Eat the Apple, Save the Seeds
There are experiences that nourish us to the core. Memories of these moments can be the seeds. It is important to hold these times close to our hearts so that we have a powerful weapon against hopelessness and despair.
In this moment, I am experiencing the challenges of a medication change. My thoughts are all jumbled and my mood seems to be stuck in quicksand. The more I move against it, the deeper I sink. It is difficult to get outside the far reaching affects of the chemical scary carnival that is in my head. Through the chaos I endure by keeping the thought that I am safe and loved by God. I am not only what I do. There are seeds in me that will grow in time. Isolation is the boat I am riding, so it is important to jump in the water a little each day. I need the shock that that change of venue can provide. Doing things outside my comfort zone may not feel as rewarding as it once did, and may seem scary, but I burrow into a book bag that God is wearing and stay near to him in this time of restlessness, lethargy, and despair.
At times I write to see the sound of my inner voice on the page. Experimenting with words can show me the life that lies within me. I will now give an example by writing a short poem that grasps the wheel of this vessel and moves it into imagery.
I am a seedling in a storm. My thoughts are wicked and not the norm. As the winds blow, I bend to the ground. In this position I marvel at what I have found. I feel the earth holding my head. After a moment I rise to the occasion and get out of bed. My branches are sluggish, but not broken by the gale. I look in the mirror and see that I am pale. This pain is real, but the maelstrom will eventually cease. I must acknowledge the illness if I want to find peace.
In this moment, I am experiencing the challenges of a medication change. My thoughts are all jumbled and my mood seems to be stuck in quicksand. The more I move against it, the deeper I sink. It is difficult to get outside the far reaching affects of the chemical scary carnival that is in my head. Through the chaos I endure by keeping the thought that I am safe and loved by God. I am not only what I do. There are seeds in me that will grow in time. Isolation is the boat I am riding, so it is important to jump in the water a little each day. I need the shock that that change of venue can provide. Doing things outside my comfort zone may not feel as rewarding as it once did, and may seem scary, but I burrow into a book bag that God is wearing and stay near to him in this time of restlessness, lethargy, and despair.
At times I write to see the sound of my inner voice on the page. Experimenting with words can show me the life that lies within me. I will now give an example by writing a short poem that grasps the wheel of this vessel and moves it into imagery.
I am a seedling in a storm. My thoughts are wicked and not the norm. As the winds blow, I bend to the ground. In this position I marvel at what I have found. I feel the earth holding my head. After a moment I rise to the occasion and get out of bed. My branches are sluggish, but not broken by the gale. I look in the mirror and see that I am pale. This pain is real, but the maelstrom will eventually cease. I must acknowledge the illness if I want to find peace.
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Creating the Branches That Will Endure
I am a tree that must grow in any storm or drought. When the soil is faulty or the wind is too great, my branches are in peril. Months of these conditions can bring about a hopeless dilemma.
I strive to be the tree that grows wonderful branches even in foul periods. I seek the sparce sunlight between the clouds to feed and grow. I find the bits of fertilizer and moisture between every magnificent root branch. During this time of famine, I gather from the smallest places to glean a healthy growth among the enduring branches.
Dealing with the days of darkness, it can be important to get miniscule and find the crumbs of growth and silent sanity that can help our branches to lengthen, thicken, and multiply. We are important and worthy even when we feel we are not. We are part of a greater forest that needs our cover and hearty beauty. We are a breed that is a seed. Our time of down can help all to know what up actually is.
Take this day to be a magnificent tree. Stand tall and stretch your branches. Breath in the light as you draw peace in to your heart.
I strive to be the tree that grows wonderful branches even in foul periods. I seek the sparce sunlight between the clouds to feed and grow. I find the bits of fertilizer and moisture between every magnificent root branch. During this time of famine, I gather from the smallest places to glean a healthy growth among the enduring branches.
Dealing with the days of darkness, it can be important to get miniscule and find the crumbs of growth and silent sanity that can help our branches to lengthen, thicken, and multiply. We are important and worthy even when we feel we are not. We are part of a greater forest that needs our cover and hearty beauty. We are a breed that is a seed. Our time of down can help all to know what up actually is.
Take this day to be a magnificent tree. Stand tall and stretch your branches. Breath in the light as you draw peace in to your heart.
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Moments to Endure
Living a daily existence with a chemical imbalance would challenge the most hearty of all humans. I am enduring in this moment and am asking myself to find the blessings. If I had reached all of my goals daily, yearly, or even in my lifetime, I would not be writing this in this moment. I would not be making a friend with an unknown reader.
Pain is quite a task master. By meeting the meter that it doles out, I can find out more and more about the recesses within me. I can know myself in triumph and in tumult.
All of the things I am saying can fall on deaf ears or a cold heart, if I refuse to acknowledge the pain of everyday and the agony of chronic disappointment. These things are very real and poignant. They must be faced with a quiet and unwavering courage. How few of us with bipolar hear that we are courageous? As anyone who deals with The Perfect Storm is, YOU ARE. The maelstroms will continue to collide with our dreams and seem to become our destiny. Moments of peace may be fleeting, but we can have the sanity to collect them in our heart and display them in a daunting and fashionable Easter-like basket.
Find your moments and build your dreams. Images can lead the way. A waterfall can begin a beautiful deluge of tears down our face. An astronomical view of the sun can lead our heart to burn with desire for a trip to a field to pick the most fiery bouquet of wild flowers. Find moments to collage together and build the perfect basket. This little Easter Bunny just calls you to try.
States in the bipolar life can leave one with a yearning for greatness. Find the greatness of images and begin to paint your masterpiece with the fingerpaints you find in this moment. Tomorrow will then have a moment to build on. Seeing these things together can open your heart to a quiet joy of the magnificence of your private colors within.
Pain is quite a task master. By meeting the meter that it doles out, I can find out more and more about the recesses within me. I can know myself in triumph and in tumult.
All of the things I am saying can fall on deaf ears or a cold heart, if I refuse to acknowledge the pain of everyday and the agony of chronic disappointment. These things are very real and poignant. They must be faced with a quiet and unwavering courage. How few of us with bipolar hear that we are courageous? As anyone who deals with The Perfect Storm is, YOU ARE. The maelstroms will continue to collide with our dreams and seem to become our destiny. Moments of peace may be fleeting, but we can have the sanity to collect them in our heart and display them in a daunting and fashionable Easter-like basket.
Find your moments and build your dreams. Images can lead the way. A waterfall can begin a beautiful deluge of tears down our face. An astronomical view of the sun can lead our heart to burn with desire for a trip to a field to pick the most fiery bouquet of wild flowers. Find moments to collage together and build the perfect basket. This little Easter Bunny just calls you to try.
States in the bipolar life can leave one with a yearning for greatness. Find the greatness of images and begin to paint your masterpiece with the fingerpaints you find in this moment. Tomorrow will then have a moment to build on. Seeing these things together can open your heart to a quiet joy of the magnificence of your private colors within.
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Bringing the Sun on a Blue Day
When the clouds are in the sky and the wind in blowing hard, why not just make friends with the doldrums. Why not enjoy the moment of snuggling under the blankets for a few extra minutes, very consciously. In depression we may linger there all day, but in mindfulness we soak up the sensations of the covers against our skin and the warmth emminating in our body. We can move our toes and fingers and feel a bit mischievous in our actions. Go ahead and put your head under and hide from the world for a bit. We can be a rebel for just a few stolen moments. When it is time to emerge, do it with intention. Feel the cold against your skin and feet. Move toward the bathroom with awe for the changing and challanging sensations that they are. Then stand before the mirror and see your eyes for a brief time. Connect to the soul that is inside and coax it to come out for all to see.
This is what we can do to bring a brief time of knowing meditation to our day. It can be simple and kind to ourself. There can be a footing for the day in the knowing that we journeyed in before we journeyed out. Praise the goodness that is the authentic you and move into a day that may hold great or small challanges before you. Do not eschew up or down. Greet it kindly and continue to move forward smoothly as a contented and confident belly dancer would. Isolate your hips and arms and use your eyes with intent. The wave is now you and no longer is an instrument to buffet you against your will.
This is what we can do to bring a brief time of knowing meditation to our day. It can be simple and kind to ourself. There can be a footing for the day in the knowing that we journeyed in before we journeyed out. Praise the goodness that is the authentic you and move into a day that may hold great or small challanges before you. Do not eschew up or down. Greet it kindly and continue to move forward smoothly as a contented and confident belly dancer would. Isolate your hips and arms and use your eyes with intent. The wave is now you and no longer is an instrument to buffet you against your will.
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Humility is Sanity
Bouncing from one extreme to another was a way that I lived. I hated myself for judging others and just plain hated myself at other times. There was no miracle to my madness. Issues of hierachy have plagued me my whole life. Tonight I sat and listened to others verbalize this bounce at a meeting. Peace washed over me and I came upon humility. This has been something I have longed for, but never understood. I have always wanted to walk hand in hand with this characteristic as best friends forever. When I found peace in that moment, I found this elusive quality. I now know that I have been very sensitive to lack of humility from others my whole life, and thus I went to delusional levels, in mania, to escape egotism’s clutches.
I will now just take this seed and foster its growth. I will know that it is life’s conditions that give us a true opportunity to live and become humility. There is no more grasping at straws, there is peace. I know waves will buffet me in both directions, but I will use genuine gratitude to steady my ship and save me from sinking. With the knowing of basic realities, I will drink from the silver goblet of wisdom. Life can then become grand in its simplicity. I will live in the forest and become one with the trees. Squirrels can then use my limbs as a home and I will support all of God’s creation.
I will now just take this seed and foster its growth. I will know that it is life’s conditions that give us a true opportunity to live and become humility. There is no more grasping at straws, there is peace. I know waves will buffet me in both directions, but I will use genuine gratitude to steady my ship and save me from sinking. With the knowing of basic realities, I will drink from the silver goblet of wisdom. Life can then become grand in its simplicity. I will live in the forest and become one with the trees. Squirrels can then use my limbs as a home and I will support all of God’s creation.
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Breathing Out the Shame
I feel an almost emotional pneumonia in my chest and body due to the daily shame that I am breathing in. All creation stops when I become this infection or virus. My life becomes about the past and about being defunct in the present. This is an excruciating way to live. Concentrating on this moment and doing mindful actions seems to be quite the antibiotic for this malaise. Timely connection to others is another great panacea.
There is a growing anxiety within me that bubbles up as a result of this shame. Knowing that there is a wellspring of love in the universe for the imperfection that is me can be a great comfort. My words on the page can help to guide my action in life. There is a concrete flow between the world of here and there. I can have idiosyncrasies and be loved for them instead of constantly fighting against them.
I see a storm brewing outside, and my words help to quell the storm brewing inside of me. I can be great in my simplicity and not have to climb or build mountains. I can be a gentle natural force and not be caught in the images that most media provides me of agony and ecstasy. Being bipedal can leave my hands free to grasp at the simple leaves while my heart can still yearn for the stars. It is all within me. I am without nothing and am connected to everything.
For me, this day can be a meditation and the trumpets can blare or just simply play a divine note. Me and them can truly become we. Zen can become tao and move to us all walking in the footsteps of Christ. Images can bleed into reality and the story will begin to unfold. Take my hand and let us journey to the unseen land of where the butterflies begin. Our cocoon is more like a five person tent. We will muddle through the wonders of the world together as we drink the dew of the fresh new morning.
There is a growing anxiety within me that bubbles up as a result of this shame. Knowing that there is a wellspring of love in the universe for the imperfection that is me can be a great comfort. My words on the page can help to guide my action in life. There is a concrete flow between the world of here and there. I can have idiosyncrasies and be loved for them instead of constantly fighting against them.
I see a storm brewing outside, and my words help to quell the storm brewing inside of me. I can be great in my simplicity and not have to climb or build mountains. I can be a gentle natural force and not be caught in the images that most media provides me of agony and ecstasy. Being bipedal can leave my hands free to grasp at the simple leaves while my heart can still yearn for the stars. It is all within me. I am without nothing and am connected to everything.
For me, this day can be a meditation and the trumpets can blare or just simply play a divine note. Me and them can truly become we. Zen can become tao and move to us all walking in the footsteps of Christ. Images can bleed into reality and the story will begin to unfold. Take my hand and let us journey to the unseen land of where the butterflies begin. Our cocoon is more like a five person tent. We will muddle through the wonders of the world together as we drink the dew of the fresh new morning.
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Meditations on my Mind
I have been thinking more and more about writing an actual manuscript for public consumption. I had the idea of writing a meditation book for bipolar people. I could call it something like, The Uneven Keel or Seeking the Even Keel. I am going to try and write a little ditty along those lines now.
I wake up every day and my heart looks for the sun. My eyes are cast downward when I see there is none. Why is it always a mood rising in me each day? Why can’t I just cast off the covers and go on my merry way? It is as it is, but I become bewildered inside. More and more I know that I need God as my guide.
Being bipolar is like receiving thorns one day and blossoms another instead of the ritual bouquet of flowers. I am now beginning to live with this challange with some wit and wisdom. If my mood becomes my everything, I will be in bed, or possibly in jail, based on the great decisions that nemis can make. I must separate myself each day from the feelings I am feeling and finally pray for a little help. Focusing on the wisdom of the universe, I find myself a little less absorbed by the chemicals in my head. I can get right with the day and find a “wise mind” focus. This is Buddhist for combining our heart, mind, and even soul. With this empty and well meaning space brought forth, I can shine with intent reguardless of what the feeling chef has served up for the day.
I wake up every day and my heart looks for the sun. My eyes are cast downward when I see there is none. Why is it always a mood rising in me each day? Why can’t I just cast off the covers and go on my merry way? It is as it is, but I become bewildered inside. More and more I know that I need God as my guide.
Being bipolar is like receiving thorns one day and blossoms another instead of the ritual bouquet of flowers. I am now beginning to live with this challange with some wit and wisdom. If my mood becomes my everything, I will be in bed, or possibly in jail, based on the great decisions that nemis can make. I must separate myself each day from the feelings I am feeling and finally pray for a little help. Focusing on the wisdom of the universe, I find myself a little less absorbed by the chemicals in my head. I can get right with the day and find a “wise mind” focus. This is Buddhist for combining our heart, mind, and even soul. With this empty and well meaning space brought forth, I can shine with intent reguardless of what the feeling chef has served up for the day.
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Making the Day Stand for Something
I guess I live with this sentiment deeply ingrained in the recesses of my mind. I feel that I fall short of an invisible, yet indelible, quota. I am not enough. What I do is not enough. There is a hole that I live in. When I try to describe it, even to myself, I find that the lights completely go out.
I know that I am in discomfort and pain and that an inner reality affects my outer reality. It is as if I am not fully formed and even if I were, no one would care. I remember screaming to a boyfriend once that no one seems to care what I am saying, and he replied that what I have to say is boring. That sticks with me like spaghetti noodles on a ceiling. I will have to scour the hidden shed to find a rake to remove it piece by piece.
How do I remove all these words and things from within me that hurt me every day? My sensitivity to things is so evident and I try to hide it and not react. It still hurts and bars me from truly fitting in or living a life comfortable in my skin.
I guess I am lost in translation. My chemistry makes me insane and my life makes me to blame. This is not a carousel that I like riding. It is riddled with pitfalls and creepy music that blares over and over in my mind. I don’t know if I will ever have a true friend. A deep and eternal loneliness both seers and freezes me. I am a mermaid in Antarctica who does not speak penguin, seal, or polar bear. It is cold and I am horrifically ugly to all I see.
I guess I am tripping on the grit in the pit of my stomach. I pray nightly to be less aware and affected by all the people on Earth. Everyone has her level and I ultimately always exist in the realm of the landfill. If only I could have the realm of fantasy that existed in my time without walls. My mind protected me from all that had pained me. My environment fed me, but did not slice me with the precision and depth of a chef’s perfect blade.
It is in this moment, alone, that the sirens of shame can rest for a moment and I can pick up a fishing rod and start to fish. I can see hope in the placid waters, for they can hold a plethora and variety of fish. I can be at one with another realm and I can see the heartbeat of the resting dove. God is in the details and the smirking squirrel does agree.
Is there anybody in there? Is there only a soul who needs repair? Can we dance with the wind without our toe shoes on? To the people of the Earth, am I only a pawn? Is the question resounding already with an answer? Can I live a day and not feel like the planet’s worst cancer?
Well I guess that depression is dipping my pen in blood today. There are these things that exist in me daily that rise while my mood falls. It is the silence of the sounding board that leaves me playing with daggers today. Writing (especially online) is a way for me to put on the princess costume and pretend someone is looking. The downbeat of my baton has lost the violins today, but the sad basoon is definitely following my every sagging stroke. It is time to close this piece in piamissimo (sp?) and hope that tomorrow brings some soohing metso for all to hear.
I know that I am in discomfort and pain and that an inner reality affects my outer reality. It is as if I am not fully formed and even if I were, no one would care. I remember screaming to a boyfriend once that no one seems to care what I am saying, and he replied that what I have to say is boring. That sticks with me like spaghetti noodles on a ceiling. I will have to scour the hidden shed to find a rake to remove it piece by piece.
How do I remove all these words and things from within me that hurt me every day? My sensitivity to things is so evident and I try to hide it and not react. It still hurts and bars me from truly fitting in or living a life comfortable in my skin.
I guess I am lost in translation. My chemistry makes me insane and my life makes me to blame. This is not a carousel that I like riding. It is riddled with pitfalls and creepy music that blares over and over in my mind. I don’t know if I will ever have a true friend. A deep and eternal loneliness both seers and freezes me. I am a mermaid in Antarctica who does not speak penguin, seal, or polar bear. It is cold and I am horrifically ugly to all I see.
I guess I am tripping on the grit in the pit of my stomach. I pray nightly to be less aware and affected by all the people on Earth. Everyone has her level and I ultimately always exist in the realm of the landfill. If only I could have the realm of fantasy that existed in my time without walls. My mind protected me from all that had pained me. My environment fed me, but did not slice me with the precision and depth of a chef’s perfect blade.
It is in this moment, alone, that the sirens of shame can rest for a moment and I can pick up a fishing rod and start to fish. I can see hope in the placid waters, for they can hold a plethora and variety of fish. I can be at one with another realm and I can see the heartbeat of the resting dove. God is in the details and the smirking squirrel does agree.
Is there anybody in there? Is there only a soul who needs repair? Can we dance with the wind without our toe shoes on? To the people of the Earth, am I only a pawn? Is the question resounding already with an answer? Can I live a day and not feel like the planet’s worst cancer?
Well I guess that depression is dipping my pen in blood today. There are these things that exist in me daily that rise while my mood falls. It is the silence of the sounding board that leaves me playing with daggers today. Writing (especially online) is a way for me to put on the princess costume and pretend someone is looking. The downbeat of my baton has lost the violins today, but the sad basoon is definitely following my every sagging stroke. It is time to close this piece in piamissimo (sp?) and hope that tomorrow brings some soohing metso for all to hear.
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Going Through the Dirt
When one thinks of dirt, a negative connotation is envoked. It is somehow unclean and messy. When one really gets down to it, she may see the sunshine that is this blanket for the growth of life. Right now I find myself looking back at my life and finding a lot of dirt to dig through. Some of it has the potential to be rich soil, and some of it is almost sand. The feelings I have toward my past expereiences still affects my everyday. The water that is emotion makes just a big mass of mud and it is difficult to deal with. When I come in contact with it, it seems disgusting. I need to become Sally O’ Mally the pig. I can then glean the mud’s usefulness and move forward with my personal renovation project.
This project entails writing about the seed in the dirt, but the mud as well. I now become the worm of extraction. I move through the dirt mixing it and also bringing morsels to the surface. Hopefully, at the end of the day, I will smile a good worm smile, and feel that I have done something productive.
I will start with a time line of my experiences and then begin to weave a story through this wormy soil. The flow is not with me today so I feel stunted and dry. I will just keep my soil dry because I cannot deal with the emotions from the now or the then.
Drip drop. I am a cat. What sound is that? Fear evades the reality of safe dryness now and worries about the then. My paws are scared to pick up a pen. I will curl up into a ball. I will slowly move down the dark and dreary hall.
This project entails writing about the seed in the dirt, but the mud as well. I now become the worm of extraction. I move through the dirt mixing it and also bringing morsels to the surface. Hopefully, at the end of the day, I will smile a good worm smile, and feel that I have done something productive.
I will start with a time line of my experiences and then begin to weave a story through this wormy soil. The flow is not with me today so I feel stunted and dry. I will just keep my soil dry because I cannot deal with the emotions from the now or the then.
Drip drop. I am a cat. What sound is that? Fear evades the reality of safe dryness now and worries about the then. My paws are scared to pick up a pen. I will curl up into a ball. I will slowly move down the dark and dreary hall.
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Once Upon a 5 AM Dream…
The billowing drapes of green and black encase the canopy bed I journey upon. It lies temping a cliff and I jump on to find it travels. I come upon oceans and ocean lands. The waves crashing against the shore bring me to a halt on a beach.
I find myself sucking in the Sandman’s potion, and an Asian man has rolled up beside me. Something is attached to my right arm and legs. There is a pleasurable feeling and then a sharp pain. The man encourages me to remain still and silent. I finally venture a glance and see that it is two snakes biting and sucking me. As I relax, they turn into harmless velvet.
My bed begins to travel again and I find myself in Jamaica. I come upon a slew of cabins encrusted in clams and covered with crabs. A showy man comes out and puts a black horse costume on a crocodile and the costumed croc begins to dance like a horse. The man exclaims that he is the only dancing crocodile in the world.
I do not know where these dreams came from, but I feel like a world traveler this morning. I just wanted to give you a taste of my night time matters, as I begin to do my own open eyed journeying for the day.
I find myself sucking in the Sandman’s potion, and an Asian man has rolled up beside me. Something is attached to my right arm and legs. There is a pleasurable feeling and then a sharp pain. The man encourages me to remain still and silent. I finally venture a glance and see that it is two snakes biting and sucking me. As I relax, they turn into harmless velvet.
My bed begins to travel again and I find myself in Jamaica. I come upon a slew of cabins encrusted in clams and covered with crabs. A showy man comes out and puts a black horse costume on a crocodile and the costumed croc begins to dance like a horse. The man exclaims that he is the only dancing crocodile in the world.
I do not know where these dreams came from, but I feel like a world traveler this morning. I just wanted to give you a taste of my night time matters, as I begin to do my own open eyed journeying for the day.
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A Hiccup on My Mind Horizon
I have a fatal flaw that is beginning to emerge in my consciousness. I am noticing a redundancy of thought. I seek to describe. I fail to feel a sense of being heard and/ or (even worse) being understood. I notice a lot of I in my statements. The record is skipping and the grating noise is causing me pain. Maybe I need to understand the one who goes by I so often.
A room is brilliant and even my glitter makes me ordinary. Finding the sameness is morose and yet quirkily tawdry in my head. Framing words and sentences to bring life to the parallel universe I observe, seems to be a “not to be.” That is the answer to the damn question.
There is a ticking. My time on Earth has a finiteness to its nature. I play in the sand and wonder why airplanes and shuttles get so much fanfare.
Can I explain the spaces I want plastered with paisley forever, or would it make people look away? I sense my tailor hemming my pants with oblivion for eternity. It is not a comfortable style. Even the hen in the corner wants to be heard like the rooster once in a while.
I made it through a long day and now I feel scantily crazed with the power of moments gone by. This part of me that seeks meaning in my own past has literally made me crazy. As the haze of my night meds kicks in, places and times seem less important. I kiss the sky goodnight and I send my soul to rub a dub dub in the tub.
Tinkering in madness skirts the poppy patch in my mind. I turn to my neighbor and she does not seem to be so kind. I love what is rosy and am impaled by what is dark. I rub two words together and do not make a single spark. Listening to the pitter pat, I bend my ear to the Earth and wonder where it is at.
A room is brilliant and even my glitter makes me ordinary. Finding the sameness is morose and yet quirkily tawdry in my head. Framing words and sentences to bring life to the parallel universe I observe, seems to be a “not to be.” That is the answer to the damn question.
There is a ticking. My time on Earth has a finiteness to its nature. I play in the sand and wonder why airplanes and shuttles get so much fanfare.
Can I explain the spaces I want plastered with paisley forever, or would it make people look away? I sense my tailor hemming my pants with oblivion for eternity. It is not a comfortable style. Even the hen in the corner wants to be heard like the rooster once in a while.
I made it through a long day and now I feel scantily crazed with the power of moments gone by. This part of me that seeks meaning in my own past has literally made me crazy. As the haze of my night meds kicks in, places and times seem less important. I kiss the sky goodnight and I send my soul to rub a dub dub in the tub.
Tinkering in madness skirts the poppy patch in my mind. I turn to my neighbor and she does not seem to be so kind. I love what is rosy and am impaled by what is dark. I rub two words together and do not make a single spark. Listening to the pitter pat, I bend my ear to the Earth and wonder where it is at.
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Taking the Day as it Comes
Finding the right attitude is difficult in the tumult at this moment. I have had some bad news regarding a med that I now ingest daily. It has been a beacon of hope and that beacon is about to be snuffed out. My insurance company does not cover it, but I can appeal. I talked to a chum and she suggested that I stay in the okay of this moment. I need to head her call.
The wheels of examination are in flow for me now. I have had two dates this week with a kind stranger. Upsetting the apple cart is a possibility if I continue. My life is like a box of really assorted chocolates. I can’t figure out which one to eat, and in which order to eat them.
I will just rely on a bit of silence and The God Force to still my wavy waters. I don’t have to do more than the now. Eckhart Tolle would be so proud of me.
There is a space in my head that I write from, and that space can be in between conscious and unconscious thought. It is a never region and Gollem has been calling of late. I must procure the hutspa (sp?) to begin an actual outline for my intended manuscript. Can I really write, from this special place, about my past, or is it just the paramount of painful? I guess experience will echo the call in either direction so I must begin before I enter the land of confusion.
A car door opens and I enter in. The past confuses me, for I could not win. Is it time to take his hand? I fear so much, like will I be perceived as bland? I need to focus on things that are higher. My past rests on the ground as one blaring futia flyer. I will move with the winds to find the singing birds. What is right will show itself after a moducum of light and searching words.
The wheels of examination are in flow for me now. I have had two dates this week with a kind stranger. Upsetting the apple cart is a possibility if I continue. My life is like a box of really assorted chocolates. I can’t figure out which one to eat, and in which order to eat them.
I will just rely on a bit of silence and The God Force to still my wavy waters. I don’t have to do more than the now. Eckhart Tolle would be so proud of me.
There is a space in my head that I write from, and that space can be in between conscious and unconscious thought. It is a never region and Gollem has been calling of late. I must procure the hutspa (sp?) to begin an actual outline for my intended manuscript. Can I really write, from this special place, about my past, or is it just the paramount of painful? I guess experience will echo the call in either direction so I must begin before I enter the land of confusion.
A car door opens and I enter in. The past confuses me, for I could not win. Is it time to take his hand? I fear so much, like will I be perceived as bland? I need to focus on things that are higher. My past rests on the ground as one blaring futia flyer. I will move with the winds to find the singing birds. What is right will show itself after a moducum of light and searching words.
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Up With the Morning Dew
I awoke with the moon, not the sun. The tender droplets are forming and resting on the grass and trees. There is a hope in my heart. I am finding my way through the labyrinth that is my unbalanced and scattered brain. An even keel is being sought. I am perplexed, but I feel God working to clear the nesting conundrum of my overly titanic problems.
There is no me that I really know. I know a scant form of a human who I beat daily, emotionally and intellectually, for being a dirty, shameful creature. I am just so ultimately inappropriate. That word acts as a knife in my life on a moment to moment basis. I am beginning to walk through the maze of understanding my psyche around my father having an affair and leaving my family when I was 4. I never have understood the implications on my heart that this event brought about. I now know that it formed an indelible scar and I must find, search, and destroy this enigma now before I die without knowing what could be an incredible person. I am speaking of myself. After that line I hardly knew who I was speaking of.
That whole mess is going to take a while, but in the mean time I struggle to find exactly the voice I wish to use to tell my story, or is that a story. I have globbed on to the idea of using a kind of imaginal tone. If I can flesh that out, I think it would end up fan-fricken-tastic! There is a journey of discovery that I need to begin to take. I need to start actually writing some pieces with that voice to see how far I can go. Let’s just jump in and try.
There is a microphone in my hand and a rum and coke on my lips. Singing Uninvited, by Alanis Morrisette, opens a door. There is a man out there who fits this bill. It is all stunning, but silent meanings in my head. I find a beat and there is a multitude of movements in my hands and body. Dancing with the moon, I see the stars. This is a time of freedom unlike the days of doors constantly being closed. I sense a tap on my shoulder and He is here. When I turn, he courtseys with his gargantuan wings folded wings. He knocked and I answered the creeking attic door.
I now know it will take a bit of experimenting to do this properly. At least I have a start to knowing the difficulty I will face. It is time to begin the building of this beautiful day.
There is no me that I really know. I know a scant form of a human who I beat daily, emotionally and intellectually, for being a dirty, shameful creature. I am just so ultimately inappropriate. That word acts as a knife in my life on a moment to moment basis. I am beginning to walk through the maze of understanding my psyche around my father having an affair and leaving my family when I was 4. I never have understood the implications on my heart that this event brought about. I now know that it formed an indelible scar and I must find, search, and destroy this enigma now before I die without knowing what could be an incredible person. I am speaking of myself. After that line I hardly knew who I was speaking of.
That whole mess is going to take a while, but in the mean time I struggle to find exactly the voice I wish to use to tell my story, or is that a story. I have globbed on to the idea of using a kind of imaginal tone. If I can flesh that out, I think it would end up fan-fricken-tastic! There is a journey of discovery that I need to begin to take. I need to start actually writing some pieces with that voice to see how far I can go. Let’s just jump in and try.
There is a microphone in my hand and a rum and coke on my lips. Singing Uninvited, by Alanis Morrisette, opens a door. There is a man out there who fits this bill. It is all stunning, but silent meanings in my head. I find a beat and there is a multitude of movements in my hands and body. Dancing with the moon, I see the stars. This is a time of freedom unlike the days of doors constantly being closed. I sense a tap on my shoulder and He is here. When I turn, he courtseys with his gargantuan wings folded wings. He knocked and I answered the creeking attic door.
I now know it will take a bit of experimenting to do this properly. At least I have a start to knowing the difficulty I will face. It is time to begin the building of this beautiful day.
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To be the Ear to Turn To…
I dipped my toe in the pool…My body rushes with a pleasant feeling of warmth. It was like looking into a vintage mirror. Those were the days. Today I began the ritual of sponsorship. It made a modestly burlesque dent on my psyche. I had the honor of listening to another. I would venture to say that it was quite spiritual.
The scent of Thai is how I will remember things. It is a tiny drop of lightning in my soup. I do wish to continue.
There is that part of me that wants to observe the heinously safe tradition of anonymity, so I will jump on this little grasshopper in front of me, and go on to another subject.
There were hours of the day spent in my psychiatrist’s office. Having mixed up the time, I had to suffer the consequences. In my mind’s eye, I observed the encounter with the other aliens like me. I don’t know if any of them were from my planet or not. I will revisit the spot in two weeks.
How long can I talk without saying anything at all? I guess we will all just have to see. My mind is feeling hurried and light at the same time.
The Mists of Avalon toast my delicate skin with dew. I am hot to the touch. My being is eleswhere, but my grasp is firm. The lights flicker in the distance and I sit in trance at the psychiatric stable. Which horse will command ME today? I have brought the proverbial carrot to quell both of our nerves. My gate is steady and I am reminded of swans. They all begin as “ugly ducklings”, don’t they? I wonder if a pug dog has it better? He sits as a “so ugly he’s cute” dog forever. Oh well, my mind has jumped the fence and is wandering in the neighbor’s field. I will mount my steed and crash through the gate of steady alliances to try to align with the teatering chemicals in my brain. I will do The Wonder Twin Power Bump with my doctor calling to be the form of a truthful owl and she can be the shape of the same old bucket of water.
Te, he, he, he. Later.
The scent of Thai is how I will remember things. It is a tiny drop of lightning in my soup. I do wish to continue.
There is that part of me that wants to observe the heinously safe tradition of anonymity, so I will jump on this little grasshopper in front of me, and go on to another subject.
There were hours of the day spent in my psychiatrist’s office. Having mixed up the time, I had to suffer the consequences. In my mind’s eye, I observed the encounter with the other aliens like me. I don’t know if any of them were from my planet or not. I will revisit the spot in two weeks.
How long can I talk without saying anything at all? I guess we will all just have to see. My mind is feeling hurried and light at the same time.
The Mists of Avalon toast my delicate skin with dew. I am hot to the touch. My being is eleswhere, but my grasp is firm. The lights flicker in the distance and I sit in trance at the psychiatric stable. Which horse will command ME today? I have brought the proverbial carrot to quell both of our nerves. My gate is steady and I am reminded of swans. They all begin as “ugly ducklings”, don’t they? I wonder if a pug dog has it better? He sits as a “so ugly he’s cute” dog forever. Oh well, my mind has jumped the fence and is wandering in the neighbor’s field. I will mount my steed and crash through the gate of steady alliances to try to align with the teatering chemicals in my brain. I will do The Wonder Twin Power Bump with my doctor calling to be the form of a truthful owl and she can be the shape of the same old bucket of water.
Te, he, he, he. Later.
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Finding My Stride
The pulse of the day has left me yearning for a back seat to sleep in. I feel as if I have little to say, but my mind still aches to do. Resting at the feet of this cunundrum, I begin to put words on an empty, but not desolate, page.
There is hope here. I look to the sky and see the little toes of something bigger. I wrestle with a push, as I start to pull. A little bee told me that I may write a little dense for the day to day reader. I find myself not trying to quell this urge, but rather feeding it instead. I guess I am ringing an internal bell before I drift off to sleep. As my head hits the pillow, I thirst to know the ram and the ewe. I fear I might not have time for an interview with both.
I feel as if victory kissed me a few times on the cheek today. I want to yell from the tower in Prospect Park, but I fear the po po may come to take me away. I would then have to let down my mane to help them climb the fortress. Oh well, maybe it could turn romantic. I could show them the STARS on a beautiful night like tonight.
I say hey there fellow. Why is your highlighter yellow? Is there something you want me to see, or rather, something you want me to be. The starlings drip from a flaming orange tree. Could they be hungry for acknowledgement like me. It is to you, dear chum that I bid farewell. The road is drenched in fog as far as I can tell.
I just wrote a little of that far off poetry that just brings a bit of a sting to one’s mind’s eye. Is it real or is it Memorex? Boy, those were the days, Archie! Sing with me now. I will bake us a new melody. The words will form like isicles in the warm winter sun. It will be a mystery to most, but to you and me it will be a known heart wrenching musical diatribe. I guess I am just trying to find my inner erudite tonight. Maybe Plato wants to come out and play. Ah ha, I finally got Socrates to giggle. Maybe I am just a CO-ME-DI-AN.
Bon soir (sp?)!
There is hope here. I look to the sky and see the little toes of something bigger. I wrestle with a push, as I start to pull. A little bee told me that I may write a little dense for the day to day reader. I find myself not trying to quell this urge, but rather feeding it instead. I guess I am ringing an internal bell before I drift off to sleep. As my head hits the pillow, I thirst to know the ram and the ewe. I fear I might not have time for an interview with both.
I feel as if victory kissed me a few times on the cheek today. I want to yell from the tower in Prospect Park, but I fear the po po may come to take me away. I would then have to let down my mane to help them climb the fortress. Oh well, maybe it could turn romantic. I could show them the STARS on a beautiful night like tonight.
I say hey there fellow. Why is your highlighter yellow? Is there something you want me to see, or rather, something you want me to be. The starlings drip from a flaming orange tree. Could they be hungry for acknowledgement like me. It is to you, dear chum that I bid farewell. The road is drenched in fog as far as I can tell.
I just wrote a little of that far off poetry that just brings a bit of a sting to one’s mind’s eye. Is it real or is it Memorex? Boy, those were the days, Archie! Sing with me now. I will bake us a new melody. The words will form like isicles in the warm winter sun. It will be a mystery to most, but to you and me it will be a known heart wrenching musical diatribe. I guess I am just trying to find my inner erudite tonight. Maybe Plato wants to come out and play. Ah ha, I finally got Socrates to giggle. Maybe I am just a CO-ME-DI-AN.
Bon soir (sp?)!
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Putting Words On It
In 12 days, I will celebrate my one year anniversary of sobriety. I am thinking toward that landmark and wanting to write something to say at my meeting. I will just let my soul do the walking and see what I get.
The tears flooded my face and the words wouldn’t come. I made an emergency call to a professional and sat in the proverbial confessional.
The vodka had flowed for years and no amount of being Jager-bombed could erase the realities of mind and spirit. My psychosis was gone, but an anxious malady had taken its place. Leaving my apartment to journey through the streets of downtown Indy had now ceased. I prayed to be bed bound.
One of my nearest “friends” was a convicted child molester, and my apartment actually moved with cockroaches and bedbugs. Lucifer had to come knocking at my door if he wanted to slum it. My identity was blank, and release from this condition seemed not to be in the deck of cards I held.
I now walk in to a bright room, with smiling people who want to hear my name. I now question that there had to be someone to blame. The shame of my insanity and alcoholism has given way to what I used to call myself: HOPE.
The breezes are at my back. God has lessened the tremendous attack. My mind has cleared. His name is revered. I see what is there. I have a home in this chair. My family opened the door. I no longer crawl on the floor. Behavior is understood. I can live a simple life and be good.
Poetry has begun to flow from my nimble fingers of late. Dreams rustle in my mind and my heart is humming a new tune. There are people out there. I bustle through the streets on an actual and a figurative new bicycle. My journey is far from over.
In reality, love is action. My mentors in this area are definitely my mother and step father. Over the past year I have grown an amazing newfound respect and love for then both. Shakespeare, himself could not really put the right words on the simple and honest love I now feel for this well matched and truly charitable couple. I experienced a traumatic and holy rescue that must have been divine in its guidance at their hands.
Mostly, I see a space in front of me that has many stones left to be unturned. I know a sister who I dare call by name though her steps have been much more steady. The patience of my brother has me sitting muffling my shock and admiration. The knowing and kind words of my sponsor and AA friends brings me, dew eyed, to my knees in gratitude.
Thank you God, for this day. Thank you for a mirror that does not shatter when gaze upon it. Thank you for the furry ones who nestle into my soul with their warm loving eyes and gracious touch. Thank you for the gift of love from other human beings. Thank you God for not forsaking me.
The tears flooded my face and the words wouldn’t come. I made an emergency call to a professional and sat in the proverbial confessional.
The vodka had flowed for years and no amount of being Jager-bombed could erase the realities of mind and spirit. My psychosis was gone, but an anxious malady had taken its place. Leaving my apartment to journey through the streets of downtown Indy had now ceased. I prayed to be bed bound.
One of my nearest “friends” was a convicted child molester, and my apartment actually moved with cockroaches and bedbugs. Lucifer had to come knocking at my door if he wanted to slum it. My identity was blank, and release from this condition seemed not to be in the deck of cards I held.
I now walk in to a bright room, with smiling people who want to hear my name. I now question that there had to be someone to blame. The shame of my insanity and alcoholism has given way to what I used to call myself: HOPE.
The breezes are at my back. God has lessened the tremendous attack. My mind has cleared. His name is revered. I see what is there. I have a home in this chair. My family opened the door. I no longer crawl on the floor. Behavior is understood. I can live a simple life and be good.
Poetry has begun to flow from my nimble fingers of late. Dreams rustle in my mind and my heart is humming a new tune. There are people out there. I bustle through the streets on an actual and a figurative new bicycle. My journey is far from over.
In reality, love is action. My mentors in this area are definitely my mother and step father. Over the past year I have grown an amazing newfound respect and love for then both. Shakespeare, himself could not really put the right words on the simple and honest love I now feel for this well matched and truly charitable couple. I experienced a traumatic and holy rescue that must have been divine in its guidance at their hands.
Mostly, I see a space in front of me that has many stones left to be unturned. I know a sister who I dare call by name though her steps have been much more steady. The patience of my brother has me sitting muffling my shock and admiration. The knowing and kind words of my sponsor and AA friends brings me, dew eyed, to my knees in gratitude.
Thank you God, for this day. Thank you for a mirror that does not shatter when gaze upon it. Thank you for the furry ones who nestle into my soul with their warm loving eyes and gracious touch. Thank you for the gift of love from other human beings. Thank you God for not forsaking me.
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I’m Singing in the MOVIE, Just Singing in the Movie
I have a groove hitting me. I was riding my bike and I was thinking about how I want to write my story. I don’t want it to be like a normal autobiography. God knows that things have been pretty trippy. I was thinking about conveying a fantasy with the feel of Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, where you walk in one doorway to an open room with many styles, and then you pass through another door and everyone speaks French. I hope to evolve a vision for this idea soon.
In the beginning, God created…what…what did he created? Was it really a beginning and the promise of an end? I want clarity of spirit. When I dove into that intangible realm and it became tangible, what kind of end did that promise?
In my mind, I walk with The Immortals. These are the beings who defy space and time. In their company, I find solace and gratitude. Separating the mundane from the insane leaves me hanging because I forgot the character played by spirit. My imagination was part of it all like a cylo on fire. KaBOOM!!!
Putting this piece together means putting the pieces together. In the space of PEACE I pray for love and understanding. How do I convey what was there in the wilderness? Finding the axese to draw the lines upon is difficult. I went past the third dimension and found a lunar sunshine drawing of the fourth dimension. Tick tock brings a clock, but also a cock. Cock a doodle do, I mean.
The flow is here today, but I must take a moment to translate the vision I wish to achieve. It is the feeling of walking into a scene and then losing yourself enough in the gaze of a sharp stranger. The lines delivered are so smooth they seem real, until a line like, “Your cuter than a little speckled puppy underneath a little red wagon.” (Of course delivered with a hint of a Southern drawl.)
It is that second that you become aware that you are dancing with the stars. This little Dorothy skips away when she finds the root of it all at Nicky Blaine’s (Cigar bar in INdianapolis, IN).
These are the moments I wish to capture. I want to find the artistry and I want to have the mastery to pull it off. I am just experimenting daily for a while to find the particular waves to ride. I now know that it is the spiritual realm that I need to address, very consciously, before I begin this project. I have decided to get a little Buddhist for awhile. In the spot of meditation, I seek to find my dream. This means shedding want and desire and settling on ACCEPTANCE.
Peace out.
In the beginning, God created…what…what did he created? Was it really a beginning and the promise of an end? I want clarity of spirit. When I dove into that intangible realm and it became tangible, what kind of end did that promise?
In my mind, I walk with The Immortals. These are the beings who defy space and time. In their company, I find solace and gratitude. Separating the mundane from the insane leaves me hanging because I forgot the character played by spirit. My imagination was part of it all like a cylo on fire. KaBOOM!!!
Putting this piece together means putting the pieces together. In the space of PEACE I pray for love and understanding. How do I convey what was there in the wilderness? Finding the axese to draw the lines upon is difficult. I went past the third dimension and found a lunar sunshine drawing of the fourth dimension. Tick tock brings a clock, but also a cock. Cock a doodle do, I mean.
The flow is here today, but I must take a moment to translate the vision I wish to achieve. It is the feeling of walking into a scene and then losing yourself enough in the gaze of a sharp stranger. The lines delivered are so smooth they seem real, until a line like, “Your cuter than a little speckled puppy underneath a little red wagon.” (Of course delivered with a hint of a Southern drawl.)
It is that second that you become aware that you are dancing with the stars. This little Dorothy skips away when she finds the root of it all at Nicky Blaine’s (Cigar bar in INdianapolis, IN).
These are the moments I wish to capture. I want to find the artistry and I want to have the mastery to pull it off. I am just experimenting daily for a while to find the particular waves to ride. I now know that it is the spiritual realm that I need to address, very consciously, before I begin this project. I have decided to get a little Buddhist for awhile. In the spot of meditation, I seek to find my dream. This means shedding want and desire and settling on ACCEPTANCE.
Peace out.
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Eyes to See
The scene opens with a bustling Old Chicago Restaurant. As I slip in the side door, I come upon my group. There is a newness to these aquaintences. I feel a knowing anonymity amongst them.
Tonight will be the last night of karaoke. I am saddened by this fact, at first, but later I will find solace in it. I move into the group and chat casually.
As I sit amongst this crew, I talk a bit about sobriety as alcoholic beverages are being served around me. I begin to experience a deja vu in this karaoke setting.
The beat in my head begins. I thirst to just feel comfortable and a bit anesthnatized. My concentration now falls to my stomach which is calling for some good down home Italian cuisine. I must be mindful of my diet in this moment and show some restraint.
My discomfort is beginning to become palpable and I find myself consuming way too many Diet Cokes. My heart races and anxiety is registering in the psychotic range. In my mind, I feel a supreme and holy paranoia and that I am a phenomenal freak and pariah. It is like I am on a train that won’t stop. The shame car is heavily loaded.
The beat of this night’s tunes starts to register strong in my soul. For a few songs I get up to dance an abbreviated interpretative jive. I stop when the discomfort, shame, and stress become too much. I feel more and more like an insane clown. Where is my posse today? Oh yeah, I don’t really have one.
I am so mixed about my artistic expression. I liken it to an angel spreading her wings when I respond creatively to an event or situation. This little angel seeks the heaven that separation, delusion, and alcohol provide. I want to emancipate myself from criticism and fly free.
My turn to sing comes and I wail out a version of Uninvited. The response is favorable, but I begin to become increasingly anxious, ashamed, and paranoid. I am afraid that many are talking about what a painful anomaly I am. Maybe I sang too loud, or maybe I am seen as a phony because I missed a few notes. My sense is that everyone thinks I am extremely mentally ill.
Relating to the full-blown psychotic becomes increasingly tempting. My environment is a massive crashing and ebbing threat and I can no longer endure. Feeling like I cannot move or leave, I begin to just concentrate on my breath. Finally, I get up to go. I resist the urge to start talking to the “heavenly plane” of existence. My bike ride home is a journey into madness. I feel that realm closing in.
Getting home, I sink into a bath and take some medicine. Eventually, I fall asleep, so scared that things will not be better in the morning.
I awoke, this morning, to some agitation. I had a resounding sense of peace in comparison to the night before. I now have eyes to see all that was and is. Sanity rests in between the solid mortal world and the fantasies and nightmares of the immortal.
Tonight will be the last night of karaoke. I am saddened by this fact, at first, but later I will find solace in it. I move into the group and chat casually.
As I sit amongst this crew, I talk a bit about sobriety as alcoholic beverages are being served around me. I begin to experience a deja vu in this karaoke setting.
The beat in my head begins. I thirst to just feel comfortable and a bit anesthnatized. My concentration now falls to my stomach which is calling for some good down home Italian cuisine. I must be mindful of my diet in this moment and show some restraint.
My discomfort is beginning to become palpable and I find myself consuming way too many Diet Cokes. My heart races and anxiety is registering in the psychotic range. In my mind, I feel a supreme and holy paranoia and that I am a phenomenal freak and pariah. It is like I am on a train that won’t stop. The shame car is heavily loaded.
The beat of this night’s tunes starts to register strong in my soul. For a few songs I get up to dance an abbreviated interpretative jive. I stop when the discomfort, shame, and stress become too much. I feel more and more like an insane clown. Where is my posse today? Oh yeah, I don’t really have one.
I am so mixed about my artistic expression. I liken it to an angel spreading her wings when I respond creatively to an event or situation. This little angel seeks the heaven that separation, delusion, and alcohol provide. I want to emancipate myself from criticism and fly free.
My turn to sing comes and I wail out a version of Uninvited. The response is favorable, but I begin to become increasingly anxious, ashamed, and paranoid. I am afraid that many are talking about what a painful anomaly I am. Maybe I sang too loud, or maybe I am seen as a phony because I missed a few notes. My sense is that everyone thinks I am extremely mentally ill.
Relating to the full-blown psychotic becomes increasingly tempting. My environment is a massive crashing and ebbing threat and I can no longer endure. Feeling like I cannot move or leave, I begin to just concentrate on my breath. Finally, I get up to go. I resist the urge to start talking to the “heavenly plane” of existence. My bike ride home is a journey into madness. I feel that realm closing in.
Getting home, I sink into a bath and take some medicine. Eventually, I fall asleep, so scared that things will not be better in the morning.
I awoke, this morning, to some agitation. I had a resounding sense of peace in comparison to the night before. I now have eyes to see all that was and is. Sanity rests in between the solid mortal world and the fantasies and nightmares of the immortal.
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Eohre on the Hood, Winnie in the Rear View
There is a silent agony that I am feeling today. It goes with the territory when you are riding a hypomanic wave. Sleeping is difficult, and so I am getting to a state of exhausted weariness, emotionally and physically.
I am finding that I want to talk about my life, but I do not want to talk about my bipolar. I still live very ashamed of this illness. I have a belief system that very much values RESTRAINT, and this illness has made me “weak willed” in a lot of ways. I am also quite sensitive to criticism and silence, so I am often wading in a landslide of shame.
Who am I, and why am I here anyway? I guess I am here to answer just that combo question. It is becoming apparent to me that writing is not only therapeutic to me, but it is an avocation for me. I want to pull together a great idea to expound upon. Then I can look at having a lengthy discussion, in written form, to share with others. The ideas are still a bit jumbled.
I ate something new moments ago. It was a frozen meal with sweet potatoes. The name of these buggers has always kept me at bay. I imagined them as very sweet. In actuality, they had a hint of sweetness, and, in this dish, they were accented beautifully by the rosemary. I give it two thumbs up.
A book I am reading suggested to try something new each week to feed my inner artist. Now I have literally done that. Exploring new things is such a rarity for most of us human animals. Habit is just so seductively easy. I want a new life and a newish brain. Going off the beaten path can allow the centers in the brain to be activated and grow. Experiencing healthy learning, and moral journeying, can really aid in the release of neurotransmitters. They are so dopamine delicious and serotonin fabulous!!!
Working in the world is coming toward me. I have been volunteering for four months and now I am ready to jump in the pool, literally, of paid employment. Lifeguard training is one of the first steps. As I move, I will flow. Writing is an unpaid venture at this time, but that does not mean that this type of volunteering will not lead to a paid gig one day.
Eohre slumps down and nudges my side. I pick him over Winnie the Pooh, today. They are an amazing gruesome twosome, and I feel love in my heart for both. Winnie is just a little too addicted to honey for my tastes in this moment. Laughing at our everyday perdicament leads Eohre and I to roll down a grassy hill together. As we rise and clean off the debris, we catch each other in a knowing gaze. I look to him to speak first. He just sits simply and falls asleep. Sometimes our anticipation of an event brings a lovely turn that brings us peace. That is what Eohre is really for. I love you Eohre.
I am finding that I want to talk about my life, but I do not want to talk about my bipolar. I still live very ashamed of this illness. I have a belief system that very much values RESTRAINT, and this illness has made me “weak willed” in a lot of ways. I am also quite sensitive to criticism and silence, so I am often wading in a landslide of shame.
Who am I, and why am I here anyway? I guess I am here to answer just that combo question. It is becoming apparent to me that writing is not only therapeutic to me, but it is an avocation for me. I want to pull together a great idea to expound upon. Then I can look at having a lengthy discussion, in written form, to share with others. The ideas are still a bit jumbled.
I ate something new moments ago. It was a frozen meal with sweet potatoes. The name of these buggers has always kept me at bay. I imagined them as very sweet. In actuality, they had a hint of sweetness, and, in this dish, they were accented beautifully by the rosemary. I give it two thumbs up.
A book I am reading suggested to try something new each week to feed my inner artist. Now I have literally done that. Exploring new things is such a rarity for most of us human animals. Habit is just so seductively easy. I want a new life and a newish brain. Going off the beaten path can allow the centers in the brain to be activated and grow. Experiencing healthy learning, and moral journeying, can really aid in the release of neurotransmitters. They are so dopamine delicious and serotonin fabulous!!!
Working in the world is coming toward me. I have been volunteering for four months and now I am ready to jump in the pool, literally, of paid employment. Lifeguard training is one of the first steps. As I move, I will flow. Writing is an unpaid venture at this time, but that does not mean that this type of volunteering will not lead to a paid gig one day.
Eohre slumps down and nudges my side. I pick him over Winnie the Pooh, today. They are an amazing gruesome twosome, and I feel love in my heart for both. Winnie is just a little too addicted to honey for my tastes in this moment. Laughing at our everyday perdicament leads Eohre and I to roll down a grassy hill together. As we rise and clean off the debris, we catch each other in a knowing gaze. I look to him to speak first. He just sits simply and falls asleep. Sometimes our anticipation of an event brings a lovely turn that brings us peace. That is what Eohre is really for. I love you Eohre.
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The Wonders of Blogging
The weight that rests on my shoulders is feeling pounds lighter. There is a real tangible result to writing almost daily. My neurosese are not healed completely, but they are lessened.
I joined Facebook today and I will just see if that gives me another opportunity to write.
The day has been merciful and kind, in ways. The sun shines and my heart still beats. There is a weight on me , at times, that makes me almost arythmic. In the past, I just wished for my heart to cease beating. Now I look to distance myself from the elements in my environment that boil my blood and crumple my brow.
Moving from task to task I feel like a productive cog in the machine. I try to be mindful in moments and concentrate on the simple aspects of activities, but my monkey mind seems to wander back to the highway of chaos.
A beam of light penetrates the shade. My thought hides and emotions evade. I am prominent in a place in my mind. If I reveal this to others, they are not kind. I will be the best me I can be. My story twists and turns like the branches on a tree. I will continue to move toward the stillness. I am so weary from this penetrating illness. One day I will know who I really am. I am trying to find that part of me that will be seen as a lamb.
I joined Facebook today and I will just see if that gives me another opportunity to write.
The day has been merciful and kind, in ways. The sun shines and my heart still beats. There is a weight on me , at times, that makes me almost arythmic. In the past, I just wished for my heart to cease beating. Now I look to distance myself from the elements in my environment that boil my blood and crumple my brow.
Moving from task to task I feel like a productive cog in the machine. I try to be mindful in moments and concentrate on the simple aspects of activities, but my monkey mind seems to wander back to the highway of chaos.
A beam of light penetrates the shade. My thought hides and emotions evade. I am prominent in a place in my mind. If I reveal this to others, they are not kind. I will be the best me I can be. My story twists and turns like the branches on a tree. I will continue to move toward the stillness. I am so weary from this penetrating illness. One day I will know who I really am. I am trying to find that part of me that will be seen as a lamb.
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Frightening Fantasy
I am discovering a new space and place. It is in my heart and mind, and it has never existed before. Doctors told me to take a few pills, like they always do, and this time, the one and only time, it has worked.
I have been living in an emotional acid “bad trip” since my time on this planet began. I know now what a normal brain perceives and sends out to the body. I have not had any buffer between a vulnerable system and the outside world. It is like I have been an emotional burn patient. My thoughts might as well have been on ticker tape and my sense of self was nonexistant.
I try now to put my new mind glasses on and describe what my mental retina picks up. There is a me in here. When there is no self, there can be no relationship with God. When I finally stepped upon the full blown manic bridge, I never wanted to go back in the water. I was a being here on this planet. I was here to only suffer and to fight. I was God. After living a life of covering the pain of my internal experience, I created a collage of delusions that just fit. Drinking alcohol kept this plane near. As the wallpaper began to fall off the walls, I would drink more and more to keep it in place.
If you have not heard or known of the song I am singing, you may not care about the world I am clammering to describe. This mental studderer is at a loss for words and context to communicate clearly her message.
The past intrudes. I listen and respond. There is no place to rest separately from the storm. I know not who I am, and thus I study you. I make my observations about what is good and bad, and I judge myself on my feelings, thoughts, and actions. As the Lamborgini stays in the garage forever or breaks down the garage door to careen off a cliff at 150 miles per hour, it is still left with no driver.
I am trying to draw a picture, but I do not know if the lines and colors really match up. I sit in a land of confusion beneath a towering fur, with a dunce cap on. Instead of twiddling my thumbs, I smash my head against its solid trunk. Internally, there is damage, to me not the tree, but externally no one knows. It is like the frustration one can only maintain in solitary confinement.
I will find my way, but it is only by sliding an inch at a time on this icy landscape. I feel cold and the wind plays a rhapsody in blue. There is a land of fantasy, but even fantasy can become terrifying, when its explorer is alone.
I pray to break free. Time will tell. For now, I bid adieu and GOODNIGHT.
I have been living in an emotional acid “bad trip” since my time on this planet began. I know now what a normal brain perceives and sends out to the body. I have not had any buffer between a vulnerable system and the outside world. It is like I have been an emotional burn patient. My thoughts might as well have been on ticker tape and my sense of self was nonexistant.
I try now to put my new mind glasses on and describe what my mental retina picks up. There is a me in here. When there is no self, there can be no relationship with God. When I finally stepped upon the full blown manic bridge, I never wanted to go back in the water. I was a being here on this planet. I was here to only suffer and to fight. I was God. After living a life of covering the pain of my internal experience, I created a collage of delusions that just fit. Drinking alcohol kept this plane near. As the wallpaper began to fall off the walls, I would drink more and more to keep it in place.
If you have not heard or known of the song I am singing, you may not care about the world I am clammering to describe. This mental studderer is at a loss for words and context to communicate clearly her message.
The past intrudes. I listen and respond. There is no place to rest separately from the storm. I know not who I am, and thus I study you. I make my observations about what is good and bad, and I judge myself on my feelings, thoughts, and actions. As the Lamborgini stays in the garage forever or breaks down the garage door to careen off a cliff at 150 miles per hour, it is still left with no driver.
I am trying to draw a picture, but I do not know if the lines and colors really match up. I sit in a land of confusion beneath a towering fur, with a dunce cap on. Instead of twiddling my thumbs, I smash my head against its solid trunk. Internally, there is damage, to me not the tree, but externally no one knows. It is like the frustration one can only maintain in solitary confinement.
I will find my way, but it is only by sliding an inch at a time on this icy landscape. I feel cold and the wind plays a rhapsody in blue. There is a land of fantasy, but even fantasy can become terrifying, when its explorer is alone.
I pray to break free. Time will tell. For now, I bid adieu and GOODNIGHT.
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Admitting My Crazy
Lack of honesty, that was our problem. Difficulty is following me around like a younger sibling in my head. I see the world as it is, but then there is the extra challange of my brain chemistry. My new med is causing me to chase and race while being pretty damn easily irratated. I want to scream, “Stop this ride I want to get off,” but I am afraid that my melancholly will return. The racing is better than the alternative. I am just afraid to tell anyone, so I am starting here.
I saw The Social Network last night and it was truly a triumph. I really just sat back and watched. I began to examine my own beliefs about elitism. Deep in my naggen, I have always hungered and thirted to be elite. Consciously, I aspire to a simple life. This juxtaposition of ideas has left me boundariless in areas and lacking in self control. This is quite a paradigm to live in in the land of psychosis and delusion. My mind created a “safe” place for me to BE the nexus. I was not just any constellation, I was ORION, the BIG DIPPER, and the SMALL DIPPER. In my mind, everyone knew me (sometimes only unconsciously).
I am beginning to explore the fray. The land that I went to was cinematic in scope. Finding the words to descibe its agony and ecstasy, is my goal. I want to work up the skills and mind space to write a manuscript. I think if I stick to viniettes connected by small, but important threads, I can do it.
I must go workout.
I saw The Social Network last night and it was truly a triumph. I really just sat back and watched. I began to examine my own beliefs about elitism. Deep in my naggen, I have always hungered and thirted to be elite. Consciously, I aspire to a simple life. This juxtaposition of ideas has left me boundariless in areas and lacking in self control. This is quite a paradigm to live in in the land of psychosis and delusion. My mind created a “safe” place for me to BE the nexus. I was not just any constellation, I was ORION, the BIG DIPPER, and the SMALL DIPPER. In my mind, everyone knew me (sometimes only unconsciously).
I am beginning to explore the fray. The land that I went to was cinematic in scope. Finding the words to descibe its agony and ecstasy, is my goal. I want to work up the skills and mind space to write a manuscript. I think if I stick to viniettes connected by small, but important threads, I can do it.
I must go workout.
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A Note for the Day
Dreams did not come easy. I awoke to darkness. It is early, and I am late. I do not speak of tardiness, I speak of state of mind. This is the time, but it is not the space. It all seems a bit diurnal. It would be twice a year that I can finally see the face of God.
This may all be wordplay, but I know that I am listening. The beating of my heart is strong, and I can feel the flow. I do not write to be understood, but rather I write to understand. I sense an eery licking at the chapel door and I want to find the perfect priest to confess to. Is it possible, or will I sit for an eternity with a soul laden with guilt and shame?
Last night I moved to the beat, and I could barely feel my feet. Hip hop was the style, and I wore a laughing smile. I found the sensations of the ground, and, in that, I was found. The resounding sentiment was a separate togetherness, as my class rocked from side to side. The resonance of rhyme ceases, and I look for light in the creases. Can’t I just make up a new rhythem to dance to? That is the place where you find the real you.
I tried something different and my mind is clear and wondering. The chime of my alarm has rung and I shall now prepare for the day. Thank you for the brief journey that your heart and mind has taken with my singing spirit. Love your neighbor, but don’t forget to LOVE YOURSELF. I am here and I work to be there as well. Listening, I hear disonance, but I fell a rickety thumping that I will try to identify and explain throughout the day. Be safe and be well. Drink the water that will make you happy.
This may all be wordplay, but I know that I am listening. The beating of my heart is strong, and I can feel the flow. I do not write to be understood, but rather I write to understand. I sense an eery licking at the chapel door and I want to find the perfect priest to confess to. Is it possible, or will I sit for an eternity with a soul laden with guilt and shame?
Last night I moved to the beat, and I could barely feel my feet. Hip hop was the style, and I wore a laughing smile. I found the sensations of the ground, and, in that, I was found. The resounding sentiment was a separate togetherness, as my class rocked from side to side. The resonance of rhyme ceases, and I look for light in the creases. Can’t I just make up a new rhythem to dance to? That is the place where you find the real you.
I tried something different and my mind is clear and wondering. The chime of my alarm has rung and I shall now prepare for the day. Thank you for the brief journey that your heart and mind has taken with my singing spirit. Love your neighbor, but don’t forget to LOVE YOURSELF. I am here and I work to be there as well. Listening, I hear disonance, but I fell a rickety thumping that I will try to identify and explain throughout the day. Be safe and be well. Drink the water that will make you happy.
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Pondering the Day
I sit pondering the day and I sense a world of possibilities. This positivity pulses through my veins, and I am certain that the sun is shining even in my soul. I want to thank God for an ATTITUDE like that. Baby got HOPE.
My day will be filled with a lot of YMCA activity. I am hoping for a favorable interview there, later today. My senses are alive and hopefully my smile will speak volumes.
I have little to add to this world in words considering I just sat down and blogged last night. I guess I just want to thank God for the day and to ask blessings upon all those who I love. If you are reading this, SMACK SMACK, I call for blessings upon you as well.
I am caring for my mother’s furry little creatures and so I have already made their day with the all too special wet food. They meowed in harmony as I bestowed it upon them.
Light cascades through my window pane. Trees are outlined with its glory. I rumble with humility witnessing the presence of God’s grace. Seeing the beauty around me can lead me to know the the beauty that I deny within me. I now know that feelings are blessings like the clammoring sound of thunder. Today I with kneal and find the holiness of this moment.
My day will be filled with a lot of YMCA activity. I am hoping for a favorable interview there, later today. My senses are alive and hopefully my smile will speak volumes.
I have little to add to this world in words considering I just sat down and blogged last night. I guess I just want to thank God for the day and to ask blessings upon all those who I love. If you are reading this, SMACK SMACK, I call for blessings upon you as well.
I am caring for my mother’s furry little creatures and so I have already made their day with the all too special wet food. They meowed in harmony as I bestowed it upon them.
Light cascades through my window pane. Trees are outlined with its glory. I rumble with humility witnessing the presence of God’s grace. Seeing the beauty around me can lead me to know the the beauty that I deny within me. I now know that feelings are blessings like the clammoring sound of thunder. Today I with kneal and find the holiness of this moment.
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The Flux Can Cost Bucks
I find myself merging with the movements of time and space. My schedule has to deal with the bumps in the road, and that can lead to little expenditures here and there. I grow as I learn to keep the bottom line while adjusting to the fluctuations.
Hello Tim. I loved having coffee with a soulful, positive spirit like you today. I was able to look inward and not feel ashamed or scared. You hit me as a dot who likes to bleep from one point to another. Stay that way, and you shall avoid the fray. You call out emotion without being dramatic. It was refreshing.
Tonight I shall journey out and go to the cave of my parents. The lovely felines of the house need tending. I am there for them 100%. Rub a dub dub, I will caress them with love.
Interpersonal abundance is the game I am maneuvering right now. Holy cow is it challenging to sit back in my chair and just BE. There is a me I have come to know. She is a beast without guile who lurks in the darkness. I call her to come to the light and sing a new song.
Connecting is a challenge when all you know about is being tangled in the web that conversations have brought. I need to be “prudent at this juncture.” Finding the slow, and not lethargic, pace is a challenge to this pop tart girl.
When I ride, the power comes from me. I choose this form of transport so that I can be free. It seems that the destination has become the ride itself. This zen thought makes me a creature with a certain wealth. Fear of scarcity is my own personal prison. It is that point in the script that I call for revision. I am opening a door to let the throng in. I can live with others near without the constant threat of sin.
Hello Tim. I loved having coffee with a soulful, positive spirit like you today. I was able to look inward and not feel ashamed or scared. You hit me as a dot who likes to bleep from one point to another. Stay that way, and you shall avoid the fray. You call out emotion without being dramatic. It was refreshing.
Tonight I shall journey out and go to the cave of my parents. The lovely felines of the house need tending. I am there for them 100%. Rub a dub dub, I will caress them with love.
Interpersonal abundance is the game I am maneuvering right now. Holy cow is it challenging to sit back in my chair and just BE. There is a me I have come to know. She is a beast without guile who lurks in the darkness. I call her to come to the light and sing a new song.
Connecting is a challenge when all you know about is being tangled in the web that conversations have brought. I need to be “prudent at this juncture.” Finding the slow, and not lethargic, pace is a challenge to this pop tart girl.
When I ride, the power comes from me. I choose this form of transport so that I can be free. It seems that the destination has become the ride itself. This zen thought makes me a creature with a certain wealth. Fear of scarcity is my own personal prison. It is that point in the script that I call for revision. I am opening a door to let the throng in. I can live with others near without the constant threat of sin.
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I’m Groovin’ to the Muzac Today…
Click, click, click goes the telephone line and I am on hold for an eternity. My patience is being tried, but my spirit buoys in the light of PATIENCE. I need the power of this characteristic in my life. As the hum of the manic motor revs, I need the silence of a free falling feather.
I’ve really been thinking about my writing and where I want to go with it. Can I find a focus and begin to write a book about something relevant? Do the melting snows of Aspen feed every spring in the valley? Yes yes yes I can!!!
The moving sentiments within me are hardy and complex. I try to strain my thoughts and emotions to find the beating of my heart. I can simplify the clammer and find the Godly messages coming through to my brindle soul. The footsteps of my mind run with the pack, congealing into the perfect heart shaped mold of strawberry jello. Pardon me if I speak this stream of words that is my consciousness. I love to find the poetry of a leaf or of a white picket fence.
I want to be free to ramble a bit. I am like a cookie jar all full from the cookie exchange. There is a diverse collection of morsels that definitely have both quality and quantity. That is fairly rare, but my dreams flow with these recipes that are absolutely “to die for.” If moisture were my only friend, my ideas would be like a cumulonimbus cloud. She is packed with moisture and droplets of clean rain water.
So I began with a wait and I shall end with a merciful, “Thank you for calling. How may I help you?”
I’ve really been thinking about my writing and where I want to go with it. Can I find a focus and begin to write a book about something relevant? Do the melting snows of Aspen feed every spring in the valley? Yes yes yes I can!!!
The moving sentiments within me are hardy and complex. I try to strain my thoughts and emotions to find the beating of my heart. I can simplify the clammer and find the Godly messages coming through to my brindle soul. The footsteps of my mind run with the pack, congealing into the perfect heart shaped mold of strawberry jello. Pardon me if I speak this stream of words that is my consciousness. I love to find the poetry of a leaf or of a white picket fence.
I want to be free to ramble a bit. I am like a cookie jar all full from the cookie exchange. There is a diverse collection of morsels that definitely have both quality and quantity. That is fairly rare, but my dreams flow with these recipes that are absolutely “to die for.” If moisture were my only friend, my ideas would be like a cumulonimbus cloud. She is packed with moisture and droplets of clean rain water.
So I began with a wait and I shall end with a merciful, “Thank you for calling. How may I help you?”
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I Called Him In
In my mind, I sit in lotus pose. The Zen of God becomes apparent to me. I learn in this moment that all are a bit crazy. I choose to move toward freedom. For the first time, I really KNOW that emancipation does not come from a man. I just sit still and breathe, as the caddiness around me floods me. I call to Him. The He is God. My inner world steadies as my environment spins about me.
What is good and what deserves acclaim? Why am I so thirsty for the attention of OTHER? It hurts to feel how much I need in a situation like mixed company karaoke. I feel cursed and naked. I long to have the cool night air on my face as I walk out alone.
I know not what I have to say, but I just felt like it needed to be said. I am moving through the world in a different way. I am an alien to others and a stranger to myself. Expecting, constantly expecting. In social situations, I was always in the third trimester of pregnancy. There had always been this huge bump of speculation and anticipation.
Well tonight I delivered that child and she is neither pretty nor healthy. I stop now to just breathe in and feel that I am physically and emotionally safe here at home. Pushing aside the urges and yearning, I play my preverbial lyre to entice God. My elementery heart sits waiting.
La, la, la; do you hear me? It seems as if I have been here for an eternity. Please come in. I know you are holy, and I am full of sin. In the past, my attachment to your precense and opinion has been a curse. You would end the conversation with a line that was terse. It is all bubbling up into view. This little volcano is no longer going to spew. Heavenly one, please be with me now. I step onto the stage and no longer wish to bow.
What is good and what deserves acclaim? Why am I so thirsty for the attention of OTHER? It hurts to feel how much I need in a situation like mixed company karaoke. I feel cursed and naked. I long to have the cool night air on my face as I walk out alone.
I know not what I have to say, but I just felt like it needed to be said. I am moving through the world in a different way. I am an alien to others and a stranger to myself. Expecting, constantly expecting. In social situations, I was always in the third trimester of pregnancy. There had always been this huge bump of speculation and anticipation.
Well tonight I delivered that child and she is neither pretty nor healthy. I stop now to just breathe in and feel that I am physically and emotionally safe here at home. Pushing aside the urges and yearning, I play my preverbial lyre to entice God. My elementery heart sits waiting.
La, la, la; do you hear me? It seems as if I have been here for an eternity. Please come in. I know you are holy, and I am full of sin. In the past, my attachment to your precense and opinion has been a curse. You would end the conversation with a line that was terse. It is all bubbling up into view. This little volcano is no longer going to spew. Heavenly one, please be with me now. I step onto the stage and no longer wish to bow.
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Just a Moment in Time
Gracing the keys with anything is hard when I feel this bad. I am trying to jump back a bit and be an observer. I am wearing a heavy overcoat of shame and I stumble to take the next step. I think the first step is awareness. The second step may be to just take the coat off. Whirling in fear, I shiver from the cold. Sometimes the world is a cruel place to live.
Tip tap, I compose a rap. Mindfulness brings me to my knees. I feel myself pulsing with disease. Making sense of a car wreck is difficult from only the lips of a witness. From the minds of the experts, it is all business. Did I wreck the car or was it just a bad Toyota? I feel like a criminal inside, but others don’t care an iota.
Tip tap, I compose a rap. Mindfulness brings me to my knees. I feel myself pulsing with disease. Making sense of a car wreck is difficult from only the lips of a witness. From the minds of the experts, it is all business. Did I wreck the car or was it just a bad Toyota? I feel like a criminal inside, but others don’t care an iota.
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Opening the Eyes, Mind, and Heart to a New Day
I am walking in to a new day. My mind is clouded with lurking guilty thoughts, and my heart is immersed in shame. There is a time to let the past move away like a paper boat on a stream. I believe that this new day calls me to walk away from the water’s edge to find perspective.
This morning I am realizing that I believe that many people here on this Earth, despise me. I run my life from sunrise to sunset hating myself because I believe I am hated. People have had strong reactions to me my whole life, and I to them. I need to realize that people have, and do, really love me as well. I cannot see the miracles of now if I am wading in a bog of painful yesterdays.
Working on this mind and heartset, I will just sit in love. Feeling its warmth wash over me I will find a now that exists beyond my painful razor thoughts and emotions. I will work to feel my core and cleanse myself with the breath of the angels.
Today I speak of an angel in my recovery, Anna. I connect with her in this elevated way. The heavens flow through her lips and fingertips. She hears me and echoes the sun in her choice of words. I am grateful to have stumbled upon the treasure map that is her.
I am dealing with the reality, too, that I am coming down from hypomania. Writing is a bit tedious now. I don’t pulse with creativity and flow with the current. Reaching for an imaginative thought, I lose my balance and fall off the chair I am standing on. Sitting in shame and fear on the floor, I see small morsels of momentary truth that I pick up and hone into a new, semilucritive wordsmith’s vessel. Please stay with me as I learn to sail that vessel.
A gift lies in the muddy waters of The Amazon River. I now know that it rests there. I have been using nets to troll for this inner gem, but it is time to literally submerse myself. As I put on the SCUBA gear I feel a tingling in my toes and fingertips. Breathing deep, I see the sun. I pause and know the truth. God is the net who will bring this gift to me. Days of tedious drudgery will give way to his glory. My search will cease. God is here. Looking around, I see the happy villagers smiling at me and calling me to shore.
This morning I am realizing that I believe that many people here on this Earth, despise me. I run my life from sunrise to sunset hating myself because I believe I am hated. People have had strong reactions to me my whole life, and I to them. I need to realize that people have, and do, really love me as well. I cannot see the miracles of now if I am wading in a bog of painful yesterdays.
Working on this mind and heartset, I will just sit in love. Feeling its warmth wash over me I will find a now that exists beyond my painful razor thoughts and emotions. I will work to feel my core and cleanse myself with the breath of the angels.
Today I speak of an angel in my recovery, Anna. I connect with her in this elevated way. The heavens flow through her lips and fingertips. She hears me and echoes the sun in her choice of words. I am grateful to have stumbled upon the treasure map that is her.
I am dealing with the reality, too, that I am coming down from hypomania. Writing is a bit tedious now. I don’t pulse with creativity and flow with the current. Reaching for an imaginative thought, I lose my balance and fall off the chair I am standing on. Sitting in shame and fear on the floor, I see small morsels of momentary truth that I pick up and hone into a new, semilucritive wordsmith’s vessel. Please stay with me as I learn to sail that vessel.
A gift lies in the muddy waters of The Amazon River. I now know that it rests there. I have been using nets to troll for this inner gem, but it is time to literally submerse myself. As I put on the SCUBA gear I feel a tingling in my toes and fingertips. Breathing deep, I see the sun. I pause and know the truth. God is the net who will bring this gift to me. Days of tedious drudgery will give way to his glory. My search will cease. God is here. Looking around, I see the happy villagers smiling at me and calling me to shore.
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Finding the Fantasy of Every Day
I have ways that I view the world that have me see it like a teddy bear drenched in battery acid. I am a sweet someone who turns into a barbarous monster. This is the origins of bipolar in my thoughts and perceptions.
I am now beginning to breathe free. I am seeing that I have had this mountain of shame about the way I communicate myself to the world. I have had a pretty calm fantasy about being able to live in a placid way. I am tired of the jagged peaks and the lonely, morbid valleys.
In this week I have had my toe point and my mouth open. The arts are creeping into my moments like morning’s new dew. I am fresh and new. My mood cancer has ceased. My achy and slothful body has risen from the dead. I now sing the body electric as I cheerfully sweep the floor.
There is the life of my dreams, but my disease has left me at crash and burn around relationships. I have always faltered in my ability to deal with people and environments with clean ethical boundaries. I have lived quietly terrified of my inappropriateness and lack of ability to listen to other people quietly and lovingly. Now that I have found the masterful alchemal component, Geodon, this apprentice is ready to seek the wizard again. I have not been in the game for a long time. Seeing that which is me has been the paramount of difficulty.
I am just challenging myself to write a little piece every day. These writings will be the breadcrumbs if this little Gretel gets lost in the woods. In my life, Hansel doesn’t even speak the same language as me. The witch who haunts us is our own past, and my brain chemistry, which, out of self hatred and shame, will whisper to us to throw ourselves into the oven.
I see you Mr. Bunny Rabbit. If I get an employment opportunity, I will grab it. You look so soft and gentle. For most of my life, I have been completely mental. I call to you Rabbit, to hop into my dreams. The past lingers there, and I must listen to its screams. Come close and I will put an ointment on your whiskers to keep them soft and straight. Any time you enter a confined space, they will alert you quickly, before it is too late.
I am now beginning to breathe free. I am seeing that I have had this mountain of shame about the way I communicate myself to the world. I have had a pretty calm fantasy about being able to live in a placid way. I am tired of the jagged peaks and the lonely, morbid valleys.
In this week I have had my toe point and my mouth open. The arts are creeping into my moments like morning’s new dew. I am fresh and new. My mood cancer has ceased. My achy and slothful body has risen from the dead. I now sing the body electric as I cheerfully sweep the floor.
There is the life of my dreams, but my disease has left me at crash and burn around relationships. I have always faltered in my ability to deal with people and environments with clean ethical boundaries. I have lived quietly terrified of my inappropriateness and lack of ability to listen to other people quietly and lovingly. Now that I have found the masterful alchemal component, Geodon, this apprentice is ready to seek the wizard again. I have not been in the game for a long time. Seeing that which is me has been the paramount of difficulty.
I am just challenging myself to write a little piece every day. These writings will be the breadcrumbs if this little Gretel gets lost in the woods. In my life, Hansel doesn’t even speak the same language as me. The witch who haunts us is our own past, and my brain chemistry, which, out of self hatred and shame, will whisper to us to throw ourselves into the oven.
I see you Mr. Bunny Rabbit. If I get an employment opportunity, I will grab it. You look so soft and gentle. For most of my life, I have been completely mental. I call to you Rabbit, to hop into my dreams. The past lingers there, and I must listen to its screams. Come close and I will put an ointment on your whiskers to keep them soft and straight. Any time you enter a confined space, they will alert you quickly, before it is too late.
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Refences to the Stars: Orion is Rising
The briefcase that is in my mind is beginning to become organized. I definitely had to go to IKEA to make that happen. The panic that I have been feeling is easing. I have begun to journey on my bicycle again. Who knows where that rusty trusted servant will take me today.
God is in the details and so I am guessing that God is not a wedding planner judging on where my road has taken me. Every footstep has carried with it a modicum of pain and shame. I don’t mean to overgeneralize, but that is truly how it feels. The vessel that is me feels like it has been wearing around a clown costume and, judging from my shame at who I am and what I have done, it is the same clown costume worn by John Wayne Gacy.
I want to keep this patter short this morning. At this point in my story I am merging the themes of the past, present, and future. My spiritual toe has been stubbed so badly that I am afraid the doctors are going to have to amputate.
I want to see and be today. My nervousness is quelling and I am becoming the principal of my thoughts instead of the sickly kindergartener. Up to this point, my system has been like a toxic special ed program. Even Bart Simpson could not make me laugh in that class. Hang in the trees around me, and you will swear that you are part of the VonTrapp Family Singers. This little nun is tired of the chaos and personal chastisement.
Leaving the scene of the crime left me l. I see car lights up ahead, but nothing else. Why are we believing that we are not alone? We need the Men in Black to direct this traffic. There might be a fire in the sky soon. The aliens of our imaginations serve as an archetype of the cold scientist. Maybe it is time for Elle Woods, the legal blond, to release the hounds. Who let the dogs out? Be near my toes, but when you speak, look me in the eye. A stream of wandering tears signals to me that I have a heart after all.
God is in the details and so I am guessing that God is not a wedding planner judging on where my road has taken me. Every footstep has carried with it a modicum of pain and shame. I don’t mean to overgeneralize, but that is truly how it feels. The vessel that is me feels like it has been wearing around a clown costume and, judging from my shame at who I am and what I have done, it is the same clown costume worn by John Wayne Gacy.
I want to keep this patter short this morning. At this point in my story I am merging the themes of the past, present, and future. My spiritual toe has been stubbed so badly that I am afraid the doctors are going to have to amputate.
I want to see and be today. My nervousness is quelling and I am becoming the principal of my thoughts instead of the sickly kindergartener. Up to this point, my system has been like a toxic special ed program. Even Bart Simpson could not make me laugh in that class. Hang in the trees around me, and you will swear that you are part of the VonTrapp Family Singers. This little nun is tired of the chaos and personal chastisement.
Leaving the scene of the crime left me l. I see car lights up ahead, but nothing else. Why are we believing that we are not alone? We need the Men in Black to direct this traffic. There might be a fire in the sky soon. The aliens of our imaginations serve as an archetype of the cold scientist. Maybe it is time for Elle Woods, the legal blond, to release the hounds. Who let the dogs out? Be near my toes, but when you speak, look me in the eye. A stream of wandering tears signals to me that I have a heart after all.
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A Pool of Amends
I took a deep breath and dove in. I find myself terrified by the amends letters I just wrote. Boy did that shame delivery man come calling. My body is hot with aches and pains from my past transgressions. I know that this entry will have brevity, but the letters I wrote didn’t.
I say thank you to the skies as I sit in child’s pose. Self judgment jabs at me daily so I decided to write to some of the roots of it. 911, I am OUT OF DENIAL. I hear the sirens roaring and I try to facilitate freedom’s birth.
In the haze of psychosis that navy blue uniform and badge looked so noble and clean. I was tired of feeling shameful. I wanted to be military. My quest eventually drove me into that shocking orange jumpsuit. Shoes were optional.
Maybe I was like a new Luke Skywalker just looking for my Obe One Kenobi. Whatever the geese were singing by The White River sounded amazing. I knelt by its shores and looked for treasure. I found an opulent goose egg that had rolled into it’s waters. I boiled and decorated its surface as a gift to the kareoke sherrif dude.
The sorries flow from my keyboard tonight. To this officer, I just say I wasn’t right. There was a land I began to know. I really did not appreciate where my mind would go. It was that of a searing psychotic haze. Boundaries were lost in that abusive craze. In that place I went to visit the nesting wild geese. I screamed at a possum that he had the disease. A Muncie Police Officer stopped to see what was the matter. I told him very matter of factly about the possum’s dangerous chatter. From destruction, I saved all the eggs. In my mind I became a magnificent hero on two legs. Oh well, the bell has rung. The officer moved along as I walked home and sung.
To those in law enforcement (including the court system), thank you. You all must have such a great sense of humor. I just know that I had a childlike view of all of you when I was in Muncie, IN. You all were such heroes in my mind. I guess I really was crazy (ha, ha). Thank you cop from downtown Muncie. You screamed at me to go on medication or I’d be banned from downtown. You, very sweetly, chased me to the library and apologized. Dude, I definitely needed meds. I use them librally now. I just laughed when I heard you all got a TV show. I didn’t watch TV at the time, but I would love to see it if it comes in reruns.
I also want to quickly thank the public defenders of Marion County (Indiana). Guys, I think I worked with like nine of you. Thank you so much Matt from Court 8. Thank you so to Marianne Halbert (name?) for your loving and logical defense of me on many occasions in commitment court. Sometimes when you lose, you win.
Thank you ACT Team for the amazing work you do. Amanda, you are amazing.
I say thank you to the skies as I sit in child’s pose. Self judgment jabs at me daily so I decided to write to some of the roots of it. 911, I am OUT OF DENIAL. I hear the sirens roaring and I try to facilitate freedom’s birth.
In the haze of psychosis that navy blue uniform and badge looked so noble and clean. I was tired of feeling shameful. I wanted to be military. My quest eventually drove me into that shocking orange jumpsuit. Shoes were optional.
Maybe I was like a new Luke Skywalker just looking for my Obe One Kenobi. Whatever the geese were singing by The White River sounded amazing. I knelt by its shores and looked for treasure. I found an opulent goose egg that had rolled into it’s waters. I boiled and decorated its surface as a gift to the kareoke sherrif dude.
The sorries flow from my keyboard tonight. To this officer, I just say I wasn’t right. There was a land I began to know. I really did not appreciate where my mind would go. It was that of a searing psychotic haze. Boundaries were lost in that abusive craze. In that place I went to visit the nesting wild geese. I screamed at a possum that he had the disease. A Muncie Police Officer stopped to see what was the matter. I told him very matter of factly about the possum’s dangerous chatter. From destruction, I saved all the eggs. In my mind I became a magnificent hero on two legs. Oh well, the bell has rung. The officer moved along as I walked home and sung.
To those in law enforcement (including the court system), thank you. You all must have such a great sense of humor. I just know that I had a childlike view of all of you when I was in Muncie, IN. You all were such heroes in my mind. I guess I really was crazy (ha, ha). Thank you cop from downtown Muncie. You screamed at me to go on medication or I’d be banned from downtown. You, very sweetly, chased me to the library and apologized. Dude, I definitely needed meds. I use them librally now. I just laughed when I heard you all got a TV show. I didn’t watch TV at the time, but I would love to see it if it comes in reruns.
I also want to quickly thank the public defenders of Marion County (Indiana). Guys, I think I worked with like nine of you. Thank you so much Matt from Court 8. Thank you so to Marianne Halbert (name?) for your loving and logical defense of me on many occasions in commitment court. Sometimes when you lose, you win.
Thank you ACT Team for the amazing work you do. Amanda, you are amazing.
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Being with ME for the very first time.
Simplistic and realistic. The pulmonary miracles of the day usurp the thunder of the neurological. I pass my hat to Jayne who has weathered so much pain and come to see me again and again. I am in the wetlands where a hotbed of activity is turning a star into a supernove. I feel a bit paranoid and sheepish. Bah, bah, blacksheep, have you any THINSULATE? My toenails dig in to my toes reguardless of their length.
Why is there so much pain when I interact and listen to the chirp of the spiders who should have no sound. Can I find a place under the tree that bares apples, oranges, AND coconuts? Seasame Street would say, “Which one of these is not like the other? Which one of these is the same?”
If I went to Fred’s land of make believe, could it be a place of puppets with answers instead of the questions about meow meow meow meow meow meow?
My mind rumbles and I feel ashamed. I am beginning to know my disease. It has made me feel that I must please and put people at ease. Never have I felt the velvet of fresh sawd against my cheek. I lay in the marsh as it is set on fire.
Moving into wilderness I call for pa and ask Laura about these BIG WOODS. Will the wolves devour us in our dreams? Is the log cabin only a few ax strikes away from tumbling down in the broadway parady of a domino effect? I will keep my bonnet on because it is bed time. Maybe then I will be AND feel protected.
I am learning about being today. I have stretched out my hand to many. I have found myself to be the catalyst of a circular ripple. As I go deeper, I see that circle turn into a sphere. My time is near.
Be, be, be. I am. It’s time to scram. I love. It comes from above. Shuffle the cards. Glass contains an infinity of shards. My will is strong. My disease has run long. I will now just look at the center of a daisy. Praying on my knees proves to not be crazy.
Why is there so much pain when I interact and listen to the chirp of the spiders who should have no sound. Can I find a place under the tree that bares apples, oranges, AND coconuts? Seasame Street would say, “Which one of these is not like the other? Which one of these is the same?”
If I went to Fred’s land of make believe, could it be a place of puppets with answers instead of the questions about meow meow meow meow meow meow?
My mind rumbles and I feel ashamed. I am beginning to know my disease. It has made me feel that I must please and put people at ease. Never have I felt the velvet of fresh sawd against my cheek. I lay in the marsh as it is set on fire.
Moving into wilderness I call for pa and ask Laura about these BIG WOODS. Will the wolves devour us in our dreams? Is the log cabin only a few ax strikes away from tumbling down in the broadway parady of a domino effect? I will keep my bonnet on because it is bed time. Maybe then I will be AND feel protected.
I am learning about being today. I have stretched out my hand to many. I have found myself to be the catalyst of a circular ripple. As I go deeper, I see that circle turn into a sphere. My time is near.
Be, be, be. I am. It’s time to scram. I love. It comes from above. Shuffle the cards. Glass contains an infinity of shards. My will is strong. My disease has run long. I will now just look at the center of a daisy. Praying on my knees proves to not be crazy.
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Little Bo Peep Has Found Her Lost Sheep
As I kneel to the moon, the sky plays a tune. The tears are dry, and there is a glint in my eye. The melody that rocked me is now rolling down the mountain. The sheep all look at me with Confucious in their eyes. I refrain from chuckling as I think of a duckling. I now moan and gather treasures of light I find along the way. Stop, stop, stop, for it is now my time to go.
I am now moving and I begin a new weblog and a new day. My agony has eased and discomfort is now a welcome bedfellow. The searing sirens startle and confuse me a bit, but I am generally of sound mind and body. Please hear my gratitude for this day and this life. I will now begin to write and publish the hymnal that is in my heart. The lyre that is my father will not be playing for my congregation, but the letter that is his offering will go to buy new Bibles for the pews. Can we all just commit to a step each day and we will build this church in no time. My work in the world will forge the steel to build and pay for a new pipe organ. Its magnificence will have us heard for eternity. See what you like, but choose with an ounce of wisdom and a pinch of prayer. I do, I do. It is our time to marry. The guns were drawn and now they are laid at the feet of the angels. It is IDEAS that will now become our spouse. Giggles will echo through the halls and our toes will be sprinkled with water.
I am drawing you a picture. It is easier than going through the tick tock of the day. I have left it behind me. I love that you see me, but I am also feeling shy at the monumental nature of that fact. Tomorrow will be a day that I contemplate more tomorrows. Please feel free to knock on my door again then.
I am now moving and I begin a new weblog and a new day. My agony has eased and discomfort is now a welcome bedfellow. The searing sirens startle and confuse me a bit, but I am generally of sound mind and body. Please hear my gratitude for this day and this life. I will now begin to write and publish the hymnal that is in my heart. The lyre that is my father will not be playing for my congregation, but the letter that is his offering will go to buy new Bibles for the pews. Can we all just commit to a step each day and we will build this church in no time. My work in the world will forge the steel to build and pay for a new pipe organ. Its magnificence will have us heard for eternity. See what you like, but choose with an ounce of wisdom and a pinch of prayer. I do, I do. It is our time to marry. The guns were drawn and now they are laid at the feet of the angels. It is IDEAS that will now become our spouse. Giggles will echo through the halls and our toes will be sprinkled with water.
I am drawing you a picture. It is easier than going through the tick tock of the day. I have left it behind me. I love that you see me, but I am also feeling shy at the monumental nature of that fact. Tomorrow will be a day that I contemplate more tomorrows. Please feel free to knock on my door again then.
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Put your toe in the pond…
Here is the place where my soul will journey. You read as an angel viewing from the sky. Please feel welcome, for soon you may fly.
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Day of Debacles
Today was a compilation of triumphant melodies and coarse disonance. I now know that a parking spot can become the nexus of evil when one does not know the reality of a 30 foot of distance.
I put the parking matrons on alert by psychically stinging them all day. I guess receiving the demon spawn’s ticket is not the worst blow. It just becomes acid in my veins when I think of the plethara of things I could do with the $30. I make it a buffer by adding the base of thoughts about what the COUNTY can do with the $30 fee. I have just made myself a saintly philanthropist of The City of Minneapolis. We all can now breathe the city’s air a bit freer.
There was a lock that I could not open this afternoon. It is as if my mind has had a party and the lock combination was not invited. I had to just shuffle my valuable storage around to fit in the size of a shoe box. I guess I am just like Tim Pawlenty now.
The meter of the water was 4/4 today and the song was warm and staccato. I was able to sing the entire piece helped along by a bass to the right and a tenor to the left. I felt lustful pride when all the notes had been sung. Showering was a time to ponder the grandure and spice of the music I helped to create.
Being the subject of the mental health stew was my privledge today. I approached these two oracles with some intrepidation and anticipation. Being in the thrawls of the merciless and mighty mania covers me with the babushka of icy shame. The warmth of my therapist and my psychiatrist soothed my shivers and warmed my being. I can do, see, and, be; just be.
Along my path came those who have weathered the winter of alcohol. I moved in for the kill and was a loving listener. See my worth skyrocket to the land of the living. I am tired of being queen in the land of the dead.
A freestyle is resounding from my lips as well as my keyboard. I can lead in a kingdom that has only followers. It is the land of my mind. My heart has been dashed and born is a soul has no identity. I know not what I say. I live to hear the light. A jumping jack can do what a tamborine could not. I will find the erudite later. I roll down the hill for now while I take notes. At the end of the road I will be standing. I will look at my frameless eyes and fuzzy silhouette, and know myself in my entirity. Let’s all go to the mall and see what trouble we find. We will cast it to the wind like the sails on Superioir. I wander in the findings of this moment while I curse the nasty and naughty of the champagne crowd. No, no, no. Knowing one’s juice means one can finally equate it with smashed fruit.
Maybe I’m just feeling loquacious, Scooby. Can Shaggy come out to play? This type of pitter pat captures the places in the heart and mind that have not been discovered. Like the deep sea floor, it is a place still exploding with mystery here on Earth.
La, la, la, Allah. People think The Koran is free. Now I know that it could be. Mr. Man From Ethiopia, you have a tan. Be calm and perfect and we will not have to speak of Iran. Why a muslim beat today? Know not I, but down I will lay.
The beat of this rap is camel colored bubble gum. With its rhythem, I will hum. Bus bus. Let’s discuss. See the city from a tin kalidescope. Running wild in my mind is Kabbalah and The Pope.
Now I will try my softer side. It is a gentler place where my artful poet can hide.
I stop and see a man I know. He sits at a table with his computer in tow? Our pantries may be bare with nothing inside. He may just need a fellow travelor in whom to confide. At this point, the conversation moves like the second movement of the well timed concerto. I dance into a new style as no one had ever dared to. I speak of the rumbling from a fissure within. In that moment, he knows that I am kin. I stop my surprisingly graceful feet at the curb. Happily, this chance encounter does not end with the sign that reads, “Do not disturb!”
I put the parking matrons on alert by psychically stinging them all day. I guess receiving the demon spawn’s ticket is not the worst blow. It just becomes acid in my veins when I think of the plethara of things I could do with the $30. I make it a buffer by adding the base of thoughts about what the COUNTY can do with the $30 fee. I have just made myself a saintly philanthropist of The City of Minneapolis. We all can now breathe the city’s air a bit freer.
There was a lock that I could not open this afternoon. It is as if my mind has had a party and the lock combination was not invited. I had to just shuffle my valuable storage around to fit in the size of a shoe box. I guess I am just like Tim Pawlenty now.
The meter of the water was 4/4 today and the song was warm and staccato. I was able to sing the entire piece helped along by a bass to the right and a tenor to the left. I felt lustful pride when all the notes had been sung. Showering was a time to ponder the grandure and spice of the music I helped to create.
Being the subject of the mental health stew was my privledge today. I approached these two oracles with some intrepidation and anticipation. Being in the thrawls of the merciless and mighty mania covers me with the babushka of icy shame. The warmth of my therapist and my psychiatrist soothed my shivers and warmed my being. I can do, see, and, be; just be.
Along my path came those who have weathered the winter of alcohol. I moved in for the kill and was a loving listener. See my worth skyrocket to the land of the living. I am tired of being queen in the land of the dead.
A freestyle is resounding from my lips as well as my keyboard. I can lead in a kingdom that has only followers. It is the land of my mind. My heart has been dashed and born is a soul has no identity. I know not what I say. I live to hear the light. A jumping jack can do what a tamborine could not. I will find the erudite later. I roll down the hill for now while I take notes. At the end of the road I will be standing. I will look at my frameless eyes and fuzzy silhouette, and know myself in my entirity. Let’s all go to the mall and see what trouble we find. We will cast it to the wind like the sails on Superioir. I wander in the findings of this moment while I curse the nasty and naughty of the champagne crowd. No, no, no. Knowing one’s juice means one can finally equate it with smashed fruit.
Maybe I’m just feeling loquacious, Scooby. Can Shaggy come out to play? This type of pitter pat captures the places in the heart and mind that have not been discovered. Like the deep sea floor, it is a place still exploding with mystery here on Earth.
La, la, la, Allah. People think The Koran is free. Now I know that it could be. Mr. Man From Ethiopia, you have a tan. Be calm and perfect and we will not have to speak of Iran. Why a muslim beat today? Know not I, but down I will lay.
The beat of this rap is camel colored bubble gum. With its rhythem, I will hum. Bus bus. Let’s discuss. See the city from a tin kalidescope. Running wild in my mind is Kabbalah and The Pope.
Now I will try my softer side. It is a gentler place where my artful poet can hide.
I stop and see a man I know. He sits at a table with his computer in tow? Our pantries may be bare with nothing inside. He may just need a fellow travelor in whom to confide. At this point, the conversation moves like the second movement of the well timed concerto. I dance into a new style as no one had ever dared to. I speak of the rumbling from a fissure within. In that moment, he knows that I am kin. I stop my surprisingly graceful feet at the curb. Happily, this chance encounter does not end with the sign that reads, “Do not disturb!”
