‘Tis The Season

From: http://www.theguardian.com/travel/2011/sep/09/autumn-food-breaks-italy-france
From: http://www.theguardian.com/travel/2011/sep/09/autumn-food-breaks-italy-france

Nat King Cole croons The Christmas Song, and I remember that it’s my sister-in-law’s favorite holiday song.  Many years ago we went caroling: she, my brother (her husband), my next oldest sister, and our younger brother, as well as some family friends, and I remember our fun, our exuberance, and just us as young adults.

Eventually, our lives expanded out like the big bang – each of us in our various orbits, claiming our bit of space, our independence from one another.

What role our family trauma played, I’m unsure, but untreated trauma does not resolve of its own. It can be medicated, white-knuckled, tossed outward, or left festering inside, but it has to be handled.

There are healthy ways of dealing with trauma and not so healthy ways.  So much creativity has been born from pain, and those who’ve had that outlet are sometimes healed, but not always.

I doubt my brother would want me to feel sad for him.  It’s not pity he needs, and it’s not pity I’m giving.  I lived with my parents too.  I was there too.  I was affected too.

He doesn’t want advice from his littlest sister, even though I had to deal with my trauma or die – even though I sought professional help, and practiced the tools I was given – even though I trained to help other trauma survivors – even though sometimes it’s still next to unbearable remaining alive.

The best way out is through, for me.  Just let the feelings be, but visit the skills I’ve learned before I’m in crisis.  I forget that.  I think I’m healed – that I’m all done feeling pain – or that I’ll always cope well from now on.

Pride kicks in too – the belief that I’m knowledgeable, and therefore untouchable.  The other side is despair.  Why remain alive if I keep going through this, or if I can’t make life better?

I can hold my brother in my heart – as well as my whole family – and I re-affirm that he is whole and complete.  He is competent, capable, and has enough humility to seek what he needs.  He knows I care, he knows I’m available, and he knows I understand as perhaps few others can.

He’s made it through, all these years later, and I remember that what’s not dealt with keeps manifesting itself until it’s faced – whenever, or however, that trauma shows up.

I’ve re-connected with most of my siblings after raising my son and having my space again.  My S.O. has been an understanding, caring, and deeply loving partner, and I know how rare that is, and I still want to run away now and then.  My old nemeses, fear, self-hate, and depression, muscle their way in, but if I’m fortified enough, they’re easier to battle.

This time of year is filled with the ghosts of trauma past, their presence appearing unconsciously, making it seem as though now is the problem, or that I have made no emotional progress.

I cannot save my brother, or anyone who doesn’t want to be saved, but I continue to love and care anyway. The violence witnessed, and perpetrated on us, got into our psyches, but it was also programmed into our DNA before we were born, from the violence done to our parents, and on down our line, but we can use our will, we can learn self-love, and we can practice self-care, changing not only ourselves, but the DNA we pass on to our children, and that they will pass on to theirs.

Christmas is about hope in terrible circumstances.  Whether it’s just a story, or has some historical truth, the message, to me, is perseverance, self-love, and love, and hope, for humanity.

Love, kindness, and care are what matters, and the carols my family and friends used to sing were, and still are, a gift of light in a dark season – for ourselves as well as others.

I wish all whatever you need, and for more joy, comfort, peace, and love – whatever you celebrate, or not!

Happy all-the-days. 🙂

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© seekingsearchingmeaning (aka Hermionejh) and Abstractly Distracted’s Blog, 2010 – current

 

For What It’s Worth

I understand this makes me an insensitive cretin, but I wish collections would be taken up for those of us in dire need, but not having some dread disease.  It seems that’s the only time people are willing to help – even a dollar or two – if that’s all they can do.

Terrible diseases and disaster compel people to give, perhaps as a bulwark against ever facing that illness or circumstance themselves, paying it forward, in a sense, or maybe just as a caring human being, but only willing to help when the need is life or death, and not just poverty’s scourge.

Poverty is viewed as self-inflicted, so less worthy of help – especially from a stranger.

Disaster impels us in a way that ‘ordinary’ trouble doesn’t.

Except, I have a friend who has always been there in my darkest hours, offering hope, if not some tangible sustenance, and I’ve been that for her as well, but as both of us have been in deep poverty, we can never offer more than a bandage, even if those stop-gap measures have helped us through many extra-rough patches.

I don’t want a terrible illness, and I wish for those people to get well – and I’m grateful that people give to defray medical costs, or other ease for those sufferers.

A champion is required for me, as it’s seen as gauche to plead on your own behalf.

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© seekingsearchingmeaning (aka Hermionejh) and Abstractly Distracted’s Blog, 2010 – current

Changing Leaves, Changing Attitudes

I practically needed a crowbar to get myself out of bed this morning.

Way over-doing brush cutting and hauling scraps out to a pile at my mother’s place left me with contracting pain down my right arm, making it impossible to sleep, so I took a muscle relaxer, which; while it helped, also relaxed everything – and I still feel like my head weighs a ton.

We’re at another end of October, the summer’s retreat depressing, but autumn’s offerings somewhat eases the transition.  The turning leaves have been spectacular, and it’s been lovely to witness.

Montague, MA
Montague, MA

Our local Pumpkinfest took place this past Saturday, October 24th.  One of my girlfriends invited two of us to sing back-ups with her for, Curly Fingers DuPree, a great local band, so we debuted as the ‘Curly Q’s’.  It was so much fun, and as with most shows or events I’ve been involved in, there’s the anti-climax feeling when it’s over – like, ‘that’s it?’  Heavy sigh.

Photo Credit : Vinny Natale
Photo Credit : Vinny Natale
Photo Credit : Vinny Natale
Photo Credit : Vinny Natale

I broke up with the best guy I’ve ever dated, and I started listening to suicide’s siren call again.  If I go that route, I know I’ll cause irreparable harm to my son, my S.O., and many friends and family.

I actually opened my virtual ‘coping toolbox’, and found a reason to hang on another day.  I’m doing what I can to stay positive as the darkness and cold increases.  I’m using all the attitude adjusters I know to not slip down.

Sometimes keeping that guttering candle of hope burning is as easy as lighting a new candle with the old flame, but other times a bonfire is needed, and as many others before me have said, it’s better to have a full ‘coping toolbox’ when times are easier than trying to fill it when I’m desperate, and not in my right, or wise, mind.

I am where I am, and much like the late, great, Yogi Berra, said: “It ain’t over ’til it’s over.”

Oh, and my S. O. told me he’ll only break-up when I’m not depressed, then he’ll know it’s real and not from ‘the dark side’.  Amazing man, that one.  He is either an idiot, or he sees what I can’t.

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© seekingsearchingmeaning (aka Hermionejh) and Abstractly Distracted’s Blog, 2010 – current

Paradoxical Life

I re-read that many suicidal people, if not most, want to end the pain, not their life.  Lately I wake, usually in serious pain, and my first thought is how I can die with the least suffering for those around me.  How and where to end my life, what arrangements I should make.

After moving around, or doing my PT stretches and core exercises, as well as just getting on with the day, the desire to die lessens, and I think about how to make my life more manageable and more pain-free.

Drugs definitely help the pain, but have other effects, like addiction, or severe itching, as well as other unpleasant side effects.

I don’t enjoy events, or my friends, as much as I used to.  It’s not a big leap to go from here to not here anymore.

Gray days like today increase my dark mood, and I have to remember that I have a full-spectrum light-box to start using this time of year.  I also turned on all the lights in the common area, so I’m not sitting in gloom.

Time-management is super tough for me.  The to-do list is large, and taunts me with nothing being checked off, except, I am writing.  I will make food.  Laundry is being done.  It wasn’t on the list, so I put it on, and cross it off.  Maybe more gets accomplished than I know, and I’ve created a poor list.

The new list reads:

Get out of bed

Exercise

Drink water

Eat something

Brush my teeth

Dress

Start household tasks

Tell myself I’m doing well.

Look at the big TO-DO list and see if there is one thing I can accomplish.  Can I do it now? Remember there is nothing I can do about the past.  Ask for forgiveness of self and others, and move on.  Focus on what is getting done – stay there.

I understand my day’s list is some else’s ten minutes, but that someone else probably isn’t anxious and depressed.  That someone manages well – has good skills.  I manage damn well for where I am.

Smile – even a half-smile – like an exercise move.  Stop the self-hate, and the judgement.

Breathe.

Keep breathing.

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© seekingsearchingmeaning (aka Hermionejh) and Abstractly Distracted’s Blog, 2010 – current

 

As it Is

Long ago,  I was told that I asked for or created everything that has happened and will happen in my life, and although my wise mind knows that’s not quite the truth, the rest of me battles to remain alive.

I’m not sure why I’m here, or why I should stay, except for my son.  A therapist told me that if I leave, I give my son permission to leave too, and I wonder if that’s a bad thing.

This is not a kind world.  It’s a world you have to be tough in.  You have to be strong and pliable, and that’s a survival of the fittest thing.

Am I here on purpose? If so, to what purpose? Did I fulfill it already by having my child?

If I could design my life, it would look so different from what it is.

I’d live by the sea in a moderate home, leaving as small a footprint as I could while still enjoying my life.

My bucket list would be empty, or very low.

Bills would be paid without anxiety of what else would suffer, and all my medical/dental needs would be taken care of.

Life might not be a lark, but it sure would be easier.

I think of the few 1%er’s in American society, and perhaps the world, and what it must be like to not worry so much about your life – to have your needs met, even if you don’t get all your ‘wants’.

My son told me he’d be sad if I were gone, and I understand, but he’s not seen the true suckage of life yet.

A psychic that I lived with when my son was a pre-schooler told me that she was fighting entities off every night for me when I lived with her, and it was exhausting so I needed to deal with them myself.  I remember that the ceiling popped every night but I thought it was just the roof cooling off or something.  After my housemate told me I had to deal with whatever the spirits wanted from me – that I ‘owed’ them – I talked to what seemed the air one night, saying that I was sorry for whatever was happening because of me, that I wanted them – whatever – to go to the light, that I didn’t know what I owed them, and please forgive me, and whatever else I could think of, and the next night, and every night after, the ceiling never popped again.  My housemate told me that whatever I did or said, worked – that she was no longer being bothered by entities that weren’t getting through to me.

I messed up my life so much, and know I can’t recover without a bona fide miracle, but I’m still here.  I’m too afraid, yet, to take my life, but I’m hoping I’ll overcome the fear.  If something else happened that was better than that, I’d be so happy.

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© seekingsearchingmeaning (aka Hermionejh) and Abstractly Distracted’s Blog, 2010 – current

 

Not Just A River In Egypt

No to the creaky knees, no to the aching joints.  What the hell is my problem, I think.  I am not that old!  I can’t even imagine what it’s going to be like when I’m really old – do I even want to make it that far if I’m already in daily pain?  Wtf?

I’m in denial.  Aging is a slow progression.  You don’t wake up one day ‘old’.  How the fuck would that be?  No, you get to hurt slowly, like a mild torture device that can be full throttle any time.

The problems begin to add up.  Oh, your eyes aren’t seeing so well anymore, and you ignore it, it’s temporary.  Soon, though, you begrudgingly get the dollar reading glasses, because why are you going to pay very much for this bullshit condition? – and you know you’ll lose them eventually…

Oh, you can still drop it low, my friend.  The twenty year olds have nothing on you – until the day that dropping it low causes a twinge that you have a hard time getting back up from, so you sort of slide into what you hope is a cool-looking dance move, and then, oh, you’re just too hot to keep dancing.  Hot flashes have descended (ascended?), and it’s only 11:30, still another hour & a half before you can go home with a modicum of youthful dignity.

The girls want to do another shot?  Ha, ha.  OK, sure.  Let’s drink to partying forever – hell, yeah! – oops – mine spilled, ha, ha.  Oh, well, that’s fine.  I had a shot while y’all were dancin’, and I’m feelin’ fine!  Wooo, hooo!  Because, if I had had another shot, my whole day would have been ruined, and I know I’m not going to sleep much anyway, because – idk – thanks Obama?

I feel like the chaperone more and more, and I’ve probably been looked at like one for far longer than I realized.  This isn’t about them, anyway.  They have their own shit to contend with – their young shit, which I am honestly grateful to not be in the midst of anymore – but here I am with a new set of sucky life issues to navigate.

I don’t want to be old or get old, but the only way to prevent it is to die, and I’m not ready for that yet either.

Whatever ‘god’ worked this design out is an idiot.  Hopefully he was fired and a woman was put on the job so the men can start evolving with all the hell we’ve had to endure, oh, sorry, continue to endure.

I do all the things that I can afford to not age.  If it weren’t a psychosis, there wouldn’t be a thousand products on the market promising to keep or make us younger.  I really don’t think they made all those anti-aging formulas just for me.  Those companies know I’m broke.

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© seekingsearchingmeaning (aka Hermionejh) and Abstractly Distracted’s Blog, 2010 – current

Inside Out

Shame.

How small a word, how big a consequence.

It’s high summer, nearly the start of August, and I am unchanged.

The message board at a favorite pub has creative endeavors, artisans advertising their wares, therapeutic services offered from a High Priestess teaching you the true Wiccan way, to Reiki, and other esoteric healing arts, plastered over it.

My mind swirls with contradiction, dismissing, reviling, but also believing.  Shame enters.  I’m smarter than that, but I’m so desperate for help that anything sounds plausible.

Miracles happen, prayer sometimes works – or maybe it always works and the answer is no – or maybe it never works and yet sometimes seems to.

People describe angelic intervention, things beyond our understanding or perception. I’ve never experienced this, and I’ve asked, begged, screamed to the cosmos for help – for many years.

You can’t convince me that some god wanted my life this way.  That this is what I asked for, or what’s necessary.  Mental illness just is.  It’s not a punishment.

A therapist described medication as a tool to get you where you can deal with your messed-up perception.  So far, medication hasn’t worked for me.  I’ve tried different modalities, and suicide feels like the only definitive.

But what if I’m left with the hell in my head and this is the only place I have a hope of changing it?  Am I eternally screwed?  Am I in limbo, or purgatory, now?  Am I paying penance while I yet live?  Another therapist introduced a Sufi idea that suffering here brings great honor wherever we go from here.  I don’t want the honor.  I’d rather live without the hell.

Not all days are like this, but enough of them are.

I also get the irony that I am sitting on a beautiful screened porch, looking out over a gentle-sloping lawn, flower-filled fields, and forest area beyond.  Puffed clouds float easterly, while the Poplar trees shimmer in the breeze that also bends and waves the hay.  Various bird song and cricket chirping fills my ears along with the rising wind.  Heaven could hardly improve the scene.

What is wrong with me?

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© seekingsearchingmeaning (aka Hermionejh) and Abstractly Distracted’s Blog, 2010 – current

I Forgive Me

Maybe I’ll get a wide-screen view of my life when I die, and I’ll have the perspective of a stranger, seeing all I did and didn’t do, and perhaps it won’t be as terrible as I fear.

I know where I fucked-up, and I know where I tried to right things, and I know where I did well.

I parented a child mostly on my own, and I finally forgave myself for all that I wasn’t.  I can catalog a list of what I didn’t do to him that was done to me, and I can catalog a list of what I did, and didn’t do that could have made his life better.

Sometimes I was a real shit.  Sometimes my selfishness, and lack of perspective, or just self-righteous justifications, ruled the day.  I wish I had done better.

I forgive me because I haven’t yet.  My guilt and shame have made my life a tough place to be, and I yelled and lived so much in my anger when I was raising him, and I’m sure that caused lasting harm.

I think I made him afraid of emotions, afraid that they would always overwhelm him, so it’s better not to have them.

I forgive myself for causing his anxiety, or adding to his challenges in this unforgiving life.  While I appreciate his forgiveness, it’s most important that I stop adding more shame.  At my worst, I worry that I’m unable to change – that I wouldn’t be any better if I could do it over.  I’m grateful we need not find out.

I forgive me for not caring enough about myself, for not having a fight reaction when my flight reaction was dissociation rather than getting myself out of the situation.  I forgive myself for not being stronger, more willful.

I’ve learned how to fight – how to scratch, and kick, and tear skin – to make sure I have some DNA.  I almost welcome anyone to try to mess with me now, now that my rage is outward, and I’m no longer cowed.  I could have prevented so much harm, but I think it’s better to learn late than not at all.

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© seekingsearchingmeaning (aka Hermionejh) and Abstractly Distracted’s Blog, 2010 – current.

One Of Those Days

I woke up sad.  Like someone close just died sad.  I can’t seem to connect today, have no interest in talking, but I thought maybe writing would help, and I’m sure there are many folks out there who can relate.

There’s nothing wrong, and life is going on as it always does.  Nothing happened, nothing’s coming up, and as far as I know, no one I’m close to has died.

My gratitude list includes my health, my senses, my friends, my lover, and the beautiful area I live.  I’m safe, I have food, and clothing, and shelter.

The sky is blue, the grass and trees are green, the lilacs are blooming and a clipping sits in a vase on the counter where I can inhale its lovely scent.

There is work at home I’ve been intermittently doing, and I’ve been exercising, but I’ve also been tearing up all day, the sense of loss hitting me intensely, then subsiding.

I’m staying away from social media where I will only feel worse, and I’m doing what typically helps on days like today, but I’m still battling surging emotions that make me wish I could go home – the longing for some existential comfort I’m failing to find in myself today.

Perspective is knowing this will pass, and believing I’ll get through it.

I’m trying to find a reason I feel as I do, but maybe the answer is that I’m human, and some days suck – no matter how hard I try to make it better. I don’t need to wallow in my feelings either, but maybe I can just accept that this is how it is today, and with luck, I will feel glad again sooner rather than later.

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© seekingsearchingmeaning (aka Hermionejh) and Abstractly Distracted’s Blog, 2010 – current.

Can’t Get Here Fast Enough

Soon, these will grace the front garden again.
Soon, these will grace the front garden again.

Spring.  Warm, earthy, noisy Spring!  Typically, winter passes, melding into spring, and often, too soon into the hot weather without much fanfare, but this year, I need a parade!

I have the ridiculous desire to get out and rid the yard of snow, but I know it’s nitrogen for the soil – ‘poor man’s fertilizer’ – as I’ve heard.  This year I’ve obsessed mostly on the roof snow leaving, as if that’s somehow the harbinger of winter’s end.

I saw myself somewhat objectively after several days of roof viewing, and shook my head at my newest compulsion – as though my observation increases the snow’s decrease. Quantum physics holds that observation changes a thing, but the effect must also be on a quantum level as all the stupid snow did was mock me for the last few weeks by seeming not to budge.

Complaining doesn’t change a damn thing, but I read or listen to all the grousing about the weather with silent, but insincere, repudiation because I want the motherfucking winter over too – probably worse than they do!

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© seekingsearchingmeaning (aka Hermionejh) and Abstractly Distracted’s Blog, 2010 – infinity.

Go West! (even though you’re bound to return)

When I revised my about page, I thought about all the places I’ve lived, and why I kept moving.  I didn’t really have wanderlust, although I did enjoy traveling when I could.  I wasn’t even very restless, but I never felt satisfied or content.

In my twenties, I saw a greeting card illustrated by Mary Engelbreit that read: ‘Wherever you go, there you are’, and it was an epiphany.

I was running away from myself – only I kept coming with me.  The places, faces, and jobs would change, but the one constant was me.

Once I understood that I could only change myself, life started improving.  Unfortunately the process has taken many years, and lots of ‘one step forward, two steps back’, but, being drawn to proverbs, I also read an alleged Chinese proverb which goes: ‘Be not afraid of growing slowly, be afraid only of standing still’, and that gave me hope that I wasn’t the only one muddling through life.

These days, traveling is journeying to, rather than running from – unless, of course, I’ve broken a law, and then I’ll definitely be on the run…

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© seekingsearchingmeaning (aka Hermionejh) and Abstractly Distracted’s Blog, 2010 – infinity.

Frozen World

our iced over back yard SAMSUNG CSC SAMSUNG CSC SAMSUNG CSC

It was -0.6°F when I looked at the weather station around 8:30 a.m..  Glancing out the kitchen window made me pause, the whole back yard looked like a badly groomed skating rink, but I still wish I had a pair of ice skates.  I wouldn’t last very long at that temperature, but it could have been a fun (or disastrous) ride down our hill to the back field where my favorite Willow trees grace the tree line.

I wondered what it would have been like to live here before humanity figured out how to build houses.  Would I be huddled with my tribe in the woods?  Like the Inuit, or other Peoples, we would have figured it out of necessity – which is how any of our modern world came to be, really.  Once we decided on permanent settlements, becoming farmers and builders instead of hunter/gatherer nomads, we became ever more elaborate, continuing to separate ourselves from the land all the while.

I’m not complaining.  I’d rather have modernity than be huddled together in some sheltered spot for warmth, but I haven’t left the house in two days, so perhaps I’m not all that far from ancient ancestors.  Cold weather is like pain for me – I avoid it as much as possible.  I would move to warmer climes, but my life is here for now because of finances and family obligations, however gladly met.

This time of year is the toughest – but the season is turning, the light increasing, and my isolation is more by choice than by circumstances.  Depression dulls my activity, keeping my world small, but staying removed only increases my distress.  It’s a terrible syndrome, especially during the dark, lonelier months, but writing here helps because I feel more connected to my readers, and to those blogs I read, or discover through tags or recommendations.

There is also a loveliness of a winter morning’s quiet, as though the landscape is caught in the Snow Queen‘s frozen spell, and while I like the afternoon light, Emily Dickinson’s poem often comes to mind: (from The Poetry Foundation)

There’s a certain Slant of light (320)

There’s a certain Slant of light,
Winter Afternoons –
That oppresses, like the Heft
Of Cathedral Tunes –
Heavenly Hurt, it gives us –
We can find no scar,
But internal difference –
Where the Meanings, are –
None may teach it – Any –
‘Tis the seal Despair –
An imperial affliction
Sent us of the Air –
When it comes, the Landscape listens –
Shadows – hold their breath –
When it goes, ’tis like the Distance
On the look of Death –
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Reprinted electronically by permission of the publishers and the Trustees of Amherst College from The Poems of Emily Dickinson, Ralph W. Franklin, ed., Cambridge, Mass.: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, Copyright © 1951, 1955, 1979, 1983, 1998 by the President and Fellows of Harvard College.

Source: The Poems of Emily Dickinson Edited by R. W. Franklin (Harvard University Press, 1999)

Although I resonate with that poem, the afternoon light isn’t oppressive when it hits the top of the three towering Willows, emblazoning their top branches in glowing yellow-orange light, gladdening my heart to see it.

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© seekingsearchingmeaning (aka Hermionejh) and Life On Earth’s Blog, 2010 – infinity.

 

Stressed

I’ve made some changes that will help my financial situation, even if only moderately.  John Steinbeck wrote in America and Americans: “I guess the trouble was that we didn’t have any self-admitted proletarians.  Everyone was a temporarily embarrassed capitalist.”  Well, who wants to be the proletariat?  I’d rather have the problems of the wealthy than the problems of the impoverished.  The chances of that happening, while not impossible, get slimmer with each passing year.  Mostly, I’d like to be comfortable, and not have to choose paying utilities vs. eating.

Richard Branson, the entrepreneur extraordinaire was asked at what financial level he felt successful, and his alleged reply was: ‘fifty million’.  I’d feel successful if I still had fifty dollars in my account at the end of a month!  Well, maybe not successful, but certainly less stressed out.

I can also use my local food bank once a month – as long as there’s food – and if worse keeps going to worst, many of my bills will be moot because I’ll be homeless (even though friends have offered their couch if it comes to that)!  I have the library I can connect to the internet with, and I can store stuff with various friends.  At least it’s just me now.  I know my poverty embarrasses my son, but I’m doing the best I can, for me.  And it’s not like I’m not doing anything!  I am working – but it’s a few jobs that are still only part-time, and not enough to afford much more than basics, and I’m also trying to build a life that I want to be in.  My son would like me to stay alive for as long as that’s possible, and that’s my commitment to him, whether or not I want to.

I have to remember that I was a success for a long chunk of time.  I raised a son, who is a good human being.  He had way more than I ever had, and that’s how it should be.  He’s in college, and while I can’t help him financially, he’s getting scholarships, and taking out loans, and at least he’s earning a degree which I hope will help him pay back all his loans quickly.

In the meantime, I have my band, and the rest of the world goes away when I sing – which is one of those gifts I wouldn’t trade for more money but no solace.

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© seekingsearchingmeaning (aka Hermionejh) and Life On Earth’s Blog, 2010 – infinity.

Hell Hath No Fury Like Mine

I’ve heard about those who lives are lived ‘in quiet desperation’, and we’ve all seen or witnessed loud desperation – those vivid, stark, images of traumatized humanity – children with bellies distended, flesh barely covering their bones, their mothers and fathers, if alive, often in the same condition.  These are the scenes that remind me why humanity is its own worst enemy.  If there is a God, do you think it’s going to make me burn for my disbelief while leaders who could relieve suffering, deny their people adequate food, and water, while directing their military to kill innocents, and rape their country’s women and children as a strategy?  Foreign aid rarely reaches those who need it, and brutal regimes are necessary to maintain power and control.

Maybe that’s the law of this world: use or be used, eat or be eaten.  It’s a vicious world when resources are slim or difficult to access.  Maybe God exists and is a bastard, but I would never give fealty to such a one, even though it could mean unending torment.  Perhaps, God is, as I suspect, the greatest farce ever perpetrated on humanity.  Their book, a clever, self-fulfilling prophecy.  Anyone can include facts in a narrative in an attempt to bolster their argument.  People have always had high intelligence or they wouldn’t have evolved as far as they have.  Adaptability is the key to survival, not necessarily brute strength or stellar skills, although those get you the furthest if you can adapt well.

My favorite Stephen F. Roberts quote is:

“I contend that we are both atheists. I just believe in one fewer god than you do. When you understand why you dismiss all the other possible gods, you will understand why I dismiss yours.”

I know I have it easy, living in a part of the world where resources are abundant and easily accessible.  Sadly, we all can’t live here, and I know many individuals and organizations do their best to give aid to those in need all over the world – but that need never ends.

Focusing on situations that I cannot effect, except by bringing attention to it, does not serve me in living my life.  I almost have a survivor guilt for the relative abundance in my life.  So, I can choose to enter the Peace Corps, or align with some other organization that serves the most destitute, desperate areas of the world  Or, I can remain selfishly in my own little world, doing my best to survive, and throwing my measly fifty dollars a year at problems fifty million would just begin to address.  I can also ‘pray for them’ so I feel better even though it does nothing for them.  If you’re a believer, you’ll smugly think to yourself that prayer works, but it only works if it impels you to act, and that action doesn’t need your prayers.

“Is God willing to prevent evil, but not able?  Then he is not omnipotent.  Is he able, but not willing?  Then he is malevolent.  Is he both able and willing?  Then whence cometh evil?  Is he neither able nor willing?  Then why call him God?”
– Epicurus [341-270 B.C.]

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© seekingsearchingmeaning (aka Hermionejh) and Life On Earth’s Blog, 2010 – infinity.

Getting In The Spirit

I bought a Christmas tree today.

I didn’t have one last year, and the holidays are usually depressing and far too filled with expectation and anxiety for me to enjoy them.  I’d rather keep to myself this time of year.  I don’t like holiday gatherings or Christmas parties much, and I suppose I dissociate for the month of December, and often into January.  Trying to keep away from alcohol is harder this time of year too.  Most of my friends drink, and none of them abuse it, so they don’t really know what it’s like for me.  I’m at that place with drinking alcohol that I can either control it or enjoy it, but I can’t do both.

I am not as anxious this year as I have been previously, but I’ve been careful to not make many plans so I don’t have to pretend to enjoy myself or others.  My family gets together for a holiday dinner and then we exchange gifts, and that’s pretty much all I can handle.  Well, that, and having my son with me for his winter break.  Christmas isn’t as fun as it used to be when he was little, but I really like having a pretty tree all lit up, and getting cozy on the couch with a cup of hot cocoa and watching, It’s A Wonderful Life, or A Christmas Carol, on Christmas Eve, and of course, how could I let Christmas go by without watching, The Grinch Who Stole Christmas, and, A Charlie Brown Christmas?

When I was in college, one of the girls in my dorm phoned her father the night, The Grinch Who Stole Christmas, was playing, and he stayed on the phone for the whole show.  She told us that she had gone on vacation over Christmas during High School one year, and her father had phoned her so they could still watch the show together.  That made such a big impression on me, and made me wish I had a father like that, and probably made all the girls in our dorm who were there with us that night wish that too.

Even though there are aspects of the season that I can enjoy, I’m happiest when it’s all over.  My true celebration is the Winter Solstice; there is no one who appreciates the return of the light more than I do.

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© seekingsearchingmeaning (aka Hermionejh) and Life On Earth’s Blog, 2010 – infinity.

The Opposite Of Hope

I know I have to continue to fight anyway, because what else is there to do?  Giving up means dying, and I’m not there yet.

Political news about permits for deep-water drilling getting pushed through, regardless of the lack of improvements or safe-guards a year after the worst oil-related disaster ever is mind-blowing, but I know it shouldn’t be.

We need the oil; those people need jobs – so screw the ocean and even the lives of those who work on the rigs.  They know what the risks are, but they need the money.  What does it matter if the all the oil that has spilled is still fouling the water and shoreline and delicate coastal waterways that once harbored sea-life nurseries but can no longer provide that refuge?  Out of sight, out of mind.

Oh, BP and TransOcean and Halliburton had record-breaking profit years, but people along the Gulf of Mexico are struggling with sickness from all the exposure to crude oil along with Corexit, and other surfactants, etc.  But per usual our corrupt media outlets proclaim that ‘there’s nothing to see here, folks; go about your business’.

I’m overwhelmed by such callous profit-driven action, and I know I shouldn’t be because this is how it’s always been.  But I’m not desensitized today.  This is the world I live in, and I know I’m not alone in this fight, but those who have the money make the rules and all I can do is yell and write and in the end, the bad guys still win.

Moving to the remotest reaches of the world won’t help.  I can’t pretend this isn’t happening, and I’m astonished at the ability for others to be so blithe about the horrors being perpetrated in our name.  I know I shouldn’t be because the world is so broken that most people have compassion-fatigue.

It’s just today.  I’ll gear up for the fight again, because what’s my alternative?  I can’t pretend that it’s all going to be okay if I don’t think about it.  This is a shared world and anyone’s attempt to decimate it ends where my breathable, eatable, livable world begins.  We need to feed off this Earth – I understand that, but we lose entirely if we don’t act with responsible, sustainable methods.

Maybe some corporate heads and politicians with power and wealth think they’re hastening a dubious ‘rapture’, but even were it true, they’d be among those ‘left behind’ by not being ‘good stewards of the Earth’.  Idiots all – but an idiot with explosives needs to be disarmed more swiftly than a genius should be.

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© seekingsearchingmeaning (aka Hermionejh) and Life On Earth’s Blog, 2010 – infinity.