Monthly Archives: January 2012

Tickets to Oz aren’t cheap…

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Ffolkes,
Man, oh man! Sometimes that first sip of good coffee in the morning is almost like a small orgasm. As its warmth and flavor permeates my mouth and throat, every tight nerve and muscle seems to smooth out and relax, my eyes clear like the fog is burning off, and every part of me feels at one with the universe, if only for a split second. Or maybe that’s just me….. but it sure makes the task of flogging this old body to get up and move somewhat less of a challenge. Now, if I could only fall asleep easily, all would be well. Seems like my brain doesn’t want to shut down at night, unless I bludgeon my consciousness with 3 or 4 adult beverages. And who wants to do that every night? Not me….ah well, no sense in whining about it now; I’m up. So I guess I may as well get on with it…..

“I came here to chew bubble gum and kick ass…..and I’m all out of bubble gum.” — From THEY LIVE!
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All nature is but art, unknown to thee;
All chance, direction, which thou canst not see;
All discord, harmony not understood;
All partial evil, universal good;
And spite of pride, in erring reason’s spite,
One truth is clear, Whatever is, is right.
— Alexander Pope (1688-1744)
— Essay on Man, Epistle i, Line 289

Mssr. Pope’s poetry may be regarded as one of the indications that mankind has gotten as far as we have toward being truly civilized (current idiocy not being counted; the world’s in a mess, ffolkes…). And such a poem as this one hardly needs my praise or discussion; how can one argue with the last line? Soon after finding it in the database, I found the one below by Emily, one of my all-time favorite poems. So, this section requires nothing but your kind attention. The lessons to be learned here today are in the words of the poets themselves…..

I’m Nobody! Who are you?
Are you- Nobody- Too?
Then there’s a pair of us?
Don’t tell! they’d advertise-you know!
How dreary-to be- Somebody!
How public-like a Frog-
To tell one’s name-the livelong June-
To an admiring Bog!
— Emily Dickinson
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“Faith is one of those words that connotes, however irrationally, some kind of virtue in itself.” — Louis J. Halle

This is a very subtle point, and highly insightful. How many times have we heard some religious fanatic use scripture to argue against what is real, or more often, against what is possible? And by using scripture, that person assumes that they are right, and stand on higher moral ground than the other person, merely by quoting the text they believe to be true according to their faith. The insight here involves the word ‘rational’, for that is where most fanatics tend to veer away from the truth, and charge off into faith-based assumption.

Myself, I’ve never understood it; I never saw ‘faith’ as virtuous; it always seemed more ‘put on’ or shallow to me. It seemed to me that most of the people who I saw that claimed to be faithful Christians only made that claim at times they were preparing to act in an un-Christian manner, or when their beliefs were challenged somehow. They didn’t wear the Jesus suit all the time, but instead, put it on when it is convenient, or when needed to keep from having to think. In my entire life, I don’t think I’ve met more than 3 real, actual Christians; people who lived by the same precepts as Jesus did, without trying to foist it on anyone else.

Instead of proselytizing, which the fanatics tend to do when confronted, these ffolkes ask themselves what Jesus would have done, and then do it. They don’t quote scripture, they provide an example of what is in the scripture by the way they live. Much more honest, and they make better neighbors than the ones who are always making the assumption that having faith is all they need to do to make it to heaven, never realizing that they’re actually on a different road, one paved with good intentions……and we all know where that road leads!
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“In the greatest confusion there is still an open channel to the soul. It may be difficult to find because by midlife it is overgrown, and some of the wildest thickets that surround it grow out of what we describe as education. But the channel is always there, and it is our business to keep it open, to have access to the deepest part of ourselves — to that part of us which is conscious of a higher consciousness, by means of which we make final judgments and put everything together. The independence of this consciousness, which has the strength to be immune to the noise of history and the distractions of our immediate surroundings, is what the life struggle is all about. The soul has to find and hold its ground against hostile forces, sometimes embodied in ideas which frequently deny its very existence, and which indeed often seem to be trying to annul it altogether.” — Saul Bellow

This is why I love diving for pearls. Every once in a while one comes across a pearl that so closely parallels one’s own thoughts, it’s spooky.  The only words I would take issue with here (“higher consciousness”) can be considered as the single exception, which solidifies the evidence of the truth of the theorem, that each of us is unique, no matter how dissimilar we may appear to be. Other than that, I would tend to agree with every point of his statement, without any further qualifications. Naturally, there are points of discussion that are apparent; I’d be surprised if any statement on this subject didn’t present some anomaly to at least one other person with a different POV. But taken as a whole, with a gestalt viewpoint, it is a clear marker of the road that leads to higher consciousness, and right action…..and that is a pretty cool place to hang out, exploring our uniqueness in the playgrounds of the universe……
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Under the old format of Pearls of Virtual Wisdom, several individual pearls would be given, one after another, to make a certain philosophical point, or underline some particular concept suggested by the quotes, using differing and often contradictory elements to reach the objective. This is such a quiz, with the conclusion, as always, left as an exercise for the Gentle Reader, to wit: you….. oh, and just ask yourselves, “Which of these is not like the others?”….

“The militia of these free commonwealths, entitled and accustomed to their arms, when compared with any possible army, must be _tremendous and irresistible_. Who are the militia? _are they not ourselves?_. Is it feared, then, that we shall turn our arms _each man against his own bosom?_. Congress have no power to disarm the militia. Their swords, and every other terrible implement of the soldier, are _the birth-right of an American_…the unlimited power of the sword is not in the hands of either the _federal or state governments_, but, where I trust in God it will ever remain,_in the hands of the people_.” — Tench Coxe 20 Feb. 1788

“Government is about coercion. Limiting government is the single most important instrument for guaranteeing liberty. We’re working on a third generation which has little in the way of education about what our Constitution means and why it was written. Thus, we’ve fallen easy prey to charlatans, quacks, and hustlers.” — Dr. Walter Williams

“”If we are to survive, this nation must end its love affair with guns.”  — U.S. Attorney General Janet Reno.

“If we are to survive, this nation must end its love affair with big brother government and individuals must relearn what it means to be free.” — Jeff Chan, chan@shell.portal.com

“No freeman shall ever be debarred the use of arms.” — Thomas Jefferson (1743-1826), June 1

Where do you keep your gun?…..I keep mine at an undisclosed location, close and instantly accessible (note, I did not say how many I keep)…. Never thought I’d need one, until the Bill of Rights was ignominiously and stealthily terminated, whereupon it became obvious that in the future, one of our first concerns if we wish to continue living, is that we will need to have adequate ammunition, of a caliber appropriate to the weapons stored with our water, food, and books….the other necessities for survival in a world gone mad…..
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“I expect to pass through this life but once. If, therefore, there be any good thing I can do to any fellow being, let me do it now, and not defer or neglect it, as I shall not pass this way again.” — William Penn

Even if one believes that we come back to life multiple times, this suggests an excellent way to approach life in the Now. Who knows what our time is like when we are not here? Could be worse, could be better, and no direct evidence to tell us which, only speculation. So, we may as well optimize our chances of improving our lot; acting otherwise is for fools….and I do try so hard NOT to be a fool. Nature seems to have provided us with an ample supply of them, without otherwise adept people displaying their Bozoid Tendencies for all to see…. besides, I don’t know about y’all, but I sure feel better when I do something for someone else, especially if I don’t expect any reward; better than if I look away, and pretend I didn’t see the homeless vagrant begging for food, thinking to myself, “I can’t help Everyone.” My response to that idea is, “well, no, perhaps not, but you might be able to help one at a time…..” And the beat goes on….
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Well, ’twas a bit of a struggle, but it has a chance to fly; I’ll go ahead and throw it up there and hope it manages to miss the ground for a time… 🙂 At any rate, it fits right in with the rest of the dross and drivel on this blog; I’m nothing if not cruelly honest, at least with my self. S’okay, I have thick skin, and a dull scalpel….. y’all take care out there…..

—
Sometimes I sits and thinks,
and sometimes
I just sits.

gigoid

Dozer

Kowabunga!

In the shelter of the 39th Parallel….

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Part IV….

Reality Considered As A Slippery Slope

“Yes! Living in today’s complex world of the future IS much like having a hive of bees live  in your head. But…..there they are!” – Firesign Theater. Sometimes, in my more lucid moments of reflection, I wonder if everyone else ever feels like that. If they did, then maybe it wouldn’t bother me so much when I do, because a burden shared is a burden eased.

In the immediate aftermath of the events described in detail in Part III, I continued to work, and for some strange reason, not a single psychiatrist or psychologist, nor any other therapist or administrative staff, suggested that perhaps the staff members who were involved might wish to talk about those events. It didn’t occur to me that maybe I should take some time off; I thought keeping busy was best, and when staff take time off, the ones who remain have to cover the time one would be off, thus making the job even harder. So I came to work, but I had changed, both my attitude, and my approach to the job.

Holding group therapy, and other normal, mundane functions of the job became low priority in my sphere of perceptions, while being alert to the possibility of small situations that could conceivably worsen became my focus. In retrospect, I firmly believe that my adrenal gland was regularly and periodically giving me doses of our natural defense system’s ‘pick-me-up’ in response to how I perceived the events around me. My hearing became extremely acute; I distinctly remember, on more than one occasion, hearing a small noise while standing in an office doorway, and when I had tracked it to its’ source, I found that I had to go around three concrete walls, and through two metal doors to find what turned out to be two young men arguing, but not in particularly loud voices. No one else had heard anything.

Instead of a mental health therapist, I became a ‘brain cop’, ever alert to the slightest quirk in even the most delusional of individuals, often being able to intuit what they would do before they acted, magically appearing just as they would start to move. Even these agitated individuals can be fairly easily redirected, or at least distracted from their initial violent impulses, with the correct timing. And if the timing wasn’t quite right, well, I became even faster at assuming physical control, with the intent of entirely removing violence as one of their behavioral options, no matter what the situation.

As became obvious later, I was becoming somewhat grandiose myself, trying to assume the sole responsibility for the safety of ‘everyone’ in my space. I had forgotten, or refused to remember, a very old saying in the field of mental health, which cautions, “You will know that a nervous breakdown is imminent when you begin to believe that what you are doing is very important.” In my narrowed field of perceptions, what I was doing assumed a HUGE importance.

After a year of this, I wish I could say that I’d had enough, and asked for help. Perhaps my feet would have found the path I needed to follow sooner than I did. But, I didn’t; another friend at work finally worked up the nerve to point out to me some of the things I was doing, and how they weren’t in my best interests, or in the best interests of the folks I was there to help. She was very compassionate and supportive, and despite what I wanted to believe, I’m not deliberately stupid, and had to admit the veracity of what she was telling me. I was broken inside, and no matter how hard I tried, I wasn’t going to be able to fix what was broken by myself…..fortunately for me, I didn’t have to.

I asked to see the on-duty physician the night my friend spoke to me, and after some discussion, often somewhat heated on my part, I decided to leave work, due to a temporary disability caused by repeated exposure to extreme stress. In the next days, I began seeing a psychiatrist, at the suggestion of a lawyer I had been advised to see, who would ensure that my claim for disability got me the help I needed.

For the next two years, I saw the good Doctor K, and my time with him became a weekly hour of calm in the midst of the intermittent storms in my mind. My last year of work had been marked by sleeping problems, periods of anxiety & depression, and the advent of the beginning symptoms of a physical disorder that wouldn’t fully manifest for another five years, but caused, in the present, a constant feeling of lethargy and general malaise.

With time away from work, and compassionate care from my psychiatrist, my anxiety and depression became less pronounced, and eventually I processed my feelings about what had occurred to the point where I was no longer troubled by daytime flashbacks and nightly dreams of the horrible events. I found my way back to my center, but as a changed person. I am much more in touch now with my emotions, and have learned not to block them out as much when they are too strong. It has taught me that it is okay to break down, and even to cry, as long as you remember to believe that you can always get back up…..but, it’s a struggle that continues each day, and won’t ever be completely gone…..

Well, there you have it. I don’t know if this is interesting to others or not, nor do I wish to concern myself with that. I wrote this as a form of  therapy, and re-reading it continues that process; I’m still somewhat emotionally fragile, compared to my former self, but life goes on, and we all do the best we can. All you can do is all you can do…..

Tomorrow, this space will once again hold a Daily Pearl of Virtual Wisdom…..y’all take care out there…..

—
Sometimes I sits and thinks,
and sometimes
I just sits.

gigoid

A budgie in the hand, and two more on ice….

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Ffolkes,

     Part III of Repercussions….

On a day in mid-August of 1984, I was working once again at Napa State Hospital (NSH) as a Psychiatric Technician. Since the adolescent program where I previously worked had closed, I was assigned to a unit designated T8. The T-building is a two-story edifice which encompasses enough space for 10 units housing up to 45 adult individuals each, an industrial kitchen with two separate dining rooms, serving meals in both rooms in rotation, for eight of the units, and several program offices for the Program managers and support staff.

The population was all male, in a program whose purpose was to treat a variety of different diagnoses. The residents of the program, who were diagnosed with Schizophrenia, Bi-Polar Disorders, Personality Disorders, along with a wide variety of other psychiatric conditions, were housed together on eight units with dormitories where they slept at night. On this particular late summer’s day, the men on T8 were relatively quiet, as everyone tried to cope with the stifling heat common to the area at this time of the year. The buildings at NSH were built in the 1950’s, all of concrete, and could be very uncomfortable.

A couple of hours into the shift, we escorted our charges out the door, downstairs to the hallway leading to the dining room for dinner. It is always the most dangerous part of the shift; the residents are hungry, and the walk to the dining room necessarily leaves the staff spread apart in order to keep an eye on everyone. The team I worked with was a good one, and with all of us staying alert, we got to the dining room and supervised the clients, who were conversant with the routine, until all were seated and eating, except a couple of stragglers still in line.

The phone on the wall rang, and one of the kitchen employees picked up to answer. She listened a moment, then turned to quickly address us nursing staff, saying in a strained voice, “T6 needs help, stat!” “Stat” is the medical code word for an emergency situation, requiring staff to respond as fast as possible to lend assistance. Two of us immediately broke into a run, out of the door to the left down the hallway to the stairway door leading up to T6. We hit the open hall door at a full run and bounded up the stairs, slowing as we came to the doorway to scan the situation before entering into the main day hall of the unit.

To the left was the medication room door, bottom half closed, top open to the room. A female staff member in the open upper half pointed across the day hall at a resident there, saying only, “that’s him” In the middle of the room, near the chairs grouped in front of the TV, lay another of the residents, curled into a ball and shivering violently. A female staff member could be seen in the nursing office, still calling for help. No one was in the TV area; most of the clients were on the way to the dining room, as were most of the staff, so my teammate, named Lee, and I were the first responders at the scene. I looked straight ahead from the door as I moved into the room, and saw a sight I will see in dreams for the rest of my days, burned indelibly on my memory in an instant that lasted forever.

I saw the body of a male staff member, obviously unconscious; he lay on his back straight in front of me about 10 feet away. I recognized him as the T-6 shift lead, a friend named Al, who had oriented me to the program when I first came on board. I observed that he was breathing, but his complexion had a very bad looking, chalky grey cast to it. Another 15 feet beyond where he lay paced the apparent perpetrator, who immediately began yelling at me in a threatening voice, shouting, ” Yeah I did that, come and get me!.” He was about 6’1″, approximately 190 lbs., appeared to be in good shape, and very obviously was in an agitated psychotic state, just coming down after an explosion of rage, and still pumped up to fight.

As I approached him, I had to step over the body of my friend, and very carefully moved toward the agitated individual, on full alert and fully adrenalized. Time had slowed to a crawl, and I could hear the harsh breathing from the aggressor as he paced in a tight circle, mumbling to himself between yells in my direction. Lee, the other staff who had come in with me, is an experienced PT, and like me, a veteran of such situations.

     He silently crossed behind me to the left, quickly circling around to the opposite side, so we could approach from both directions. As I stepped up to the aggressor, I casually took his left arm, just as Lee did the same on the other side. Both of us had been trained to use a special hold which allows control of the arm without stressing it by putting it in unnatural positions, allowing you to use your weight to control the arm, quickly tiring the subject. He began to try rip his arms from our grasp, yelling obscenities at us, and flailing about.

Lee was experienced, but only weighed about 110 lbs. dripping wet, and I could tell he wasn’t going to be able to hold the right arm much longer, and I would then be the unhappy recipient of an attempted blow to the head. I had to think fast, so I dropped my weight while holding his arm, then lifted him upward until his weight went onto his toes, just enough that I was able to control the direction of our movement.

     I quickly directed all three of us right into the chairs a few feet away, knowing that I could direct him hard enough to cause his legs to run into the arm of the heavy chair, causing him to imbalance and fall over to the floor, with me still on top grimly keeping a death-grip on his arm. This unfortunately left Lee underneath him, but as I knew he would, he wriggled free, still holding the right arm, and we were then able to use our combined weight to hold him securely on the floor until more help arrived.

Very soon after we got control of the still wildly struggling individual, more people arrived, helped us to restrain him, then per procedure, move him to a secure room, where he could be restrained with leather straps on a bed until he regained control, as the psychotic rage passed. Once he was secure, Lee and I returned to the day hall where Al still lay, being examined by the on-duty physician, surrounded by silent and worried looking staff. A paramedic team arrived with a gurney stretcher, Al was lifted onto it gently, and rushed to the emergency room at the nearest hospital a few miles away. The doctor was only able to stand there shaking his head sadly, with a grave expression, saying over and over, “it’s bad, it’s bad”. After writing up the incident reports, Lee and I finished our shift on our unit, quietly raging inside but still outwardly under control.

After our shift ended, we went to the hospital to see if Al had been stabilized and/or had regained consciousness; before we left work, we had heard only periodic updates that told us he was still in surgery. When we arrived, we were told he was in a coma, in critical condition, and being monitored for fluid pressure on the brain. His prognosis was serious and guarded, meaning the doctors didn’t know whether he would recover or not, only time would tell.

Four days later, Al died without ever waking up. The doctors explained that he had apparently been struck full in the face, a massive blow to the nose. The doctors related he had received in essence two blows, one to the face and nose, and one to the back of the head when he fell to the floor. In reality, he never stood much chance of a full recovery; even if he had lived, the likelihood of a severe loss of brain function would almost certainly have made him a full-time bed patient, requiring full nursing care to survive. He would never have been able to speak, or walk, or hold his family again.

   Al was survived by his wife and four children. At the funeral a day after his death all of us who had worked with Al stood by his casket at the memorial service as we and his family bid him a tearful farewell. We could but stare in shock, and wonder at the terrible waste of a good man’s life, silent as the sadness filled us.

And I, I was filled with a such a sense of rage and sorrow, such waves of pain and anguish that I could barely speak for the clenching of my jaw. For the first time in my life and career, I had been unable to protect someone I had cared for, and I was filled with an immensely deep sense of regret for having arrived on the scene too late to save my friend…..

     My equilibrium was completely shattered, and I could not find my center, nor even momentary peace, despite recognizing that we had done as much as we could, and held no personal responsibility for his death. That knowledge gave me no comfort, and I entered the realm of the “walking dead”, gripped by madness and and soul-deep pain….

To be continued…..

—
Sometimes I sits and thinks,
and sometimes
I just sits.

gigoid

Dozer

Kowabunga!

Remarkably obscene patterns in the sand….

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Ffolkes,
Here is the second of four parts…

In 1973, at the age of 23, I attended school to study to take the state examination for a license as a Psychiatric Technician (PT). The classes were subsidized by, and took place at, Atascadero State Hospital (ASH) in Central California. College credits were given through the local J.C., Cuesta College in nearby San Luis Obispo. In conjunction with the classes, students were allowed, and encouraged, to work 20 hours per week in the hospital, as a supplement to the clinical hours required to complete the courses. So began my journey in the mental health industry, and unknown to me at the time, down the path to darkness…..

The hospital at Atascadero is a maximum security facility that houses up to 1200 individuals, who are committed to the bleak, prison-like hospital by the state courts, having been judged as being either unable to stand trial due to being unable to understand the charges, or because they were unable to cooperate in their own defense, due to mental illness. Some of these men (it is an all-male facility; women in the same legal categories were housed in another facility) were also committed by the courts as being Not Guilty by Reason of Insanity, or were those who had manifested symptoms of mental illness after being convicted of crimes and sent to prison. A very few of them were not insane, but were master manipulators, career criminals with very good lawyers who had convinced the court to send them to the hospital rather than prison. These individuals caused a great many problems, as they would manipulate their less functional peers into giving up their property, or doing their will, or  incite them to violence, just to watch the results from a safe distance, for amusement.

Working in a maximum security facility as a therapist is possibly one of the most difficult jobs man has ever created. A prison-like environment makes it difficult to create the ambiance necessary to allow the men being treated to feel safe and comfortable enough to deal with their individual problems. The danger of housing so many people with mental illness is an ever-present and overriding concern, as one of the primary characteristics of those with these types of diagnoses is a lack, or even absence, of impulse control. As a result, managing assaultive behavior becomes a necessary adjunct to treatment.

The Department of Mental Health, working with employees from all the state hospitals, developed a policy for dealing with the issue; subsequently, training in Management of Assaultive Behavior (MAB) was given to every employee who came into contact with the committed individuals. Since the facility was classed as maximum security, the training was especially important for the Hospital Police, who were responsible for maintaining the security of the physical plant, and for the therapists (psychiatrists and psychologists, nurses, psychiatric technicians, and ancillary staff such as occupational and rehabilitation therapists) who were the primary care-givers for the individuals. These teams were taught specific techniques for recognizing the warning signs of impending violent behavior, how to re-direct when possible, and methods for physically controlling individuals who were acting out in a violent manner, without causing or sustaining injury.

Most of these principles and techniques, if not all, were very similar to the Judo and Kung Fu that I had been taught, so my prior training and experience became valuable tools for me, helping me to be skillful in keeping safe both the aggressors and victims involved in the violent episodes so frequently found in settings such as ASH. I became one of the people who specialized in MAB, which necessarily meant that whenever a violent incident broke out, I was one of the first to respond, as I was adept at controlling the situation without any of the participants sustaining injury, the primary goal in such instances.

Working in such a high stress environment as a maximum security hospital was both physically and emotionally draining, and after three years at ASH I had had enough. I moved north to work at Napa State Hospital, in order to get back to being a therapist rather than a glorified cop. I obtained a position as a PT in a treatment program for adolescents at NSH in 1976. To me, it was  a wonderful change; the kids in the program, lived ina co-educational environment, and were smaller as a rule than the full-grown men I was used to; in addition, there were far fewer individuals who had already learned to resort to violence, compared to those who were housed at ASH. It was also different for being co-ed, as I had previously not worked with any women, or girls, in a therapeutic setting. Because of my experience in MAB, violence on the unit where I worked became a non-viable behavior for the adolescents, and after a few months the number of incidents that took place on the unit were greatly reduced.

After a few years at NSH, I decided to take an extended sabbatical from working as a PT, and traveled around California for a few months, until not working became a bore; I was raised to be productive, and needed to get back to work. I applied to and was hired to work in another state hospital in Camarillo, a relatively small town near Ventura in Southern California. At CSH I once again worked with adolescents, as they had a similar program, patterned after the one at NSH. My martial arts training, which I had continued all this time, once again proved to be a valuable tool, and I again became the first responder at any outbreaks of violence among the individuals under treatment.

I met my wife at Camarillo; she was another PT in the adolescent program. We worked together, began dating, fell in love, married and started our family. It was a challenging period for me; between work, parenting, maintaining my marriage, home maintenance, and the myriad of little things that are the activities of daily life in this country, I was a very busy, very stressed individual. But I loved it that way, and was happy and content for some years.

     The economy at that time changed for the worse; we were unable to keep up with our mortgage payments, and lost our house to foreclosure. We decided to move north, to the Sonoma Valley, to raise our children in a country setting, with very well-respected schools, and a much lower crime rate than the southern California area in which we had lived.

I eventually hired on back at NSH, but the adolescent program was no longer open, so I began working with adults, on an all-male unit, with a group of individuals with a wide variety of diagnoses. As the level of security at Napa was not maximum, and the degree of MAB training was not up to the higher standards at ASH, the units in the program where I worked were very dangerous, a situation which ultimately led to my downfall.

     It was about this time when I calculated that, in my career as a PT, I had worked in the most stressful environments in the entire world, outside of battlefields, constantly in danger, and my martial arts background had become not just useful, but absolutely critical. I estimated the number of violent incidents in which I had been involved, and found that over the years I had an average of one major incident (translation: a knock-down, drag-out fight, in real-time, with real opponents, who are actively engaged in trying to hurt or maim me, or someone else) per week since I had started as a PT at ASH. My calculations came to a minimum of 728 incidents. I was appalled, but also somewhat proud of this figure; in all those incidents only one of the individuals had sustained a minor injury, and I had sustained one minor injury myself. Not a bad record, all in all…2 partial failures and 726 successful outcomes.

However, the damage to my psyche that had accumulated through the years had by this time reached an unprecedented and dangerous level, and I was finding it extremely difficult to maintain the now uncertain equilibrium I had achieved. My experiences had left me burdened with an indelible, hidden wound in my soul, in my very center. The experiences to which I’d been exposed eventually culminated in one specific incident that brought all of my pent-up stress to the surface, and affected me so deeply that I still feel the effects today……I became, quite literally, one of the “walking wounded”, a condition with which my generation, due to the Vietnam War, had become all too familiar. It was a single incident, that happened one night in 1984, and to this day I have never fully recovered…..

To be continued…..

—
Sometimes I sits and thinks,
and sometimes
I just sits.

gigoid

Dozer

Kowabunga!

Belaboring toast points for profit….

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Ffolkes,
Today, and for the next three days, I’ll be posting some material I wrote last year, while writing on a site called GoodBlogs. Technically, they have the online rights to it, but it is still mine, and is completely appropriate for this venue. Therefore, I am publishing all four pieces here on WordPress, just because I want to, and to give my brain a few days to dive for pearls, and to renew and redirect my creative urges. Together the four pieces tell a true story, of my time in Hell…..it’s titled, “Repercussions”……

Part the first…..

When I was four, my father was stationed in Japan with the US Army, at a base near Okinawa. He was there for about 18 months, and the rest of the family, my mother and, at the time, four kids joined him there for the last seven months of his tour of duty. During that time, I was made aware, simply by traveling to and living there, that the world was much larger than I thought, and there were a lot of different kinds of people living in it. He was an officer at the time, so the six of us lived in a large house on base, with two Japanese housekeepers. Learning about Mariko and her sister, whose name escapes me, taught us many things about Japanese culture, and my mind grew in leaps and bounds.

One of the things we learned were some basic Judo (the gentle way) techniques, by one of Mariko’s friends who was member of a dojo (school). This exposure to the martial arts stayed with me, but after returning to the USA, there was little opportunity to pursue the arts further. Especially when my parents had another child, and money became a permanent issue in the household. But I never forgot Mariko, (who made the best cinnamon roles ever) or any of my experiences in Japan.

Much later in my life when I went to college, at the University of California at Berkeley, Judo was offered as a physical education course, and I at last had the opportunity to study in earnest what so long ago had made such an impression on my young mind. I took the course for 3 quarters (UCB had switched to a four-quarter-per-calendar year schedule some years before my admission), much as a duck takes to water, and after less than 9 months I had earned my brown belt, second degree.

I loved the arts with a passion I had not felt since I first discovered science-fiction at age ten. It was, perhaps, a lesser passion than when I discovered that girls weren’t so yucky after all, but studying the arts became a significant part of my life, and I have studied one art or another ever since, a matter of about 40 years. After Judo, I took some lessons in Karate (the empty-hand), Tae Kwon Do and Shotokan styles, a little bit of Tai Chi, and some Aikido..

    Then in my late twenties, I joined my first class in the Chinese art of Kung Fu. All my other exposure, Tai Chi aside (which though useful in that respect, was an art not primarily designed for use in fighting), had been to arts developed in Japan and Korea. I learned that all of those arts had been patterned after the precepts of Kung Fu many centuries before.

The origins of Kung Fu are shrouded in some mystery, but the consensus is that the monks of the Taoist temple of the order of the Shaolin were the first to learn the basic art, and developed it as a means of protecting their temple from the degradations of the numerous marauding warlords fighting over the various geographic regions in China. It is said that the art was brought to them by none other than Bhodi Dharma, an ancient warrior of India who traveled all over the Far East during his life, using his unspeakably powerful skills, developed by him during many years of studying Yoga, to protect the weak and oppressed, much like a wandering knight in Europe during the age of chivalry.

The Shaolin monks developed the skills they learned to such a high degree that the temple was eventually destroyed by warlords who had developed cannons, because they feared the monks so much. The monks scattered over the rest of China taking their skills with them, teaching them to the people, and to monks at other temples. It was said that a Shaolin monk could disappear from sight, could walk through walls, and fly through the air, and their reputation protected them probably as much as their fighting skills.

In the 1970’s there was a show on TV called Kung Fu, loosely based on a figure in Shaolin history, their greatest warrior, whose name on the show was Kwai Chang Caine. Though it was subject, unfortunately, to the occasionally bizarre demands of Hollywood culture, it was nonetheless a relatively accurate representation of how such a monk might have approached the new culture in the United States, and gave a good idea of how effective the skills learned by the monks could be, even against superior numbers and weaponry.

When I was first introduced to Kung Fu, it seemed as though all the other arts I had studied became irrelevant. I had graduated from the high-school level of Karate and Aikido to a more advanced university, that started with basics, then led the student into deeper and deeper knowledge, not just of the techniques of fighting and training, but knowledge of both the body and the mind, which are never considered to be separate entities in Chinese culture.

    The techniques learned became only a part of what one learns; much of the rest of what is taught was concerned with learning to control one’s mind and spirit. The first lesson was the most important one, and it consists of one concept…..restraint. Simply put, we do not learn these skills to fight, but to grow; to learn how to accept the danger that exists in human society without being paralyzed by fear, allowing one’s higher principles to guide action for the betterment of all creatures.

Learning Kung Fu, as well as the other martial arts I studied, was a seminal part of my own developing philosophy of life, and has been, in my mind, an invaluable tool in my own growth. But learning the arts, as I was later to learn, would have repercussions so powerful, and so all-encompassing, that they would send shock waves of pain and anguish down every step of my path in the world; repercussions that would stay with me for the rest of my life…..

To be continued…….

—
Sometimes I sits and thinks,
and sometimes
I just sits.

gigoid

Dozer

Kowabunga!

Who ordered the asparagus with hollandaise?….

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Ffolkes,
Lazy doats and mersey boats moved silently past the statue, but I saw them. They were dark, and evil, and up to no good. So, in the burgeoning night, I sent them all back to hell with gusto……

Whoops….sorry, wrong crowd….some days, the key is to just jump in without even checking the water temperature; it’s the shock that gets the old heart moving, albeit reluctantly. It’s not as effective as a good cup of coffee, but it serves the purpose adequately. Can’t always have everything just the way we like it, can we? Learning to live with that idea is one of the keys to reducing one’s overall stress level, and it’s probably good karma to not bite anyone before breakfast…..
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  Some random thoughts I picked up here and there, on everyone’s favorite controversy…… the images were found on Facebook, so I’m not sure of the original attribution…… but both are pretty mainstream, and most likely intended for the public domain….

“As a man can drink water from any side of a full tank, so the skilled theologian can wrest from any scripture that which will serve his purpose.” — Bhagavad Gita

“What is it the Bible teaches us? – rapine, cruelty, and murder. What is it the Testament teaches us? – to believe that the Almighty committed debauchery with a woman engaged to be married, and the belief of this debauchery is called faith.” — Thomas Paine — The Age of Reason

Relaxed Agnostic–I don’t know any answers–I’m not looking very hard, either.

“It [the Bible] is full of interest. It has noble poetry in it; and some clever fables; and some blood-drenched history; and some good morals; and a wealth of obscenity; and upwards of a thousand lies.” — Mark Twain (Samuel Clemens) (1835-1910) — Letters from the Earth (1905-1909)

   Oops! I think I just heresied on several important religions. Oh well, Clint will protect me, never fear…..My take on the above? The library, or  a forest, or a lake; all are good places to spend a pleasant Sunday.

“There are many here among us who feel that life is but a joke.” — Bob Dylan
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“Say not unto thyself, “Behold, truth breedeth hatred, and I will avoid it; dissimulation raiseth friends, and I will follow it.” Are not the enemies made by truth, better than the friends obtained by flattery?” — Akhenaton? (c. B.C. 1375)

   Note the date the statement was made; 1375 B.C. That is three thousand, three hundred and eighty-six years ago (3386). I find it to be an encouraging note when I contemplate the subject matter, for if mankind was thinking about such subjects as honor, truth, and dignity so long ago, then there is hope that we can find a way today to make it reality.

Of course, that is the optimist in me speaking; the pessimist would note that it is a very long time to have passed without having come up with some kind of reasonable answer to such a basic question. And I don’t think all the funny words he used were enough to confuse the issue; I think it has more to do with our tendency toward laziness when it comes to hard work…..
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“I refuse to have a battle of wits with an unarmed person.” — Pogo, character in “Pogo,” comic strip by Walt Kelly

The curmudgeon in me just adores this! I’ve been using it for many a year as a means avoiding superfluous arguments or power struggles with people who have difficulty whistling and walking at the same time. As a matter of fact, on more than one occasion I have said this to some ignoramus trying to pick a fight, and had them blinking at me in confusion, then walking away muttering to themselves. In all this time, however, I never knew where it originated.

It pleases me no end to know that Pogo was the first to put it into play. Now I can use it without any feelings of guilt for misappropriating someone else’s intellectual property; I’m sure Walt Kelly intended it to be used, as he put it out there for the entire country to see….. plus, as we all know, Pogo was written with the intent of providing folks with ammunition in the age-old war against stupidity…… and this one is definitely a .457 Magnum hollow point with a maximum powder load, for use in close quarters……
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You beat your pate, and fancy wit will come;
Knock as you please, there ‘s nobody at home.
— Alexander Pope (1688-1744) — Epigram

Consider this an accurate picture of gigoid attempting to write poetry……
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“I admire men of character, and I judge character not by how men deal with  their superiors, but mostly how they deal with their subordinates, and that, to me, is where you find out what the character of a man is.” — General Norman Schwarzkopf

A picture is worth a thousand words…..Q.E.D……
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Hack, thppt, bbbolloks! That went well, eh? Sometimes it just moves along better than what is the usual case. I imagine that’s a good thing, though now I’m uncertain what to do with the rest of the day……oh, well, I’ll figure out something. Meantime, y’all take care out there…..,

—
Sometimes I sits and thinks,
and sometimes
I just sits.
Dozer

Kowabunga!


A bag, a bone, and a cookie….

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Ffolkes,
For those who may, or may not, have wondered, the titles of these Pearls never have any meaning. At least, not deliberately. Picking a new title or subject line for the email I send out each morning used to be a complete drag; it would take almost as long as writing the post some days. So, rather than trying to be creative, and making it fit with the subject matter below, I opted for being nonsensical.

The phrases I end up using are made up by picking random words out of my head and flinging them together at the screen. The ones that stick get used. Sometimes it is very pretty; other times not so much. Some are cute, some are weird, and some are just plain stupid. But they work, and they take less time than trying to find something that fits appropriately. (Always hated having that word applied to me anyway)  Some days, like today, it just pops up in my head, already strung together, so I just go with it. It never has anything to do with what is written below it…..and that’s how I like it……
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Everything is matter. Matter is electricity. Electricity is invisible, intangible. Therefore it is nothing. Therefore everything is nothing.

I like this. It is a perfect example of how circular logic works. Each statement but the last, taken alone, is not merely true, but obviously true. String them together, and it all becomes nonsense. This process has been described as using logic like a hammer, rather than as a scalpel. It is also an unfortunate reality that many people accept this kind of logic just as readily as they do the veracity of scripture, and with the same amount of verifiable evidence, i.e., none.

It’s how politicians get elected in this country, and probably in others as well. All they need to do is find some catchy phrase easy for people to remember and repeat, based on a line of reasoning such as above, and say it enough times that it is accepted as true. No matter how untrue it is, if its repeated loud enough and long enough, there will be some folks that will buy into it. Isn’t human nature grand?…..

“Zero raised to the nth power remains zero.” — Pop Baslim
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“It’s getting harder and harder to act weird.” — Zippy the Pinhead

One would think, based on the generally accepted meaning of the word ‘Pinhead’, Zippy and his ilk would be unfamiliar with Einstein’s Theory of General Relativity. But this poignant complaint from Zippy is compelling evidence that they are not merely familiar with it, but understand its relevance to real life. It is indeed becoming harder and harder to stand out from the crowd by being weird. This is another natural result of overpopulation; the more people there are, the more weird ones there will be. The percentage per capita is rising also, as the stress of modern life pushes more and more folks to react to life just as if they were a Pinhead, in order to retain what little sanity they possess.

All in all, I think this trend is a good one; believe it or not, weirdness is a powerful antidote to oppression of the spirit. It is a figurative, and literal, way of throwing off the shackles of normality we are all forced to wear, due to the power of peer pressure. And it’s a good way to loosen up those gluteous maximus muscles a bit……which is always a good thing….
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“A serious public debate about the validity of astrology?  A serious believer in the White House?  Two of them?  Give me a break.  What stifled my laughter is that the image fits.  Reagan has always exhibited a fey indifference toward science.  Facts, like numbers, roll off his back.  And we’ve all come to accept it.  This time it was stargazing that became a serious issue….Not that long ago, it was Reagan’s support of Creationism….Creationists actually got equal time with evolutionists.  The public was supposed to be open-minded to the claims of paleontologists and fundamentalists, as if the two were scientific colleagues….It has been clear for a long time that the president is averse to science…In general, these attitudes fall onto friendly American turf….But at the outer edges, this skepticism about science easily turns into a kind of naive acceptance of nonscience, or even nonsense.  The same people who doubt experts can also believe any quackery, from the benefits of laetrile to eye of newt to the movement of planets.  We lose the capacity to make rational — scientific — judgments.  It’s all the same.” — Ellen Goodman, The Boston Globe Newspaper — Company-Washington Post Writers Group

There isn’t a lot I can add to this, and the reasoning is tough to pick apart, as it is logical, and verifiable by physical evidence. Not being the sort to gild a lily, we’ll let it fly solo, and merely add this……

“Get all the fools on your side and you can be elected to anything.” — Frank Dane
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“If you call a tail a leg, how many legs has a dog? Five? No, four. Calling a tail a leg doesn’t make it a leg.” — Abraham Lincoln

Abe was not just another pretty face, obviously. And he had a pretty good sense of humor about that, too, as he is said to have made this observation, “If I was two-faced, would I be wearing this one?” Not a bad attitude for one whose face, which, by all reports, could stop a clock just by asking the time. He also is credited with some decent insight, with this gem, “Most folks are just about as happy as they’ve made up their mind to be.”

Not to belabor an obvious point, but we could use a President with this kind of inner strength today; the batch we’ve been saddled with over the last 40 or 50 years has been somewhat of a disappointment, to say the least, with perhaps two exceptions. (Which ones, you may ask? In my mind, only JFK, who wasn’t in office long enough to screw up badly, and Jimmy Carter, who was prevented from doing much by a partisan Congress. Clinton had a chance to be included, but he committed the unpardonable sin of getting caught being stupid)  Yeah, old Abe would be a welcome change to the folks we are forced to pick from, even if all the mirrors would have to be removed from the White House……
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Lament for the Bill of Rights

Insidious, and silent, oppression steals away
most precious gift, our enduring legacy.
Sing no more bright songs of laughter and play,
pride of spirit fled with our democracy.

No more protest, no more comedic rant,
only silent obedience to the master’s word.
Our only hope becomes completely insignificant
Best to fly away, as a once-free bird.

–gigoid
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More evidence that becoming the world’s greatest poet may take a bit more time than I had suspected. Ah well, since I can’t exercise any of my no-longer-extant rights, I may as well go out and see what kind of trouble I can cause. Y’all take care out there…..

—
Sometimes I sits and thinks,
and sometimes
I just sits.gigoid

Dozer

Kowabunga!

Kindness and compassion are addictive…

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Ffolkes,
T’is a fine line indeed between madness and genius; a line so fine that the two bleed into each other’s meaning, distorting the sense of reality we depend on to anchor us. It is almost as if they are inter-dependent, one not possible without the presence of the other. In a way, it makes sense, as the only progress humanity makes is when people act abnormally; one must break eggs to make a ….an omelet (I wanted to say another dish, but spell checker refused to use it).

I have long understood this, as many of my best moments in life came when I allowed my madness free rein over my perceptive judgment. But it isn’t wise to allow that too often; it has a tendency to produce concepts that alarm the natives……let’s get on with the day’s musings, eh?….
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“From stupidity there is always something to be learned, but it’s always the same thing: don’t be stupid.” — Robert M. Adams

Again, the saddest part of this is that it has to be said at all. I don’t know about you, but I stopped drinking my shampoo many years ago, and haven’t felt the urge to bite into an electric cord, or see if the stove is hot since infancy. (There are, however, a number of people I have had the urge to bite, on several occasions) But, because our society has the unfortunate habit of repeatedly passing laws intended to “save ourselves” from our own stupidity, regardless of how richly the consequences of acting so might be deserved, our beloved ruling class benevolently bestows upon us a law to “keep people safe.”

This is called legislating morality, and has been attempted by any number of governments throughout history; each and every time we end up  with many more problems than the one for which the solution was created for. It’s all just a piece of human nature, (Robert Heinlein calls its proponents Mrs. Grundy, the old neighbor who watches out the window to gather gossip and judge the morals of everyone else), and has probably caused more deaths than sheer stupidity alone. Being human nature, what can one do? Well, not much…. but, ignoring Mrs. Grundy on a consistent basis can at least make her go bother someone else for a time……

“If you attack Stupidity you attack an entrenched interest with friends in government and every walk of public life.” — Robertson Davies
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“Yes, many primitive people still believe this myth…But in today’s technical vastness of the future, we can guess that surely things were much different.” — The Firesign Theater

What, you may ask, is he talking about now? Primitive myth? What myth?……Well, lemme tell ya….. There is a commonly held belief in this country that the people who are elected to political office are honest, concerned citizens who will work tirelessly to make society a better place for all. I’m sorry to have to be the one to tell you, but this belief is sheer caca….(that word, btw, is the word most common to all languages on Earth; every single culture has this very word, or a close variation with the same sound, and they all mean the same thing…..caca) (you though I was going to say s__t, didn’t you? Shame on you….)

Oh, I’ll grant that there are a few Congressmen from small states & districts, or are new to the national scene, that still might retain some of the shiny idealism they had when they first came to D.C., but just a couple years watching everyone else getting rich, and never being able to get any real reform legislation discussed, much less passed, will generally rub off most of that shine. The great majority of the folks in power are there because they have figured out the easiest gig on the planet, i.e., ripping off the rubes, legally.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. The ubiquitous ‘they’ do NOT have your interests at heart. Hell, they don’t even care what your interest are, beyond knowing what they need to lie about. Proof? Ever hear this joke? How do you know a politician is lying? His mouth is open. All humor has a piece of truth at the core… And once they are in office, it’s rather like hitting a golf ball. After it’s in the air, you can’t control it at all, no matter how you twist your hips and grimace……

“Will this never-ending series of PLEASURABLE EVENTS never cease?” — Zippy the Pinhead
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“In a real dark night of the soul it is always three o’clock in the morning.” — F. Scott Fitzgerald

Sometimes, in the hands of creative genius, prose is almost indistinguishable from poetry; this is a perfect example of that, although F. Scott can only marginally be called genius. His work sometimes seems to me to be channeled into him from some other source, as if he were merely the vessel that contains the ambrosia, not the ambrosia itself.  But, who cares, eh? If you like it, it won’t matter what anybody thinks about it, so go ahead and enjoy.

My point here, though, is that this particular phrase is one of those that I can personally admit to feeling; I’ve spent many a night pondering why I was up at 3 AM, again. All too often, the reasons which make us restive at that hour have their source in despair, or fear, or even anger, all emotions that affect us strongly. But as the animals we are, we also retain a lot of leftover evolutionary habits, or species memory. Our bodies know that 3 AM is the most dangerous part of the night, and being up and awake at that time makes the body/mind nervous, for no apparent reason.

So, we awake from a nightmare, or to answer the call of the porcelain throne, and to our own turmoil is added the signals of danger, flashing across the background of consciousness, with subliminal undertones of our most ancient fears. In a corner of our soul, we cower in abject terror of the horrors in our imagination, until our mind clears well enough to throw off this unintended consequence of wakefulness. We may not live in the forest anymore, but you can’t convince that piece of you that the monsters aren’t out there, just beyond the light of the fire, waiting for us to foolishly leave the cave…..
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“The advertisement is the most truthful part of a newspaper” — Thomas Jefferson

If we consider this to be correct, it bodes ill for our society; if it was true 200+ years ago, it’s all too true now. Advertisements are deliberately misleading; outlandish claims of superior quality are normal and completely untrue. We all know this; we’ve always known this. It’s just that most folks ignore it, and pretend to believe what they hear. So, if the ads are the most truthful, what does that say about the rest of it? Nothing very flattering, to be sure. Sure, everybody claims to not pay attention to all that garbage, and it may be partly true. But people soak up a lot of stuff they are not aware of, and won’t admit to, even when confronted with irrefutable evidence, like a video of them snarfing Cheetos while riding a stationary bike.

The other problem brought to light by this concept is that exposure to this barrage of untruth insidiously conditions people to accept it as truth. Or maybe they just rationalize it as an alternative truth. I don’t know; not a frigging clue. I’ve never understood how people can give up so much control over their minds to other people. Offhand, I forget who said “If you don’t control your own mind, someone else will”; it wasn’t me, but it is bottom line truth, in my not so humble opinion.

Through circumstances not entirely my choice, I haven’t had a television, or cable, or a DVD player other than my computer, for close to two years now. I’ve caught a few games at other folk’s places, or while I am enjoying an adult beverage at the neighborhood watering hole, but mostly, I am completely out of touch with that whole medium of “entertainment”. I don’t miss it a bit….and it cuts my crap intake by at least 40%. Makes it easier to defend against the rest of the crap, online and in newspapers, and is very helpful in reducing the number of times per day I feel like turning homicidal…..

“In our country are evangelists and zealots of many different political, economic and religious persuasions whose fanatical conviction is that all thought is divinely classified into two kinds – that which is their own and that which is false and dangerous.” — Justice Robert H. Jackson
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“Never try to out-stubborn a cat.” — Lazarus Long, from Robert A. Heinlein’s “Time Enough For Love”

This is an important little piece of advice, based on well-earned experience, backed up by ongoing physical and observational evidence. One good reason to avoid this egregious sort of error is that learning to coexist with a cat can teach one the finer points of diplomacy and negotiation. Plus, it is well to remember that cats do not own shoes that you can pee into, in the middle of night when they aren’t looking. You do, and I’ve never known a cat who was shy about expressing their displeasure with their pet human……
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Why is it that, having misplace an object we need,  everyone always says that what we are looking for is always in the last place we look? OMG, tough one…..doh! When you find it, you stop looking, which automatically makes it the last place you looked, even if it is the first place you’ve looked. The only way for this statement to be untrue would be for us to keep looking after we found it….doh! But people always repeat this as if it were a new concept they just discovered, trying to give the impression it is the first time they’ve ever heard it.  I guess we humans are just easily amused….. y’all take care out there….

—
Sometimes I sits and thinks,
and sometimes
I just sits.

gigoid

Dozer

Kowabunga!

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Ffolkes….. I’ve found someone far better than me at poetry writing, and want to share his latest….very powerful stuff….

Ajay Ohri's avatarPoems for Kush

This is my fucking country

I am as proud a patriot can be

I can sing all the stanzas of the anthem

Having learnt the tune at three

—

This is my fucking country

I will die for the flag that flies high

Even though I do not know what purpose

colored cloth on poles flutters against the sky

—

This is my fucking country

It has its unique idiosyncrasy

You can love it or leave it

or travel to another tourist country

—

This is my fucking country

It has its unique history

We are the best , better than all the rest

or thats what we are trained to see

—

 

This is my fucking country

and the answer is becoming clearer to me

You and me  try to fuck each other

Thinking we are doing it all for their own fucking country

—

This is…

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