Crimes against humanity

Tear gas, rubber bullets, martial law, curfews, civil unrest, racism, police brutality–exactly HOW many planets are in retrograde now?? ‘cos something’s going on and it’s beyond the plot of any science fiction story. We’re living in a neverending episode of the Twilight Zone.

Add to that list, Ebola, earthquakes, a possible supervolcano in Yellowstone, the pandemic, record unemployment, food lines…WTF.

What I find to be quite troublesome is the way #blacklivesmatter and the ensuing outrage about yet another senseless murder is the number of people in my little SoCal beach town that are right wing racists who hide behind their so-called “christian” facade. It’s absolutely DISGUSTING and there’s always just the tiniest little hint of anti-Semitism in their rants and comments. That orange puppet really brought out true colors in people, didnt he? The mask has slipped. It’s ugly and depressing, and I’ve lived here for 35 years.

This is a fun little graphic:

Image may contain: text that says 'Food for thought: The last time Saturn was in Aquarius was during the Rodney King Riots. The last time Pluto was in Capricorn was during the American Revolution. Neptune was in Pisces when Rome fell. We have all 3 right now.'

I haven’t yet attended a march or a gathering, but I probably will. We need to do something, stand up, show up,  become part of what’s happening and not allow hatred to continue.

We are not the enemy.

 

Image may contain: one or more people and outdoor
A couple old songs that are way too relevant.

 

It’s not protest. It’s rebellion.

IMG_9325This is what it is: “the action or process of resisting authority, control, or convention.”

In 1773 it took a bunch of angry white boys (many of them dressed as Native Americans) destroying shipments of goods and burning down a city to begin the process toward ending tyranny and oppression. It was called The Boston Tea Party and was the precursor to a certain revolution and the beginning of a new country. Somehow “we” forgot that and decided tyranny and oppression were okay for some people – we “forgot” it for 200+ years, in fact.

A phoenix can’t rise without ashes.

I know what it means to protest in order to express an objection to what someone has said or done.

I do a lot of protesting. I protested against the use of animals in labs. I protest to honor the animals that die so people can wear their fur. I protest against factory farms. I protest in favor of being a vegan.

I protest against puppy mills, animal abuse, the killing of wolves and coyotes–I protested to save my lagoon against being raped and pillaged by a rich developer–I protest for my right to choose what to do with my own body–yeah, I know what it means to protest.

I speak up –and out– A LOT.

But I’m really sick of white people thinking that the lives people of color are less valuable. At this point, if I was any other color than what I am, I would be BEYOND angry.

Angry for the deaths of George Floyd, Ahmaud Arbery, and Breonna Taylor. And before that, let’s not forget Trayvon Martin, etc, etc. etc.

THIS is a rebellion.

It’s an old story that needs a new ending.

I lived in Detroit during the riots in the late sixties. I remember my mom and dad talking about the National Guard and how disgusted they were that conversations and circumstances had so egregiously broken down that there was no way to convey change OTHER than riot and rebellion. Chitchat hadn’t worked. Racism is pervasive. All Trump did was bring it out in the open. It’s always been there. Ugly and malevolent, a symptom of a deeper malady in our society.

(That’s when we moved to Cali, which caused me to lose interest in becoming a doctor and much more focused on my tan and beautiful surfer boys, but that’s another story.)

I have a friend who graduated from high school in Louisiana in the nineties and she told me her prom was SEGREGATED. I could not believe this type of behavior still exists. It’s a different world down there, down south. According to her, not much has changed since the days of slavery and lynchings. That’s why she left, she said.

My mom lived down south too. She hated it. As the daughter of a rabbi (my grandfather), she experienced her own share of racism and anti-Semitism, and was vilified not only for having black friends, but for standing up for and with them when they were refused service. She told me she actually saw signage that said “For Whites Only”. Her stories of that disgusting inequality stuck with me; maybe why I’m such a rebel.

I also used to live in La Mesa, where the crowds were hit with rubber bullets and pepper spray. I thought about joining the rebellion, but didn’t. That doesn’t mean I won’t the next time.

We have an obligation to join the rebellions and stop police and the government from targeting and killing people of color. We have an obligation to show up and speak up, and when possible, record the atrocities. 

Justice.

Like Michelle Obama said, “…it’s up to all of us–Black, white, everyone—no matter how well-meaning we think we might be, to do the honest, uncomfortable work of rooting it out.”

Here’s the whole statement from Michelle Obama:

“Like so many of you, I’m pained by these recent tragedies. And I’m exhausted by a heartbreak that never seems to stop. Right now it’s George, Breonna, and Ahmaud. Before that it was Eric, Sandra, and Michael. It just goes on, and on, and on. Race and racism is a reality that so many of us grow up learning to just deal with. But if we ever hope to move past it, it can’t just be on people of color to deal with it. It’s up to all of us—Black, white, everyone—no matter how well-meaning we think we might be, to do the honest, uncomfortable work of rooting it out. It starts with self-examination and listening to those whose lives are different from our own. It ends with justice, compassion, and empathy that manifests in our lives and on our streets. I pray we all have the strength for that journey, just as I pray for the souls and the families of those who were taken from us.”

Targeting people just because of the color of their skin is immoral. Sometimes there’s no other way to effect moral change than with a NONpeaceful response when no one seems to listen to the words.

Power to the people.

 

 

Holding Space

Quote

IMHO, this is one of the best descriptions of what it means to hold space.

There will be times when you have to release and trust the awakening process. It may not be an easy thing to do, especially when a connection exists. Let others know you are there, offer support when asked and hold space for them in a kind, loving manner. The rest is up to them and The Universe.
Holding Space    The Creator Writings, one of my fave blogs.


I had heard the term but couldn’t wrap my brain around it, and as a slightly OCD Taurus who likes answers to questions and details and timeframes to be specific in order to feel safe, holding space is a confusing and nebulous and ephemeral concept, but I’ve been determined to understand because it resonates deeply with me. I’m relentless when it comes to understandING.

It’s a way of not doing anything when I’m all about doING and fixING and solvING. (All of those ‘ing” words that we’re trained to edit OUT of our writings.)

To hold space is to do nothING but BE.

BeING.

That very beINGness of taking a breath and stayING silent and havING faith and trust that everything is happenING as it should–well, that’s nearly impossible for me.

But here I am. I am. So hum.

 

The boy who is my heart

Update Mother’s Day 2020: I wrote this post about my son lightyears prior to Angel Boy 2.0. because without him, I wouldn’t be a mommy at all.

Since the birth of his baby sister, AB 2.0 and I repeat this conversation pretty much every single time we speak or we’re together. (A little needed reassurance about his place in the world.)

“Who’s my very favorite boy?”

“I am, Grandma!”

And who’s my second favorite boy?”

“DADDY IS. DADDY IS!”

“You’re right! Now…who’s my favorite GIRL?”

“CharChar is, right, Grandma?”

“You got it, T. And then who’s my second favorite girl?”

“MOMMY MOMMY MOMMY!”

Just keeping it straight for the second little boy who is my heart.

(P.S. My poem was published in Waterways: Poetry in the Mainstream Volume 34 #4)

 

The Yellow Steamroller

So much depends
upon

a yellow
steamroller

buried
in the dirt
 
behind the shed
On one bitterly cold wintry afternoon, I embarked on a major yard cleanup project. I raked all the pine needles shaken loose during the fury of Alaska-borne winds that roared down the coast to Southern California.
Metal rake clanged against metal.
Then I saw it, a bright yellow igniting the dirt and pine needles, suffused with a gleaming radiance through the brown. 
steamroller1
I threw down the rake, crouched on all fours, and with bare fingers dug through the wet fecund soil to uncover an abandoned yellow Matchbox toy from the spot where there once was a sandbox that my son’s dad  built for him when we first moved to this house in 1985.
I discovered in situ a three-inch wide artifact imbued with all the wonder of my perfect four-year-old child, the same age that my grandson is right now, thirty-five years later.
I gently brushed away decades of encrusted soil and sand.
steamroller2
sandbox
I was engulfed in wave after wave of memory.
I was there. Really there. 1985. 
I saw him–my precious four-year-old son in this beautiful huge sandbox filled with fresh, clean sand.  
I watched him as I often watched him from the bay window in the kitchen overlooking the backyard where I would wash dishes and keep an eye on him, keeping him safe–always keeping him safe–as he played in the sand with his dump trucks and cherry pickers and this steam roller and his buckets and plastic cups and forks and sticks with his cats and dog always near, and the loveliness of the memory set me on my heels and I cried.
Happy tears for the exquisite soft rosy glow of healthy well-fed cheeks, the deep Imperial jade green eyes, the curls that were my curls, my boy, my angel love.
The boy whose every breath contains a whisper of the intangible all encompassing LOVE I possess for this being who was a part of me before he was a part of the earth and sun and sky and sand.
The boy who is — and always will be — my heart.
I shut my eyes tight to keep the pictures from disappearing, but the ephemeral/evanescent impressions floated away with the tears that spilled out for the remembering of the beauty of a luminous child playing in a sandbox, singing to himself and constructing sand sculptures of the future, or, in his case, building words and spinning thoughts and erratica.
Those grains of sand that between his fingers mashed and smashed into forts and tunnels were the detritus of the granite from whence his brain reformed them grain by grain into skyscrapers of words and sentences that flow like a path from the back door to the sandbox.

And what eventually happened to the steamroller? It’s still here in the garden, living a new life helping another curly haired, green eyed little boy weave his own stories…

In a way, a sort of homage to…
The Red Wheelbarrow
William Carlos Williams
so much depends
upon
a red wheel
barrow
glazed with rain
water
beside the white
chickens.

Yummy Hummy Mummy Update: Abandonment

sunset

What kind of mother abandons her babies?

This isn’t how I wanted the story to end.

I like stories that end in happiness and joy, and now I have no idea what went wrong, what happened.

Is there something I could have done? I would have helped her; I’m a fixer, I like to take care of animals. And people.

Mom built a great nest, laid one egg, and I kept waiting for the next one but it never came. For a while, all was good, she sat on the nest daily and I made sure that I didn’t bother her just in case she liked privacy.

Mom hasn’t been around for about three days. The one little egg is still in the nest. I’m sure it’s not viable at this point. I wonder why she disappeared. Did she get attacked by a predator? Did her instincts tell her that there was something wrong with the egg and it shouldn’t be born?

We’ll never know, but it triggered my own issues with abandonment and not having answers to painful experiences or not being able to render aid.

It’s not natural for mothers of any species to abandon their children. It goes against all the laws of nature and psychology and maternal bonding. Sadly, in humans, abandonment leaves the children to deal with “mother wounds”; significant emotional, mental and psychological aftereffects.

However, on the bright side (which is where I like to live), there’s a Vireo successfully nesting; she comes back every single year. So far, she’s had about one hundred babies born out of the same little seashell bird house nestled in the ficus tree.

Tree Faces: dream a little dream of me

All this dreaming I’ve been doing reminded me of one of my favorite songs, “Dream a Little Dream of Me”. Which do you prefer? The Doris Day or Mama Cass version? Or Ella Fitzgerald/Louis Armstrong? For me, it’s an evocative and bittersweet song no matter who sings it. Check out the versions below and share your fave.

I have no idea why I’ve been experiencing such an enhanced dream-state, but here’s what I remember from the most recent one.

The act of remembering dreams is so ephemeral; just when you think you grasp a vision or a thought, it slips away; lost forever.

And nothing is longer than forever. This I know for sure.

I’m calling this one Tree Faces.

First of all, I remember being surrounded by tall trees in a circle, like a crown.

It’s silent in the forest. Through the bits of sky that peek through, the sun is shining, the sky is blue. Situated in the center of the circle, I feel myself lying down on a bed of crunchy pine needles. Squinting against the sun, I look up and up at the conifers, enchanted by their height and majesty.

I feel very princess-like, as if I’m growing as tall as the trees, as if I’m becoming the trees, even though my body is supported by earth and gravity. I understand these forest dwellers. These strong and resilient pine trees gently rustle their leaves and needles and the uppermost branches start to curve downward, to incline directly at me and then the tippiest top of the trees morphed into individual faces.

We gazed at each other for a few minutes, I turned my head all the way around to observe each and every face– I wasn’t scared or even surprised– and then one of them asked me, kindly, “Are you ready to go?” and another tree face asked, “Are you ready to leave and come with us?”

I remember knowing exactly what they were referring to and WHERE. I do. They wanted to know if I was ready to leave Earth and join them in the worlds we mortals don’t really know or accept that exist.

I sighed, and said, “No, I don’t think I can. Not yet, I can’t leave. I’m still needed here.”

But I wanted to go. I yearn to be in a place of eternal love and kindness and beauty.

So I asked the tree faces, “Can I be here and and come with you at the same time?”

I don’t recall an answer except the faces faded, the trees became tall and straight again, and I felt loved and protected and serene.

I closed my eyes and woke up at the same time.

Isn’t that so freaky???

I wrote down as much as I could remember, and started researching dream interpretations. Apparently, other people have dreams in which trees talk, so it’s not too unusual. It was amazing, though. The colors and smells and sensations of being in the forest and being protected were powerful.

I’ve always identified with being a tree-hugger so…who knows?

A wood or collection of trees: The natural forces in your own being, therefore ones connection with or awareness of the unconscious; other people’s personal growth and connection with self. The wood also indicates allowing yourself to be natural, to express what is innate in you, and for the mind and emotions to move in their own way. Walking in a wood might therefore suggest a feeling of relaxation, but it can also mean delving within your deeper feelings and mind – your unconscious – exploring your inner life.

What does it mean to dream about a tree talking? A tree talking to you in your dream could be a sign that, the subconscious is trying to let you learn something regarding some issue that you are currently facing.  I know might seem a bit strange for the tree to actually – talk to you, but it could mean that all you need to do is wrap your arms around a tree and listen to the spiritual words that are being conveyed to you.

If you dreamed about a tree talking to you, such dream might represent messages from your subconscious, regarding some current issues in your life that you should pay attention to.

IMG_5547

I took this pic two years ago on a camping trip in the Pacific Northwest. This is kinda what the trees looked like in my dream. Only with faces at the top.

 

 

My for-real Twilight Zone dream; also reality

You can’t make this stuff up, and that’s the truth.

Settle in for a Twilight Zone witchy type of a story.

Maybe you should stop for a minute and get your favorite crystal to hold for protection.

I’ll wait.

Okie dokie.

Let me give you the backstory; I don’t watch much local TV news, so there was no mention of what I’m about to share, neither on TV nor the internet.

No seed planted in my gray matter–conscious or subconscious—from any source.

Here’s the dream:

I was in my car with someone else driving. The time frame seemed to be current mixed with a sense that it was also eighty years ago.

We were driving to Ramona (a quaint little town on the way to our local mountains) and were stuck behind a line of vehicles from the 1930s and 1940s, the kind we associate with Prohibition; suicide doors, big tires, substantial, you know what I’m talking about.  If I remember correctly, I even think the dream was in black and white, or at least most of the cars were shiny black.

However, the car I was in was not one of the older ones. It was brand new.

This road to Ramona is a two lane highway, and there were about a dozen vehicles, snaking steadily around the curves.

1930s Gangster Cars Car club: pachuco car club

Photo from Pinterest

I don’t recall being too impatient at the slowdown (unusual behavior for me lol) and then at some point we were able to safely pass all the cars and we arrived in Ramona.
The last part of the dream I remember is that we were looking for someplace to eat or do other touristy-type activities.
A postcard of Main Street in Ramona, circa 1940. Photo Courtesy of Darrell Beck

Cool dream, right?

Well, that’s not the freaky part, but this is…

Here’s the Twilight Zone reality:

I had a dentist’s appointment to follow-up on some oral surgery that’s taking a bit longer than it should to heal properly.

Because of the pandemic, I haven’t been out driving in a while, so I thought I’d take the long way home and drive down the coast. It’s a warm eighty degrees today and gorgeous.

Hand to heart, what I’m about to share is truth. I AM NOT KIDDING.

As I was driving south down Carlsbad Blvd, I looked around me and my mouth dropped open.

In front of me was a line of cars exactly like I had seen in my dream. I was following them. THE EXACT SAME CARS. Vintage autos from the 1930s and 1940s.  There was nowhere to pull over and snap a photo so you’ll have to believe me.

Was it a car club? Probably, right? But I have no association with cars, new or old, and didn’t see any overt or subliminal advertising of a car club event.

All I know is that my dream was now my reality. Except it was Carlsbad and not Ramona.

Who can explain it?

Not me, that’s for sure. I’m pretty much of a skeptic, a “show me the science” type, but I’m edging toward a healthy respect for the unknown. Even more now, haha.

How weird is that? I have no idea what it all means. I researched it and what I learned is that to dream of antique or old fashioned cars represents current decisions in an area of your life being influenced by the past or by nostalgia.

If an old fashioned car is black or red this is symbolic of your thoughts and decisions being too influenced by the past, or return to unhealthy habits or views, and you might need to focus more on healthy decisions.

In dream meanings, your car often represents how you control your life. This dream implies an extension of what is achievable, and with more confidence you can achieve anything.

Generally, cars are attached to our inner emotions and can indicate spiritual progression on both a psychological and emotional level.

If you dream of an old car that is not your own – such as an antique or old fashioned car, this is a sign that you are a strong willed person – a man (or woman) of grit and steel. It is a great omen for your life now and that you can trust your own judgment.

Old Cars: Cars are symbols of movement and momentum in your life. They can indicate how you are progressing towards goals or if you are headed in the right direction in your life. If you dream of your old car and it is in good condition then this is a dream of moving in the right direction in your life.

Well, that’s all interesting and even positive info about old cars, but I could find nothing about the “coincidence” of living the same scenario as occurred in a dream. It’s not like I’m a prophet…

“Dreams are known as “the sleep language,” and since the time of creation God has brought divine revelation to mortal men and women while they are sleeping. Scripture even calls a prophet a “dreamer of dreams” (see Deut. 13:1; Num. 12:6). ” Charismanews.com

There are those who believe that dreams can indeed predict or foretell the future. Prophetic dreams are linked to major disasters, wars, assassinations, accidents, lottery numbers or even with winning horse race. Such dreams have helped solve crimes. In history, Abraham Lincoln was said to have dreamt of his own body laying in a coffin two weeks before he his assassination.

Or was it possibly a variation of Deja Reve, which is a French term meaning “already dreamed,” and it can be thought of as the opposite of lucid dreaming.

Deja Reve is the feeling you get when you find yourself in a situation that makes you feel as if you dreamed about it previously, that you dreamed you would be there.

The person I was with in my dream was not with me today in real life. Today, I was driving alone. I have no idea what it means because nothing really happened.

I simply observed a line of antique cars pretty much exactly as it happened in my dream. I could think of a lot of other dreams that could be more relevant to me; a dream about a gigantic suitcase full of money or a handsome knight on a white horse (or car) to sweep me off my feet and carry me off to the sunset. In Hawaii. That kind of thing.

or

dreams about the future could be as a sign of a prediction you are being given from your spirit guides or god. … If you have the ability to dream about the future, you will dream about such things as world events like earthquakes, tsunamis before they actually happen in the days to come.

or could it be a precognitive dream which could possibly act as a warning.

A dream might sometimes show you something unpleasant that might occur if you continue on the path you’re on.  You experience the consequences/unpleasantness in your dream, and it allows you to course-correct and make another choice if you want to, so that you avoid the outcome shown in your dream. Then what you dreamed may or may not come about, depending on the choices you have made.

The second purpose of a precognitive dream is to show you that you’re on the right path.

A dream like this is usually one in which you see yourself, in a particular place.  The details are usually very specific.  Perhaps you see yourself doing something very specific, or you notice the specific details of your surroundings.  Perhaps you’re speaking to someone who says something very unusual that sticks out in your memory.

Then some time later, you find yourself in that exact situation, in those exact surroundings, with the person in your dream who says what they said in your dream.  You might have the same exact feeling in your reality as you did in your dream, like a weird déjà vu moment. annasayce.com

But why cars, I wonder? I don’t even really care much about cars. Did I time travel? Sort of an imperfect astral projection? Something to do with planetary influences?

I really, really wonder what the message is, especially since it was very much a Twilight Zone feeling.

If anyone wants to venture a guess, please share a comment and thank you!

Rain and sun, wet and dry, shadow and light

The opposite of rain is sun. It rained all week here in SoCal, heavily at times. We received an official total of 6.20 inches of rain. That’s a LOT of rain for a mostly desert climate.

At times, it seemed as if it would never end. That’s the way a lot of things feel. Sometimes, you can endure so much pain and sadness that it seems as if it will never go away, that you’ll never be happy again.

I think it’s like going through a tunnel. When you enter, the light becomes dark and you are so immersed in it that everywhere you look, everywhere you turn–is darkness. It’s so dark you can’t even see your hand in front of your face. Every once in a while, someone might light a candle and you feel a momentary sharp stabbing pain to remind you of what it used to be like, but then the flame’s snuffed out and you’re thrust back into complete and total darkness. Which way is the exit? Is there a light at the end of the tunnel or will I simply stay here in limbo, in pitch-black inky hopeless melancholy? What’s the point of anything?

That was a heavy detour; my mind devolved and digressed and rambled through a rabbit hole of despondency. So there’s that familiar dark night of the soul too, that black spiraling tunnel of anguish.

Maybe I hit replay too many times on Kesha’s Praying. (see link below).

All I really set out to do with this post was share some pics of how much rain we had and how flooded my gardens were, in contrast to one day later, when we enjoyed a shiny sunny blue sky.

When author Alex Banayan interviewed Maya Angelou, it is alleged that she told him to write this sentence on his notepad and to never forget it. “Every storm runs out of rain.”

I hope so. I really do.

Here ya go:

Thursday’s rain…my arroyo seco, dry river bed, wasn’t so dry anymore!

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Saturday’s sun and the birds are singing:

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Kesha Praying

My Covid-19 journey of self-isolation: Day 21

March 30: I feel like I’ve been training for this pandemic pretty much my whole life, but especially ever since my life exploded and I became a full-fledged hermit in a self induced cocoon to try and survive and heal from my own tsunami of pain.

A loner by nature, I’m peaceful while everyone around me is in a frenzy. I find serenity in projects at home, the garage, and the garden. I have always enjoyed solo exercising, working out at home instead of the gym, and I’m even more self sufficient now. Beaches are closed, but my own backyard sanctuary is open 24/7.

There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home. It’s a mindset. Home is not a prison; it’s a sanctuary. What a perfect opportunity to slow down and create your own retreat.

Image may contain: shoes, plant, tree, outdoor and nature

Social distancing is a way of life. Not a problem. Avoid close contact? Not a problem. Shelter in place? Def not a problem.

I’m taking all the necessary precautions; washing my hands so often that I feel like LadyMacbeth minus the fact that I’ve never murdered anyone.

Doctor:
What is it she does now? Look how she rubs her hands.

Gentlewoman:
It is an accustom’d action with her, to seem thus
washing her hands. I have known her continue in this a quarter of
an hour.

Lady Macbeth:
Yet here’s a spot.

Probably because my mom was an RN and cleaned so often with Lysol that I’d often tell her I had Lysol in my veins instead of blood, but my house is VERY CLEAN. Like eat-off-the-floor clean. To me, the smell of bleach is as sweet as Chanel perfume.

Now I’ve ramped it up a bit. I disinfect food containers and cans before they come in the house, open mail with gloves on, and I have enough food to last three weeks.

The worst part of all of this is that Angel Boys 1 and 2 were supposed to visit and they had to cancel their trip. 2.0  just turned four and I missed his birthday as well as my son’s celebration, something that has really never happened in the 39 years he’s been alive.

When we FaceTimed, little Angel Boy 2.0. told me that all the libraries and toy stores and restaurants are closed. When I asked him why, he said it was “because of the virus.” I asked him what a virus was, but he didn’t know, only that all of his fun places weren’t available to him. Dad’s home because the university is closed and he’s teaching online. Mom and baby are home too, and I wish I was there to help, but I can’t go to them.

Everything is beyond surreal.

So far, I’ve had some good experiences and only one bad one.

This happened on March 11 and I wrote about it that day…”This virus is bringing out the absolute worst in people, including my own community. I was at our library, buying a couple books from the little store cos I’m going to have oral surgery and need to stay put for a bit. As I was paying for the books, I saw a huge bottle of hand sanitizer at the check out counter. I attempted to use it and the volunteer (about my age or maybe a little older) said it was “only for the workers” and “didn’t I carry my own hand sanitizer in my purse”. Needless to say, I immediately went over to the librarian who apologized and assured me that the volunteers are not supposed to HOARD the sanitizer, asked me to write up a complaint (which I did) as well as request of her to make sure all employees, volunteer/paid, knew that the library is a public institution paid for by my taxes and that was egregious behavior. What she should have said was “help yourself”. 

Except for the odd hoarding of toilet paper, that was really my only negative experience. Everyone else seems to have a feeling of community, that we’re all part of this strange Twilight Zone time, that 2020 will never be forgotten.

Image may contain: 1 person, possible text that says 'I can't be worried about that shit. Life goes on, man.'

So far, I’ve used five rolls of toilet paper. I know that seems like a lot, but I use it to clean, too. Did you guys hoard anything? How are you doing on paper products? Has this slloowww down changed your life? How? In what way? What kinds of adjustments will you keep when things go back to the way they were? What is it you’re missing?

I think we’re in for the ride of our lives. As above, so below.

Image may contain: possible text that says 'The power of the global reset www.trinityesoterics.com'

There is Before and there is After

beforeafterboxHave you ever experienced an event so traumatic that inevitably forevermore all things will be mentally placed in two boxes labeled Before and After?

Like how people always remember where they were on September 11, 2001, or where they were when Kennedy was shot, or when the first man walked on the moon. Or when your mom died, things like that…you know where you were, how old you were, even what you were wearing or what you were doing. These moments are indelibly stamped in your heart and brain as well as the accompanying emotions.

I have my own personal tragic date of profound sorrow that will forever mark my future. There was happiness BEFORE: sadness and confusion AFTER.

My life is split in two now. What was will never be again as I dwell in a mostly perpetual state of grief, of dysphoria, of purgatory, of anhedonia.

That’s not to say there aren’t moments of brightness, moments that bring a smile to my face and lift my heart a little, but then I see a certain date or I remember a certain event and I mentally place it in its appropriate container: BEFORE or AFTER. I say to myself, oh yeah, that was before. Now we dwell in the after box.

If I see a story or read an article about, for example, Yellowstone, that memory goes in the  before box. Ironing perfumed sheets for a homecoming or walking to the beach, Sunday morning buckwheat pancakes–or any one of the thousands of sweet daily memories since 1991–all BEFORE. Don’t get me started going down THAT road. There are actually about half a dozen dates that signify different aspects of after-and those recollections are even more painful to tidy up and allocate to their designated container.

BEFOREANDAFTERBEFOREANDAFTER. I do it automatically now.

For me, it signals panic attack time. I never experienced a panic attack BEFORE–now I know the triggers and force myself to use the tools I went to therapy to learn so I don’t once again spiral into a paralyzing dissociation with reality.

There is so much that is before. Why wasn’t I able to foretell the future? If I had only known. But I didn’t know, I couldn’t have known,  and the abject shock of it all still colors my waking hours–and my sleep.

ravenIn my case, every single day I mourn the death of someone who’s still very much alive.

Unless you’ve walked this same journey, you might not  understand how I can grieve for someone who still breathes and eats and sleeps. Although they aren’t clinically deceased, they are gone, and it feels like a true death in every sense of the word.

And now for me, I will forevermore be tormented by BEFORE and AFTER.

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