What If

There are many things that cause a person's life to change course and direction, and I don't mean the little twists and turns, I mean the events that cause a radical and life altering change. Today I had a conversation that causes me to think long and hard about how my life would be different, if I haven't had to deal with the dreaded panic attacks all of these long years.

What if I'd never had a panic attack? How would my life be different?

The funny thing about asking deep questions is that very often the answer is not at all what you think it's going to be when asked up at the surface. And when I doodled out a mini life inventory of each life altering point along my journey, the truth is that my life has been much more altered by the cancer, than ever by the panic attacks.

Then why am I so topsy-turveyed by the panic attacks?

Looking at this life map, it's shocking to see that three of the major life jolts in course and cause were motivated by the three different cause-and-effects of each round with cancer. But, once the path was diverged, then life mellows out. The difference with the panic attacks has been that no matter what I do, or where I live, the constant threat of a panic attack affects my quality of life in an every single day way that leaves me feeling jaded, bitter, and exhausted.

The unexpected truth is that it has been much easier to make peace with cancer than with these dreaded panic attacks.

Asking "What if?" can very often cause nothing but grief and heart ache, but there are those rare occasions when the act of asking the question opens up awareness into a whole new way of thinking. And this is one of those times, because there are some really wonderful insights that came from this dive down into my soul today. Like how I have not let the panic attacks stop me from ultimately doing what I want to do. They have clearly made my journey much more difficult and challenging, but I would pretty much have ended up in the same place. . . .doing the same thing. . . .and that (for me) is encouraging news!

I love when my assumptions about my self get turned upside down on their heads.

So I will continue on with this journey of making peace with the panic attacks. I may never love them, but I definitely want to have a different relationship to them. . . . .to coexist in peace with them. . . .even if I can't ever fix them or make them go away. . . . .one day at a time. . . .one day at a time.

Under God

I subbed for a Social Studies class today, and I came across a little blurb about Francis Bellamy, the person who wrote the original Pledge of Allegiance. I have been thinking a LOT about the Pledge of Allegience lately because there is so much controversy flying around Facebook about the two little words, "under God."

Who knew that there could be so much controversy found in just two little words.

When I got home tonight I searched the history of this powerful pledge, and wikipedia has some really great history on the evolution (oh, there's another powerful word) of the Pledge of Allegiance. I think most ironic is the fact that Francis Bellamy was a Christian Socialist. . . .which seems like an oxymoron based on today's standards. . . .but that is for another day's blog.

The two words in question were signed into law by President Eisenhower on Flag Day, June 14, 1954, something that most likely would not happen given the present administration, but that is also a conversation for another day's blog. For today's blog, what I am thinking about is how important it is that these two words never be removed from the Pledge of Allegiance because it is the clearest truth about the order of things. . . .the essential truth that we really should never forget.

One nation, under God. . . . .

I think for some people they interpret this to mean that God somehow blesses our nation, but that's not what it means to me. Our nation IS under God, because God is always above our nation (or any other, for that matter). I've seen other people phrase this as "God's in charge," and that's exactly what it means for our nation to be under God.

Jesus saw the truth of this long before our nation enacted these words into law when he told the people to "Give unto Ceasar what is Ceasar's, and to God what is God's." God does not create money, not then, and not now. God also does not create nations or global economies, as these are things of men, not of God. We "civilized" humans have created nations and the governments that run them, we have created money and the economies upon which they are dependent. But these are not the concerns of God. . . .these are the concerns of mankind, the creator of such trivial things.

What I see is the very dangerous trend  of looking to the President of this nation as a savior of sorts, looking to this one person (man or woman) to fix all of the problems that lay before us and also calm the worry and anxiety, instead of looking to God who is above the nation. So the reminder that our nation is under God helps me to keep things in perspective. . . .with this administration, or any other that might be in temporary charge and control, because God's power really is the only power that's ever in control of anything. . . .

One nation, under God. . . . .what a lovely reminder of what's really important :)

Chanty's Charm

Today was a lovely day. . . .off exploring some of the hiking trails right here around where I live. I brought Chanty with me. . . .my new best friend. . . .and as I was walking the trail, I was thinking about how we humans are very much like a chanter.

Every chanter, even though it is drilled the same way, still has its own unique sound, tone, and timber. . . .just like people.

I am learning how to play the chanter, and it's not easy. There are holes to navigate and air flow, but the part that was fascinating me today was how the chanter is just the structure. . . .and what makes the chanter play is ultimately the air that blows through. . . . .just like a human body is just the structure for the spirit that God blows through to make each of us come alive with our own music of the soul.

But what if my Chanty had a mind of her own?

If Chanty had a mind of her own, she would also have a will of her own. So, what if she wanted to play different notes than what I wanted to play? What if she played a long, slow, sad durge when I wanted to play a jig? And what if she refused to let the air flow through the holes out of spite? Or what if she believed that she was damaged and broken, unworthy of music to be played through her at all?

I think this is the dance we all dance with God. . . .that battle between who's in control, and whose will we follow. . . .and it makes me think of my life in completely different ways. So as silly as this sounds, I want Chanty to love what she sounds like, even if I make her squak and squeek. I also want her to love what she looks like, even when she gets dinged up from the accidental drops and falls that have already (unfortunately) happened, because she's perfect, just as she is. I can see that about her. . .but I also want her to see that in herself.

If I were a chanter, and God were the Piper, I also know that He would want me to love myself just as I am, too. . . .with all of the dings and dents that I've collected along my nearly fifty year long journey. . . .just like I want for Chanty. So I'm letting go of the need to change who I am so that I can live the life I want, simply by living the life I want. . . .even if nothing ever changes.

No one ever said that letting God be the Piper was going to be easy. . . .

And it's not always easy for me to love what I sound like, or love what I look like with all of the scars that pinch painfully from time to time, but if Chanty can do it, then so can I. . . . so, play on, little chanter girl. . . .play on :)

Too Much Information

I'm on information overload tonight. I've been unpacking some of the boxes of books, and I am overwhelmed by all of this information. But more than that, I am overwhelmed by the fact of how much I do not accept myself as I am, because the vast majority of these books are one form of self-help or personal growth book intended to change some part of me or my life.

Why can't I accept myself as I am?

The answer to this question floods my mind with endless self-hatred. I hate my life. I hate what the panic attacks have done to me and my life. I hate that I can't control them. And I feel stuck in a nightmare from which I can't force myself to wake.

Well...that may be true, but I am going to sort through these books, one by one until I have purged my library and my life of any program intended to change who I am. If I haven't fixed what's wrong by now, it's either not broken, or it's unrepairable. And I don't want to waste any more of my life trying to fix what other people have broken. . . .it's like the trees that have grown around something that was never intented to be a part of the tree, but is now embedded from years of growth around it. . . .and there's no real way to remove the object without killing the tree (or doing serious damage to it).

So acceptance is the answer. . . .even if it's acceptance of a crappy set of life circumstances.

Positive Mental Attitude

I am having a moment of clarity today, clarity that is already helping to bring about some peace and serenity to my life. And that clarity is simply the awareness that Positive Thoughts do not necessarily mean Happy Thoughts!

Positive thoughts are nothing more than thoughts that start with "I can" (rather than "I can't").

It's such a simple awareness, yet separating out the requisite need for a positive thought to be a happy thought frees up all kinds of possibility. Because it means that I may feel unbearably sad/anxious/panicked, but I can still maintain a positive mental attitude. If I find myself in the middle of a dark storm, saying the words I can endure this storm IS creating a positive mental attitude! I may not ever be able to stop or change the storm itself, but thinking I can thoughts is absolutely maintaining a positive mental attitude. . . .it's the I can't thoughts that create the negativity that undermines and sabotages.

Why have I allowed myself to be duped into believing that Positive = Happy?

Last week I had my initial session with a new/different trauma therapist, and we talked a lot about acceptance. It is absolutely unfathomable for me to "accept" the reality of the panic attacks, and this fact seems to be a stuck point. But we also talked about the possibility that the panic attacks (as unproductive as they may be) are nothing more than my brain's way of trying to heal itself. So we reframed the panic attacks as a "healing crisis" rather than a broken and dysfunctional brain, and she suggested that by accepting the panic as something that may never change, I can still change my relationship to it, change the way that I think about the panic attacks.

I can change the relationship I have with the panic attacks, even if I never accept the panic attacks themselves.

Another mantra I have integrated into my daily life is something from the Alanon literature (the "Just for Today..." pamphlet). So when I meld these two ideas, what I end up with is a whole list of positive thoughts that shape and form a positive mental attitude, thoughts that have absolutely NOTHING to do with happy thoughts, or even "feeling" happy at all!

Just for today, I CAN handle/endure the panic and anxiety, even if I can't stop or change it!

What I realize is that there are definitely imbalances and disturbances in the way that my physical world interacts with my mental/emotional world, but this chaotic interaction is not the end all and be all of the equation, because there is a third world that also collides with the other two. . . .the world of my spirit self. . . .and this is the deepest and most enduring truth of who I am.

My physical self is going to one day cease functioning and decay back into earth that has created and nourished my body for all of these long years. And while I may not know what will happen to my mental/emotional self once the physical self has died, I absolutely know that my spirit self will live on with God.

And I'm not saying that everything is fixed by this awareness, but at least I feel that I really can do this. . . .I can get through this day, even in the presence of anxiety and panic. . . .because the panic is all about a positive and life affirming healing crisis in my physical self. And I can choose the thoughts and beliefs that create a positive mental attitude, even if the thoughts themselves are not "happy" thoughts. . . .which then frees up my spirit to find and appreciate the beauty of God that surrounds and embraces me. . . .which is what the purpose of life is all about anyway. . . .

Two Worlds

There are many reasons why people remain silent about the truth of what's real in their lives, but tonight I am grateful for those rare and courageous souls who are brave enough to share their personal truth, in whatever form that may be.

We never know who needs to hear exactly what we need to say. . . .

One of my friends shared a blog of another person, actually, a man who is learning how to deal with a person with Alzheimer's disease. He has come to understand that the person lives in what he calls "Alzheimer's world," while he lives in a world with a completely different reality. He actually takes a step to the left before he responds to the skewed reality so as to remind and reinforce within himself that he is stepping into a different world with a completely different reality than his own.

This is exactly how I feel about the way the PTSD world collides with my own world, a collision that skews and screws with my reality. Only these two worlds exist within myself. . . .so how do I step to the left within my own mind?

I am still trying to integrate how as I sat connected with the biofeedback machine, my physiological parameters were reading "relaxed," all the while I was having a panic attack. And if I hadn't been sitting in front of that machine watching the data myself, I might not even believe it, but it was what it was. My body was having one experience of reality while my mind was experiencing another.

And it's hard enough to try to explain what happens within my own experience, let alone to someone who is outside of the experience completely. The doctors tell me I just need to learn how to relax, but the biofeedback machine actually tells me very clearly that I DO know how to relax, so it's so not a relaxation problem. And a well intentioned friend recently suggested that I focus on positive images when I meditate, as if that were something that I have never done or even thought of doing before.

PTSD is just sooo not about learning how to relax. . . .and it's certainly not about focusing on happy thoughts.

I have seen images of PET scans and SPECT scans from a person having a seizure, a person having a panic attack, and a person having an orgasm. And when these images are laid out side by side, it is virtually impossible to distinguish one from the other (which is just incredibly amazing. . . .and terrifying for me, personally, because I may not have Alzheimer's, but I absolutely feel the frustration of the people around me who don't understand anything about my incredibly high maintenance process as I try to create a functional life with these two different worlds colliding inside of my mind).

I think at this point it's just so much easier to isolate myself off from the rest of the world.

I have actually started to feel like death is no longer the worst thing that could happen to me. . . .and I don't mean that in a suicidal kind of way. . . .just the dark truth spoken out of hopelessness that there will never be life beyond the panic and chronic sleep disturbance that leaves me so completely exhausted and exasperated.

Oh, how I really do wish that I could just step to the left within myself. . . .when the PTSD world collides with my own. . . .

Routine

One of my favorite films is Groundhog Day with Bill Murray and Andy McDowell. I love how he keeps repeating the same events of the day until he finally gets it right. . . .which is such a great metaphor for the lessons we need to learn in life. But something has been bothering me for a few days. . . .and that's because my life has started to feel like it's turning into Groundhog Day for real. . . .and I'm not quite sure what to do with that.

The problem is routine.

It's been almost a month since I quit my job and moved down here to Prescott Valley, so I have a lot of "extra" time on my hands, and I've been working hard to create a daily living routine that I can live with, one that's going to best support my health. But I have quickly moved beyond the excitement of this new life, and have started to feel the rattlings of boredom. But it's not really that I am bored with my life, but I'm definitely getting bored with the daily routine of my life.

The problem's not the routine. . . .the problem is that you are bored with the routine.

Changing my life from the ground up means that I am shaping the life I want starting from when I wake up. So that means that when my alarm goes off at 5, I should be out and running by 5:30, and then the rest of the day follows from there. But I am already dreading going to sleep because I know that I will have to wake up and go running! And it's not so much about not wanting to go run, because I do. . . .it's a deeper and more sinister feeling at work.

The problem is that you are dreading the fact that when you wake up you will have to run.

All I've done is add the running to my day, but already I am feeling like my life is no longer my own. . . .because there is this expectation that a certain amount of my day is dedicated to running, and the part of me that wants to be free to do whatever she wants is scruffing and protesting this new change! I am still free to do whatever I want for the rest of my day, but this roughly 30 minutes of time dedicated to the running is really upsetting the way my life has been balanced, and I am absolutely fascinated by that fact.

The problem is that your daily routine is out of balance.

I don't scruff if I have to go to work for 8 hours. . . .because that expectation she has already accepted and integrated, but I am honestly feeling resentful of the fact that tomorrow morning I have to take 30 minutes of my time to go run. . . .lol. And what would I be doing if I weren't running? Probably sleeping in or just laying there thinking (which is a total love fest for me). . . .but I am resentful right now that when I wake up I have to go run!

Ahhh. . . . the problem is that you are resentful of the new routine and resentful that you have to give up something that you also want to do.

I think this is what makes changing a life routine so difficult, because what I'm feeling is perfectly normal and natural when we try to change something in our life, because even if the daily routine is bad for us, it's still what we have accepted as our routine, so there is going to be a part of us that has to give up something.

The problem is that there's only 24 hours in a day.

There is no "adding" something to a daily routine . .there is only ever an exchange that must take place if the routine is going to be changed. I can't add 30 minutes of running to my day, because I only have 24 hours to work with. . . .so if I am going to run for 30 minutes, then I have to give up something else that I would normally do for those 30 minutes, and that's what I'm dealing with. . . .the feelings that I have about giving up something that I enjoy, even if the running is good for me.

The problem is that you don't enjoy the running part yet.

And that is a big part of these feelings, because I enjoy sleeping in. . . .and I enjoy laying there in the morning just thinking about things. . . .but I do not (yet) enjoy the running part, so there's not a lot of motivation to give up something I directly enjoy in exchange for something that delivers no direct joy, only indirect (and greatly delayed) health benefits.

So, the problem is routine. . . .and the fact that you're trying to change it :)

But no worries. . . .I'm not ready to give up on the new running program, as there are many wonderful benefits for me that are well worth the exhange in time units. And I'll deal with all of the problems this change in my daily routine has dropped into my life, but it would be nice if the endorphin part would start to kick in. . . .lol. . . .because it might make the resentment part  lessen. . . .lol.

Of Weeds and Wilderness

Living in a national park for three years has changed the way that I think about a lot of things, but this morning as I was pulling weeds, I realized that even my concept of "weed" has been changed.

In a national park, there are no "weeds," only wilderness land populated by "native" and "non-native" species of plants. And there are very particular ways that non-native plants are dealt with, as the using of pesticides is only used as an intervention of absolute last resort, and only after all pros and cons are assessed by the National Park Service--not an easy decision to be made, one way or the other.

So this morning as I was pulling weedlings up and out of the ground, I was all too keenly aware of what a powerful act that was. Before living at the Grand Canyon I never thought twice about yanking out those pesky weeds that infiltrated my sacred garden. But this morning I knew that each plant yanked out was an unnatural act. . . .an act of violence against nature, as each and every plant that I pulled this morning had a right to life in its natural habitat. . . .its home. . .and I yanked that life right out of the ground because it was labeled and identified as an "invasive" plant species.

But that's the human way. . . .or at least the "civilized" human way. We "tame" and "control" the natural world as we carve away landscapes and reshape them to fit our personal whims and desires. We live so far out of balance with the natural world that it's amazing how anything survives at all. And the creation of national parks is a wonderful thing, but it's not enough to protect the natural world. . . .it's just not enough.

Yet even so, even with the changed awareness, I still pulled those weeds this morning. . . .those native plants that were invading the space I want to create. . . .but the guilt lingers on. . . .yes. the guilt most definitely lingers on. . . .

[Photo credit: My friend Jennifer Tenney's personal garden]

The In-Between

I think I was a truck driver in a previous life. . . .lol. . . . .because I love the way my mind processes when I drive. . . .it's a relaxed state of mind that I don't experience in any other way. . . .not sure why. . . .but I had a lovely drive to Prescott this morning in the wee hours of the day.

I was thinking about how peaceful this move has been, and wondering what made the difference. One of the biggest differences was the built-in "in-between" spaces. . . .that time that was scheduled in-between the long list of things to do. . . .that time where nothing else was scheduled. . . . that time where I was able to sit down, catch my breath, refocus, and then move on the next major event.

My last day of work was Wednesday, and instead of running to Prescott to pick up the trailer to get the move done on Thursday afternnon, I scheduled the pick up day for Saturday. For a person whose list of strengths does not readily include patience, this was a new way for me. So I rested, as much as possible, from Thursday through Saturday. . . .and felt both rejeuvenated and refreshed by the time Saturday afternoon rolled around.

I also deferred the cleaning of the apartment until after my job interview on Monday. I could have scrubbed and rubbed from Thursday through Saturday, but that was my "in-between" rest time, so the apartment cleaning was going to just have to wait one more day.

I think there is an important lesson that I've somehow learned, about the importance of sitting on the edge of whatever I am moving on from before I leap on to the next ledge of opportunity. Maybe it's another lesson that the canyon has invisibly taught my spirit, because there is no quick leaping from edge to edge here at the canyon. . . .you sort of have to stop and regroup before you move on to where ever you're going. . . . .it's just what you do.

But there is such a wonderful gift that's overlooked and missed by just leaping from one thing to another. . . .the gift of reflecting on the blessings. . . .the gift of expressing the appreciation and gratitude. . . .and the gift of feeling fully the truth of what it means to be sitting on the edge of what was in anticipation of the inevitable leap to what will be . . .a leap that will change a person's life forever.

I'm going to miss the canyon so very much, but I need to remember that my relocation to Prescott is far from good-bye, because my spirit is bonded to that place in a way that I could never move on from anyway.

And so it is. . . .in the writing of this blog. . . . as I sip my ice cold tea. . . .I am once again embracing this in-between moment and allowing it to help me to catch my breath and refocus before I start unpacking the seemingle endless pile of boxes into this new life upon which I have taken this amazing leap of faith. . . .

. . . .oh, waitress. . . .another glass of tea, please.

Knock, Knock

I found this image of Matisse's painting Open Window today. . . .I just love the way the artist sees the world. And I've been thinking a lot about the windows that have started to open up my world, after nearly two years of nothing but closed doors.

I had a conversation with a friend last week, and part of what we talked about was the tenacious way that I fight for what I want. I may move on quickly (once that choice is finally made), but I don't make that choice easily. . . .because I keep trying to figure out how to make something work. . . .when it's something that I really want to work. . . .and so I stay when I should leave. . . . and I fight when I should yield. . . . and I continue to knock when I should simply walk away. . . .

I don't look for open windows. . . .I keep knocking on doors that keep closing on my face. . . .

It's a funny thing. . . .the way we knock on closed doors. It's the way the world works, actually. We want something on the other side of a closed door, and so we knock. . . .nicely, at first. . . .knock on the closed door hoping that we will be let in on the other side. Some times we are, and that can be a lovely thing. But there are always conditions asked of the door to let us in, of course. . . .always conditions that require pieces of who we are to be tucked away. . . .or worse, surrendered completely before entry is granted.

Why do I keep knocking on the doors that keep closing on me?

Some doors should never be knocked upon. . . . and, yet I knock, over and over I knock upon the doors that serve no earthly good for the betterment of my spirit. I am the worst offender of this, because I don't give up. . . I keep on fighting for what I want. . . .even with open windows blowing clean fresh air all around me, I will stand at that door and knock until my spirit is bloody and raw if there is any hope at all that I might get what I want on the other side of that door.

Tenacity is a good thing. . . .but there is a thin line between tenacity and insanity. . . doing the same thing over and over but expecting different results?

These past few weeks have been about the windows of opportunity that have opened up for me. . . . .and my willingness to find out what's on the other side of the open windows, rather than continuing to knock on the doors that keep closing on me. They're not arbitrary windows, of course. . . .they are windows that offer what I need on the other side of a leap of faith that appears to be landing me softly and quickly, and for that I am most grateful.

And so it begins. . . .a new round of knocking on doors that offer something that I want on the other side. . . .with a new opportunity to see what I have learned about walking away from the doors that remain closed.

Life on My Terms

Maybe it's because of how I grew up. . . .maybe it's because of the way other people's stories have been imposed upon my own. . . .or maybe it's just the way God made me. . . .I may never know. But what I do know is that from this point forward, I am only capable of living life on my terms.

I don't want to work for someone else. . . . .I don't want to spend my life energy supporting a persoal agenda that I can never get on board with. . . . .and I don't want to tuck my values underneath my trench coat just to fit in to whatever corporate micro-climate happens to be funding my pay check.

I want to live my life on my terms, and my terms only.

This means that I may be unemployed for a while, and that's going to have to be ok. It also means that some people may not ever like me, and that's ok, too. It may also mean that friends or family members who think I live my life irresponsibily may no longer make time for me or the relationship we once shared, and that, too, is just going to have to be ok, because I am going to create the life that's meaningful for me and live my life on my terms. . . .no matter what I may have to give up along the way.

The funny thing is that what I want hasn't changed. . . .I've always been clear on what I want and how I want to create my life. . . .I've just had some trouble translating that vision into my daily life. So I'm about to find out how much I have learned about myself and what I need to create the life of my dreams, and this is an exciting adventure I am about to dive myself into, because even with the paralegal piece added to the mix, I still envision life as an independent contractor, rather than working in a hard-core fast-pace corporate environment. . . .I want to work for myself. . . .I want to structure my time in a way that best suits my biorhythms. . . .and I want to take time off for travel on my schedule, rather than what is demanded by case load or seasonal needs.

I am less than an hour away from working my last shift here at the canyon, so on this particular day I all too well understand that there are trade-offs for this kind of flexibility and freedom. But it's absolutely what I want. . . .because if I want purple flowers, I can't use brown paint. . . .and the only way I will ever create it is if every single decision that I make aligns with and supports the way of life I want to create. . . .so that's exactly what I'm going to do. . . .even if it kills me. . . .lol

IFR

I have continued to process this world-view changing information revealed at the biofeedback session earlier this week. . . .still trying to wrap my mind around the scientific fact that my body was in a state of physiological relaxation as I sat there feeling like I couldn't catch my breath. . . .feeling like I was choking. . . .feeling like I couldn't swallow. . . .feeling like I was on the verge of a full-on panic attack.

How do I trust what I'm feeling when it's been irrefutably proven to be wrong?

Back when I was in junior high I helped my step-dad prepare for his IFR license. Pilots first learn to fly using VFR (visual flight rule), which licenses a pilot to fly only in conditions where an ongoing visual is maintained with the terrain so that the pilot can see where he/she is flying. But the IFR (instrument flight rule) certification allows a pilot to fly during conditions that prohibit access to visual information about the environment (such as fog or storm clouds).

Denny told me that the most difficult part of the training is learning to trust the instruments, rather than what the body is feeling. The body is constantly trying to orient itself in three-dimensional space, but when the visual field is eliminated, the body doesn't always orient itself appropriately. So the body feels like the plane is flying level, but in reality the plane could actually be in a spiral nose dive. So the pilot has to disengage from every single feeling he or she has about what feels level. . . .and place that trust in the instruments. He said it's very funny to fly with a pilot who is training in a hood, because the pilot's anxiously telling the unhooded pilot, "There's no way that I'm flying level!" Yet when he's instructed to remove the hood, the plane is very clearly flying as it should, even though every internal sense or perception tells the brain something else.

That's what this feels like right now. . . so I don't know what to trust because my body is clearly relaxed, but my mind is telling me that I am anything but relaxed. . . .

So I'm still in progress with this, researching relaxation and what it means to be relaxed. I'm also very clear that this move to Prescott is exactly what I need right now, because all of the pieces of my next moves are going to be found down in Prescott (or nearby lying healing-centered communities). I may not know what to trust about the relaxation stuff (just yet). . . .but I absolutely trust my instincts that are motivating this move.

Relaxation Response

I am now obsessed with understanding the relaxation response, because I don't understand how my body can achieve a physiological state that correlates with relaxation at the same time that my mind is panicking out of control. It's as if I have a nuclear reactor sitting in the middle of a landscape of serenity. . . .but how can they coexist?

And all I can say right now, is what the hell is wrong with this picture?!!

What I am learning is that somatic measures of "relaxation" include things like pulse, blood pressure, heart rate, and slow rhythmic breathing associated with meditation and deep breathing exercises. All of these pieces of data can be measured by a machine (like the biofeedback program I experienced this morning), but the conclusion drawn by the machine that I have achieved a desired state of relaxation could not be further from the truth!

So I found another definition of relaxation on Wikipedia. . . .only this one is defined through the lens of psychology, which defines relaxation as "The emotional state of low tension, in which there is an absence of arousal that could come from sources such as anger, anxiety, or fear." So what's happening is that my body is able to achieve a state of physiological relaxation (as measured by the parameters of somatic vitals), but my mind is not experiencing a state of emotional relaxation, because I am constantly aroused by varying degrees of anger, anxiety, and fear (panic)!

It seems impossible to me that my body can be relaxed, yet my mind is in a state of emotional chaos at the same time, but that is precisely what that biofeedback session proved to be true this morning. Now I just need to figure out what to do with these bizarre facts.

Another piece of the Wiki definition further states that "[r]elaxation is a form of mild ecstasy coming from the frontal lobe of the brain in which the backward cortex sends signals to the frontal cortex via a mild sedative." So it seems absolutely clear that the key to total relaxation for ME is grounded in my neurochemistry. That doesn't mean that I am ready to jump onto the medication bandwagon, but it's absolutely clear evidence of where the problem lies, so at least now I know where to begin looking for solutions!

A Brave New World

This is why I'm a scientist. I was proven wrong today. . . .proven wrong with irrefutable, undeniable, scientific proof that what I believe to be true and real is, in fact, not true or real at all.

I love when my whole world gets turned upside down.

I had my first biofeedback session this morning. He hooked me up to the Heart Math program (gotta love that name :) and I watched it measure my pulse and heart rate as I sat in the chair doing nothing more than the rhythmic breathing I was instructed to do. And I watched as the coherence value slowly increased up to 97% which kept the squiggly blue line steadily increasing just below the max line in "the zone" (the target area where the coherence value was supposed to be).

The problem (for me) was that during the session, I kept feeling like I couldn't breathe, feeling like I was choking and having a difficult time swallowing. I would rub my throat and rub my sternum the way I always do to help myself feel like I can breathe better. I felt lightheaded and on the verge of panic the whole time I sat there breathing rhythmically watching the coherence value plateau out at 97%.

After twenty minutes of this biofeedback exercise, I learned that most people on their first try are barely able to get their squiggly blue line anywhere near "the zone," let alone have it ride along the maximum zone. I also learned that this man (who uses the program every day) doesn't even maintain a 97% coherence rate, so he was beyond amazed by how steady I was able to maintain my breathing and heart rate, especially given that it was my first time out. Yes, I am an over achiever. . . .but these aren't the pieces that turn my world upside down.

According to that machine, not only was I relaxed, but I was able to maintain a physiological state of relaxation that most people are unable to achieve. . . .ever! Yet I sat there feeling like I couldn't breathe and was going to choke! And when I made a statement about how my body doesn't relax when I do meditation and breathing exercises, he very clearly pointed out that the data from the biofeedback proves otherwise!

My body was relaxed, but that is not what I was experiencing!

So either the machine is incorrect, or my brain is somehow misinterpretting information about what's happening in my body, and I have absolutely no doubt that the machine was perfectly correct in what it was measuring! What a break through! My physiological reality is not congruent with the perception of reality in my brain! I don't really know what this all means just yet, but it changes everything about how I think about my body and relaxation. . . .

So I'm not even sure what my next step is going to be, but let the research begin!

Modular Life

I feel like I can't breathe. . . .I'm breaking down the life I've worked so hard to create here at the canyon. . . .packing up the pieces into arbitrary boxes. . . .and I feel like I can't breathe. I know I can't stay here, and I am moving into a new and possibility-filled chapter of my own choosing, but I still feel like I can't breathe.

I'm sad and grieving. . . .I want my forever home, but I haven't found it yet. And this new home is a nice home, but it's not even really my home. . . .it's just a room within the home of someone else. . . .even if she's not living there right now. . . .and I'm just so aware of how all of this packing up of my modular life exhausts me. . . .even when it is a move of my own choosing. . . .

. . . .so I feel like I can't breathe. . . .and I'm waiting for the grief to pass. . . .

My Forever Home

My friend Melinda is a wonderful advocate for animals, and she recently became a foster home for strays in waiting for adoption into their "forever home." I just love that idea. . . .the idea of having a forever home. . . . and I can't help but wonder if I will ever find mine.

I found this castle loft one night at work. THIS would have been the kind of bed I wished for when I was a little girl. Although we moved around so much, even if I had been fortunate enough to have a home where a bed like this was possible, it would have been short lived. My mom did the best she could, but stability was never her strong point. . . .but I sure fell in love with this princess loft :)

I've had a few forever homes in my life time. My first forever home died with my mom, because "going home" (for me) always meant going to wherever my mom was. I thought the life I created with my husband was going to be a forever home, but it turned out to be something far less than what was offered by the fairy tale gone awry. And my boat was supposed to be the forever home I created for myself, but that home has been long sunk by circumstances past.

So I'm not sure if a forever home is destined for my future. For the past three years I've been living in a national park, a place whose rules by their very nature would never even allow me to have a forever home. And I find myself once again packing and moving for yet another long-term temporary move while I complete this program down in Prescott, but I don't really know where I will end up once that journey has completed itself, so this move feels anything but moving into my forever home.

My friend once dated a man who had no home at all. He was a photographer who traveled the world, staying with friends and family wherever he journeyed, but he didn't maintain any type of "base camp" to call home. I don't think I could live quite that footloose and forever home free. I think the ideal life for me would be to have the freedom to travel around, but also to have a home base to return to, although a storage unit could create that, so who knows. . . .lol. And I have been fantasizing about buying a little place in Williams, but that's just a pipe dream (right now), because actually buying something entails either being indepedently wealthy or having a job that supports the process. . . .and right now, I have neither.

But I think that's what this next stage of my journey is about, because my master's degree is so desperately limiting with employment options, and the options it does present I no longer want. So I am opening doors of new possibilities. . . .new possibilities for a more marketable education. . . new possibilities for friends to share and enjoy the journey with. . . . new possibilities for finding or creating the forever home of my dreams, and that is an encouraging thought.

So, I'm not sure how I feel about resonating so deeply with abandoned stray animals who are waiting for their forever homes to adopt them, but I do. And in the meantime, I will enjoy this home and its surrounding beauty for however long I am blessed by its offer of sanctuary. . . .while I continue on in search of my own forever home. . . . .

The Illusion of Time

I've been thinking a lot about time. . . .mostly because I've been creating artificial boundaries of time for that psychological reassurance that I still have time left. . . .because the idea of just living with the ever present unknown feels like too much anxiety to bear. . . .when the threat of the next round with cancer lurks ever present and just around the bend.

The funny thing is that when we ask the question, What time is it? we are really referencing something either in the past or something in the future. Because when we ask about the time, we are really trying to find out how long we have been doing something, how much time we have left doing what we're doing, or how much time we have before we need to be doing something else.

Questions about time are about something in the past or in the future. . . .but never about what actually is.

Time (of course) does not really exist, because "time" is nothing more than a reference point in the now. . . and when we ask the question What time is it? we are really asking the question What time is it now?. . . .so time becomes nothing more than a reference point of where the now fits in to the totality of moments making up both future nows and past nows. But to ask the question What time is it now? without having some question of reference to a past or future event becomes an exercise in random pieces of irrelevant information. . . . .a meaningless factoid. . . a question whose answer becomes, "Who cares?" or "What's the point?"

I want the answer to this question to be more than just an exercise in philosophical existentialism.

Cancer has shaped the way my mind focuses on the illusion of time, which has resulted in me living within micro modules of arbitrarily assigned time. But I have also been able to retrain my mind by asking one simple question: What time is it right now? And once I ask this simple question, only then am I able to let go of my fear about an uncontrollable future and refocus my thoughts on what's happening in the "right now" moment of time where I am alive and well, breathing in and out, with no impending gloom and doom about to pull my life out from underneath me.

So, yeah. . . .I'm living my life in a right now plan.

Grey's Anatomy is such a great source of life truth, and I'm thinking right now about Mark Sloan's "evil" approach to his run for chief of surgery when he stole Mirana Bailey's concept of a "right now" plan (rather than getting caught up in the ten year plan triggered off by the invading cardio god). It's not easy to have a right now plan, but right now it's the only plan that's worthy of my energy and focus, because any other life plan is wrought with too many unknowns and uncontrollable pieces.

And the living of my life with this right now plan is transforming my inner clock into an hourglass. . . .a reality I can live within where that moment that we call "time" becomes nothing more than a stricture point between the unchangeable past and the uncontrollable future. . . .that "right now" moment where past and future has no meaning. . . .no power. . . .that point of time where the right now moment just is what it is. . . .and that is enough. . .

Balance

Living in Balance is the key to life, right? At least, that's what we're led to believe, especially when we're told by all of the "experts" that if we want to live a "healthy" and "normal" life we're supposed to have balance between all of the important parts of our lives. . . . or eat a balanced variety of foods. . . . or whatever the mainstream ideal du jour might be about balancing out the pieces of our life.

I, for one, do not believe in the concept of balance.

I'm not a person who lives my life in balance. I'm an artist (from my spirit up), and so I immerse myself in whatever project (or personal passion) I am in love with at the time. I become obsessed.. . . .like the artist who can't put down the paint brush. . . .or the writer who writes through all hours of the night because there is something that needs to be said and there is no sleep to be found until its peace has been spoken.

Passion throws the whole idea of balace right out the window.

It's the things that we feel passionate about that force us to choose something (or someone) when all sense of logic and reason says to slow down. . . . or plan things out better. . . .or do it in a safer more financially secure way. It's also the things that we feel passionate about that bring the greatest joy (and pain, unfortunately).

But there is absolutely nothing balanced about living a life based on passion. . . .and falling in love is absolutely the key to passion.

I am not good with long-term plans. I have no patience for long term plans, because I immerse myself from head to toe in what I fall in love with. . . .and there is no patience to be found when the need to be immerse can not be silenced. And so I reorder my whole life around what I have fallen in love with. Like I did when I went into the Army. Or when I got married. Or when I bought my boat. Or when I fell in love with the idea of living in Nova Scotia. Or when I fell in love with the Grand Canyon. What I fall in love with, I become obsessed with, and reorder my whole life around in order to dance completely with it. And when I can't dance completely with it, I fight against whatever keeps me at a distance. . . .until I drop with exhaustion. . . .or until I fall in love with something else that infuses me again with the passion and purpose I have lost.

My way of living is not for everyone. . . .but other people's way of life is also not for me.

The wonderful part of flying solo is that I can live my passion without having to coordinate that dance with another person. . . .and so I am free to reorder my whole life again to pursue this next passion that I am about to immerse myself into and become obsessed with. I don't know why I am the way that I am. . . .I only know that I am. . . and that falling in love with a whole new possibility and potential for my life is absolutely enough for me.

Follow your bliss.

I remember one of my professors from when I was in grad school who tried to show me the error of my ways by relating my life to an onion. The way that he perceived the way I live my life was to live only in the outer layers, because to him I wasn't committing to anything long enough to understand its depth, or deeper layers. But what he didn't understand is that I am committed. . . .I'm just committed to the internal passions of my soul, rather than to the purpose assigned to more external worldly pursuits. So when I fall in love with something (and allow myself to follow my passion), I am absolutely making a commitment to the depth of my spirit. . . .and making a commitment to the purpose infused within the gift of God that creates me.

And what I find most incredibly curious about the world at large that surrounds me, is that the people who are inspired when they are reminded of the words carpe diem, are very often the exact same people who become harshly judgmental and obtrusive with their dream squashing negativity when they actually see someone seizing their own day. So the way I live my life may seem curious and strange to others who look upon my choices. . . .and I may actually be making the worst mistake of my life by quitting this minimum wage job without having another job already lined up. . . .but if I can live with these choices that I make, then that is enough for me. . .

Down Payment

Having the awareness of wanting to "own" my life (rather than live from "lease to lease") isn't an easy truth to live with. And this past week has been no easy walk through the national park either, because wanting to look beyond these artificial boundaries of time created by my check-ups is just so much easier than actually doing so. But I made a down payment on my life today. . . .which means that I am about to take a huge leap of faith. . . .

I am about to place my faith on the side of time.

Living with cancer challenges the notion of time. . . . .challenges the great lie of youth that we are invincible and live forever. . . .challenges the statistics of actuarial charts that outline life expectancies and potentialities for the "average" population. But there is nothing "average" about living with cancer, so it's been a long time since I put my faith in time, which is why I've been living from lease to lease, placing my faith into tiny pockets of "controllable" time, rather than the unbounded and out of control part of time that ultimately belongs to God alone.

So, perhaps I am placing my faith on the side of God's time, rather than needing to psychologically control time. . . .either way, my life is about to change.

I have been applying for jobs down in Prescott for nearly a year, with not even a single call for an interview. I have a place to live for next to nothing. The VA is right down the street from where I would be living. The community college where they have the paralegal studies program I want is also just around the corner. And there is a wonderfully rich support community that I began to create when I was on my leave of absence just waiting for me to make the move. . . .but I hesitate. . . .in limbo. . . .until I have the job piece in place before I make the choice to move.

And then there's the secret fear that I might only have a short time left on this earth, so why would I waste that gift on going back to school?

But the truth is that no one knows how much time we have left on earth. So August 15th is my last day of work. . . .and I'm moving down to Prescott into this wonderful gift of a living situation that has been offered to me. . . .and I'm diving head first and full-time into this Paralegal Studies program that is going to be such an amazing fit with who I really am. . . .and I'm going to live my life as if I am invincible and will live forever. . . .or at least to where I am statistically averaged and expected to live. . . .lol.

I'm going to go about the joy of living my life with cancer. . . . .even if it kills me :)

It's so funny. . . .the things we say without really thinking about the ramifications of what it means. How many times have we said that. . . I'm going to do this or that, even if it kills me. Well, sometimes it does, but that reality generally doesn't stop us from doing it. . . because we secretly believe that we really are invincible. . . . and because it's something that we really want to do. . . .something that will bring us great joy and excitement. . . . or something that would make a profoundly negative difference in who we are as human beings if we didn't do it.

Invincibility is the key to making choices that scare the crap out of us.

So I made a down payment on my life today. . . . I took a huge leap of faith and quit my job and made the decision to move to Prescott so that I can dive head first into this paralegal studies program. . . . even without having the job all lined up first. . . . even without "knowing" for certain that I will have all of the time I need to see this thing through to the end. . . .and yes, most importantly. . . .even if it kills me :)

New Lease

So I got the good news that I wasn't sure I could even hope for this morning. . . .the biopsies were benign. I posted the news in Facebook (of course), and one of the posted response comments has me seeing my life in a whole new way. The comment was simply "new lease," and that is exactly how I feel. . . .only I don't want to lease my life any more. . . . I want to own it.

Ever since the first diagnosis of cancer, I've been living from lease to lease. At first it was a three month lease, feeling like I had to hold my breath until the next colonoscopy. Then the lease grew to one year at a time. When I passed the five year mark I felt like I had passed a significant journey marker, but still lived with a lease that spanned from colonoscopy to colonoscopy, which is essentially how my life has been segmented. The procedure I had last week was because of symptoms that interrupted my current lease, as my next official follow-up colonoscopy wasn't supposed to take place until November.

Living from lease to lease has provided a psychological feeling of security that I believe is an inherent basic human need. . . . as if somehow having these tiny parcels of time meant that I could romp and play freely. But this arbitrary reality also meant that there was no time space beyond these artificial boundaries of time, so if I only have two years (or whatever the arbitrary length of time the lease happened to be), then I certainly wasn't going to waste that time going to school just to get a new job or prepare for a change in career that might not ever happen. But the other side of this dance is that I remain aware that I also can't squander everything on living the lease time to the fullest, because I also have to maintain that sense of security for the future for which I also hope. And as the second, and then the third cancer events crept in, these leases became more and more arbitrary, prevalent, and limiting.

I absolutely feel done with living from lease to lease.

But how do I stop living from lease to lease and finally take ownership of a life that is also bound by the realities of cancer (and panic attacks)? I blogged a while back about how God's gift to me is the deed to my own house, a metaphor of a life bounded by free will and the consequences for the choices made that I am accountable only to God. The physical house deeded to me is (of course) my body, but I live in fear within this most blessed of homes. . . .fear of the cancer. . . . and fear of the panic attacks. But today I am asking different questions of myself. . . .questions based more on living in the truth of the now. . . .questions about how to live day to day within the home God has deeded me without being traumatized and debilitated by the fear of the cancer or the panic attacks. . . .questions about how to own my life, rather than live my life from lease to lease.

Why is it so difficult for me to take ownership of the gift that God has so graciously given to me?

Ironically, my life has already started to mirror this shift in perspective, as I have been looking at properties to buy in Williams, that wonderful western town just south of the canyon off historic Route 66. I don't really have to buy a house in Williams in order to take ownership of my life, but I realized recently that the reason why I keep trying to get my step-father to buy a house in Williams and work on the train is because that is a life that makes my heart go pitter pat. Williams also offers the logistics necessary to keep the rest of my life in balance, plus is close enough to the canyon so that I can maintain my wonderful hiking lifestyle and still be able to ride the train when ever I want.

So I've started looking at houses to buy in Williams. . . . .

It is easier, of course, to take ownership of a house (than to take ownership of one's life), but I am just so very clear in this moment that I no longer want to live my life from lease to lease. And yes, the news this morning definitely gives me a new lease on my life (for which I am most grateful). . . .but today's lease now has an option to buy :)

The Land of Is

Today is a hard day. I feel like my whole life is on hold while I await the results of the biopsies, and not just on hold, but like it's about to get pulled out from underneath me. I'm irritable. . . .snapping at people for no good reason (not that there's ever really a "good" reason to snap at anyone). . . .and I'm trying to find my happy place in spite of all the waiting.

Living in the now is so much easier on paper than in reality.

I got into a scruff with the trauma therapist this morning during a discussion about how my life has been shaped by the fear of the panic attacks. I said, "This is not who I am!" to which she replied, "Yes, it is!" I clarified again that this is definitely NOT who I am, to which she emphatically clarifed that it definitely IS who I am. This "conversation" went back and forth a few more times until we ended up sitting in silence. Like I said. . . .I got into a scruff with the trauma therapist this morning.

But she's right.

It's not an easy thing. . . .to accept the truth of "what is," especially when it's such an unacceptable truth. This may not be who I started out to be, but it is who I have evolved into. . . . and I'm not sure what to do with this fact right now. I've been living in the land of eternal optimism and hope that if I just do the right "something" I'll be able to "fix" or "master" the panic attacks. But living in The Land of Is means that I have to accept the truth of "what is" (rather than what I wish it could be or hope that it might one day become). . . .which also means that where I am may actually be as good as it's going to get. . . .ever.

What do I do with a truth that is incomprehensibly unacceptable. . . .with no end in sight?

Dancing Solo

I found this image of Margie Gillis. . . .a world renowned solo dancer from Canada. She's mesmerizing. . . .the way she flows in her movement. . . .absolutely mesmerizing.

I want my life to flow the way she flows.

I am preparing to leave the canyon for a few days, preparing for a procedure that leaves me feeling anxious and nervous about what's on the other side. And there aren't a lot of moments when I am so aware that I am dancing solo, but these procedures. . . .when the outcome is so uncertain. . . .these are the moments when I am all too keenly aware of just how solo I  dance my life.

The trauma therapist and I have had a few scruffs about the issue of relationship. She thinks I isolate myself and avoid relationships, which she's sees as a symptom of the trauma. I just don't see it that way. She feels compelled to remind me that the goal is for me to be whole and healthy. I feel just as compelled to remind her that I don't need a man in my life to actually be whole and healthy. I also still remember sitting in that restaurant shortly after my divorce watching that family eat dinner, the husband and wife talking only to the kids, with the silence between them so loud that I swore in that moment that I would rather be alone forever than ever be in that kind of relationship again.

I guess I didn't realize that forever can be such a long time.

I know that my solo life is a choice that I make, but I wonder if I will ever find the right man for me. It's been more than fifteen years since the divorce. . . .so I can't help but wonder if I hold myself back, like a silent observer to my life. Is she right. . . .do I isolate myself and avoid relationships?

Big questions, of course, with no easy answers. . . .just this vague empty feeling as I make my way alone through the uncertaintly of the next few days. . . .

Making a Difference

Thinking about a conversation I had with one of my chemistry professors back at RCC when I was still working toward my associate's degree at the local community college. He was going through some kind of professional life crisis. . . .questioning his place in academia. . . .feeling like his purpose in life had not been fulfilled. . . .and wanting to know that he had made a difference in the lives of his students, but didn't. At the time I didn't really know what to say to him, as I was still young and finding my place in the world, but that conversation changed the way that I think about making a difference, because that man's struggle caused me to look for the difference that I make and appreciate it when I find it. . . . .because I didn't want to end up at some vague point in my own life not knowing how I had made a difference along the way.

I make a difference. . . .I make a difference all of the time. . . .it's just not always the difference that I would like to make. Some times the difference I've made has been appreciated. . . .other times not. Some times the difference I've made has been helpful. . . .and other times definitely not. Difference isn't always a warm and fuzzy feeling, because the cold hard truth is that we all make a difference every single day. . .with every single person we come in contact with. . . .with every single choice that we make. . . .even when we aren't aware that other people are watching. . . .we still make a difference.

It is impossible to not make a difference.

A couple of nights ago one of my coworkers expressed his thoughts about the difference I have made in his life. He is a young kid. . . .just turned 25. . . .and he and I are about as different as night and day on just about every single level of human existence, but we have somehow been able to make those differences work. He said he watches how I process and grapple with situations that haven't gone well. . . .process until I come back and then share what I've learned. . . .until I have figured out what I need to change about myself or the way that I respond to situations or circumstances as they swerve and veer their way throughout the course of events that drop quickly and unexpectedly into the wee quiet of the graveyard night. And he told me that watching the way that I approach these problems we encounter together has made him want to be a better person.

Just watching the way that I approach my life has made this young kid want to be a better person?!

I don't think I've ever known so clearly or so profoundly how I have made a difference in another person's life, but the ironic part about what he said is that I am honestly no different in other situations with other people, but the way that I am with other people very often irritates them and causes them to think (and share) less than kind things about me. So this kid's statement really has more to say about the kind of person that he is (rather than the kind of person that I am), but that also doesn't change how profoundly I was affected by what he shared with me about the kind of difference I have made in his life.

Just watching the way I do my life caused this kid to make a change to the way he approaches his own life. . . .which is precisely the point I am trying to make with this idea of making a difference in someone else's life.

I have a life situation that I am also struggling through, something that I am not able to navigate completely on my own, so I have needed to ask some friends and family members who knew me in my early life to write a statement on my behalf about how they perceived me during that time. The letters I've recieved have only served to reinforce the truth that we honestly do not know how we make a difference in someone else's life. . . .or what they remember about us. . . or how they perceive and interpret what they observed about our life. I think we should all write letters like this to every single person that we grew up with, because I can guarantee that we would all be shocked by both awe and horror (lol) by the difference our life has made invisibly in the lives we encountered along the way.

Working at the switchboard is an unexpected blessing and gift in my life. . . .at first you think it's just about answering phones. . . .or linking guests to the resource they need. . . .or having the right piece of information at the right time. But it's not just about these things, because there are also these amazing moments when another person's life unexpectedly intersects with my own, and neither life is the same because of that nexxus, regardless of how brief that intersection may have been.

Some people are a "pass the buck" or a "hot potato" kind of person, passing the problem or the issue on to someone else who might be able to help because "it's not their problem" so they don't feel responsible or compelled to help. Others are an "own the problem" kind of person. . . .stepping up to do something (hopefully meaningful. . . . hopefully positive. . . . hopefully helpful). . . .even if it's the wrong thing. . . . because they have a "we're in this together" way of approaching the crappy stuff that life throws our way. Perhaps we are all a little bit of each, depending on the situation or frame of mind in a given moment, and perhaps each philosophy has its place depending on other factors involved. I don't know.

What I do know is that we don't really control how other people perceive the difference that we make. We can want to make a positive difference all day long, but the truth is that all we can really do is be true to ourselves. . . .be true to the way that we need to walk our own path and our own journey. . . .and if that truth makes a difference in the life of another person, then that is both a gift and a blessing. But it is not a choice that we make for another person. . . . . it is a choice that another person makes for their self.

[geturgoodon.org]<~~~image found at

Finding the Beauty

Last year when I was on my leave of absence, I was sitting on the shore of Lynx Lake feeling certain that if I could just find the beauty in the panic attacks that I would be able to embrace them and move on to live a normal life. I didn't know what that meant in tangible, concrete terms, but I caught a glimpse of a possible truth that gave me a brief sense of peace and hope all of those months ago, even with a part of me thinking it was crazy to even think about finding beauty within the life sucking hideousness of the panic attacks.

But I think I found the beauty.

I have always loved this painting by Edward Munch, and I wonder if he didn't also suffer with panic attacks, because this image so wonderfully captures the surreal nature of panic attacks. . . .but this painting isn't the beauty I'm talking about :)

I have posted previously about how I've been processing through this book on archetypal psychology, and how I've been studying one archetype a month. Well, this month's archetype is The Destroyer, and I swear. . . .when truth makes itself known, it can hit you like a ton of bricks. So last night, as I started to read about this archetype, I had to stop reading (literally) and walk around the room for a while, just to catch my breath.

The opening paragraph made reference to how we humans have so many different ways that we anesthetize ourselves to our experience. . . .like drugs, alcohol, food, shopping, and televison. . . .this list could have gone on and on. . . .but it was in the very next breath of the paragraph that the bricks began to fly. . .because the introduction goes on to say that "it often takes fear to wake us up."

It often takes fear to wake us up!

Before my panic attacks began, I was intrepid. A free-spirited, sort of a quirky person, not really caring very much about what other people thought of me, at least not enough to stop me from doing things that (quite honestly) I was poked fun of a lot while growing up. But when I started to have the panic attacks, thus began the slow erosion of everything that made me who I was. . . .to the diametric extreme of now being nearly fifty years old and not even recognizing the person I have become, so fearful and anxious about everything in my world have I become. . . .still struggling to make sense of how I came to be this anxious, panicky, fearful person in the first place.

But, it often takes fear to wake us up.

Twenty seven years ago, on the night of my twenty second birthday, I had my very first in a very long line of panic attacks after having a lovely steak dinner in the prime of my youth while I was living the dream of my free-spirited independent life. But I never made the connection between the panic attacks and what had happened just a few short weeks before. . . .so I've suffered, in isolation and deep personal confusion, for these past twenty seven years because I've never been able to understood the why of the panic attacks--and without the why, the source of the wound is never really healed. . . .only surface treated for signs and symptoms that never really go away. . . .signs and symptoms that only tuck themselves back behind the curtains of denial and self-delusion.

But last night, to read this simple handful of words, I finally saw the beauty in the panic, because if it often takes fear to wake us up, then the panic attacks weren't just random acts of biochemical violence, they were purposeful. . . .and intentional. . . .and filled with such beautiful spiritual depth and design that it was like falling in love with someone I have spent my whole life hating, but could no longer deny was my soul mate. . . and thus began the embracement of beauty within the most heinous of my personal truths. . . .

. . . .because it often takes fear to wake us up.

I find it more than even a little bit ironic that the panic attacks evolved into this chronic deprivation of sleep, because it all makes perfect sense, now. If the panic attacks themselves weren't enough to wake me up, then I wasn't going to be allowed to sleep, either. It's just all so beautifully clear! Even how the nightmares began with that powerful dream of finding myself in the clearing in the forest, with the four men in suits emerging out of the forest, knowing that I was about to die. . . .and calling out the name of a great spirit in heaven as a desperate cry for help before. . . .it's just all so perfectly clear, and absolutely beautiful in its perfection and design. I mean, how many times have I been awakened out of a sound sleep in a full on panic attack?

It really does take fear to wake us up.

So last night I found the beauty in the panic attacks, because they have been trying to wake me up for twenty seven years from the depth of a denial that has anesthetized me from an experience that I simply could not integrate into the story of my life. . . not on any level. And they've also been trying to wake me up from the lies I had to tell myself in order to continue walking with what was happening. . . .until, that is, until I could get to the other side.

Well, I'm on the other side, now. . . .on the other side and no longer lost within the denial. . . .on the other side and able to finally see these panic attacks for the truth of what they are. . . .for their beautiful purpose. . . .for their beautiful intention. . . for their beautiful function in my life. No longer are they the enemy. . . .that internal predator stalking me from within. . . .for they are the inner hero that has been fighting for twenty seven years to wake. . . .me. . . .up!

Yes, I think I really have found the beauty within the panic. . . .

Hair Shirts

Reading through this month's archetype, I am provided with an opportunity to learn all about the wearing of hair shirts, something I had never heard of before. Apparently, the wearing of hair shirts has traditionally been done by Christians or ascetics who are trying to do penance of some sort, or as a form of self-inflicted punishment.

Who thinks up these things? lol. . . .

We don't, of course, wear hair shirts any more, at least not in their physical form, but I couldn't help but think about all of the ways that we modern humans metaphorically continue to wear our own personal version of hair shirts every day.

We don our hair shirts every time we beat ourselves up over stupid, trivial things. . . . .or feel guilty about things that we haven't even done wrong. . . . or hold on to beliefs about our self that serve no purpose except to undermine our positive self-esteem. . . .or absorb the hurtful words and actions of other people into our core identity as if it were somehow inherently true. And we continue to wear these metaphoric hair shirts every day, yet wonder why we feel like crap about ourselves or about life in general. And don't even get me started on all of the ways that we then deal with how we feel on the other side of all of the scritching and scratching from these very painful shirts of hair. . . .self-inflicted wounds, as they are.

I think it's time to stop the wearing hair shirts. . . .metaphorically, or otherwise.

However, it is no easy thing to take off one's hair shirt, especially when it's woven from the negative strands of human experience invisibly wrapping themselves around the beauty of our spirit. I know for me, I have become immune to the hair shirt I wear, so accustomed to the scritchy scratchy layer that I no longer even recognize its irritating presence, except for the hard and caloused skin that remains as a tell-tale life map leaving me ever guarded and vigilant. And I wonder if other people are as immune to their own hair shirts as I find myself to be with mine.

Yes, it is definitely time to stop wearing my hair shirt. . . .

We're Family

I had a near death experience today. Ok, so maybe I just stepped on a roofing nail and needed a  tetanus shot, but I actually did have a life changing experience that involves a death of sorts.

As soon as I stepped on this thing I knew I was in trouble. Not huge trouble, but I knew that I would need a tetanus shot, because this roofing nail was an inch long. . . .and rusted. . . .and my little tennis shoes are only very thin little floparounds. But a three hour drive to the VA wasn't really on my list of priorities today, so I called the switchboard and one of our fire fighters came right over to transport me to the clinic.

The clinic was great, too, as I was well taken care of. And the same fire fighter picked me up at the clinic to drive me back home once I was done. I thanked him for all of the help, and then he said to me, "We're family. . . this is what we do."

To clarify, we at switchboard are also the dispatch unit for our fire and security, so there is a very clear connection, but I have pretty much felt like the old and decrepit outsider to the young hipster kids with whom I work. But what he said was true. . . we are family. . . .and today I truly felt it.

Family isn't the gene pool into which we were born. . . .these people become the relatives we grow up with. Family is created by the people we choose, the ones who care about us and accept us for the unique contribution we make, even if we don't always like or agree with each other. Some family members are also relatives, but this is not necessarily an automatic association.

Family is a choice. . . .

One of my Facebook friends, someone I went to school with ten lifetimes ago back in Lake Elsinore wrote this morning about how he had been able to lay down a burden this morning, and his day was immediately blessed by the truth of that experience. I understood what he meant in the very instant that the fire fighter made that very simple statement because a part of me died in a way, died to an old way of thinking and feeling, which then opened up my heart to feel accepted as a part of this wonderfully crazy family that is created by a bunch of orphans, really, orphans from all around the world.

Life is funny how it turns itself around to drop a wonderful and unexpected gift upon you just when you need it most, because it was so much more than my foot that was pierced today. . . .and I sincerely hope that this wonderful feeling of connectedness continues to embrace my experience here at the canyon. . . .