Friday, June 29, 2012

Power Supply

    Once again I woke well before my alarm was set to go off, with a feeling of eager anticipation. My brain was firing on all cylinders, churning up possibilities, pondering potential opportunities, looking ahead with the thrill of the unknown and unknowable. There are so many exciting avenues opening up before me, just awaiting the ultimate moment for me to strike. I see the world laid out before me, presenting itself, eager for my exploration, a willing participant. I know I could be expending mass amounts of energy fretting over the mundane aspects of life that do seem to be pressing in on me, but those issues will always be there in one form or another, so I choose to give them no more regard than relentless winter rains. There are just some things that must be endured, cannot be changed, and therefore should be allotted as little stress and strain as possible. Instead I want to channel my energies where they will do the most good, benefit me physically, mentally, and emotionally. I am tired of burning up energy that just leaks out into the ether, draining me with no discernible benefit. I have spent too much of the last few years allowing my energy to leak out into the cosmos, leaving me depleted, weary, devoid, wan, a pale husk of myself.
    Now, I am allowing my energy to be focused inward, to feed off of itself, build strength like a nuclear reactor, a near endless source of power. Power for me. Power for my endeavors. Power for those I love. Power for my future. Things have been set in motion, things that are building momentum of their own. Momentum that will generate its own energies, energy that I can feed off of or tap into. I feel as if my life has become a perpetual motion machine, life rolling ahead, slowly gathering a full head of steam until I will be rocketing along at a helter-skelter pace, me hanging on tight, wind whipping my hair, wide grin plastered to my face. It may be just another rollercoaster ride, though an epic one, I am sure. Or, this could be the ride of a lifetime. I am strapping on my helmet, zipping into my leathers, pulling on gloves. No simple ride this, no seat belts, no cushy seat. I have a feeling that this is a Bonneville Salt Flats, balls to the wall, hang on for dear life, blast through the gears, bomb down the track, record setting ride.

Wednesday, June 27, 2012

Not This Time

    My body and inner workings never cease to amaze me. I know that one reason I take such diligent care of the vessel that is Body is because that does help fend of some of the worst effects of Melancholy. I can feel Melancholy lurking about these last several days, nearly a week, actually. It is a clammy hand on my right shoulder, a soughing in my ear, a presence, lurking, waiting for my vigilance to waver so it can slip quickly inside. But I know it is there, and know it waits, ever ready, so my defenses must remain strong. Oh yes, they do slip a little, when fatigue or stress lift the corner of my defensive cloak and allow Melancholy an opportunity to caress bare skin with cold hand. Then, tears will threaten. Actually tears will spill, for a few uncontrollable moments, but then can be quickly brought under control before much notice can be made of them. I do find that I am most susceptible when I am tired, it is similar to having muscle fatigue, but it is emotional fatigue, and when an accident is most likely to occur.
    With Melancholy breathing down my neck, I am inspired to workout all the harder. It is as though I can outrun, outpace Melancholy, leave it in my dust. This is not so far fetched a notion. Endorphins released by hard physical activity are proven to be more effective than most prescription anti-depressants. I know this to be true. I have started workouts while crying uncontrollably, another reason I do not workout at a gym, and through arduous physical endeavor been able to regain a modicum of control over raging emotions. I am pleased to report that this particular scenario hasn't played out in my living room for over a month now. Lately, I have found myself pushing myself further and harder, yet remaining within the scope of pleasure rather than punishment. I know that some of my winter workouts border on self-flagellation, a form of physical punishment to take Brain away from dwelling on emotional distress. It is kind of like hitting yourself on the thumb with a hammer in order to ignore a persistent headache. Kind of the same, yet different. Especially since I have never actually hit myself with a hammer in order to ignore a headache.
    These days, the need to combat Melancholy has not been as necessary, but I know if I relax my guard I will find myself invaded. Melancholy presents itself as weak, ill supplied, poorly armed, and under manned. But I know that is a ruse to lure me out into the open, drop my defenses, slow my training, dull my preparedness. Melancholy is a trickster with all the guile of Loki. I know this and have fallen victim in the past. Not this time. Not this year. So when I feel the burning of tears pressing at the back of my eyelids, my lower lip threaten to tremble, my voice grow weak and hoarse, I will remind myself that Body is prepared for any onslaught. I will remain vigilant, strong, fierce, brave. I will keep Body at the ready, and this means a never slackening regiment. I am battle ready, especially when I know the enemy lurks so near. Melancholy will not be allowed to take hold. Not this time. I am ready.    

Country Mouse

    Once, many years ago, or as may be appropriate, "Once upon a time," my older brother referred to he and I as "The Country Mouse and The City Mouse." He being the City Mouse, and me, of course, being the Country Mouse. We came from a small town, and even lived on a small farm for a number of years, then moved into the "big city" when I was 16. My brother has lived most of his adult life in a major metropolitan area, including more than a decade in Los Angeles. On the other hand, I have lived the majority of my adult life in either farmland or forest. My dream job of Hermit In The Woods reflects my preference for country life. Now, my brother lives near Las Vegas, and has to escape to the mountains or desert on a regular basis to clear the stress of city life from his system. Me, I work in the city but get to flee to the seclusion and peace of my little house in the heart of farm country.
    In the tale of the two mice, the main focus is on the meals offered. The Country Mouse offers her cousin a simple meal, that the City Mouse scoffs at and invites the country cousin into the city to enjoy a sumptuous meal. Of course, once in the city the two mice are threatened by predators. The Country Mouse decides she would rather eat and live simply and in peace, than to be plagued by fears. "I would rather gnaw a bean, than be gnawed at by fear." Although I am not afraid of city life, or city dwellers, there is a shred of truth to this. I would rather live a simple, moderately impoverished life, and have peace within my sanctuary, than to live a fast paced, albeit potentially more lucrative life, in a place I cannot totally relax.
    I am not sure why I have been thinking of this little fable lately, but it has been pressing on my mind. Yes, I think my brother's words have clung to me, to be echoed over and over through the years. The words have been bubbling to the surface with regularity for the last year or so. I can understand why they tickled me last year, when I was beginning to have thoughts of buying a home, but now I have that home in the country. Maybe I am just thinking of my brother, who I haven't seen in more than 10 years. and haven't talked to for nearly a year. My brother and I were so close growing up that people often mistook us for twins. As we became young adults we continued to be close, sharing housing, forming a band, even working at the same eclectic deli. We were so often in each others company that a lot of people thought we were married. No, we were not THAT close, but it does explain why I never had much luck getting dates. I know I can call him and we will talk until our phones die, but he has such a busy life with 4 kids at home, and a job that stresses him, that I hesitate to call, knowing I am interrupting something. It is strange, to have been so close for over 20 years, and now to never see one another. It does make me sad, but I have no doubts that he loves me every bit as much as I love him, so I don't worry.
    But this Country Mouse knows that the City Mouse has more than a trace of envy for her quiet, simple life. And justifiably, my life is wonderful, and without the burdens of material trappings. I do love my life.

Tuesday, June 26, 2012

It Is The Ride, Not The Destination

    I had a series of very strange dreams last night. In each one I was in a vehicle crash. The first one, I laid down my motorcycle on a curve when I hit a patch of ice. I could even feel the pavement abrading me, and remember thinking, "at least the ice is cutting down on the friction." The bike came to a rest on a patch of ground thickly padded with Ponderosa Pine needles, and both he and I were relatively unscathed. In the next dream, I was driving and approaching my exit, next thing I knew I had accelerated over the edge and ended up nose down in the ditch, with no real memory of how or why. I thought maybe I had fallen asleep at the wheel, or had a seizure. The cop wanted to do a sobriety test. In the third and final dream, I was driving along, minding my own business, and plowed into a sudden snowbank and was buried.
    I am not sure what Brain was doing last night, but is my subconscious trying to tell me something? In each scenario I was unhurt, mostly. Is Brain telling me I am an accident waiting to happen? That my current course is bound to crash? That there is no way to know exactly what lay around the next curve? Or merely that there is no way to know what the future truly holds?
    I am pondering all of the above, prying into the corners of my mind, wondering what, if any significance there is to my dreams. I am convinced Brain was trying to tell me something, or why the triple-header? One dream could be coincidence, two dreams still not too heavy, but three dreams of a similar nature has got to mean Something. But is it a real Something? Or merely a Something that goes bump in the night and sets the dogs to barking? I do not know. But I chose to take it as a portent, a lesson, a head's up, maybe even a wake up call. I do believe that the reality is that it is my subconscious reminding me that the future is always uncertain, but that does not mean I should be afraid to drive forward, even with my normal Look Before I Leap nature. And besides, I've always said, "It is the ride, not the destination." Keep the rubber on the road.

Friday, June 22, 2012

Honor Your Body

    Once in a while I will hear a random phrase that will resonate with me, and my views on surviving and thriving. "Honor Your Body." Three words, simple, to the point, and Truth. I heard these words today, while searching through articles and videos to inspire and guide me on my next lunatic adventure in the rollercoaster ride I call my life. It is something I have held as a core belief, an understanding of my nature, a vow I have made to Brain, Spirit and Body, but I had never heard it put so succinctly. I love simple words for complex concepts. "Honor Your Body." It does sound so simple, natural, easy-peasy. But that is far from the reality. I have spent thousands of hours trying to always honor my body, even when, or especially when, all else seems to be crashing down around my ears, and when even Brain and Spirit are succumbing to the lies and torments of my Demons. Through the worst of days, the darkest of nights, the deepest abyss, I have tried to Honor My Body. Keeping Body fit and fueled at least gives me a safe sanctuary when chaos rages inside my skull and all around me. Body, healthy and happy, helps deflect assaults, minimize damages, and speeds recovery. Honoring my Body, maintaining a constant level of health and strength, power and passion, keeps me moving forward when all the forces of my world seem to want to drag me down, hold me back, beat me to the ground. Body saves me. Body protects me. Body shelters Brain and Spirit. Now, as I have put so much pain and agony behind me, I am able to put even more energy into Body. I love Body. The more I push, the more Body amazes me. Body is strong, supple, capable, powerful, active, reactive, responsive. Body holds the Fire that is me. Holds the Fire and fuels it into the maelstrom. Body thrives on challenge. Thrives, grows, metamorphs into glorious. I Honor my Body, in every way I can. And in return, Body holds me firmly together, prevents Spirit from leaking out into the Cosmos, saves Brain from explosion, defends all of us from demonic pummeling. And so I Honor Body by making it stronger, healthier, resilient, powerful. In the darkest of days, instead of demonic voices whispering, I will hear a strong, kind, impassioned voice reminding me with bell-like clarity, "Honor Your Body."  

Wednesday, June 20, 2012

Manic Aura

    I can feel it revving up again. It never ceases to fascinate me, the foreshadowing of an incoming episode. Whether Mania or Melancholy, I know it is coming before it actually hits. With epilepsy this is referred to as an "Aura," that strange sensation experienced directly before a seizure. Yes, I have experience with that too. I like the thought of a Manic Aura, and even a Melancholy Aura. It adds another level of elegance to the journey of my life. And now, with Manic Aura whispering in my ear, I am hoping I have had enough down time to be prepared to make the most out of this next whirlwind ride. As much as I can feel an episode nearing, there is no way to predict intensity or duration. It could be anywhere from mild euphoria and excess energy, to full-on adrenaline fueled delightful delirium. It is always a surprise, like Christmas morning.
    I do like to be physically prepared as well, during my last Manic mode I lost 3 pounds and had to rein in my workouts since I was nearly injuring myself in my zeal. But Body is feeling Great, despite a weird return of the delicate stomach. This time around I know it isn't stress, and my appetite, and appetites, are healthy, there just seems to be little that my body wants to digest without complaint. No big deal really, I can always work around what are really minor issues in the overall scheme of things. The key is being able to continue to fuel the machine that is my body with appropriate rocket fuel so I can race pell-mell through my days without wreaking havoc on the vehicle that I inhabit. I am feeling insanely healthy, wanting to push myself through bigger and grander challenges.
    Through the last few years, when all else felt totally out of control, I always felt that my body was the only thing I had any control over. Even so, it has only been the last 6 months or so since I feel that I have truly taken control, regained my old body, gathered my full strength, re-energized my true power, rebuilt my self-esteem, fueled the fire within, harnessed the athlete inside me. It has been a glorious reawakening. I honestly feel like a new woman; rebuilt, stronger, faster, better. Yes, like the Bionic Woman, but without all the aftermarket add-ons.
    And now, I feel the Aura. It whispers in my ear, soft promises of glorious days and sleepless nights, adrenaline fueled Manic Dance Parties For One, overflowing energy, rampant delirium, raging appetites, joy, exhilaration, exuberance, glee, dance til I drop. It may be just a day, it may be a week. It might disappear before it is fully realized. I never know until it is over. But the Manic Aura itself excites me.  

Tuesday, June 19, 2012

A+B=C? Or Not.

    I feel as if I have finally, though probably temporarily, hit middle ground. Mania has simmered down, allowing Brain to regain some control. Thankfully, Melancholy is nowhere to be seen, and does not seem to be lurking around any dark corners planning a surprise attack. So here I am, feeling what I imagine would be considered "normal" by most. Not surprisingly, I don't think I like it very well at all. Body feels good, though all too calm. Brain is managing some decently linear thought progressions without skittering all over hell and gone. I am managing to return to A+B=C instead of what has been a hilariously dyslexic viewpoint for a very long time.
    The upside is that I am able to manage some calm introspection that is not being wildly colored by emotion or Mania. I am able to think through a number of scenarios that have presented themselves to me in the last few weeks. Think calmly, rationally, logically. Put things into order and perspective. Make plans and schemes, write lists, observe, study. When Brain is calm, things fall into place a bit more easily. But when Body is calm, there isn't as much impetus to make it all happen. Ideally I will have a short period of "normal" when I can mentally line up an agenda for the next time Body goes on an adrenaline bender. The flaw in this plan is that when Body is pelting through life, it does not want to be forced or coerced into any specific chore. Preferring to leap into the project that is most appealing at that particular moment. If Brain forces Body to perform a task it is reluctant to do, Brain gets a similar outcome as trying to force a teenager to clean their room. Lots of energy expended, goofing off, random details done with meticulous perfection, but very little accomplished overall. I am still trying to concoct a method to get Brain and Body to work in harmony and synchronicity, but it is hit and miss. On the plus side, I do have so many irons in the fire that I can be assured that Body will find one of them appealing. But what I must do, have to do is get Brain and Body moving in the direction of major changes, of which there are many pending. I must, must, must move towards better financial stability and self-sufficiency. It is imperative. But Brain has ideas, schemes and plans growing, solidifying, gelling.
    There are dreams that border on fantasy, likely unrealistic and outlandish, but propelling me in some exciting directions. Brain may have finally regained some control, but Brain is also subject to emotions and the irrationality that can easily go hand in hand with my rampant tendencies. Burning emotion can be a remarkable fuel for thoughts, plans and dreams. It can stoke the fires to white heat, and rocket propulsion. Brain can handle emotion better than Body, using an amazing amount of tenacious logic to chart a course. But when Brain is looking away, distracted, Mouth and Body can make some startling admissions, truths revealed, unchecked by logic or rationale. Then Brain will have a near aneurysm, and move into panic mode, feeling the need to put out fires, make amends, back pedal, get back on an even keel. It is a very amusing dynamic to watch with impartiality, and would be even more amusing if I weren't at the heart of it all. But here I am, at times feeling like a passenger within my own Body and Brain, observing actions and reactions, seeing the drama from the inside, waiting for the train wrecks, amused at the fancy footwork employed to avoid said train wrecks. So much excitement within the confines of my physical shell. At times an Asylum on two legs, at others a vehicle for wondrous travel. I can honestly say, my life is never boring.

Monday, June 18, 2012

Haring Off

    Once again, or still, Brain goes Haring Off into some of the most unlikely of places. Unexpected, strange, surrealistic, yet encouraging and comforting places. Brain often chastises Body for being spastic, random and overly exuberant, but really, Brain is every bit as inclined to such antics. It is a way of life for Brain, Body, Spirit and I. We take each other on the most interesting voyages through time and space, ignoring much of the rational and logical, as we pelt through life together. Lately, I have been seeing life through new eyes, literally, as I did get new spectacles recently, but figuratively as well. I have been ignoring some of the hard realities of my life in order to focus energy on the what-ifs, maybes, and possibilities. I feel like I have thrown off the shackles of linear thought these last few years, having finally shed the last remnants of that particular millstone. Yes, there are hard and fast realities of life that cannot be ignored; mortgage, utilities, groceries. But that is about where my list now ends. I have put a lot of energy into trying to shift the mundane aspects of my life, so much energy that has been thrown out into the vast cosmos with little or no return on my investment.
    And so Brain has decided that we need to start going beyond my normal "outside of the box" approach and step clear out into the wilderness, beyond boxes or even anything of a remotely cubeseque nature. We have held firm to certain fantasies over the decades of life, schemes that seem beyond the scope of ever being realized. But why should they be unrealized? Why should Brain, Body, Spirit and I be held back from dreams that have been a cornerstone of existence these many years? I know what it is. It is fear. Fear of the unknown. Fear of the unknowable. Fear of failure. Fear of success. And yes, Fear of poverty. This last one is actually almost laughable, since I have lived below the poverty line all of my life, and am always just one financial catastrophe away from devastation. I do not fear failure so much, since I am quite excellent at failing, landing flat on my face, picking myself up, dusting off the road grime, bandaging wounds, and carrying on. Fear of success though, that is actually something I think has been at the root of my inability to have good follow through. Projects left 90% finished, connections left to fall by the wayside, ripe ideas left hanging on the vine until it is too late to harvest their splendor.
    Now, Brain is Haring Off into a new direction. New, yet not so new. Following dreams and schemes that have been lugged through life like a favorite steamer trunk. This has been the year of dramatic changes, frightening and exhilarating, dark nights with brilliant dawns, chrysalis opening to reveal the metamorphosis, grand finales, new beginnings. I have stretched the scope of my potential, grown, changed, returned to who I truly am. I have reconnected with parts of My Self that I had thought long lost to me, and in doing so have awakened the slumbering creatures that are those long treasured hopes and dreams. Suddenly, the fantasies do not seem so far fetched or unrealistic. Instead, I can see how they just might be realized if I continue to let Brain give chase. If Brain gives chase, then Body, Spirit and I will follow close behind, ready to spring into action. We will follow down the twisting, turning paths, through tangled thickets, across sun streamed meadows, under dark canopies of dense boughs. Brain will lead, we will follow. Brain, Haring Off, in hot pursuit, in the game, chasing dreams. I wonder what we will catch.  

Friday, June 15, 2012

I Am Ready

    Awake before dawn, the world is nearly silent except for drowsy birdsong outside the window, and heavy breathing of slumbering dogs. My mind rises from sleepy simmer to roiling boil in record time. Brain feels overflowing with thoughts, plans, schemes. I lay in the gray world between the night and dawn, warm, relaxed, still, but with excitement building. There suddenly seems to be so much to do, so many options opening wide, near ripe opportunities waiting to be plucked from the vine. The excitement has followed me all morning, continuing to build, feeding upon itself, growing exponentially. I feel the overwhelming urge to organize, clean, purge and prepare. What I am preparing for? I do not know. But I know there are steps to be taken, preparations to be made, I must gird my loins, ready myself for battle, remain open to all the possibilities that are on my horizon, focus on the now, aim for my future.
    I have said over and over that 2012 is The Year of Win. I have clung desperately to that ideal even through my darkest days of winter. I kept that before me as a Grail, lighting my way through fog, storm, and the depths of agonizingly lonely nights. I held it firmly in my hands and mind, knowing the truth of it, if only I had the wherewithal to create my own reality, the fortitude to keep moving forward despite the forces trying to hold me back. I have fought demons, ghosts, loneliness, despair, and managed to be the victor time and time again, despite the odds, despite fatigue and wavering faith.
    Now, I feel battle hardened and ready for my new reality. I am strong. Stronger than ever before. I have grown, changed, altered my own perceptions. I have trod perilous paths, climbed endless mountains, fallen, picked myself up, plunged into the abyss and crawled back into the light. One cannot remain unchanged. I knew I could either try, fail and wallow in abject misery; or try, fail, try again, and fight my way back. I chose to fight. It is my nature, I am a warrior, I will stand on my own two feet and face adversity, alone or not. And now I find myself standing tall, scanning the horizon for my next great adventure, eager to begin, ready to meet any challenge head on. I know that changes are in the wind, I feel them as a tangible force. My subconscious knew, and stirred me awake with the joy of things to come. I am poised, strong, ready, eager, excited. I do not know what is coming, but I know that a new reality is hovering just beyond the horizon, just behind the sunrise. And I am ready.

Thursday, June 14, 2012

Another Fork In The Road

    So many times in my life, as I head doggedly up the path, trying to move forward, make progress, reach goals, I will find myself at a fork in the road. An alternate choice that jogs off to the left, totally skewing the direction of my journey, altering my perceptions of reality, tweaking my view of success, twisting my goals into new and interesting shapes as a clown makes a simple tube of rubber into balloon animals. A change of course. A new purpose. The excitement of the unknown. I am not at all abject to stepping off into a whole new direction with my life, I have done it before and will do it again and again. To some, this may make me seem flighty, unable to stay the course. Some may think I give up on ideas and goals, change directions too quickly. I see it as the ability to be flexible, to change the ebb and flow of my life with the ebb and flow of opportunity. I do not fear change. I do not fear risk. I embrace the fluid nature of my life.
    Now, I stand at a fork in the road, looking to the left down a twisting, narrow dirt path, lined with moss, paved with random stones, that disappears into the underbrush, my future in defilade. Straining my eyes in an attempt to penetrate the dense, intertwined foliage will do me no good. It is futile to even try, but I can't help but stare, my mind filling in the possibilities. I do have a very vivid imagination that will take me through a breakneck tour of the potential chaos, wonder, change, hardships, triumphs and tribulations that may ensue if I should step off into this new unknown. My brain roils with ideas. My mind is already scampering ahead, dragging my dreams along with it. My very nature to Leap Before I Look wars with the practical aspects of life in the real world. I know I will strive for the happy medium, despite my raging desire to run down this twisted path, hoping to reach whatever awaits me at the end. I will force myself to take some time to ponder the ramifications of what I am seeing in my Mind's Eye, contemplate the reality, turn it in my hands to see all sides as well as the angles.
    I love the thought of a new path, a new adventure, a new reality. But in the world around me thought does not always or easily transfer into reality. But this really isn't so far fetched, not a monumental change, more like a multitude of smaller changes being balled up into an overall scheme with huge potential for adventure, as well as an even happier day to day existence. True, this trail may just be a tangled detour that will lead me right back to my current path. But that isn't a bad thing. My current path feels relatively stable, granted stable for me is usually a bit of a rollercoaster, and I am moving towards specific goals. How will I know what may lay in wait, lurking beneath the tangled vines and shady undergrowth if I don't walk the trail, feel its surface beneath my feet, peer into the shadows? I need to see what is around that curve, just out of sight. So, I know that even as I control my natural tendencies to Leap, that I will indeed step into this new unknown. If for no other reason than to see what waits, to satisfy my curiosity, to not regret passing this enticing, shadowy realm of possibilities. I do love an adventure.

Monday, June 11, 2012

On The Cusp

    On the Cusp. I know I am. I have reached a threshold, all I have to do is step over it and in to a new chapter of life. It is an exciting moment. Thrilling, exhilarating, terrifying, joyous, alarming. I pause, foot poised, ready to step. Why do I hesitate? Not from fear. Not from trepidation. I pause to consider the ramifications of leaping into this chapter. The potential is epic, amazing, exciting. Maybe that is what makes me pause, the mere thought of all the potential open before me. Can I withstand the forces of my own nature? In my exuberance do I risk inflicting damage? I do not fear for myself, I am resilient, as is my heart and mind, despite what you may think. I am of a mind to jump across the threshold, through this open doorway, into the next deliriously provocative chapter. I am fighting against the urge to Leap Before I Look, but it a struggle I will likely lose. I do not want to contain myself, do not want to hesitate. I want to throw myself forward with reckless abandon, ignoring staid advice, tossing aside preconceived notions of propriety, throwing any semblance of caution to the four winds. The whirlwind roils within my chest, pressing me forward, pushing me off balance, deliriously off balance, dizzy, giddy, beyond my control. Try as I might, I cannot rein this in. Do not want to rein this in. I want the full experience, heady, delicious, invigorating. I want to tastetouchfeel with every fiber of my being. I feel it rising in my chest, pounding in my skull, raging through my veins. I tremble, my hands quiver, I feel hot, cold, hungry. It has come back to my question from weeks ago, "What are you hungry for, when you don't know what you're hungry for?" I think I may know now. True, time will tell. But right now, this very moment, I believe that I may know. So, I stand on the cusp, looking ahead, waiting for the cue that will tell me I can plunge ahead with typical recklessness. Recklessness that has never been channeled to so wondrous a scenario. I hold my breath, waiting a cue, on the Cusp, ready, eager, quivering. On the Cusp.    

Thursday, June 7, 2012

For Your Consideration....

    For your consideration: The Perfect Apple. In this instance, an organic Braeburn, the new crop from New Zealand. No, it is not perfect in appearance; lopsided, rather splotchy red and green, faint scabs, a small divot on one side. It has not been waxed and buffed to a high, eye-catching sheen, instead it has a matte finish. No, not a perfect apple by some standards. But, take a bite. Crisp, tartsweet, nectarlike, a hint of honey. Bite into the orb, feel a mouthful snap off with an audible crunch. Chew, feeling the juice trickle down your throat. The perfection is obvious to every sensory input, except perhaps, jaded eyes. But look at the white, dripping flesh and I dare you to not see perfection glistening there, tempting you to taste and taste again. At this moment, there is no doubt why the apple has been used to portray the Forbidden Fruit, that which must be tasted despite dire warnings. It is, in fact, almost a sin in and of itself, in its ability to cause several Deadly Sins: Lust, Gluttony and Greed. In my mind, as I greedily bite and nibble this ambrosia, the only thing that might possibly elevate this experience to the level of rapture, would be the addition of slices of Tillamook Cheddar so thin you can see sunlight glowing through with amber beauty. But, I am more than content with my Perfect Apple, carefully paring it down to a mere skeleton of a core as I try to glean every juicy fragment. None shall be wasted. For your consideration: The Perfect Apple.


Delirium (dih-leer-ee-uhm): 1. Pathology: a more or less temporary disorder of the mental faculties as in fevers, disturbances of consciousness, shock, or intoxication, characterized by restlessness, excitement, delusions, disorientation, inability to focus, altered sleep cycle, mental confusion, change in arousal, hyperactivity, etc. 2. A state of violent excitement or emotion.

    As you may know, I do like being able to put names to my demons. Delirium may be less Demon and more Imp. It is the energy that courses through me in the height of my mania. It is joyful, exuberant, wild, goofy, ridiculous, childish, child-like, immature, rollicking, crazy, distracted, jubilant. It is a 10 year old wired on the heady, blossom perfumed breeze of a Spring evening. It is the buzz of a bee hive in frenzied nectar pursuit on a hot Summer day. Everything is fascinating, exciting, hilarious, gleeful, though few things can hold my attention for long. It is sleepless nights. Pre-dawn awakenings. The urge to run, skip, jump, cartwheel. An overwhelming excitement that builds in my chest and through the very fiber of my being until I want to shout, sing, dance, wrestle, tumble, jump on the bed, climb trees, roll down a grassy slope, run naked in the rain. It is near to suffocating at times, this delirium, a pressure, a force like floodwaters pressing against an already overflowing dam. It is a near to unmanageable power. There is no harnessing it. It is not at my beck and call, anymore than are my mania and melancholy. They have their way with me, these naughty Imps. Though, truth be told, I am a willing victim in cases such as this. As rough as it may be at times, my body bearing the brunt, it is a joyful roughness, there is no ill-intent, no unwanted residual pain. Yes, there may be tender spots, small bruises, scrapes, sore muscles, but they are just gleeful reminders of pleasure, passion and giddiness. Oh Delirium, you are a naughty, tempting, alluring Imp. I am glad that you are mine.

Wednesday, June 6, 2012

Eternal Optimist

    As much as many may chose to doubt this declaration, I am and have always been an Eternal Optimist. It is true, even as a child, and almost more so now. Even I marvel at my ability to maintain my optimism, especially after the long list of body-slams that The Fates have deemed to be my reward for managing to hang onto my glowing outlook. And these days, I am nearly dumbfounded at my resilience, as I am assaulted by the gloom and doom naysayers, pessimists, defeatists, emotional vampires, and down and out Eeyores that I am subjected to day in and day out in my workaday world. Is it any wonder that I have to flee reality for the sanctuary of my home? My sanctuary, where I can recharge my system, attempting to toughen my exterior while keeping my filling soft and delectable. It is no easy task, being confronted by pessimists who have reached their nadir, and avoiding their cloying tendrils of negatively charged bitterness. Everyone knows that negative and positive cancel each other out, and so the challenge is to have a higher level of positively charged energy motes at the beginning of the day so I can survive with a modicum of of my light intact. Some days it does not work. Some days, yesterday being one, the negativity wins. Some days I barely make it out alive, crawling into my home only to collapse in a weeping heap, overwhelmed, nearly beaten. At that point it takes every gram of inner fortitude to force myself to recharge, knowing if I do not, the drain will continue until I cannot recuperate. That is never an option. As I said, I am the Eternal Optimist, even at my lowest, I know I can pull myself out. Some days, that is a Herculean task. Some days it might not happen without the zany, loving antics of the two dogs who watch in worried fascination as I dissolve into quiet hysteria. They do not understand, it is a foreign concept to their canine minds, this ebb of energy. But they do not allow it to persist, insistent in their clownish adoration. I use every weapon in my arsenal to fight back against the dark souls that surround me, day in and day out. I do not allow them to win. And slowly, I am adding allies, a few select individuals, who understand, and understand me. When I am hard pressed, I do have allies I can call to my aid, who have my back. Yes, two of them are of the canine persuasion, but I do have human allies as well (as much as this may surprise some). And so I continue to fight the good fight. Maintaining my Optimism despite the odds, or because of them. I am the Eternal Optimist, after all.

My Temple, My Salvation

    Amazing how Body manages to keep propelling me through life, even when Brain seems to abandon me. I am beginning to believe that Brain has just given up, thrown in the towel, walked away in disgust or defeat. Meanwhile, Body keeps me careening on an interesting journey, bouncing off ramparts, over cliffs, through moguls, and getting tougher and stronger by the day. It is true. I am incredibly fit, more so than ever before in my long life full of workouts and sports regiments, and maintaining a level of fitness that I had never thought possible. Yes, I do understand that the near vomit inducing workouts are a form of my Mania, OCD, ADHD and even self-flagellation. It is also the only way I have found to effectively combat the demons that are constantly lurking about, waiting for an opportunity to strike, looking for a weakness to exploit. And the opportunities for them are near to endless. An advantage of living alone is that there is no one to witness my deranged workouts, when I am choking back sobs, or weeping silently, or not so silently, and I run to gasping, or lift weights with single-minded mania, to trembling exhaustion, nausea, pain. I workout until it is nearly time for bed, then gulp down a ridiculously healthy dinner, unwind for a few minutes, then crawl, depleted, into the womb that is my bed. I am still undecided, do I work out as a form of punishment or reward? When I am at my most despairing is when I will push myself the hardest. Beating myself up for my own imagined failings? Or pushing myself, knowing I am strong enough to overcome even the darkest of times? At least my muscles are pleasantly sore every day, little reminders of the previous nights exploits, pleasurable pain. Is that the key? Pleasure in pain? I admit, the hint of pain can add an exhilaration, a thrill, zest, intensity, fervor, rapture. I know that most "professionals" would view this as unhealthy behavior, avoidance, or just sheer madness, but I know it for what it is: Salvation. It is my salvation, my Body is my Temple, housing a sometimes fragile psyche, and so the Temple must be a fortress. I feel strength and power coursing through me, muscles, bones, heart and lungs, invincible. I am vital, vibrant, vivacious, lean and mean, strong and sexy. It has been an epic journey that Body has taken me on this year. I am pushing myself far beyond anything I could have dreamed of even a year ago. I begin to entertain grand schemes of future athletic competitions. Now that I have stepped outside of the box that had kept me restricted for so long, I see new vistas, new challenges, a whole new world of self-induced ass-kickings.
    I know Brain looks upon this with a bit of contempt, so much energy focused on the physical. But Brain also understands that without Body working so hard to keep demons at bay, building a fortress from and around the temple, we would be quickly overrun and demoralized. And so Body propels me forward with the energy of the whirlwind, my Whirlwind. My Temple. My Fortress. My Salvation.

Tuesday, June 5, 2012

I Don't Understand

    I don't understand. I really don't. I think of myself as sensitive, caring, compassionate, understanding, empathetic. And yet time and time again, I manage to say the wrong thing. I don't know how I do it. It seems to be a gift. An unwanted gift like my mania and melancholy. I don't ask for these things, they just are. And then there are hours, days, weeks, berating myself, wondering how things can go from so right to so wrong in a breath of a moment. I don't understand. I try and try, but it eludes me. Maybe it is back to my Strange Aloneness, my subconscious stepping in to sabotage my life. That is the only explanation that I can manage, because I really do not understand. Not at all. It makes me feel like an alien species, struggling to hide on an alien planet, to disguise myself, blend in. But it does not work for long, I cannot hold up the charade, and my alien face bursts forth, betraying me. Sending me back into my solitary purgatory. I don't know what I can do, how I can make myself be different. I should not have to. But I can't keep floundering through life, fucking things up, fucking up my attempts to find where I fit.
    So, I step back into my Strange Aloneness, and try to make myself believe that it is all okay. But it is not. I am alone, lonely, and seem to be fated to continue to be so. But I have to make it be okay, to be all right. I have to be fine with it, because it is my reality, this Strange Aloneness. I don't understand. But it is my reality, and so I must make it be all right. I can make it all right. I am alright. I'm alright.

Monday, June 4, 2012

Perfectly Imperfect

    Perfection. For those seeking perfection, they will fail to find it. Perfection is subjective. I know I am not perfect, and could spew forth a litany of my flaws. In their most spiteful moments, my demons are more than happy to whisper such things in my ear, and so I know my defects and dysfunctions from the inside out. But, my flaws and imperfections make me who I am. Many of my flaws are hard won, and well earned, and I wear them with pride. Some flaws, I am working on to reduce their impact on me and those around me. I am always seeking to improve myself, put a little polish on the scars, buff the neurosis to a delicate sheen, hone my imperfections. My flaws keep me from the bland cookie cutter mold that so many people seek, and fail, to reach. I am not a plastic doll, cranked out on an assembly line, identical to the dolls all around me, and would never wish to be. Imperfections and flaws make us each unique, wondrous, complicated, worth knowing. I would rather find the imperfections and feel comfortable with them, than be intimidated by perfection.
    Bodies, life, relationships. It is never perfect. But if we focus on the flaws we never see the beauty beyond. When I look at a rose blooming in my garden, I see the velvety petals, the astonishing colors, the heady fragrance, to my eyes each and every flower has a perfection all to itself. Yes, I see the scars left by a bug or three, it just confirms that I am not the only creature drawn to the delicious beauty. Do I toss aside the bud because one leaf is blighted and curled? No, by contrast the defect makes the beauty that much more poignant.
    To seek perfection, to focus on the flaws, defects, hurdles, is merely a sure road to disappointment. If you are constantly seeing the flaws in others, you will inevitably see your own flaws as insurmountable. I chose to look at scars, quirks, neurosis, psychosis, defects, and damage as perfectly imperfect, one who has earned their way in the world, struggled, fought hard, won through despite it all. We all have our bug bites and withered leaves, but look beyond to the perfection of the bud awaiting its chance to open to the sun, revealing the inner glory, all the more glorious because of the imperfections. I have earned my stripes, bear my scars proudly, do not cringe away from my demons, know my flaws but am glorious despite them, or because of them. I am Perfectly Imperfect.    

Sunday, June 3, 2012

I Am Strong

    Interesting how an old memento, stumbled upon accidentally while rummaging through an as yet unpacked box of miscellany, can stir the demons that have slept soundly for several weeks. Maybe I was led to the box through some subconscious prodding, as I had had flickers from ghosts earlier, randomly, unwished for, unwanted. So, to find a solid reminder of things rather forgotten, was a few moments of disquiet, not exactly nausea inducing, but nearly. As is my proclivity, I find a certain amount of violence to be appropriate. Amazing how a two pound engineers hammer, wielded by a strong, willful hand, can easily crush most small reminders of ghosts and demons. I admit, it was too easy, I would have preferred to break a sweat, maybe lost a little blood, or at the very least, felt a bit of fatigue. I enjoyed pounding it to smithereens, then gathering the fragments into a small black bag, ready for proper disposal. I won't let it remain in my house, or come near to Bob, as it may taint whatever it comes into contact with. Soon, I will stop at a river, and happily toss the tightly bound fragments. I will not let the demons loose this time, the ghost are losing their power over me. I am feeling more in control of who I am, and who I chose to be with. I feel strong. Stronger everyday. Today I have felt invincible, and so the demons and ghosts hold no power over me. Not today. Hopefully no more. I am strong, powerful, unstoppable. I no longer fear my demons. I no longer heed the moanings of the ghosts of my past. The Past is the Past, it is what I do now that defines Me. I am strong, powerful, invincible.

Friday, June 1, 2012

Ode To Joy

    Joy is most often found in the simplest of things. Joy is not complicated, and should not be. It is the simple elation to be found at unexpected moments and often in unlikely places. I am most apt to find Joy in what may seem the mundane to most. An orange, simple, round, everyday, mundane, unspectacular. But in truth, it is a miracle sized to fit in the palm of my hand. Skin, dimpled, bright, with a sheen of health. Gift wrapped in a protective casing that delights the moment it is first punctured with a effusion of essential oils, bursting forth, visible in the sunlight as a delicate spray of sparks. The perfume tinting the air, teasing my nose. Already my mouth waters, eager, expectant. I lick my lips as I tear asunder the moist wrapping holding my precious gift. Then, freed of all constriction, confinement, the globe of glistening segments rests in my hand, awaiting my next move. I insert a careful finger, gently splaying open the luscious halves, it opens almost eagerly at my touch. Mouth watering, the delightful scent taunting me, it is more than I can stand and I throw all delicacy and caution out the window. Eagerly tearing off a plump, swollen section I bite, quickly, the juice explodes in my mouth, runs down my chin. I am lost in the rapture of taste, tart-sweet, dripping nectar. I cannot slow myself, I tear off section after section, stuffing them whole into my mouth, delighting in the overwhelming flavor, gluttonous. More. More. I cannot eat fast enough. I want to stuff my mouth full. Near to choking on greedy mouthfuls.  Juice drips down my chin, my hands are wet with it, I am lost in the rapture, the sensual, simple pleasure. And then, all too soon, it is gone. I almost regret my devouring speed. But am satiated, spent, delighted. This is the simplicity of Joy. Finding the bliss, exultation, delirium, delight, in the little things. Joy is simple. It is where you find it. Often unexpected. But we should always be aware of it when it presents itself. The simplicity of Joy. An Ode to Joy.

Delicious Delirium

    Oh the delicious delirium, the joyful rapture, the ecstasy, bliss, passion. To be deprived of my beloved Bob for two weeks, feeling achingly empty without his silent, steady, strong presence, was agony. I was bereft, lost, longing, pining, melancholy. Now, with his 1200cc's gripped firmly between my thighs, the vibrations of his loyal heart pounding through me, the warm wind caressing me, we dance through tight corners, rocketing out onto the straights, two as one, complete. The exhilaration is astounding, even after all these years, the fire and passion have not dimmed. My heart yearns for him as strongly, if not more so, than it did from our very beginning. He makes me feel more alive, more passionate, than should be legal. My heart races, my pulse pounds, I can taste a hint of oil in the air, and am perfumed by four-stroke exhaust. Afterwards, I can still smell his heady scent on my hands, my hair styled by helmet and sweat exudes the fragrance of the wind. If I could, I would lay next to him, caressing him in the afterglow, running hands over smooth lines, even his flaws seem as perfection in my eyes. Oh the bliss. Oh the delicious delirium.