your tenure here
is miniscule
compared to all
time past

Timelessness
Impossible to fathom or
even imagine

Introspection

5/09/2019.
11:08 PM
Dolphin Beach Club, Daytona Beach Shores, FL

~*~

How do I feel?

Isn't that what Hal asked Dave?
Wasn't the astronaut named Dave?
Is this a question people ask themselves once they become lonely?

[I got distracted by searching for the Hal & Dave conversation.
Didn't find one for "How do you feel, Dave?"
But I didn't look deeply.]

So, how do I feel?

I feel less than.
Insignificant.

Remember in TWI, how I felt that I was the wart on the body of Christ?
I felt that way...
partly because of my shame from quitting the Way Corps,
but more so from the manner in which I quit - AWOL.
I felt that way...
partly because of the doctrine of perfectionism.

So, why now, do I feel like the wart on the body of humanity?
Where is my shame coming from now?

[I wish those people on the deck would get quiet.]

I feel shame for how I handled stuff recently with I-and-a-few-know-whom.
I feel shame for how I've expressed in the past some Way stuff.
I feel shame for some of my conversations, when I'm not genuine.

Hmmm...I think I feel shame for compromising my integrity.

Like when Friend expresses an opinion.
And then ends that opinion with, "Don't you think?"
I really don't like that, now that I think about it.
I feel it is asking more for an agreement.
It's not asking, "What do you think?"
It's a yes or no question.
Of course then, that could turn into a conversation.
Especially if I disagree.
But often I have no desire to discuss a disagreement.

Anyway.
Why don't I write anymore?
I mean paint when I write.
Allow flow and beauty and words that move.
Sensuality.
I am no longer sensual.
There was a time when I was.

My heart isn't moved with...
much of anything.
I feel an indifference.
Is this a phase?
Am I depressed?
Is indifference the result of feeling pointless?

I feel powerless to change the world.
To really have an impact.
And some of that is because of my illness.

Why don't I write anymore?
Painting pictures & scenes.
Is it because I feel I have nothing worthwhile?
Is it because I feel no one listens?

[I wish those people on the deck would shut the fuck up.]

And now I'm criticizing my self for not going down to the deck.
And telling those folks to please lower their voices.
Keep it down.
But hell, I don't want to do that.
Plus, what if they're drunk.
No thanks, I don't want that confrontation.

Ashamedness

I awoke feeling ashamed, again.
Are ashamed and shame the same thing?
Ashamed has a different connotation to me than shame.

Shame has a feeling of a core belief, a loath defectiveness of the self resulting in feelings of worthlessness.
Ashamed has a feeling of an occasional visitor, and perhaps even appropriately so, some thing a being feels after committing a wrong, or a perceived wrong.

I should be thankful that I can feel ashamed.
Maybe the world needs more of that.

But it doesn't stop there, at the feeling.
The afflicted seeks to find relief from the ashamedness.
What brings relief?
I don't know if I know.
One reaction is to toss it and not even consider it, or to cut it off, or to drown it.
I guess some would drown it with alcohol.
Perhaps that is one reason for abuse of the substance.

I think I am of the opinion that all substance abuse is self-medication gone awry.

***
Looked up the difference later, after penning the above. From Difference Between Shame and Ashamed:

In summary, shame and ashamed are two very different words because of the following reasons:

• 1. Shame is generally used as a noun whereas ashamed is typically used as an adjective.
• 2. Shame is the actual feeling (an affect or emotion) which is considered to be a painful one while ashamed is feeling shame itself.

Room enough for dreams

When my muse seems absent,
where does it hide?
I know it always follows me,
hanging around without stepping into the light.
I wish it would take the lead, more often.

If I could climb into my shadow,
what would I see?
Is that where my vivid sleep-dreams originate?
Somewhere in my two-dimensional shadow?
If so, my shadow has more than two dimensions.

As a child, I thought my sleep-dreams took place in my torso.
There simply wasn't enough physical space in my head
for all the people and animals and beings from another realm,
for all the running and climbing and sailing and flying
and floating in midair, which is different than flying.

The only part of my body
with room enough for all those happenings
was in my torso.
Thus my torso is where I thought
my sleep-dreams happen.

As an adult, I still feel that way,
that my sleep-dreams happen in my torso,
even though science says that our sleep-dreams
happen in the brain in our heads.
But the heart is in the torso.

Maybe science is wrong...

I'll be glad when winter is over...

I'll be glad when winter is over.
But that could be the end of March.
Ugh.
Until then, I'll trudge along...

After all these years,
I'm still amazed at the relief cycling brings
to my brain and body and soul.
But I don't get as much soul-relief when cycling indoors
compared to cycling through woods and meadows and mountains.

Soul-relief comes when my soul is filled, satisfied.
Where do I experience that?
When is my soul lifted beyond the material?

When I solo-travel into nature,
cycling greenways and rail-trails
and driving the winding roads of the Blue Ridge Mountains
as I listen to music, which also
feeds my soul.

I am transported into the multidimensional,
a space in time where I feel connected and whole,
where Father Time seems to slow down and whisper,
"This is what you were made to do..."

Life pulsates all around-within.
The presence and witness of the trees
and ancient rocks and cliffs and the rolling river.
The presence and witness of gnomes and tree fairies,
whether or not they really exist.
The presence and witness of wildlife,
who oftentimes make themselves known.
Sometimes our eyes meet and time stands still.
Sometimes the life moves alongside or above or below me.

Upon answering my two questions,
which for me are really one,
I felt a tiny inkling of guilt.
Shouldn't my answer be when I am with friends or family or loved ones,
the people dearest to my heart?
Or when I witness another's freedom from a long-term bondage,
another's wellness and wholeness?

But if I were to choose my two shouldn't-answers,
I would be lying.

I'll be glad when winter is over.
Until then, I'll pedal mostly indoors
allowing memories to roll me along
into the multidimensional...

A sort-of Christmas poem

Christmas is over, again.
2019 is here for the first time.
But really, it's simply another new day.
One that is here for the first time, again.

Man devised a calendar numbering the days.
I think Nature's New Year would be the moment after Winter Solstice,
when Sun begins to shine longer in the day-sky,
starting the cycle anew, again.

Each year would have two different New Years,
one in the North and one in the South.
If a body had the means to live in each hemisphere,
they could begin a New Year every six months.

But still, there'd be only one Christmas each year.
Man devised Christmas, like he did the calendar.

Fond childhood memories I have of Christmas.
One being, sitting solo in the presence of the tree.
Lights aglow, darkness surrounding, smell of fresh cut pine.
Quietness in the air, mystical, magical.

Since being married, we had always adorned an artificial tree.
But we've not put it up since at least 2010.
Nerve damage developed in Spring, 2011.
I miss having a Christmas tree.

This year, I told Hubby,
"If my improvement continues,
I'd like us to get a real tree for Christmas."
Next year? Year after?

Dim... Bright...
Bright... Dim...
Bright.
Keeping my hope alight.