*~*
This Quest is not a "conquest." It's not something to be overcome or conquered. I think of it more like "questions," and through those questions there is discovery. The Path is Openness.
Some morning thoughts sparked after reading from Deborah Morris Coryell's book, Good Grief, and Stephen King's book, On Writing.
*~*
The Quest: to feel connected to the source of life
My immediate response to "feeling connected to the source of life" is a feeling in my gut, in my womb. It's not a bad feeling; it's not a good feeling. Or maybe it is a good feeling. I just know, in that area of my body, I feel a source of groundedness. Isn't that connection? (The womb is one source of life, or a part of the source. Men don't have wombs. Or maybe they do? At least in their cells. It seems there would be a type of womb in every cell alive - an incubator for the source of life for that cell.)
Regardless, I have oft experienced the feeling of being connected to some sort of presence of life. I think it is a common trait shared with every living creature, and perhaps even plants, if they can "feel." In this current season of my life, I feel that connection most when being with the woods, or when bringing those woods-fellowship moments to remembrance.
I want to remember. I long to remember events of my past where there are giant blanks of nothingness. Even if they were "bad" things.
One of my least favorite scriptures is.: "Declaring null and void those things which are behind, and reaching forth to that which is before..." I don't like it at, all. To declare null and void those things which are behind? To void it out like it never happened? No, no. For me, that is no way to fully embrace life.
In order to "feel connected," I must show up.
Once I show up, I need to be present -- aware of my self, my space, my environment. Simply "to be" in that particular moment. Easier said than done at times, especially if I'm tired or fatigued.
But with practice, especially in the past couple years, I've gotten better at being in-the-present. I've had to be able to describe my all-over and ever-morphing symptoms. Then I could address them. And in order to do that, I had to be present and aware.
That awareness and observation poured over as I began seeing and feeling improvement, as my thighs first got "juice" back into them, as I rode Olivia through the woods, so very keen of my body, and then the sounds around me, and the sights, and the smells, and the analogies, and the wildlife. Sometimes I've felt like Snow White as rabbits and birds and deer and groundhogs accompany me, even if only for a moment. Those moments are eternal. And in those moments, I was embraced by the presence of it all.
By being present, whatever moment I am in leaves a clearer picture, less fuzzy. I want to say leaves a more "powerful imprint" than if I'm not aware, not present. But I don't know if that's the case. Everything leaves some sort of imprint. Do I know for sure that some imprints have a greater impact? What about the imprints of which I can't recall the stamp? What about the imprints that I'm not even aware of? Does that make them "less powerful"? Do I recall better the imprints made when I was most present?
I doubt there are definitive answers to those questions. Regardless, it seems to me, that a clearer imprint and less fuzzy picture would produce a more-retrievable memory, and the feeling that goes with that memory. Then I can choose what to do with that memory and that feeling.
Being present, I am open.
So the key, or at least a key to being present, is to be open. To be open is to be vulnerable. It's risky. So how do I balance the risk with the benefit? Perhaps think of it like medicine? But not just a medicine that masks or controls symptoms; rather, a medicine that brings healing. By "thinking of it like medicine," I mean, do the side effects of the remedy outweigh the risks? What are the risks to being open and thus vulnerable? What are the benefits?
*~*
October 8, 2016
October 6, 2016
Loss and lost...
I sit
Exhausted
Reality again staring me in the face
My body wracked and broken
Tears pour
And I wail
And wail some more
A chasm in my soul
A too-often recurring scenario
In the past five years
Exhausted
Reality again staring me in the face
My body wracked and broken
Tears pour
And I wail
And wail some more
A chasm in my soul
A too-often recurring scenario
In the past five years
In the past thirty years, but for other reasons
I tell myself, I will heal from the recent surgery
Even though it feels like I'm stuck in this place
In this state of disrepair
I remind myself, I will heal from the surgery
But the nerve damage, the nerve damage
It may not go away
My heart beats faster
Fear, worry
Sometimes I feel I'm just waiting for the next bad thing to happen
For more bad news
It's terrifying as I recall just how bad it's been at its worst...
Body -- fatigued, heavy as if iron shards course through my every cell while Earth, like a giant magnet, tries to suck me into her very core
Limbs -- like concrete, struggle to propel
Arms -- strengthless, unable to rise past twenty
Biceps -- lightening bolts shoot through the muscle, deadening movement in its track
Forearms -- heavy, wet sand moves within like mercury, sinews pulled back and forth, side to side
Wrists -- weak, inflamed, moveable lumps
Fingers and hands -- swollen, unable to grip, numb, tingling
Palms of hands and soles of feet -- swollen, tender
Legs -- heavy, deadened, feeble
Knees -- inflamed, stiff
Ankles -- sporadic shooting pains
Bones -- ache, porous, about to buckle
Organs -- feel on the verge of failure
Brain -- tired, soupy, foggy, mud
Neck -- stiff, inflexible
Head -- weighted, a cumbersome ball
Jaws -- unable to fully open or clench and chew
Throat -- swallows slowly, deliberately
Mouth -- tiny pools of spit gather in the corners, but not enough to drool
Belly -- seethes, a cauldron filled with fiery juices, bloats like a pregnant guppy
Spine -- weak, collapsible
Dizziness -- as I rise or sit, the room jostles, but not enough to cause a fall
Dreams -- stolen, lost
Self -- dismembered
It's terrifying as I recall just how bad it was at its worst...
The key word -- was
I have felt improvement in the last year
This surgery is a bump in the road
More like a mountain
But I've climbed mountains before
*~*
I peruse the books I'd pulled out a few weeks ago
When I thought I might do some reading during recovery from surgery
When I thought I'd have time and energy and inclination to read an actual book
That hasn't happened
But maybe something will spark in me this morning as I read the titles
One book stands out -- Good Grief: Healing Through the Shadow of Loss by Deborah Morris Coryell
I bought the book years ago at Borders
As I searched for an understanding of the overwhelming losses I felt after leaving The Way
Some that had been suppressed for decades gurgled at first
And then spewed like a geyser
This book helped me then
Maybe it will help me now
I open and begin to read
As I read, I cry
I tell myself, I will heal from the recent surgery
Even though it feels like I'm stuck in this place
In this state of disrepair
I remind myself, I will heal from the surgery
But the nerve damage, the nerve damage
It may not go away
My heart beats faster
Fear, worry
Sometimes I feel I'm just waiting for the next bad thing to happen
For more bad news
It's terrifying as I recall just how bad it's been at its worst...
Body -- fatigued, heavy as if iron shards course through my every cell while Earth, like a giant magnet, tries to suck me into her very core
Limbs -- like concrete, struggle to propel
Arms -- strengthless, unable to rise past twenty
Biceps -- lightening bolts shoot through the muscle, deadening movement in its track
Forearms -- heavy, wet sand moves within like mercury, sinews pulled back and forth, side to side
Wrists -- weak, inflamed, moveable lumps
Fingers and hands -- swollen, unable to grip, numb, tingling
Palms of hands and soles of feet -- swollen, tender
Legs -- heavy, deadened, feeble
Knees -- inflamed, stiff
Ankles -- sporadic shooting pains
Bones -- ache, porous, about to buckle
Organs -- feel on the verge of failure
Brain -- tired, soupy, foggy, mud
Neck -- stiff, inflexible
Head -- weighted, a cumbersome ball
Jaws -- unable to fully open or clench and chew
Throat -- swallows slowly, deliberately
Mouth -- tiny pools of spit gather in the corners, but not enough to drool
Belly -- seethes, a cauldron filled with fiery juices, bloats like a pregnant guppy
Spine -- weak, collapsible
Dizziness -- as I rise or sit, the room jostles, but not enough to cause a fall
Dreams -- stolen, lost
Self -- dismembered
It's terrifying as I recall just how bad it was at its worst...
The key word -- was
I have felt improvement in the last year
This surgery is a bump in the road
More like a mountain
But I've climbed mountains before
*~*
I peruse the books I'd pulled out a few weeks ago
When I thought I might do some reading during recovery from surgery
When I thought I'd have time and energy and inclination to read an actual book
That hasn't happened
But maybe something will spark in me this morning as I read the titles
One book stands out -- Good Grief: Healing Through the Shadow of Loss by Deborah Morris Coryell
I bought the book years ago at Borders
As I searched for an understanding of the overwhelming losses I felt after leaving The Way
Some that had been suppressed for decades gurgled at first
And then spewed like a geyser
This book helped me then
Maybe it will help me now
I open and begin to read
As I read, I cry
Coryell puts into words what I've been feeling
Not just from the nerve damage
Not just from the surgery
But from the repeated pounding of one loss after another
Of losing my sense of identity and purpose
Of trying to rediscover those again
Only to have them bashed and pulverized
Then to arise again in a different space
And then that too gets robbed in part or whole, temporarily or permanently
*~*
Page 5
...Within the idea of "lost" is the feeling of being alone. Are we saying "I have lost" and really meaning "I am lost"? When we are attached to someone or something and we become unattached, we lose our sense of being connected: of knowing where our place is in the world. We've lost our place. Whether it is temporarily lost or permanently lost is up to us. Part of the task of grieving is finding our place in the world again. Who am I if not Jim's wife? Laura's mom? Bob's daughter? Suzanne's friend? Head of the maintenance department? Owner of the beautiful home?...
Page 8
...The capacity to nourish ourselves with our memories is vastly underrated...
...When we want or need to be with someone or something from which we feel disconnected, we can call upon our stores of remembered experiences...
...from a biochemical standpoint, the organism's experience of being hugged by the self is no different from being hugged by another. In hugging one's self the same rise in T cells, immune response, and endorphins are experienced...
*~*
Yes, yes...
I've done this before...
I can do it again...
I will rise again and be stronger for it...
I will find my path again...
*~*
Not just from the nerve damage
Not just from the surgery
But from the repeated pounding of one loss after another
Of losing my sense of identity and purpose
Of trying to rediscover those again
Only to have them bashed and pulverized
Then to arise again in a different space
And then that too gets robbed in part or whole, temporarily or permanently
*~*
Page 5
...Within the idea of "lost" is the feeling of being alone. Are we saying "I have lost" and really meaning "I am lost"? When we are attached to someone or something and we become unattached, we lose our sense of being connected: of knowing where our place is in the world. We've lost our place. Whether it is temporarily lost or permanently lost is up to us. Part of the task of grieving is finding our place in the world again. Who am I if not Jim's wife? Laura's mom? Bob's daughter? Suzanne's friend? Head of the maintenance department? Owner of the beautiful home?...
Page 8
...The capacity to nourish ourselves with our memories is vastly underrated...
...When we want or need to be with someone or something from which we feel disconnected, we can call upon our stores of remembered experiences...
...from a biochemical standpoint, the organism's experience of being hugged by the self is no different from being hugged by another. In hugging one's self the same rise in T cells, immune response, and endorphins are experienced...
*~*
Yes, yes...
I've done this before...
I can do it again...
I will rise again and be stronger for it...
I will find my path again...
*~*
October 4, 2016
A New Page
For months or more, when I'd open my blog and see the side bar with the three "pages" listed in regard to information on one of my former mental health therapist who lost his license in 2014, I'd think, I really want those off my side bar. And Knapp's name; I don't like seeing it on my side bar. But I want to keep the information up here; Knapp may still be preying just in a different mask. The information may help a next Knapp target. I could change the titles of the pages, but I don't want to do that either. And I want to keep the links in tact because they are posted elsewhere online by myself and others.
"Pages" and "posts" are published differently on Blogger. If I could change the "pages" to "posts" and redirect to the new links, I could display them differently. But I couldn't find a way to do that.
Then last night finally a solution came to me. However, I still lose two of the links. But one link would still be in tact. I decided I can live with that arrangement.
The link that has gotten the most hits is the "Complaint Overview." Even while my blog was not listed on search engines the last couple years, that link still got hits. So, I kept that page link in tact but changed the content of the page. The new content includes new links to the three previous "pages," which are now "posts." (I realize folks who don't blog, and maybe those who do, may not follow what I just typed, but that's the best I can do for now even though it's as clear as mud.)
Here's the link to the page with the new content: Therapist Abuse
I continue to work through the after-effects of the trauma endured from my relationship with John Knapp, I'm not the only client whom he preyed upon. At least now, he can no longer prey as a licensed mental health therapist.
I have again listed my blog on public search engines, at least for now.
*~*
On the surgery front:
At my September 28 post-op appointment, I got permission to start putting weight on my surgery leg. I'm now alternating between cane and walker. Other restrictions were lifted as well. No more wedge between my legs; I can change positions in my sleep. No more blood-clot-prevention belly injections. No more compression sock. I can begin using my leg as it gains strength and ability. The physical therapist will continue home visits through October 14. I then have an order for out-patient physical therapy at a clinic.
I received my cervical neck shots on Monday, 10/03. They should help some. My arms were getting bad and I couldn't lift them well at all. I receive my next epidural and more neck injections on 10/31. I'm eager to get back on track with addressing the (hopefully) continued improvement of the nerve damage. I am having dizziness again and I hope that clears soon. Thankfully, it only lasts a moment at a time upon rising and sitting/laying.
I'm pining to get back on my bike and ride the Greenways, but I have to wait until my walking is stable. That might take 'til sometime in December. I got some pedals to keep my feet a twirling. Maybe I'll name my pedaler Shirley...or Surely. lol
*~*
"Pages" and "posts" are published differently on Blogger. If I could change the "pages" to "posts" and redirect to the new links, I could display them differently. But I couldn't find a way to do that.
Then last night finally a solution came to me. However, I still lose two of the links. But one link would still be in tact. I decided I can live with that arrangement.
The link that has gotten the most hits is the "Complaint Overview." Even while my blog was not listed on search engines the last couple years, that link still got hits. So, I kept that page link in tact but changed the content of the page. The new content includes new links to the three previous "pages," which are now "posts." (I realize folks who don't blog, and maybe those who do, may not follow what I just typed, but that's the best I can do for now even though it's as clear as mud.)
Here's the link to the page with the new content: Therapist Abuse
I continue to work through the after-effects of the trauma endured from my relationship with John Knapp, I'm not the only client whom he preyed upon. At least now, he can no longer prey as a licensed mental health therapist.
I have again listed my blog on public search engines, at least for now.
*~*
On the surgery front:
At my September 28 post-op appointment, I got permission to start putting weight on my surgery leg. I'm now alternating between cane and walker. Other restrictions were lifted as well. No more wedge between my legs; I can change positions in my sleep. No more blood-clot-prevention belly injections. No more compression sock. I can begin using my leg as it gains strength and ability. The physical therapist will continue home visits through October 14. I then have an order for out-patient physical therapy at a clinic.
I received my cervical neck shots on Monday, 10/03. They should help some. My arms were getting bad and I couldn't lift them well at all. I receive my next epidural and more neck injections on 10/31. I'm eager to get back on track with addressing the (hopefully) continued improvement of the nerve damage. I am having dizziness again and I hope that clears soon. Thankfully, it only lasts a moment at a time upon rising and sitting/laying.
I'm pining to get back on my bike and ride the Greenways, but I have to wait until my walking is stable. That might take 'til sometime in December. I got some pedals to keep my feet a twirling. Maybe I'll name my pedaler Shirley...or Surely. lol
*~*