The first one is the latest alert from Karen Bishop. The second (referred to in the column) answers something inside me, the same thing that Big Eden answered.
http://whatsuponplanetearth.com/latest.html
http://whatsuponplanetearth.com/ViewOfTheNewWorld.html
In any case, I'm conscious today of the necessity to put my energy into the positive. I do focus on the negative so much, and perhaps its because I care. Perhaps it's because I see how we are all connected, and that I don't see it as idealism to try to ameliorate the effects of my actions and so make the decision to choose differently so that others may benefit. When I see people I care about and adore making choices based on fear and a willful murkiness that occludes their own hearts' connections to others, I feel pain, but I also know from my Al-Anon work that I can't live their lives for them, I can't make their choices.
No more than I can tell the ocean to "Stop being wet, for godssakes!"
So the choice I make for today--because tomorrow I might wake up in a dark mood--is to try to add only positivity into the equation of my life. And today's an especially good day for it because I am switching from my worknight schedule to my dayplay schedule. As of 6:30 a.m. I'll be on vacation! (It'll be at about that time I have my lunch, having eaten my "deakfast" at 10 p.m. last night. In switching my body clock, I need to stay up 24 hours, spacing my meals about 8ish hours apart.) If circumstances around us all change in the next week, as they well may, I might find myself "stuck" in NoDak. Well, worse things could happen, I suppose. But maybe that's as it is supposed to be. I accede and accustom myself to Gaia's will for me.
I strive to have no expectations, and I strive to also not be disappointed should nothing occur in the next week. I must admit there's a part of me that wants something to happen. But if it does it does and if it doesn't it doesn't. I pray that violence is minimal and that truth has its day. We all have to get honest now, no matter how painful it may be. Better to feel some pain and awkwardness now, rather than a whole lot of suffering down the line. In piecing together my 8th Step, I see that I have a lot of pain to wade through, but that I've saved myself a lot more down the pike. I've gotten off a couple of the merry-go-rounds that have kept me mesmerized on a central pole. I sense I'm still on a couple of them, but they're no longer working the same way. I know too much. Yes, I'm very curious how all this will unfold.
I might not get a chance to post much in the next 10 days or so. My parents sent their laptop to my sister, and I don't know that they replaced it. I have my doubts. But if I get a chance to post something I shall.
Tuesday, August 24, 2004
Monday, August 23, 2004
Ruptures/Raptures
I'll get back to the Grand Jury characterizations soon. I think. I have really mixed feelings about it, but I see that there's some potency regarding power here, more specifically in the linking with corporate power with white thinking and the illogical leap that if one thinks critically of corporations then one must somehow be other-than-white. It's an intriguing direction that I accidentally stumbled upon in talking with a coworker who is African-American and is constantly seeing her observations be conflated with a racial bias. It's a strategy to keep people in denial, I think, and when white folks say the same things, it really rankles those whose denial is three parkas thick. It explains why, when I once said to my brother-the-cracker that I worried about the direction of the country because I thought we needed to rein in the corporations, he said "I think black people get what they deserve." I thought it was a non-sequitur, but now I see it's a conditioned response, and ultimately the racial aspect is an inept sort of window-dressing on the whole Empire having no Clothes to put over its necrotic, wheezy body-without-organs.
Enough of that for the moment.
I wanted actually to write about the upcoming election and my fears, get them off my chest. I need to acknowledge that I'm projecting into the future and that my projections hopefully are wrong. Mercifully I hope they are wrong. But where I sit today is inside an expectation of violence in some form to emanate from the Republicuntvention in New York. I felt months ago that I needed to get out of the city, and lately I've been wondering if I shouldn't also take my Kitzelbitzel with me to NoDak. I wrote about that yesterday. It might be silly, but I'd rather have my cat be safe than sorry. I still haven't decided, I have a few days yet. I have a friend who's ready to look in on the animal, but I think it might be a better thing to have the cat stay with a friend at least.
It's the form of the violence that I wonder about now. There won't be a North vs. South or Rich vs. Poor Civil War going on. The violence I fear will be undifferentiated, a little like the bizarro sequence at the end of Stephen King's Needful Things where the evil man breezes into town and short-circuits various individuals to one another to lead to all these individual life-and-death struggles between two people, most of which end in the deaths of both persons. I see that I'm being manipulated--I even think I need to stop listening to Air America for the time being, no matter how much I might agree with Al, Kathryn, Rachel, Chuck D, Liz, Randi, etc. The thought came to me that I might be as vulnerable to manipulation von der linken wie von der rechten when I heard an advertisement for a study regarding shift-workers such as myself, who might have difficulty sleeping.
Like most shift-workers, guess what? I have trouble sleeping! Is it a disease I have, as the study seems to project? I have a different kind of answer to that: It is a socioeconomic disease, not a physical one, that is causing the problem. The disease involves the idea that some individuals think they must have 24-hour access to . . . . EVERYTHING! It's the disease of greed ultimately that is the cause of shift-workers' insomnia. Outside of a few unusual people who naturally have a nocturnal rhythm rather than a diurnal one, people are generally diurnal. It isn't a disease to have difficulty going against one's essential nature, O Wise Scientists, and to foist the idea that we are somehow "sick" because we are going against our natural rhythm and having a problem getting what we need reflects a deeply obtuse and out-of-it viewpoint.
There are other ads on AAR about driving drunk and speeding, and they also help to ratchet up the fear factor. I've wondered if they aren't parodies, but its probably that they're a commercial enterprise and they're happy to get whatever ads they can. Still, I can't stand those ads and I wish they'd dispense with advertising in general. I think I'll either go back to my classical station to be the bringer of wakefulness or better yet, return to an old-fashioned ringing alarm clock. (Welcome to 1904! Ah, technology...)
Nonetheless my fears have gotten me to think about the nature of the violence that surrounds us all. It is an undifferentiated miasma permeating our entire culture. It seems that most people have at least one specific group they're afraid of. Speaking for myself, it's angry born-again Christian rage-aholics. There are others who spark fears and rage inside me as well, but these are of course at the top of the list. I have this dawning awareness about rage vs. anger. I have more hope when I feel angry, but when I'm in rage that's all I see. It clouds my thinking to total disruption and distortion. I can't see what's real. It's a drug. This drug affects and addicts people across the political spectrum. I'm sure there are even "wild-eyed moderates" though that might sound like a contradiction in terms. I forget which Greek philosopher said it though--"Everything in moderation, including moderation." ("Hi, I'm Jenny and I'm a modera-holic. Don't go extreme on my ass, or I'll cut you!")
It feels like there's a whole lot of victimhood going on, on all sides to me. Right now, we see the real pros at victimhood-- poor little rich cunts, persecuted dominating Christofascists, whiny arrogant neocuntservatives-- having a field day with their "poor me, poor me, pour me a drink, Jeeves"ism. (And make sure that it's exactly like Cunty-Cunt likes it, Jeeves! He's been slaving at the Excel Spreadsheet for ten whole minutes!) There's so much resentment, it feels like spirituality has left the city. The resentment escalates left-right-moderate-left-right-moderate, and also paternal-maternal-humor-paternal-maternal-humor and other sorts of escalations going on. No wonder I want to get to the flat windy plains of NoDak.
I'm only speculating, but I see all sorts of scenarios taking place re: our violent near future. The potential for all sorts of mass murder takes the breath away. We have been a nation locked in a civil war for I don't know how long. There have been the long stretches of years where we've been able to play at getting along, and we look at our attempts to jerry-rig other nationalities into "workable nations" (Iraq? Yugoslavia anyone?), when we ourselves have only barely been able to withstand one another. It seems our schicksals are coming home to roost, but I don't know what the process will be. Anyone care to guess? Personal combat nationwide perhaps? World Wide Wrestling Federation meets Howitzers? I don't know. I feel scared, but I try to remember that Gaia's already decided all our fates. We will enter into them whether we want to or not.
Enough of that for the moment.
I wanted actually to write about the upcoming election and my fears, get them off my chest. I need to acknowledge that I'm projecting into the future and that my projections hopefully are wrong. Mercifully I hope they are wrong. But where I sit today is inside an expectation of violence in some form to emanate from the Republicuntvention in New York. I felt months ago that I needed to get out of the city, and lately I've been wondering if I shouldn't also take my Kitzelbitzel with me to NoDak. I wrote about that yesterday. It might be silly, but I'd rather have my cat be safe than sorry. I still haven't decided, I have a few days yet. I have a friend who's ready to look in on the animal, but I think it might be a better thing to have the cat stay with a friend at least.
It's the form of the violence that I wonder about now. There won't be a North vs. South or Rich vs. Poor Civil War going on. The violence I fear will be undifferentiated, a little like the bizarro sequence at the end of Stephen King's Needful Things where the evil man breezes into town and short-circuits various individuals to one another to lead to all these individual life-and-death struggles between two people, most of which end in the deaths of both persons. I see that I'm being manipulated--I even think I need to stop listening to Air America for the time being, no matter how much I might agree with Al, Kathryn, Rachel, Chuck D, Liz, Randi, etc. The thought came to me that I might be as vulnerable to manipulation von der linken wie von der rechten when I heard an advertisement for a study regarding shift-workers such as myself, who might have difficulty sleeping.
Like most shift-workers, guess what? I have trouble sleeping! Is it a disease I have, as the study seems to project? I have a different kind of answer to that: It is a socioeconomic disease, not a physical one, that is causing the problem. The disease involves the idea that some individuals think they must have 24-hour access to . . . . EVERYTHING! It's the disease of greed ultimately that is the cause of shift-workers' insomnia. Outside of a few unusual people who naturally have a nocturnal rhythm rather than a diurnal one, people are generally diurnal. It isn't a disease to have difficulty going against one's essential nature, O Wise Scientists, and to foist the idea that we are somehow "sick" because we are going against our natural rhythm and having a problem getting what we need reflects a deeply obtuse and out-of-it viewpoint.
There are other ads on AAR about driving drunk and speeding, and they also help to ratchet up the fear factor. I've wondered if they aren't parodies, but its probably that they're a commercial enterprise and they're happy to get whatever ads they can. Still, I can't stand those ads and I wish they'd dispense with advertising in general. I think I'll either go back to my classical station to be the bringer of wakefulness or better yet, return to an old-fashioned ringing alarm clock. (Welcome to 1904! Ah, technology...)
Nonetheless my fears have gotten me to think about the nature of the violence that surrounds us all. It is an undifferentiated miasma permeating our entire culture. It seems that most people have at least one specific group they're afraid of. Speaking for myself, it's angry born-again Christian rage-aholics. There are others who spark fears and rage inside me as well, but these are of course at the top of the list. I have this dawning awareness about rage vs. anger. I have more hope when I feel angry, but when I'm in rage that's all I see. It clouds my thinking to total disruption and distortion. I can't see what's real. It's a drug. This drug affects and addicts people across the political spectrum. I'm sure there are even "wild-eyed moderates" though that might sound like a contradiction in terms. I forget which Greek philosopher said it though--"Everything in moderation, including moderation." ("Hi, I'm Jenny and I'm a modera-holic. Don't go extreme on my ass, or I'll cut you!")
It feels like there's a whole lot of victimhood going on, on all sides to me. Right now, we see the real pros at victimhood-- poor little rich cunts, persecuted dominating Christofascists, whiny arrogant neocuntservatives-- having a field day with their "poor me, poor me, pour me a drink, Jeeves"ism. (And make sure that it's exactly like Cunty-Cunt likes it, Jeeves! He's been slaving at the Excel Spreadsheet for ten whole minutes!) There's so much resentment, it feels like spirituality has left the city. The resentment escalates left-right-moderate-left-right-moderate, and also paternal-maternal-humor-paternal-maternal-humor and other sorts of escalations going on. No wonder I want to get to the flat windy plains of NoDak.
I'm only speculating, but I see all sorts of scenarios taking place re: our violent near future. The potential for all sorts of mass murder takes the breath away. We have been a nation locked in a civil war for I don't know how long. There have been the long stretches of years where we've been able to play at getting along, and we look at our attempts to jerry-rig other nationalities into "workable nations" (Iraq? Yugoslavia anyone?), when we ourselves have only barely been able to withstand one another. It seems our schicksals are coming home to roost, but I don't know what the process will be. Anyone care to guess? Personal combat nationwide perhaps? World Wide Wrestling Federation meets Howitzers? I don't know. I feel scared, but I try to remember that Gaia's already decided all our fates. We will enter into them whether we want to or not.
Sunday, August 22, 2004
Fear and Dreams
I'm living inside the police state, basically. I work across the street from Citigroup (the epicenter of evil???). I have to open my bag every time I get to work for the bored and over-dressed security guards (suitcoats on humid summer days, poor dears) and pass police cars diagonally parked in "ostentatious-paranoia-inducing-'emergency'" (OPIE) mode. The whole thing around these turdor alerts seems pretty OPIE-dopey if you ask me.
It's having an effect however. Yesterday, I meditated for a little bit, but I fell asleep. In that unusual sleep-mode, I had a dream where I was at a friend's place and we were complaining about our irradiated produce. He had a cabbage that kept growing and growing and elongating along the way, while I had a turnip that sprouted tentacles and berries!
I've had dreams that have been scary portents before, even a couple that have involved the corner of 53rd and Lex. In one, I dreamt New York was being attacked by aliens. In another, I dreamt that 3 of my co-workers were being arrested right out in front of the building. These dreams were from a couple of years ago, but I wouldn't be surprised if they actually were premonitions of things to come. Interestingly, in the arrested co-worker dream, I had the sense I was long-gone from the scene. In the alien-attack dream, I eventually made it home where my block was being attacked by our own guys, it felt like. Every third building was being bombed, and each building to the left of the bombed ones was being overrun by soldiers. I decided to head North-by-Northeast in the dream. (Albany??? Interesting.)
I know in my heart of hearts that I'm all right, that we are all just fine. But my child-self gets a little afraid, now a lot more. There's also the whole aspect of my parents' aging. I've been thinking about my near future and my further future, though it's difficult to think of the latter as I feel we are already in Philip K. Dick overdrive as far as necriferous empire goes. Near-term I can imagine myself in Devils Lake, NoDak taking care of my parents as they get on in years. I'm the logical candidate of my parents' children to be caregiver, and sometimes I feel scared of that and other times I embrace it. It's difficult to imagine myself out in Lawrence-Welk-Land, eking out some sort of existence amongst the elderly Scandinavian farmer set. I think I'd have some support, from uncles and extended family and what-not, and who knows? I might even find people who'd genuinely welcome their oddball Manhattan-fancy-ass gay IV-LEEEEEEG edjumicated cousin/nephew. (Golly!)
And I can see that I'd like it out there, sorta. At least I'd like the ability to meditate and to get to know myself on a deeper level, even though I suspect I'd grow quickly bored. But I don't need to prejudge my experience before I have it, and I don't need to create a negative expectation either.
Of course these thoughts occupy my headspace as I get ready to head out there, but I have to remind myself It's only for a week. What could go wrong? (Even with the aforementioned fear scenarios, I wonder if I ought not take my Kitzelbitzel with me, and prepare for the worst re: NYC's temporary attractiveness to authentic terrorists during this Republicuntvention upcoming.) (My cat would drive my folks crazy, but I'd have him, just in case.)
I have a sense I'm being led, and that everything is really all right. Plus Canada is only 90 miles away. There's clearly hope...
It's having an effect however. Yesterday, I meditated for a little bit, but I fell asleep. In that unusual sleep-mode, I had a dream where I was at a friend's place and we were complaining about our irradiated produce. He had a cabbage that kept growing and growing and elongating along the way, while I had a turnip that sprouted tentacles and berries!
I've had dreams that have been scary portents before, even a couple that have involved the corner of 53rd and Lex. In one, I dreamt New York was being attacked by aliens. In another, I dreamt that 3 of my co-workers were being arrested right out in front of the building. These dreams were from a couple of years ago, but I wouldn't be surprised if they actually were premonitions of things to come. Interestingly, in the arrested co-worker dream, I had the sense I was long-gone from the scene. In the alien-attack dream, I eventually made it home where my block was being attacked by our own guys, it felt like. Every third building was being bombed, and each building to the left of the bombed ones was being overrun by soldiers. I decided to head North-by-Northeast in the dream. (Albany??? Interesting.)
I know in my heart of hearts that I'm all right, that we are all just fine. But my child-self gets a little afraid, now a lot more. There's also the whole aspect of my parents' aging. I've been thinking about my near future and my further future, though it's difficult to think of the latter as I feel we are already in Philip K. Dick overdrive as far as necriferous empire goes. Near-term I can imagine myself in Devils Lake, NoDak taking care of my parents as they get on in years. I'm the logical candidate of my parents' children to be caregiver, and sometimes I feel scared of that and other times I embrace it. It's difficult to imagine myself out in Lawrence-Welk-Land, eking out some sort of existence amongst the elderly Scandinavian farmer set. I think I'd have some support, from uncles and extended family and what-not, and who knows? I might even find people who'd genuinely welcome their oddball Manhattan-fancy-ass gay IV-LEEEEEEG edjumicated cousin/nephew. (Golly!)
And I can see that I'd like it out there, sorta. At least I'd like the ability to meditate and to get to know myself on a deeper level, even though I suspect I'd grow quickly bored. But I don't need to prejudge my experience before I have it, and I don't need to create a negative expectation either.
Of course these thoughts occupy my headspace as I get ready to head out there, but I have to remind myself It's only for a week. What could go wrong? (Even with the aforementioned fear scenarios, I wonder if I ought not take my Kitzelbitzel with me, and prepare for the worst re: NYC's temporary attractiveness to authentic terrorists during this Republicuntvention upcoming.) (My cat would drive my folks crazy, but I'd have him, just in case.)
I have a sense I'm being led, and that everything is really all right. Plus Canada is only 90 miles away. There's clearly hope...
Saturday, August 21, 2004
Haven't posted for awhile
Take a look at this link:
http://whatsuponplanetearth.com/latest.html
It explains some things. I like logging into Karen's website for these Energy Updates. While I don't know what's coming up in this world, I think we can safely say that it is getting mighty strange out there. I'm heading to North Dakota for a week to avoid the Republicuntvention. (Where are they going to store all those coffins for Undead Week I wonder? I assume the Carlyle Hotel is a good place to start!)
I won't be posting for awhile when I get there. At least I don't think I will--my folks don't have a computer anymore, having shipped their laptop to my sister. (I will be taking pictures.)
http://whatsuponplanetearth.com/latest.html
It explains some things. I like logging into Karen's website for these Energy Updates. While I don't know what's coming up in this world, I think we can safely say that it is getting mighty strange out there. I'm heading to North Dakota for a week to avoid the Republicuntvention. (Where are they going to store all those coffins for Undead Week I wonder? I assume the Carlyle Hotel is a good place to start!)
I won't be posting for awhile when I get there. At least I don't think I will--my folks don't have a computer anymore, having shipped their laptop to my sister. (I will be taking pictures.)
Tuesday, August 17, 2004
Grand Jury's Over!
Thank Gaia!
Another characterization: "Good morning, Mr. Morell, would you state your name, shield number and precinct for the record."
"Officer Morell, Shield # 92323, Precinct 5a(1)"
"And what do you do in the 5a(1) Precinct?"
"Anticrime Unit. I canvass the area in plainclothes, looking out for criminal acts or trying to prevent them from happening."
"And you were working on the day of August 17th, 2004?"
"Yes I was."
"And were you working that afternoon, around 3 p.m.?"
"Yes, that is correct."
"And did you have the opportunity to apprehend someone at that time?"
"Yes I did."
"And what was the name of that individual?"
"Richard Dencktnicht."
"And what circumstances led up to the arrest?"
"I was called to a Bodega at 1-1/2 Avenue B, where a robbery had taken place. My partner and I got there and talked to the manager--"
"That would be Ms. Richard-Sellers?"
"That is correct. She said she had been robbed and attacked. She looked like she had been hit in the face and complained about a loose tooth."
"Were the EMTs called?"
"Yes, someone had done that."
"And were there other people in the store?"
"There was one fellow, a Mr. Richard-Salem, who had quietly witnessed what had happened from the back."
"And did you ask Mr. Richard-Salem to help you find the perpetrator?"
"Yes, we did. We got in the control car and we started to canvass the area and--"
"Sorry to interrupt, but would you explain what 'canvass' means?"
"Sure. Canvassing is searching the vicinity of a crime for a suspect. Mr. Richard-Salem was in the car with us, and near the Hamilton Fish Library--"
"That is on Pitt Street?"
"Yes. He spotted the suspect. My partner and I pulled up near to Mr. Dencktnicht and announced ourselves and he started to run. I gave chase, and we turned onto 9th Street. My partner got to him first and he fell to the floor. He moved his arms all around and kicked and thrashed about. I got one of his arms in a cuff, but he put his other arm under his back and refused to allow us to apprehend him. After a few minutes of this, we cuffed him and took him to the Precinct."
"And did Ms. Richard-Sellers later have the opportunity to see Mr. Dencktnicht in police custody?"
"Yes she did."
"I have no further questions for the witness."
Subtext of Officer Morell: Argh! My day off and I have to come into the Grand Jury and testify! Bastard Dencktnicht! Better get an indictment's all I can say. Well, these people look mostly regular, though I can see the black woman doesn't believe a word I say. Too bad. I'm only trying to help. Though I think they deserve all that they get. They don't fool me, these people. In fact, I don't like a lot of the people here. The foreman seems OK. Reminds me of Father Richard O'Malley at Our Lady of Perpetual Backdraft. Nice fellow--too bad about the altar boys."
(Maybe more to come later. All this was made up sort of. The case details were, certainly. White cops seem to be fairly generic to me, alas. I'm merging a whole bunch of fellows together into one. But there will be other sorts of cops and ADAs and even jury members to come...)
Another characterization: "Good morning, Mr. Morell, would you state your name, shield number and precinct for the record."
"Officer Morell, Shield # 92323, Precinct 5a(1)"
"And what do you do in the 5a(1) Precinct?"
"Anticrime Unit. I canvass the area in plainclothes, looking out for criminal acts or trying to prevent them from happening."
"And you were working on the day of August 17th, 2004?"
"Yes I was."
"And were you working that afternoon, around 3 p.m.?"
"Yes, that is correct."
"And did you have the opportunity to apprehend someone at that time?"
"Yes I did."
"And what was the name of that individual?"
"Richard Dencktnicht."
"And what circumstances led up to the arrest?"
"I was called to a Bodega at 1-1/2 Avenue B, where a robbery had taken place. My partner and I got there and talked to the manager--"
"That would be Ms. Richard-Sellers?"
"That is correct. She said she had been robbed and attacked. She looked like she had been hit in the face and complained about a loose tooth."
"Were the EMTs called?"
"Yes, someone had done that."
"And were there other people in the store?"
"There was one fellow, a Mr. Richard-Salem, who had quietly witnessed what had happened from the back."
"And did you ask Mr. Richard-Salem to help you find the perpetrator?"
"Yes, we did. We got in the control car and we started to canvass the area and--"
"Sorry to interrupt, but would you explain what 'canvass' means?"
"Sure. Canvassing is searching the vicinity of a crime for a suspect. Mr. Richard-Salem was in the car with us, and near the Hamilton Fish Library--"
"That is on Pitt Street?"
"Yes. He spotted the suspect. My partner and I pulled up near to Mr. Dencktnicht and announced ourselves and he started to run. I gave chase, and we turned onto 9th Street. My partner got to him first and he fell to the floor. He moved his arms all around and kicked and thrashed about. I got one of his arms in a cuff, but he put his other arm under his back and refused to allow us to apprehend him. After a few minutes of this, we cuffed him and took him to the Precinct."
"And did Ms. Richard-Sellers later have the opportunity to see Mr. Dencktnicht in police custody?"
"Yes she did."
"I have no further questions for the witness."
Subtext of Officer Morell: Argh! My day off and I have to come into the Grand Jury and testify! Bastard Dencktnicht! Better get an indictment's all I can say. Well, these people look mostly regular, though I can see the black woman doesn't believe a word I say. Too bad. I'm only trying to help. Though I think they deserve all that they get. They don't fool me, these people. In fact, I don't like a lot of the people here. The foreman seems OK. Reminds me of Father Richard O'Malley at Our Lady of Perpetual Backdraft. Nice fellow--too bad about the altar boys."
(Maybe more to come later. All this was made up sort of. The case details were, certainly. White cops seem to be fairly generic to me, alas. I'm merging a whole bunch of fellows together into one. But there will be other sorts of cops and ADAs and even jury members to come...)
Monday, August 16, 2004
Last Day Grand Jury
At long last, my month in this purgatory is over! I'm looking forward to trying to get back to my summer schedule, just in time for my sojourn in Dakota Norte to begin sometime next week. I haven't booked my flight yet, but once I do this I will be oh-so-happy to get out of Mussolini-ville for a glorious, stress-reduced week.
Now that I'm in my last day of this difficult month, I'm looking back over the slow slide into isolation and impotent rage that I allowed into my life. It's tough to expose myself to that consistently angry and repressed energy embodied in our police and legal systems. I think I wrote about the two angriest cops whose energies I've been witness to--both worked for financial institutions. The other jurors I have had the most problems with also work for financial institutions, interestingly enough. (They wouldn't know that I had problems with them--is that to my credit or detriment? Sometimes I can't tell when I'm working good Al-Anon or just being codependently wimpy.)
Others remind me that all of these other people are me--the ADAs with their varying degrees of competence, repression and despair, the uptight cops, the mostly unseen accuseds, the witnesses, the jurors and the wardens. The employees of the court. In a way I've been both participant in and audience member for, a parade of characters each of whom is me. I am Richard the ADA who populates his prattle with "ers" and "ums", I am the enraged, red-faced Irish cop who answers all of his questions concisely and with venom, I am the easygoing, baby-faced warden who's engaged to marry one of the court reporters, I am the Texas-born, Virginia-raised white-collar criminal--I mean banker who serves on the jury and votes to indict on every single case, I am the gay psychotherapist serving as secretary for the proceedings who secretly wishes he was a white-collar criminal and so forth.
How accurate all this is really has no bearing--it's all about my perceptions and judgments, and that is what I've been having to confront with the most unease and discouragement: my ease with making judgments. "The more one judges, the less one loves" reads a t-shirt that I used to wear when it was thinkable for me to wear size 3X. I sort of wish I had the courage to put that t-shirt on and wear it to the grand jury room, but I never dared to be so spiritual so brazenly in all this time. (And would it really have been spiritual to try to show people up in such a way? Still, it might have been interesting to get someone to film the reactions of others to reading my t-shirt in such an environment. Talk about drama!)
So I'll probably populate some of this blog now with some of these pithy observations about the different versions of myself, as per a suggestion made by a good friend. Here's the first:
"Hi, I'm Richard Chitra Bombay, and I'm an assistant district attorney for the county of New York. I'm here to present several charges against Richard African-American Defendant. On the charge of criminal possession of a controlled substance in the third degree, New York Penal Code ___.__ subsection __ under the theory that the defendant possessed a narcotic with the intent to sell, and I'm charging you with the count of criminal possession of a controlled substance in the fifth degree Penal Code ___.__ subsection __ under the theory that the defendant possessed more than 1/8 of an ounce of a narcotic, and also criminal possession of a controlled substance in the seventh degree under the theory that Richard African-American Defendant possessed a controlled substance, and I'm also charging you with criminal possession of a weapon in the third degree under the theory that the defendant possessed a firearm that has been defaced. I will have two witnesses before you today, and now I'll bring in the first witness, Richard White-Plainclothes-One."
My vision of Richard Chitra's subtext: "I'm a great ADA. I don't exactly love this job, but I'm going places all right. It doesn't hurt that I'm a cute person of color in a society that is dominated by all notions of color. Even New York City pays attention to color, and I can see as an Indian woman that I have a leg up on most of the other minorities here. It is interesting to note however, that the racial element is losing force. It all comes down to how we represent ourselves. I may some day see some Punjabi boy gangbanger on the other side of the court, and I'm sure I'll wonder how he got that way, how the parents were involved, etc. But there's a good reason that jobs from here are being shipped to Bangalore and Lahore. It's because of our work ethic. I really don't like agreeing with Dinesh D'Souza--"Distort DaNewza" some Dartmouth friends said about him--but my observation does bear him out a little. Though it's not as much racial as it is about how these near-destitute people can't back up and see the whole picture. I don't know if they're incapable or if they just don't have the tools or if they're just plain lazy--maybe a combination of all three. I talk with Richard LaQueisha J.D. Washington, Esq. and Richard Marianne Jean-Veniste about the black defendants and the victims too, and they have an even more jaundiced viewpoint. I don't really know what to think, but hey, I've got a job and pretty good security with it. I don't doubt I'd have a harder time if I lived in Selma, Alabama or Tucson even. But even so, if all these drug cases keep coming in, I'll be set for quite a while. That feels good."
Note: I do have a specific person in mind with this characterization, though I don't think she represented any cases like the one I have pieced together. The case itself is a compilation of several different kinds of cases I have heard. The subtext section is just my musing about "Richard-Chitra" based on my own internal temperature and texture as it responds to the information she presented to the "Richard Foreman." (Hilarious! There Really is a Playwright with that name--he won a Macarthur Fellowship even, and runs the St. Mark's Ontologic-Hysterical Theater on St. Mark's Place in the East Village!) How "true" is it? I don't know. I'm putting out my perceptions just to say "Given the information of what I've seen of this person, and she's one of the four or five I've seen on a couple of different cases--this is what I perceive may be going on behind the lenses of her eyes, in her soul. Again, not to judge, just to bring my perceptions out and say this is what I see and nothing else but."
Remember. Even though a real person inspired this, "Richard Chitra" is another me. As I am another you.
Now that I'm in my last day of this difficult month, I'm looking back over the slow slide into isolation and impotent rage that I allowed into my life. It's tough to expose myself to that consistently angry and repressed energy embodied in our police and legal systems. I think I wrote about the two angriest cops whose energies I've been witness to--both worked for financial institutions. The other jurors I have had the most problems with also work for financial institutions, interestingly enough. (They wouldn't know that I had problems with them--is that to my credit or detriment? Sometimes I can't tell when I'm working good Al-Anon or just being codependently wimpy.)
Others remind me that all of these other people are me--the ADAs with their varying degrees of competence, repression and despair, the uptight cops, the mostly unseen accuseds, the witnesses, the jurors and the wardens. The employees of the court. In a way I've been both participant in and audience member for, a parade of characters each of whom is me. I am Richard the ADA who populates his prattle with "ers" and "ums", I am the enraged, red-faced Irish cop who answers all of his questions concisely and with venom, I am the easygoing, baby-faced warden who's engaged to marry one of the court reporters, I am the Texas-born, Virginia-raised white-collar criminal--I mean banker who serves on the jury and votes to indict on every single case, I am the gay psychotherapist serving as secretary for the proceedings who secretly wishes he was a white-collar criminal and so forth.
How accurate all this is really has no bearing--it's all about my perceptions and judgments, and that is what I've been having to confront with the most unease and discouragement: my ease with making judgments. "The more one judges, the less one loves" reads a t-shirt that I used to wear when it was thinkable for me to wear size 3X. I sort of wish I had the courage to put that t-shirt on and wear it to the grand jury room, but I never dared to be so spiritual so brazenly in all this time. (And would it really have been spiritual to try to show people up in such a way? Still, it might have been interesting to get someone to film the reactions of others to reading my t-shirt in such an environment. Talk about drama!)
So I'll probably populate some of this blog now with some of these pithy observations about the different versions of myself, as per a suggestion made by a good friend. Here's the first:
"Hi, I'm Richard Chitra Bombay, and I'm an assistant district attorney for the county of New York. I'm here to present several charges against Richard African-American Defendant. On the charge of criminal possession of a controlled substance in the third degree, New York Penal Code ___.__ subsection __ under the theory that the defendant possessed a narcotic with the intent to sell, and I'm charging you with the count of criminal possession of a controlled substance in the fifth degree Penal Code ___.__ subsection __ under the theory that the defendant possessed more than 1/8 of an ounce of a narcotic, and also criminal possession of a controlled substance in the seventh degree under the theory that Richard African-American Defendant possessed a controlled substance, and I'm also charging you with criminal possession of a weapon in the third degree under the theory that the defendant possessed a firearm that has been defaced. I will have two witnesses before you today, and now I'll bring in the first witness, Richard White-Plainclothes-One."
My vision of Richard Chitra's subtext: "I'm a great ADA. I don't exactly love this job, but I'm going places all right. It doesn't hurt that I'm a cute person of color in a society that is dominated by all notions of color. Even New York City pays attention to color, and I can see as an Indian woman that I have a leg up on most of the other minorities here. It is interesting to note however, that the racial element is losing force. It all comes down to how we represent ourselves. I may some day see some Punjabi boy gangbanger on the other side of the court, and I'm sure I'll wonder how he got that way, how the parents were involved, etc. But there's a good reason that jobs from here are being shipped to Bangalore and Lahore. It's because of our work ethic. I really don't like agreeing with Dinesh D'Souza--"Distort DaNewza" some Dartmouth friends said about him--but my observation does bear him out a little. Though it's not as much racial as it is about how these near-destitute people can't back up and see the whole picture. I don't know if they're incapable or if they just don't have the tools or if they're just plain lazy--maybe a combination of all three. I talk with Richard LaQueisha J.D. Washington, Esq. and Richard Marianne Jean-Veniste about the black defendants and the victims too, and they have an even more jaundiced viewpoint. I don't really know what to think, but hey, I've got a job and pretty good security with it. I don't doubt I'd have a harder time if I lived in Selma, Alabama or Tucson even. But even so, if all these drug cases keep coming in, I'll be set for quite a while. That feels good."
Note: I do have a specific person in mind with this characterization, though I don't think she represented any cases like the one I have pieced together. The case itself is a compilation of several different kinds of cases I have heard. The subtext section is just my musing about "Richard-Chitra" based on my own internal temperature and texture as it responds to the information she presented to the "Richard Foreman." (Hilarious! There Really is a Playwright with that name--he won a Macarthur Fellowship even, and runs the St. Mark's Ontologic-Hysterical Theater on St. Mark's Place in the East Village!) How "true" is it? I don't know. I'm putting out my perceptions just to say "Given the information of what I've seen of this person, and she's one of the four or five I've seen on a couple of different cases--this is what I perceive may be going on behind the lenses of her eyes, in her soul. Again, not to judge, just to bring my perceptions out and say this is what I see and nothing else but."
Remember. Even though a real person inspired this, "Richard Chitra" is another me. As I am another you.
Friday, August 13, 2004
Just Being Human
Some days just suck. Warning: This is not a happy post. I'm putting this on my blog because I need to let people in on what's going on in my head right now. I need to express myself a bit.
Or rather, I find myself in a sucky mood, and I can't seem to dig myself out of it. I know the things that will help me--reaching out to others, trying to be of service, making some plans and what not. And I have to cut myself some slack I guess, because of this F***ing grand jury service. (I took yesterday off and boy did I notice a shift in my energy! Only one more f'in' day left thank Gaia!)
I've been isolating. I've not been taking very good care of myself--two nights ago was the first time I went to a movie in almost a month. I've also not been a participant in the civil war that's going on outside my window. Yes, we are in a civil war, whether we want to realize it or not. It's not a civil war between regions however, but one between those who wish to live in a friendly universe vs. those who clutch onto living in a hostile universe. I find myself in a liminal space, between the two. God, it's arduous work to move from the hostile to the friendly! I get to be too hard on myself--today I was "complaining" to another person who helped me to fetch myself up short and realize the disease of civilization was talking through me, wanting me to judge myself for having a rough time.
It's tough for me to sit in on these cases where I get to see people being mean to each other, where I get to expose myself to uniformed/plain-clothes officers who are really sanctioned criminals IMHO, getting their jollies off of further victimizing the unchanced and the unschooled in favor of the unprincipled and the immoderate elegant thugs operating at an eagle's remove from all of the muck. I saw two thug-corporate-cop-cunts on one case, safeguarding the interests of a couple cuntorate vampires, and I immediately wished these two fellows had their heads separated from their bodies. They carried themselves with such swagger and rage and general cuntishness, I found myself fantasizing about bashing their brains in. Of course I had to pray for them, had to ask Gaia to transmute my hatred into something positive. I don't know if anything happened, other than that I didn't jump out from the foreman's table and throttle each of these thugs to death. Guess that's something.
Because of all this isolation and exposure to ugliness, I'm in a toxic morass. I didn't handle this time in service to New York State very well. I told myself I was doing service and during this episode ended up doing myself more disservice. Fantasies of my own death have been populating my mind.
It occurred to me tonight that we are probably going to be making the aforementioned civil war more of a reality as the election draws near. If, as I expect, the Cunts at the Top find a way to fix the election in their favor, I'm fairly sure that there are enough people out there who won't stand for it that they'll cause some sort of disturbance. If, on the other hand, Kerry does actually win, then the Cunts will foment a civil war because they will believe they've been wronged and "the South will rise again" as it were. These are unreasonable reptiles-in-human-clothing who will brook no challenge to their tenuous grasp on reality. The truth will out, and there will unfortunately be war. I see it as inevitable.
Or rather, I find myself in a sucky mood, and I can't seem to dig myself out of it. I know the things that will help me--reaching out to others, trying to be of service, making some plans and what not. And I have to cut myself some slack I guess, because of this F***ing grand jury service. (I took yesterday off and boy did I notice a shift in my energy! Only one more f'in' day left thank Gaia!)
I've been isolating. I've not been taking very good care of myself--two nights ago was the first time I went to a movie in almost a month. I've also not been a participant in the civil war that's going on outside my window. Yes, we are in a civil war, whether we want to realize it or not. It's not a civil war between regions however, but one between those who wish to live in a friendly universe vs. those who clutch onto living in a hostile universe. I find myself in a liminal space, between the two. God, it's arduous work to move from the hostile to the friendly! I get to be too hard on myself--today I was "complaining" to another person who helped me to fetch myself up short and realize the disease of civilization was talking through me, wanting me to judge myself for having a rough time.
It's tough for me to sit in on these cases where I get to see people being mean to each other, where I get to expose myself to uniformed/plain-clothes officers who are really sanctioned criminals IMHO, getting their jollies off of further victimizing the unchanced and the unschooled in favor of the unprincipled and the immoderate elegant thugs operating at an eagle's remove from all of the muck. I saw two thug-corporate-cop-cunts on one case, safeguarding the interests of a couple cuntorate vampires, and I immediately wished these two fellows had their heads separated from their bodies. They carried themselves with such swagger and rage and general cuntishness, I found myself fantasizing about bashing their brains in. Of course I had to pray for them, had to ask Gaia to transmute my hatred into something positive. I don't know if anything happened, other than that I didn't jump out from the foreman's table and throttle each of these thugs to death. Guess that's something.
Because of all this isolation and exposure to ugliness, I'm in a toxic morass. I didn't handle this time in service to New York State very well. I told myself I was doing service and during this episode ended up doing myself more disservice. Fantasies of my own death have been populating my mind.
It occurred to me tonight that we are probably going to be making the aforementioned civil war more of a reality as the election draws near. If, as I expect, the Cunts at the Top find a way to fix the election in their favor, I'm fairly sure that there are enough people out there who won't stand for it that they'll cause some sort of disturbance. If, on the other hand, Kerry does actually win, then the Cunts will foment a civil war because they will believe they've been wronged and "the South will rise again" as it were. These are unreasonable reptiles-in-human-clothing who will brook no challenge to their tenuous grasp on reality. The truth will out, and there will unfortunately be war. I see it as inevitable.
Monday, August 09, 2004
Evolution of My Understanding
I'm better off without him.
As difficult as it is for me to let go of the reins of a friendship, I need to release my former sponsor from any perceived obligations he might have toward me. Whether he pulls himself away from the fetters is none of my business. I have been in that arduous position of telling someone to "Let Go of me!" when I was the one who was holding onto the other one. It's time I go about my business and live my life.
In talking with my best friend today, I had to laugh at myself, the therapy junky. Yes, I have learned quite a bit in my inner travels and travails. And the good news is that I take what I learn and give it over to others for their objective appraisal. After talking with my other sponsor, an Al-Anon friend and my best friend, I can more dispassionately see that my former sponsor has issues and it would be codependent of me to even start to address them. And so I ask Gaia and the sun to bless him, give him everything he wants out of life and now I choose to walk down a different pathway.
I thank him for some of the benefits he gave me as my sponsor. He did help to get me into a place of abstinence and he did give me freely of his understanding of 12-step recovery. He and I did have some good times, especially driving out of the city. I enjoyed talking with him about art, theater, aesthetics and other heady topics. He's a decent person and a good person who wishes to help others.
But we're not the greatest combination and I have come to recognize that we come to a parting of the ways. It's not the first time I've parted with a sponsor, though it is the first time I actually got so apoplectic I yelled at him. And while I felt that initial guilt, I see it as a piece of information that in reality gives me great encouragement rather than a feeling that I did something that needs an amends. The amends I need to make is one of timing--I needed to scream "G.F.Y." to him earlier than this. But no matter, it came out when it did and the timing I have to respect as impeccable.
It's also given me a perspective to reevaluate not only my connection to the food fellowship, but to all my fellowships. It's been 9 years since I first walked into an Al-Anon room, and as much as I have incorporated the 12 Steps and 12 Traditions into my life, I need to take a pause and reflect on what I've been doing and what needs my attention.
Yesterday, I talked with my mother about housecleaning and keeping busy. At her age, she needs to keep busy especially, or she'll drive herself crazy. So she creates projects for herself. She was taking a break from setting brick slabs into the dirt outside the house when I called. Likewise, I need to create "recovery projects" for myself. My 8th/9th Step is a project, but so too are some other areas, like the "Square Dancing Project" and the "Turning my Apartment into a Home Endeavor." I can spend some time on the projects I create and take some small actions toward them. I also need to spend some time on the "What's My Perfect Life to Look Like? Program" and "Richard Gives Service Project" as well.
And I have my former sponsor to thank for this, for jump-starting the process through his own need to pressure me and slot me into a time slot with no room for error or human fallibility. Thanks!
As difficult as it is for me to let go of the reins of a friendship, I need to release my former sponsor from any perceived obligations he might have toward me. Whether he pulls himself away from the fetters is none of my business. I have been in that arduous position of telling someone to "Let Go of me!" when I was the one who was holding onto the other one. It's time I go about my business and live my life.
In talking with my best friend today, I had to laugh at myself, the therapy junky. Yes, I have learned quite a bit in my inner travels and travails. And the good news is that I take what I learn and give it over to others for their objective appraisal. After talking with my other sponsor, an Al-Anon friend and my best friend, I can more dispassionately see that my former sponsor has issues and it would be codependent of me to even start to address them. And so I ask Gaia and the sun to bless him, give him everything he wants out of life and now I choose to walk down a different pathway.
I thank him for some of the benefits he gave me as my sponsor. He did help to get me into a place of abstinence and he did give me freely of his understanding of 12-step recovery. He and I did have some good times, especially driving out of the city. I enjoyed talking with him about art, theater, aesthetics and other heady topics. He's a decent person and a good person who wishes to help others.
But we're not the greatest combination and I have come to recognize that we come to a parting of the ways. It's not the first time I've parted with a sponsor, though it is the first time I actually got so apoplectic I yelled at him. And while I felt that initial guilt, I see it as a piece of information that in reality gives me great encouragement rather than a feeling that I did something that needs an amends. The amends I need to make is one of timing--I needed to scream "G.F.Y." to him earlier than this. But no matter, it came out when it did and the timing I have to respect as impeccable.
It's also given me a perspective to reevaluate not only my connection to the food fellowship, but to all my fellowships. It's been 9 years since I first walked into an Al-Anon room, and as much as I have incorporated the 12 Steps and 12 Traditions into my life, I need to take a pause and reflect on what I've been doing and what needs my attention.
Yesterday, I talked with my mother about housecleaning and keeping busy. At her age, she needs to keep busy especially, or she'll drive herself crazy. So she creates projects for herself. She was taking a break from setting brick slabs into the dirt outside the house when I called. Likewise, I need to create "recovery projects" for myself. My 8th/9th Step is a project, but so too are some other areas, like the "Square Dancing Project" and the "Turning my Apartment into a Home Endeavor." I can spend some time on the projects I create and take some small actions toward them. I also need to spend some time on the "What's My Perfect Life to Look Like? Program" and "Richard Gives Service Project" as well.
And I have my former sponsor to thank for this, for jump-starting the process through his own need to pressure me and slot me into a time slot with no room for error or human fallibility. Thanks!
Sunday, August 08, 2004
A different perspective
I talked with an Al-Anon friend about the fracas with my CEAHOW sponsor. In one of those D'Oh!mer Simpson moments, I was reminded that as per Al-Anon, if I feel guilty about something, I probably did something right. In retrospect, I did need to tell him "Please, if you would, off to back." Yes, it came out sideways. It came out in a rather childish manner and could have been more elegantly carried off. But I'm human and I didn't respond to the pressuring all that well. So ironically it's to my credit that I said what I said, if not for the style, than at least for the content.
Hooray for me!
Hooray for me!
Friday, August 06, 2004
Living with an Emotional Hangover
I've been in a funk the past few days because of my angry eruption. It feels like an emotional wound that got reopened. Perhaps it had scarred over since the last time, but it feels just like new. I'm surprised at the primal feelings I have, of how they would so like to cloud over my vision. It's probably no shock that I don't feel at all like meditating of late, though my awkward Grand-Jury-debilitated schedule only adds to that mishagoss. Since I've not been exercising as much of late, again due to G.J. rationalization, I have inadvertently put myself in a more vulnerable position regarding emotional wraith penetration.
There are so many factors to the feeling of toxicity that courses through me right now. I haven't reached homeostasis yet. The situation will continue to evolve, as I use the tools of the 12 steps and talk about the situation with my other sponsor and my _A and _-Anon friends. (_ means fill-in-the-blank. DA, AA, NA, Al-Anon, NA-Anon, etc.) There are other factors too that are more confusing. My food fellowship is not ideal as a means of staying in recovery. I'm wondering if it isn't something I use as a bridge to some other sort of fellowship that is a bit more mature in its outlook without going into OA-style permissiveness and rationalization. Though armed with the knowledge I've received from my food fellowship, I might be able to wade into the OA waters and seek out the ones who have achieved something of note.
The thing that set me off most was not knowing how to deal with a situation that allows for no recourse. I've been in jobs like that. There's a word for that sort of job, and that word is "abusive." It's tough to go through all of this stuff, which is supposed to make me stronger, and then receive what amounts to a "pop-quiz" of sober action and to recognize that my head needs some fine-tuning. I'm sure there was a graceful way to handle that situation, and I probably could replay the whole scenario making a different choice. That is a tool for the future. I am not a bad person, just a guy with issues about being pressured. I have this image of a snake that has been coiled up inside me, waiting, just waiting for the right opportunity to reach out and strike. And what's so confounding is that what I said was really inane, childish, small and small-minded. That it set off the other person was something I think I did intend to do, and how I knew that would do the trick is beyond me. "My inner parselmouth" read the situation correctly and it hit its target all right. "Listen, Virgo--" and that was all that was needed.
I don't think it was the other person's intent to be abusive. They got into a tunnel-vision of their own and he had his reasons for his actions. They may be reasonable, they may not. My role in the situation was that I have been a people-pleaser throughout this relationship. I've not been able to maintain clear boundaries around this sponsorship thing. I have a lot in common with this fellow, and I do genuinely like the guy, his eccentricities notwithstanding. But we have learned how to hurt each other, and that troubles me sehr.
And I've been living inside this strange, darkened viewpoint where I get to accept my own humanity. At long last, I suppose. But I don't like what I see, and while it's not like I viewed myself as Gaia's gift to humanity before, I'm feeling a deep sadness underneath the rage and fear. This really is sadness too, not self-pity. (That little monstrosity is trying to wheedle it's way in, but I have to kick it in the jaw and send the little skull-dog scurrying away from me. I now think that's what my weird dream about being attacked by the vicious little undead pooch was about.)
More to come later. Still developing...
There are so many factors to the feeling of toxicity that courses through me right now. I haven't reached homeostasis yet. The situation will continue to evolve, as I use the tools of the 12 steps and talk about the situation with my other sponsor and my _A and _-Anon friends. (_ means fill-in-the-blank. DA, AA, NA, Al-Anon, NA-Anon, etc.) There are other factors too that are more confusing. My food fellowship is not ideal as a means of staying in recovery. I'm wondering if it isn't something I use as a bridge to some other sort of fellowship that is a bit more mature in its outlook without going into OA-style permissiveness and rationalization. Though armed with the knowledge I've received from my food fellowship, I might be able to wade into the OA waters and seek out the ones who have achieved something of note.
The thing that set me off most was not knowing how to deal with a situation that allows for no recourse. I've been in jobs like that. There's a word for that sort of job, and that word is "abusive." It's tough to go through all of this stuff, which is supposed to make me stronger, and then receive what amounts to a "pop-quiz" of sober action and to recognize that my head needs some fine-tuning. I'm sure there was a graceful way to handle that situation, and I probably could replay the whole scenario making a different choice. That is a tool for the future. I am not a bad person, just a guy with issues about being pressured. I have this image of a snake that has been coiled up inside me, waiting, just waiting for the right opportunity to reach out and strike. And what's so confounding is that what I said was really inane, childish, small and small-minded. That it set off the other person was something I think I did intend to do, and how I knew that would do the trick is beyond me. "My inner parselmouth" read the situation correctly and it hit its target all right. "Listen, Virgo--" and that was all that was needed.
I don't think it was the other person's intent to be abusive. They got into a tunnel-vision of their own and he had his reasons for his actions. They may be reasonable, they may not. My role in the situation was that I have been a people-pleaser throughout this relationship. I've not been able to maintain clear boundaries around this sponsorship thing. I have a lot in common with this fellow, and I do genuinely like the guy, his eccentricities notwithstanding. But we have learned how to hurt each other, and that troubles me sehr.
And I've been living inside this strange, darkened viewpoint where I get to accept my own humanity. At long last, I suppose. But I don't like what I see, and while it's not like I viewed myself as Gaia's gift to humanity before, I'm feeling a deep sadness underneath the rage and fear. This really is sadness too, not self-pity. (That little monstrosity is trying to wheedle it's way in, but I have to kick it in the jaw and send the little skull-dog scurrying away from me. I now think that's what my weird dream about being attacked by the vicious little undead pooch was about.)
More to come later. Still developing...
Tuesday, August 03, 2004
Albany of the Imagination #2
In this town of my desiring, I see myself eating at Shades of Green, the vegan restaurant on Lark Street. Many of the street names of Albany's Capital District are named for birds. Dove Street, Eagle Street, Hawk, etc. Lark Street is Albany's version of Greenwich Village. It has a "funky-bohemian" feel to it. About two miles to the west, down Central Avenue is the Food Co-op, the name of which escapes me for the moment. I imagine myself hanging out on Lark Street sometimes, sharing a meal with a group of friends of like mind, all of whom come together in a thirtysomething-like collection. (I hear W. G. Snuffy Walden's music and others of that ilk as the soundtrack to this existence, I must also note.)
I envision a life where yes, cold weather abounds. Of course Albany frequently has harsh winters, yet I love that. For today, anyway. Growing up in Colorado where it could snow 3 feet one day then be 65 degrees the next day in December, I do have a deep affection for the white stuff. Even four years at Dartmouth, where it gets really cold due to the humidity of the continental climate, couldn't exterminate my "nevaphilia." (I think "Nevada" means snowy, in case my made-up word is incorrect.) I need to have four seasons. Since I entered into this abstinence my sensitivity to seasonal change has become much more exquisite. Now that we're into Lammastime, I am aware of autumn's imminence. The season is "born" now, while Summer is at its apex. Over the next few weeks, I'll be longing for squash, sweaters and the changing of the leaves.
The Hudson River Valley gets a gorgeous tinting in autumn, needless to say. Last fall, I sat near the Hudson in Riverfront Park and just took in the grandeur of the trees across the river in Rensselaer. I can envision lovely get-togethers, maybe even bonfires at nearby farms and the like. I can also imagine lively dances and social opportunities galore. In this world, I still don't know what I would be doing for a living, but I'm filling in the details of the dream. It will unfold at its own place as I color in more of the vision.
I envision a life where yes, cold weather abounds. Of course Albany frequently has harsh winters, yet I love that. For today, anyway. Growing up in Colorado where it could snow 3 feet one day then be 65 degrees the next day in December, I do have a deep affection for the white stuff. Even four years at Dartmouth, where it gets really cold due to the humidity of the continental climate, couldn't exterminate my "nevaphilia." (I think "Nevada" means snowy, in case my made-up word is incorrect.) I need to have four seasons. Since I entered into this abstinence my sensitivity to seasonal change has become much more exquisite. Now that we're into Lammastime, I am aware of autumn's imminence. The season is "born" now, while Summer is at its apex. Over the next few weeks, I'll be longing for squash, sweaters and the changing of the leaves.
The Hudson River Valley gets a gorgeous tinting in autumn, needless to say. Last fall, I sat near the Hudson in Riverfront Park and just took in the grandeur of the trees across the river in Rensselaer. I can envision lovely get-togethers, maybe even bonfires at nearby farms and the like. I can also imagine lively dances and social opportunities galore. In this world, I still don't know what I would be doing for a living, but I'm filling in the details of the dream. It will unfold at its own place as I color in more of the vision.
About Yesterday's Angry Moment
Well, it's been an enlightening 24 hours.
The sponsor I got angry with yesterday and exploded at fired me tonight. He left a message on my machine telling me in essence to find someone else to work with. I feel a whole mixture of emotions. Sadness, fear, powerless rage, yes. But mostly relief.
The Recovery Spiral by Cynthia Jane Collins has been a real help to me in the process of sorting through my feelings. In retrospect, I realize I have not been able to be completely honest with my sponsor, and because of this I have been reticent to share all of my feelings about things. Really, our sponsorship relationship hadn't been working for quite a while and last night, a lot of feeling just came out sideways. I wish I had caught myself before I blurted out my insanity, and I at least had the presence of mind to clip off the conversation before I went to town on the guy. In retrospect I see that I'd been getting a lot of mixed messages from my fellow addict, but minimized my own reactions thereto. It's easy to forget that all of us coming together in 12-step work have a disease that tells us we don't have a disease, and it's part of the process of becoming aware that we participate in making our relationships murky.
There's a saying in the rooms: "Before recovery, a drunk horse thief. In recovery, a sober thief." I still approach my relationships with that addict mentality of "what can I get from this?"--even when I tell myself I'm not doing that. There are some people with whom I don't do that, but more often than not, that limbic brain sizes others up on several different rubrics. I have to be very careful where sponsors are concerned. My needs are changing as I gain awareness and I need gentleness and truth-telling combined. Not an easy combination. I so wish that the castles of my imagination would manifest and we'd all be living "the life of the spirit made manifest." We inhabit these flesh packets and we have to negotiate with other flesh packet-inhabitants. These bodies, hearts, minds and souls have certain requirements to meet, and these come into conflict. And if there's one thing I HATE, it's conflict.
I need others to tell me not to beat myself up during this difficult moment, and not to judge what happened yet as a mistake. In other words don't diagnose before I'm ready. Like I said, there are a lot of things to sort through in this short, troubled relationship. I need to honor myself and my former sponsor both, by owning up to only what is mine, for it is a tendency to say "Global warming? That's my fault and my fault alone." Even as I tease out what is mine, I have to not point my finger at my former sponsor. The outburst came at a difficult moment for both of us I fear, and I know we each have to take care of ourselves through this process. The goal is to heal, after all, to learn to live with the disease of addiction much like the diabetic or someone with MS has to live with their disease. Being painstakingly honest during the process is not something I want to volunteer for, but I must if I'm to stay abstinent. I need to stay put and sort it out with people I trust. This will take time.
Meanwhile, I need to grieve. Yesterday, after I had my outburst, I wanted to cry. My body shook with emotion and horror. I feel this rawness in my chest cavity, an aching. This is the nature of an emotional hangover. There's more to this than meets the eye, and I know that I owe an amends. But I need to take my time with this. Even though the 10th Step says "When we were wrong, promptly admitted it," and I admit I was wrong, I still need to walk through it with others to nail down where exactly I was wrong.
Fun fun fun!
The sponsor I got angry with yesterday and exploded at fired me tonight. He left a message on my machine telling me in essence to find someone else to work with. I feel a whole mixture of emotions. Sadness, fear, powerless rage, yes. But mostly relief.
The Recovery Spiral by Cynthia Jane Collins has been a real help to me in the process of sorting through my feelings. In retrospect, I realize I have not been able to be completely honest with my sponsor, and because of this I have been reticent to share all of my feelings about things. Really, our sponsorship relationship hadn't been working for quite a while and last night, a lot of feeling just came out sideways. I wish I had caught myself before I blurted out my insanity, and I at least had the presence of mind to clip off the conversation before I went to town on the guy. In retrospect I see that I'd been getting a lot of mixed messages from my fellow addict, but minimized my own reactions thereto. It's easy to forget that all of us coming together in 12-step work have a disease that tells us we don't have a disease, and it's part of the process of becoming aware that we participate in making our relationships murky.
There's a saying in the rooms: "Before recovery, a drunk horse thief. In recovery, a sober thief." I still approach my relationships with that addict mentality of "what can I get from this?"--even when I tell myself I'm not doing that. There are some people with whom I don't do that, but more often than not, that limbic brain sizes others up on several different rubrics. I have to be very careful where sponsors are concerned. My needs are changing as I gain awareness and I need gentleness and truth-telling combined. Not an easy combination. I so wish that the castles of my imagination would manifest and we'd all be living "the life of the spirit made manifest." We inhabit these flesh packets and we have to negotiate with other flesh packet-inhabitants. These bodies, hearts, minds and souls have certain requirements to meet, and these come into conflict. And if there's one thing I HATE, it's conflict.
I need others to tell me not to beat myself up during this difficult moment, and not to judge what happened yet as a mistake. In other words don't diagnose before I'm ready. Like I said, there are a lot of things to sort through in this short, troubled relationship. I need to honor myself and my former sponsor both, by owning up to only what is mine, for it is a tendency to say "Global warming? That's my fault and my fault alone." Even as I tease out what is mine, I have to not point my finger at my former sponsor. The outburst came at a difficult moment for both of us I fear, and I know we each have to take care of ourselves through this process. The goal is to heal, after all, to learn to live with the disease of addiction much like the diabetic or someone with MS has to live with their disease. Being painstakingly honest during the process is not something I want to volunteer for, but I must if I'm to stay abstinent. I need to stay put and sort it out with people I trust. This will take time.
Meanwhile, I need to grieve. Yesterday, after I had my outburst, I wanted to cry. My body shook with emotion and horror. I feel this rawness in my chest cavity, an aching. This is the nature of an emotional hangover. There's more to this than meets the eye, and I know that I owe an amends. But I need to take my time with this. Even though the 10th Step says "When we were wrong, promptly admitted it," and I admit I was wrong, I still need to walk through it with others to nail down where exactly I was wrong.
Fun fun fun!
Monday, August 02, 2004
Maybe this is melodramatic...
I work literally across the street from the Citigroup building. Today, there's a terror alert, and it's being haphazardly handled. A co-worker came in for the day shift, furious that 53rd Street hadn't been closed. She'd already seen 4 panel trucks go by as she came in to work. I'd heard also that while the entrance in front of 599 Lex (my building) was closed off, people could still come out RIGHT UNDER THE CITIGROUP BUILDING as of last night. There are police with submachine guns and attack dogs in front of 599 Lex, but the subway's still open? And 53rd Street is still open? I mean, like WTF?
My shift ends soon, and I'm pretty sure that if there's an attack, it's not going to happen before 9 a.m.--aren't I the optimist? But I just have to say, enough of this cheneying fear already. I've been telling my friends I don't want to get used to seeing cops with AK-47s around everywhere. That's h0w fascism starts, y'all. That's how the frog boils to death, a degree at a time. I want to jump out of this concrete pond now!
My shift ends soon, and I'm pretty sure that if there's an attack, it's not going to happen before 9 a.m.--aren't I the optimist? But I just have to say, enough of this cheneying fear already. I've been telling my friends I don't want to get used to seeing cops with AK-47s around everywhere. That's h0w fascism starts, y'all. That's how the frog boils to death, a degree at a time. I want to jump out of this concrete pond now!
Albany of the Imagination
When I let myself go and imagine "my perfect life," I see myself walking on Lark Street near Central and Western Avenues in Albany. I see myself traversing State Street past the State Capitol and riding a bus out to the University. I see a free and easy fellow, looking for opportunities to be of service to Albanians, who is a part of the place. I try and envision what I do for a living there, but so far nothing comes to the surface. I do see myself living at least on the first floor of a house, perhaps even inhabiting the entire premises. I see myself as being a valued and valuable person in these environs, that I have a lot to offer the place and the people and the spirit of the place and peope, and that it returns the energy tenfold.
Today, I'm going to start something I hope I will be able to continue for a time. I've mentioned the film Big Eden before. "My Perfect Life" or rather "The Life I Want for Myself" can be shorthanded for the time being to Big Eden in Albany or nearby. I sense that Albany may not be a perfect fit with that idea--there is a reactionary element in the area's religious people, particularly in the Episcopalian heirarchy. The Irish Catholic rigidity is also an area of concern--William Kennedy points to this in his wondrous biography of his hometown, O Albany! But Albany is a city. It may not be as populous as the epicenter of culture 3-1/2 hours to its south, but because of its urban nature there is a diversity of opinion and belief. As it is the state capitol, there's also a degree of expansiveness it must have. And it's a college town to boot.
So this is my first post about the Albany I imagine myself becoming a part of. Whether it actually ends up being Albany or Manhattan, or Devils Lake, North Dakota where my folks live, or Charleston, West Va.--wherever Gaia wills me to go--I am recording my impressions about life there, about the people that I might meet, about the spirit of the place.
Speaking on that spirit, I believe that the heart and soul of Albany is to be found in the H. H. Richardson designed State Capitol building itself. I find myself drawn to the courtyard in front of the building, just wanting to commune with its frisky-puppy energy. The State Capitol is a gorgeous building that yes, was probably inspired by some French architecture. But it is its own building as well, forthright in its gracious presence. For all of the politicking that goes on there, it feels like a "happy building," particularly in sharp contrast to the Rockefeller mo(der)nstrosities across Eagle Street therefrom. Walking down the Empire State Plaza, one can't help but think of Mussolini Rome and Berlin under Hitler or East Berlin during the Soviet years, with their rigid [national-]socialist-realism that advertised their weak masculinities. The only good thing those buildings do is to increase one's appreciation for the spiritual center of the city. ESP will never be that, The Egg notwithstanding. (I do like The Egg, but that may be because I like to be perverse.)
(I'm still sort of learning the ins and outs of posting to this site. Here's a link to a picture of the building I love so much:
http://www.bluffton.edu/~sullivanm/albanyrich/cap1.jpg
Today, I'm going to start something I hope I will be able to continue for a time. I've mentioned the film Big Eden before. "My Perfect Life" or rather "The Life I Want for Myself" can be shorthanded for the time being to Big Eden in Albany or nearby. I sense that Albany may not be a perfect fit with that idea--there is a reactionary element in the area's religious people, particularly in the Episcopalian heirarchy. The Irish Catholic rigidity is also an area of concern--William Kennedy points to this in his wondrous biography of his hometown, O Albany! But Albany is a city. It may not be as populous as the epicenter of culture 3-1/2 hours to its south, but because of its urban nature there is a diversity of opinion and belief. As it is the state capitol, there's also a degree of expansiveness it must have. And it's a college town to boot.
So this is my first post about the Albany I imagine myself becoming a part of. Whether it actually ends up being Albany or Manhattan, or Devils Lake, North Dakota where my folks live, or Charleston, West Va.--wherever Gaia wills me to go--I am recording my impressions about life there, about the people that I might meet, about the spirit of the place.
Speaking on that spirit, I believe that the heart and soul of Albany is to be found in the H. H. Richardson designed State Capitol building itself. I find myself drawn to the courtyard in front of the building, just wanting to commune with its frisky-puppy energy. The State Capitol is a gorgeous building that yes, was probably inspired by some French architecture. But it is its own building as well, forthright in its gracious presence. For all of the politicking that goes on there, it feels like a "happy building," particularly in sharp contrast to the Rockefeller mo(der)nstrosities across Eagle Street therefrom. Walking down the Empire State Plaza, one can't help but think of Mussolini Rome and Berlin under Hitler or East Berlin during the Soviet years, with their rigid [national-]socialist-realism that advertised their weak masculinities. The only good thing those buildings do is to increase one's appreciation for the spiritual center of the city. ESP will never be that, The Egg notwithstanding. (I do like The Egg, but that may be because I like to be perverse.)
(I'm still sort of learning the ins and outs of posting to this site. Here's a link to a picture of the building I love so much:
http://www.bluffton.edu/~sullivanm/albanyrich/cap1.jpg
#1 - Integrated Party; #2 - Anger Eruption
Actually, I'm going to type #2 first, and put it below #1 which is more pleasant.
#1: There's a party always happening inside me. On my way to work tonight I did a walking meditation where I tried to get in touch with all my animal guides. In doing some informal internet research on working with animal guides, I came across a fellow who says that each of our chakras has it's own guide. The first animal that appeared was the otter. He felt like he was my heart chakra, and then other animals started to appear. I now feel there are more than just seven chakras, that there are at least 13. One starts below the ground, and the "last" one is somewhere out-there in space. Anyway, I hadn't really been as in touch with my animal guides of late, so I decided I'd just spend time with each one of them as I walked part of the way to work.
My root chakra animal is the iguana, and I had some difficulty getting in touch with him. When I moved up to goat, who was looking a bit peaked and I felt a wave of sadness come over me because goat seems to need a lot more, I started to understand that I had a difficulty with iguana because I don't feel as rooted into the world right now. When I moved up to the third chakra, things got a little better, though my third-chakra beaver is a bit nervous and fidgety. (I've noticed that's the way he is by nature, sort of a high-strung professorial type guide.) Otter always wants to play--he works, but he works with purpose, so that he can play without fetter. I imagined Otter playing in a small lake and splashing water at me, beckoning me to have a better time with life.
My three upper-chakra animal guides are all female for some reason. Hawk, She-Bear and 12-point Doe. I could see from Hawk's POV, flying above me, even as I kept my visual focus on the sidewalk ahead of me. And I like being in Bear's energy--she's quite calming in her redoubt. It was sometime here that the thought that "There's a party going on inside me" got caught in the web of my consciousness. I filed it away so that I would begin this post with it. Then I moved to to Doe, who I find a bit intimidating. She doesn't suffer blather and process much. I have to cut to the chase with her many times, though I think when sometimes I don't know what it is I'm feeling she's a bit more patient. Doe reminds me of the SUNY-Systems Admin Building in Albany, New York. Kind of a crone energy Doe has. In fact as I was trying to commune with Doe, I got a whiff of "Old-lady smell." (Clairvoyance, Clairaudience--is there such a thing as Clairolifaction?)
I imagine all my animal guides and my more human ones too spreading out and exploding onto a large green expanse near water. The party is ongoing. Sometimes I remember to drop in, like I did tonight.
#2: Well, I was on the phone with one of my sponsors and I ran headlong into a trigger. I won't go into the specifics of the conversation, but I felt myself slipping into a place that was a bit out-of-control. I can only talk about what's going on with me. In the heat of the moment, I felt I had been triggered, and the voices of "no f*in' way" were all ablaze. I have a feeling that what was going on was two people who were both being unreasonable in their own ways were clashing, and I had at least the presence of mind to terminate the conversation, even though that meant hanging up on my sponsor in mid-sentence. I didn't think I would be at any place where I could continue the conversation and in fact, saw that I had already caused some harm, when I "played the sign card." (He can't help that he's a Virgo, I can't help that I'm a Pisces.) That was a bit unfair, and I see the need to atone for that transgression.
I don't exactly know how it happened. I know that there probably was some sort of Al-Anonic shenanigans at work, because I felt several hooks being thrown out and I was desperately trying to dodge them even though I was finding myself increasingly angry. When I got off the phone, I had these irrational thoughts like I had been "found-out" and was having to go to the Principal's office or face the bailiff. I will need to talk to some other people about the specifics of the situation to see whether I was unreasonable, or whether I was being reasonable but frustrated and reactive. When anger and fear enter the picture, distortion is the name of the game, and I will need to speak to someone who has more access to reason than I do at the current time.
I'm sure I will need to make amends to my sponsor, but I have to be clear what the nature of my causing harm was, and that I only make amends therefor. The Addict/Alanonic way of apologizing is to take on way too much, and before I know it, I'll be apologizing for being responsible for the US having a dry-drunk as "president." Like that's ALL my fault! (I do still believe we all qualify for Al-Anon just because of this state of affairs alone!)
I was the one who was angry and resentful, so that means there was something the matter with me. I like the phrase "something the matter". It's kind of a vague phrase which we have given a larger meaning as being upset with a state of affairs or a condition resulting from some discomfort. I see that I had unintentionally turned my sponsor into an irresponsible authority figure. Just because someone isn't perfect means they're automatically Hitler crossed with Mrs. O'Leary, cow-owner. I felt something take over inside me, and I sense that this something has been building for awhile. There's more to it, and I need to sort it out.
#1: There's a party always happening inside me. On my way to work tonight I did a walking meditation where I tried to get in touch with all my animal guides. In doing some informal internet research on working with animal guides, I came across a fellow who says that each of our chakras has it's own guide. The first animal that appeared was the otter. He felt like he was my heart chakra, and then other animals started to appear. I now feel there are more than just seven chakras, that there are at least 13. One starts below the ground, and the "last" one is somewhere out-there in space. Anyway, I hadn't really been as in touch with my animal guides of late, so I decided I'd just spend time with each one of them as I walked part of the way to work.
My root chakra animal is the iguana, and I had some difficulty getting in touch with him. When I moved up to goat, who was looking a bit peaked and I felt a wave of sadness come over me because goat seems to need a lot more, I started to understand that I had a difficulty with iguana because I don't feel as rooted into the world right now. When I moved up to the third chakra, things got a little better, though my third-chakra beaver is a bit nervous and fidgety. (I've noticed that's the way he is by nature, sort of a high-strung professorial type guide.) Otter always wants to play--he works, but he works with purpose, so that he can play without fetter. I imagined Otter playing in a small lake and splashing water at me, beckoning me to have a better time with life.
My three upper-chakra animal guides are all female for some reason. Hawk, She-Bear and 12-point Doe. I could see from Hawk's POV, flying above me, even as I kept my visual focus on the sidewalk ahead of me. And I like being in Bear's energy--she's quite calming in her redoubt. It was sometime here that the thought that "There's a party going on inside me" got caught in the web of my consciousness. I filed it away so that I would begin this post with it. Then I moved to to Doe, who I find a bit intimidating. She doesn't suffer blather and process much. I have to cut to the chase with her many times, though I think when sometimes I don't know what it is I'm feeling she's a bit more patient. Doe reminds me of the SUNY-Systems Admin Building in Albany, New York. Kind of a crone energy Doe has. In fact as I was trying to commune with Doe, I got a whiff of "Old-lady smell." (Clairvoyance, Clairaudience--is there such a thing as Clairolifaction?)
I imagine all my animal guides and my more human ones too spreading out and exploding onto a large green expanse near water. The party is ongoing. Sometimes I remember to drop in, like I did tonight.
#2: Well, I was on the phone with one of my sponsors and I ran headlong into a trigger. I won't go into the specifics of the conversation, but I felt myself slipping into a place that was a bit out-of-control. I can only talk about what's going on with me. In the heat of the moment, I felt I had been triggered, and the voices of "no f*in' way" were all ablaze. I have a feeling that what was going on was two people who were both being unreasonable in their own ways were clashing, and I had at least the presence of mind to terminate the conversation, even though that meant hanging up on my sponsor in mid-sentence. I didn't think I would be at any place where I could continue the conversation and in fact, saw that I had already caused some harm, when I "played the sign card." (He can't help that he's a Virgo, I can't help that I'm a Pisces.) That was a bit unfair, and I see the need to atone for that transgression.
I don't exactly know how it happened. I know that there probably was some sort of Al-Anonic shenanigans at work, because I felt several hooks being thrown out and I was desperately trying to dodge them even though I was finding myself increasingly angry. When I got off the phone, I had these irrational thoughts like I had been "found-out" and was having to go to the Principal's office or face the bailiff. I will need to talk to some other people about the specifics of the situation to see whether I was unreasonable, or whether I was being reasonable but frustrated and reactive. When anger and fear enter the picture, distortion is the name of the game, and I will need to speak to someone who has more access to reason than I do at the current time.
I'm sure I will need to make amends to my sponsor, but I have to be clear what the nature of my causing harm was, and that I only make amends therefor. The Addict/Alanonic way of apologizing is to take on way too much, and before I know it, I'll be apologizing for being responsible for the US having a dry-drunk as "president." Like that's ALL my fault! (I do still believe we all qualify for Al-Anon just because of this state of affairs alone!)
I was the one who was angry and resentful, so that means there was something the matter with me. I like the phrase "something the matter". It's kind of a vague phrase which we have given a larger meaning as being upset with a state of affairs or a condition resulting from some discomfort. I see that I had unintentionally turned my sponsor into an irresponsible authority figure. Just because someone isn't perfect means they're automatically Hitler crossed with Mrs. O'Leary, cow-owner. I felt something take over inside me, and I sense that this something has been building for awhile. There's more to it, and I need to sort it out.
Sunday, August 01, 2004
Food Thoughts #1
Chinese dietary theory holds that each food we eat is one of five "elements"--fire, metal, earth, wood or water. Tonight for "nunch" I had a meal that was only imbalanced re: water. The fire foods were salsa, brussels sprouts, and red lentils. The metal food was cauliflower. Earth included the banana, carrots and turnips and Wood included millet, butter and cashews. If I drank decaf coffee that would be counted as water, though perhaps dandelion root tea would count as water. (I have since switched from regular (fire) to decaf (water).) When I choose to have a cup of blueberries/pineapple for dinner, then I'd have water in the blueberries. I'll probably do this tomorrow, since it's best to have some representation from all five elements. I would imagine that if I were to have a fire-less meal, I'd be a bit sluggish; without earth I'd feel light-headed, without metal spineless, and without wood brittle. Without water, I guess I'm a little out-of-touch with my emotions.
Tonight I'll have tuna, turkey and cheese for protein, rice cakes for grain, various greens and veggies for a salad, and some avocado squash as well, cashews, ranch dressing, and butter, blueberries and pineapple, and sugarfree berry jello. So I'll have in the fire category, tomatoes, red onion, red pepper and scallions and maybe arugula (can't remember if that's fire or water) while metal includes the rice cakes and wood the cashews and I believe the tuna, cheese, butter, dressing and perhaps the purslane(?). Water will take the blueberries, the jello and mushrooms, and lastly earth the carrots and avocado squash. I forget whether it's earth or wood that includes turkey (by process of elimination). All in all, a fairly balanced meal.
*****
The other day I had some pork chops and my body rejoiced! It luxuriated in something that the pork meat offered. I have no idea what, but I do notice it when the cells of my body seem to glow with joyous abandon. This has happened to me on several occasions, now that I've cleared my system of refined white powders.
*****
I'm still an addict, no matter what. Yesterday as I was getting my stuff ready for my "brinner" meal, I spied someone else's "frosted celebration-matter." Immediately upon seeing it, I remembered its taste and imagined it in my mouth. It was instantaneous, there was no controlling the initial impulse. I had no desire to steal it and devour it, but I did remember that longing after the nutrition-deficient substances I once knew. A part of me felt enraged I couldn't have a piece of celebration-matter. But I continued on with making my nutritious meal. Someone came in and smelled the arugula and asked what it was, because it smelled so good, even though he was also talking with a co-worker about "those yummy raspberry cookies." Still, asking after arugula is as it should be, is it not?
*****
The addict in me isn't wrong, he's irrational. He wants to have as much sugar as he can stand without any consequences. But when my body comes into an internal contact with sugar and flour, there can only be negative ramifications. I don't always feel I'm enough with abstinent food, but without the refrain from the white powders, the frequency of feeling OK with the world would go down, my weight would go up, I'd have a never-ending feeling that I wasn't getting enough nourishment and really nourishing foods would seem unexciting and dull. I remember after getting off sugar the joy I felt at having a cup of butternut squash! Oh my word! It was the best sensation in the world and it was abstinent! During my fat years, squash held no allure, little appeal. It was best seen as something to endure on the way to dessert. But today it holds its own loveliness. I'd lose that too with a hit of sugar, the "positive" effects of which would only last for five minutes or so. The addict doesn't want to believe that the body he inhabits is this way. He wants to believe that he's just like other people when he plainly is only like others who are inhabiting hypersensitive bodies like he is. The addict isn't a figure for me to hate, but one for me to love and cherish. He's not evil, he's just crazy.
Tonight I'll have tuna, turkey and cheese for protein, rice cakes for grain, various greens and veggies for a salad, and some avocado squash as well, cashews, ranch dressing, and butter, blueberries and pineapple, and sugarfree berry jello. So I'll have in the fire category, tomatoes, red onion, red pepper and scallions and maybe arugula (can't remember if that's fire or water) while metal includes the rice cakes and wood the cashews and I believe the tuna, cheese, butter, dressing and perhaps the purslane(?). Water will take the blueberries, the jello and mushrooms, and lastly earth the carrots and avocado squash. I forget whether it's earth or wood that includes turkey (by process of elimination). All in all, a fairly balanced meal.
*****
The other day I had some pork chops and my body rejoiced! It luxuriated in something that the pork meat offered. I have no idea what, but I do notice it when the cells of my body seem to glow with joyous abandon. This has happened to me on several occasions, now that I've cleared my system of refined white powders.
*****
I'm still an addict, no matter what. Yesterday as I was getting my stuff ready for my "brinner" meal, I spied someone else's "frosted celebration-matter." Immediately upon seeing it, I remembered its taste and imagined it in my mouth. It was instantaneous, there was no controlling the initial impulse. I had no desire to steal it and devour it, but I did remember that longing after the nutrition-deficient substances I once knew. A part of me felt enraged I couldn't have a piece of celebration-matter. But I continued on with making my nutritious meal. Someone came in and smelled the arugula and asked what it was, because it smelled so good, even though he was also talking with a co-worker about "those yummy raspberry cookies." Still, asking after arugula is as it should be, is it not?
*****
The addict in me isn't wrong, he's irrational. He wants to have as much sugar as he can stand without any consequences. But when my body comes into an internal contact with sugar and flour, there can only be negative ramifications. I don't always feel I'm enough with abstinent food, but without the refrain from the white powders, the frequency of feeling OK with the world would go down, my weight would go up, I'd have a never-ending feeling that I wasn't getting enough nourishment and really nourishing foods would seem unexciting and dull. I remember after getting off sugar the joy I felt at having a cup of butternut squash! Oh my word! It was the best sensation in the world and it was abstinent! During my fat years, squash held no allure, little appeal. It was best seen as something to endure on the way to dessert. But today it holds its own loveliness. I'd lose that too with a hit of sugar, the "positive" effects of which would only last for five minutes or so. The addict doesn't want to believe that the body he inhabits is this way. He wants to believe that he's just like other people when he plainly is only like others who are inhabiting hypersensitive bodies like he is. The addict isn't a figure for me to hate, but one for me to love and cherish. He's not evil, he's just crazy.
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