Ffolkes,
It’s  been said, with good reason, that true freedom is the release from pain, and I am ready to go on record as willing to testify to that in a heart beat. Not all gone, of course, some degree of it is bound to be my constant, boon companion for the rest of my days, and I can live with that, albeit reluctantly. But, for the greatest part, my recent overload seems to have eased off enough to make life worth living again. SIGH, now if I can score a bowl of oatmeal, and my check hits the bank today, I’ll be a happy camper…..

Yay, me….. and enough about me. The last few days of pain and angst have been too self-oriented for me, too involved in personal drama for my spartan tastes in that department. Yet the pain grabs hold, and occupies the major part of one’s attention, until it fills the world, so it seems. Finding any objectivity becomes a struggle, and the perceptive world shrinks to include only the pain, and the struggle to get past it. When the fever breaks, so to speak, and the struggle lessens, the sense of relief is so great, it is actually greater than the pain, and the world almost seems to be in balance for the time being…..

“Pain is just nature’s way of telling you you’re alive.” — Smart Bee

So, I’ll take advantage, and use the time to try to write something more than just an intro, or an old-school pearl, with mostly quotes and a few comments. Who knows, maybe there’s a poem in there, waiting to come out…. We’ll see I guess…. I think I should get to it before my body decides I’ve had enough of a break, and gives me more BS to deal with….. Shall we Pearl?…..
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“Perhaps one of the only positive pieces of advice that I was ever given was that supplied by an old courtier who observed: “Only two rules really count: never miss an opportunity to relieve yourself; never miss a chance to rest your feet.” — Duke of Windsor

I would say the Duke was going for the cheap laugh here, and missed, slightly, but the old courtier knew something of life, for sure. Both rules are quite important to a life lived well, as they both offer techniques to keep one prepared for whatever life may present…. as well as offering advantages in life over those who do not use them….

First, think about NOT taking care of business when you can, and later having to deal with say, a bus ride over a road under construction; the pain would be excruciating, although the dancing one would be forced to exhibit would be, I’m sure, quite entertaining to others on the bus. Or, perhaps you find yourself meeting the Queen, who wants to discuss your latest book, for the next hour, while you stand there and dance in place, growing redder in the face by the moment… It’s a good rule…. Always take the time to be prepared, is what it can be boiled down to, and it isn’t just for Boy Scouts….

The second line is similar in its proactive nature, and in being prepared for action. Jim Brown was considered one of the greatest running backs in NFL history, setting records for almost every category of statistics for his position during his relatively short career (He played nine years, getting out without ever suffering a major injury…. an unusual accomplishment for NFL retirees…..). He claimed that one of the secrets for the consistent bruising power in his running style, and his apparent tirelessness at the end of games, had to do with his habit on the field, of resting completely between plays…. When he carried the ball, and was tackled, he did not spring up and run back to the huddle… He would lay on the ground for a couple of breaths, then slowly roll over onto his hands and knees, taking another breath or two in that position.  Only then would he push up onto his feet, whereupon he would WALK slowly back to the huddle, always getting there in plenty of time, but with his breath already under control, and his muscles relaxed, ready to run again.

Using ideas such as these to give oneself the advantage in a game is the same as in life. Foresight and preparation are as important as skill and dedication, and the intelligent use of available resources for maximum benefit is far more effective than merely reacting to perceived need. These are skills that, it seems, are more apparent to older ffolkes, as it is the kind of thing one learns over time, rather than as one illuminating lesson, sent down in a flash of thunder by the gods. Old folks know how to save energy, as we only have so much, and it wouldn’t do to run out right in the middle of a tango, now would it? No, it wouldn’t….  in fact, that would be quite embarrassing, and none of us old farts would ever be caught flubbing a tango….

“Whose undertakings are all devoid of desires and purpose, and whose actions have been burnt by fire-of-knowledge, him the wise call a sage.” — Gita, Chapter 4, Verse 19.
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I sat here, and opened up a couple veins, but, nothing has flowed out but random globules of greasy, grimy, gopher guts…. sorry, just a bit of adolescence left over…. No poem is forthcoming from my head, though, so we’ll have to go classic, or perhaps, exotic…. we’ll see what comes up when I get to Google…. Ah, perfect….

A Dog Has Died

My dog has died.
I buried him in the garden
next to a rusted old machine.

Some day I’ll join him right there,
but now he’s gone with his shaggy coat,
his bad manners and his cold nose,
and I, the materialist, who never believed
in any promised heaven in the sky
for any human being,
I believe in a heaven I’ll never enter.
Yes, I believe in a heaven for all dogdom
where my dog waits for my arrival
waving his fan-like tail in friendship.

Ai, I’ll not speak of sadness here on earth,
of having lost a companion
who was never servile.
His friendship for me, like that of a porcupine
withholding its authority,
was the friendship of a star, aloof,
with no more intimacy than was called for,
with no exaggerations:
he never climbed all over my clothes
filling me full of his hair or his mange,
he never rubbed up against my knee
like other dogs obsessed with sex.

No, my dog used to gaze at me,
paying me the attention I need,
the attention required
to make a vain person like me understand
that, being a dog, he was wasting time,
but, with those eyes so much purer than mine,
he’d keep on gazing at me
with a look that reserved for me alone
all his sweet and shaggy life,
always near me, never troubling me,
and asking nothing.

Ai, how many times have I envied his tail
as we walked together on the shores of the sea
in the lonely winter of Isla Negra
where the wintering birds filled the sky
and my hairy dog was jumping about
full of the voltage of the sea’s movement:
my wandering dog, sniffing away
with his golden tail held high,
face to face with the ocean’s spray.

Joyful, joyful, joyful,
as only dogs know how to be happy
with only the autonomy
of their shameless spirit.

There are no good-byes for my dog who has died,
and we don’t now and never did lie to each other.

So now he’s gone and I buried him,
and that’s all there is to it.

— Pablo Neruda

Translated, from the Spanish, by Alfred Yankauer
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“I’m having an emotional outburst!!” — Zippy the Pinhead

“It’s the last one, I promise!” — gigoid

Repercussions, 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…. To this, I can personally attest…..

In the immediate aftermath of the events described in detail yesterday in Part III, I continued to work at NSH, on the adult units, 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 hearing a small noise one evening while standing in an office doorway, one night a few months after the incident with Al, 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. 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…..good thing for me, I didn’t have to do that all alone. In that, I was a fortunate one….

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 a constant feeling of lethargy and general malaise.

With time away from work, and compassionate care from my psychiatrist, and the presence of my family, 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…..

Hopefully, The End….

P.S.  I can’t leave it there, being who I am now…. Tomorrow, or, if not by then, in the near future, I’ll finish this story, as far as it has gotten since last explored. I got back up, yes, and am still up, but, there remains not only a lot of pain and anguish in my soul about those events, but echoes of that pain that I still hear today, in spite of my nearly constant struggle to mitigate anything that will bring me this kind of emotional turmoil. Reality does intrude, though, and life still must go on…. Any who, enough of being mysterious and obscure…..  More later….

The picture is an image of a Celtic Knot from the MS Clip Art collection.

P.P.S.  Above the title of this last section, I made a promise…. and it seems now like a good one to fulfill. I’ve read over this again, and felt again all the anguish I felt then… but with a hopeful sign. The aftereffects have not lasted as long, and I’m achieving some emotional stability earlier in the process… That’s a good thing…. But, I’m tired of all this re-hashing of old business, and hereby resolve to put it away for a time…. It’s certainly taken up enough of my life’s portion of time spent on negative events and issues, and it’s time I try to spend some time elsewhere in my reality…. So be it… gigoid has spoken….
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Now that the delusional third party nonsense is over, I think I’ll get on with life. I have high hopes…. for what I’m not sure, but, in the wake of the last few days, I’ll take whatever comes up, gladly. Hmm… as I look outside, I see that Murphy has turned his attention to the outer world, and it is raining significantly, which will complicate my trip to the library…. Ah well, c’est la vie, as they say in Nice, and probably Lyon, too….  Y’all take care out there, and May the Metaphorse be with you…..

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

gigoid

Kowabunga!