Deer friends...

I lay in bed last night, waiting for sleep.

And I began to cry. 

I feel so defeated. Defeated. 

More tears flowed as I cataloged my losses.

Mainly friends who have gone missing. 

Though I'm really the one who went missing.

Then I counted the few friends who I still communicate with. 

I really am not able to do more. 

Neurological fatigue simply doesn't allow it.

This morning, I awoke to tears.

I pushed my weary body out of bed.

I opened the blinds.

A lone deer was in the back yard.

Meandering. 

Sniffing the ground. 

She came almost, all the way, up to the deck.

My heart smiled.

The other night, three doe and two fawns were laying in the back yard.

They bring me comfort.

I'm still dealing with shingles.

The boils are gone, along with the intense pain.

But the fatigue continues, multiplying my normal fatigue.

And my head, inner ear, and jaw still hurt. 

On my right side.

Low level pain. 

And they itch.

And a sore appeared in my mouth.

On my top gum, right side.

Another shingles gift, I reckon.

My next epidural is on November 30th.

It will be number 32. 

I wonder how long Job was sick?

Listeners

Journal Entry (adapted), 9/08/20, 1:40 AM

If I just keep writing, will it eventually help me?
Where do I turn when I feel my resources are exhausted?

When I am the broken toy tossed into the reject pile.
When there is no silver lining in the story.
When the heart has become so deadened, it is unable to respond.
When the heart feels a desperation, a silent scream, to which no one, not even the heart's owner, responds.

That is where I am.
And I'm having great difficulty finding a way out.

A dearth. A despondency.
A less than hollowness.
Not even an emptiness.
More like nothing ever existed there before, so there is nothing from which to be empty.
The space always was.

That is what this feels like.

I beg of the invisible-to-my-eye listeners, please, please give me something to hold onto.
Something so I know I'm heard.
I need more.
I need to know I matter.


*~*
And then...
9/08/20, 3:15 PM, just before leaving the house for my 4:00 neurologist appointment to receive Epidural #31:
Hubby hands me a card that had arrived in our mailbox. Normally our mail doesn't arrive until 5:00 PM or so. The card is from a long-distance friend in Chicago, just checking in and letting me know how much I'm valued. She even put a cycling postage stamp on it. (I'd like to get some of those stamps.) The Listeners had perfect timing.

Dark AM

Journal Entry (adapted), 9/08/20, 12:40 AM

God, Universe, Whatever...
Please hear my request
That I can help myself
That I can think clearer
Set some goals and achieve them
Acknowledge what I accomplish
And let my self know how well she does
That she is a caring person
That she does give her all
To the best of her ability in any given moment

On Sunday
She cleaned up the public bathroom at Mt. Mitchell
She picked up trash two different times on two different trails
She only bought one thing: a bag of Cheez-its
She took her own food and cups and water bottles
She thinks of the person that will come after her every day
Who is coming to this place next and to help that place be a blessing
Not only in the immediate, but also for future generations

So, go easy on her
In spite of the good things she does and thinks
She is hard on her self
So, go easy on her

Sunday, she spoke up to the drone-guy at Mt. Mitchell
But then got on herself for not doing it well enough
Instead, think of the fact that she spoke up
And that, if something like that comes up again, how she can do it better

The internet doesn't do it for you anymore Carol
As far as giving you something to let you know you matter
But nature often does
Or happenstance, when you don't go a-clamoring for the attention
Or being something or someone you're not
Or trying to impress but not realizing it until after the fact
Notice those flash thoughts and feelings
And wait before acting on them
Look to John for support
And to the kids
And to a couple friends, selectively

It's now 1:01 AM
I think I'll drink some tea
And turn on the TV

Don't box me in...

I think more nuanced than I speak
Words are often hard to come by
Words that convey the nuance

So instead of finding the words
Or admitting I can't find them
I bypass or short cut
And words come out that don't authentically convey
What I think or feel

Is it because of fear?
Fear of how the other will judge me?
Perhaps as being too ambivalent?
Too milquetoast?

Or is it because of the other's labels of me?
Of the box they put me in?
Due to the human trait of projection?
Due to assumptions made on those projections?
Due to lenses through which the other views and interprets?
Do I not care enough to correct the assumption?
Is the energy expenditure to yet once again explain myself to draining?

Am I projecting in this "other" analysis?

Or does it mostly boil down to symptoms of my disability?
The physical and cognitive and emotional toll?
To carry out what should be simple functions?
Due to nerve damage?
Due to long-term steroid side effects?

Perhaps I don't speak up and explain
Because it takes more words to convey gray
Between and within the gray is where the nuance exists
Like the silver streaks within the hoary head
When the wind blows, the hair rearranges, exposing the shades
Or depending on the angle at which the sunlight shines, tones differ slightly
And may even display colors other than silver, white, and gray
It takes more words, more thought, more feeling
To convey nuance

My favorite conversations, the few I engage, are not about
politics or relationships or analysis or philosophy or academia
My favorite conversations are about peoples' stories
Listening to what an individual has lived
Without trying to analyze or judge or appraise
Analyzing, appraising, judging the other
Tires my soul

Sometimes
Often
I am the other

Timestamp

The New River
8/25/20, 4:01 PM

She sings her songs
Of ancient lore
Millennia after millennia
With 10,000s more to come

I stand witness
In this moment of time

Aye, the River, the Rocks
Their chorus of yore
Their chorus of now
In this moment, I am...

~*~

 Video link of that moment: 8/25/20, 4:01 PM

I am the tree

As I ride my bike on the
Blue Ridge Parkway
comfort and peace
embrace me

This isn't new
this cradling
I've felt it before
multiple times

But this time
I'm cycling the Parkway
something I've done
only one other time

Must have been 2015
I had hopes I was improving
and I was
but then it plateaued
symptoms spread
and my body said
That's all I've got

Until now
this last day of July, 2020
me, here, again
cycling this tiny sliver
of the BRP

Dreaming of one day
being well enough maybe
to bike-pack
the whole grueling, joyful
four-hundred plus miles
camping along the way
meeting others who thrive
in this love
of the journey
a love for which words are
inadequate
sharing the night sky
the sunshine
the wind
the rain
sunsets, sunrises

And maybe
it's only a dream
and that's okay

As I pedal
tears of joy
grace my cheeks

Awe
Gratitude
Perfect harmony

I whisper aloud to the trees

I love you

And they whisper back to me
the same

Gosh, people would think I'm crazy
That I feel you talking to me
But John Muir would understand
He listened to the plants

Together
the trees and I
chuckle

And the wild flowers
and beautiful weeds
and grasses swaying in
the breeze

All
a part of me
Me
a part of them

I am a weed
I am the grasses
I am a flower
I am the tree

Field of wonders

View from Groundhog Mtn., Buffalo in the distance

Looking north, somewhere between Groundhog & Mayberry Ck.

Looking south, somewhere between Groundhog & Mayberry Ck.

Childhood tree memory...

Darkness of night
I'd lie on the ground
And skywatch
Dark tree-crown shapes
Would become a parade
Of mystical animals
Watching over me
Under the stars

The cursed perch...

And once again
The avalanche of explanation buries me
I lay crumpled beneath the giant rocks
Pummeled into silence and self-doubt
Hearing the voices of past accusers
Leveling me back
To the perch of paralysis
Once again

Scribblage from my journal: round 27, weeks 2 & 3

Weather

Whether or not you approve of me

is not irrelative.
Or is it irrelevant?

I like to be liked.

Just like any other mammal.

Are all mammals group species?

What about sloths?

Do I have an expertise?

Not one that I can authoritatively share.

I really hate the current cultural-political

environment.

I have never liked election years.

Since Trump's election, it's been
a never-ending election year--
years
of campaigning.

Th, 10/17/19
Week 2. Round 27.

~*~*~*~

Howl

Deep dark trunk and limbs.
Black. Rugged. Strong.
Rough skin. Bumps. Tiny ledges.

Over which ants crawl
Raccoon and bear climb
Inchworms, beetles, and caterpillars
Nests of birds and squirrels

Golden crown rustles in autumn.

Music, not of windchimes
But rather, wildness
Echoing 'cross the valleys and peaks

And then, your shimmering golden hands--

upon your tiny wrists
that rests on branches
that rests on limbs
attached to your dark trunk--

Your golden hands

Fall
Like giant snowflakes
To rot and feed the soil

Then you are naked against the elements.

And your song
For a season
Is a howl

Su, 10/27/19.
Week 3. Round 27.

Scribblage from my journal: round 26, weeks 9 & 12

*~*~*~

Irony

I wish I could think deeply,

like I used to.

But poetry isn't about thinking deeply;

poetry is feeling deeply.

It is ironic the word "irony" has "iron" in it.

Is it because hot iron melts?

Because it bends?

Irony is bent.

Sa, 9/14/19
Week 9. Round 26.

*~*~*~

Eyes Are Everywhere

It's such a crazy world.
And then,
there is
my life
in Velcro.

I have felt the eyes upon me.
I no longer care how odd I might look.
I really no longer care.

I don't understand how someone can have a migraine and still work.
Maybe mine are a mix of
migraine,
nerve damage,
and hormone dump.

I wonder if I can read this later.

I am a goldfish swimming for the rainbow.
M, 9/30/19
Week 12. Round 26.

Peace & Joy

In my morning reading today I read one of Thich Nhat Hanh's *gathas:

Peace and joy in each toe--
my own peace and joy.

Below, I've expanded it for personal use.

~*~*

Peace & Joy

Peace & joy in each toe
~my own peace & joy.

Peace & joy in each sole

Peace & joy in each ankle

Peace & joy in each shin

Peace & joy in each knee

Peace & joy in calves & thighs

Peace & joy in each hip

Peace & joy in lower back

Peace & joy in belly & heart

Peace & joy up the spine

Peace & joy in each shoulder

Peace & joy in each bicep

Peace & joy in each elbow

Peace & joy in each forearm

Peace & joy in each wrist

Peace & joy in each palm

Peace & joy in each finger

Peace & joy in neck & jaws

Peace & joy in each tooth

Peace & joy in eyes & temples

Peace & joy anoint my head
~my very own peace and joy.

~*~

*From Wikipedia: "In contemporary Buddhist practice as popularized (and derived from the Zen and Theravādin traditions) by Zen Master Thich Nhat Hanh, a gatha is a verse recited (usually mentally, not aloud) in rhythm with the breath as part of mindfulness practice, either in daily life, or as part of meditation or meditative study."

~*~

Related post: Tinder

Sudoku Porn

1/20/20
1:00ish PM

Blue I am
So tired
No desire
Except for food,

but only for taste bud entertainment

Stimulation

Would porn help?
It's free on the internet

I'll play Sudoku instead