Compassion and Listening Deeply

September 15, 2026 //
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I learned something over the past couple of days. Well, I mean, I had a moment of epiphany, in which a thing (or two) clicked into place and I had an “aha!” moment of wonder and delight that almost caused me to be an ass, when my partner definitely expected me to be listening. Deeply.

[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]

So, for context, I’m pretty shit at listening deeply with great care and focus. Brain damage is a bitch. No doubt it’ll be a lifetime of practice to get even close to the goal of deep listening routinely without internal reminders and distracting silent admonishments. I’ll get there, maybe. I’ll keep practicing.

I’m definitely a considerate and caring person, with a soft spot for friends and loved ones and a desire that they not suffer needlessly, nor most especially over something I’ve done or said… Which, put that way probably illustrates a critical limitation I am still working through, rather more obviously than I would have intended. I feel a bit pained to read those words and cringe a bit. The thing is, I reason most clearly through analogy and metaphor and understanding shared experience, which is all well and good in the abstract, but…

… When someone is experiencing acute pain of some sort, they really don’t want to hear that you understand completely because of some experience you’ve had that you’re now eager to share. Frankly, I’ve probably lost some friends with that shit. Although my intentions were good, my effort to connect and heal and nurture or comfort just resulted in someone feeling less well understood and possibly quite annoyed. Not an ideal way to approach listening…

…For some reason, it really clicked last night. My Traveling Partner was going through some shit I really really do understand only too well. I started to share my experience, to communicate understanding, and demonstrate compassion… and it was like a bright light. I got it. After all this while. Shut up and listen, let the other person say what their experience is like. Ask about that. Listen more.

Holy shit. Is it that simple?? Maybe not. Whatever would be that simple?.. but it’s sure better than being an ass and talking over someone trying to share their experience with tales of some other experience they definitely don’t care about in that moment. They want to feel heard. So…um… listen.

… Listen…

I sigh to myself. I really hate when stuff I struggle with turns out to have a very simple “problem statement” that makes sense and brings clarity. Not because I don’t find value in that, it’s just a bit embarrassing to find myself on the receiving end of yet another such moment of clarity, after so much struggle, and have it sound so simple. Now the trick will be to make use of it.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. The night sky still surrounds me. It’s quiet out here on the trail this morning. Not yet daybreak, and a head full of thoughts already. I didn’t sleep well. My sleep became very restless and disturbed after multiple interruptions. I woke irritated and although I am not groggy, I’m also not well-rested. (The weekend is so close, I remind myself, hang in there… there’s a long weekend of deep restful sleep waiting for me.)

I grabbed coffee at the gas station while I filled the tank. It’s fairly dreadful gas station coffee, only slightly better than “waiting at the tire place coffee”, which can substitute as cleaning solvent I’m sure. I’m enjoying the feeling of the warm cup in my hands more than I’m drinking it – my stomach will thank me. I sip it as it cools, and my brain catches up as the caffeine starts working. Doesn’t seem so bad, after my brain realizes this is coffee.

… It’s still pretty bad, but drinkable…

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I meditate, and reflect. I write. After some little while,  I’ll finish this walk and begin a new day. Hopefully I can maintain some resilience and enjoy the day in spite of being fatigued. It’s a good goal. I’ll refrain from taking shit personally. I’ll let small shit stay small. I’ll refuse to drink poison. I won’t take bait. I’ll focus on being the woman I most want to be. That’s got to be enough.

With all that in mind, I begin again.

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Categories Allegories, anger, Anxiety, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, gratitude, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being, The Big 5, women, Words

Darker, Chillier

September 14, 2026 //
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Autumn is definitely approaching, although I won’t be surprised if we get another stretch of hot weather, later, we often do. This morning is cooler and feels chilly. The receding darkness of night seems somehow darker, reinforcing the perception of seasons changing.

[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]

I got down the trail to my halfway point still in darkness. Beating daybreak by some minutes, I sit quietly in the darkness, listening, watching, and simply being. It is a Monday morning, and the weekend felt too short.

… I sit thinking about seasons and cycles, and the ticking clock of mortality…

Next weekend I will enjoy a brief rest from the day-to-day demands on my time and attention; I’ll be painting on the coast. I’m looking forward to it, but having been planned, I’m no longer preoccupied with it. The recollection forms, I acknowledge it, and my mind moves on to other things. It’s not that I don’t need the break, I for sure do, it’s more that I don’t benefit from picking at it like a wound. It’s soon, and the time will pass in the usual way, moment by moment, and that’s enough.

… What is “enough”? It’s an important question, and a very personal thing. Your results may vary…

I twist and stretch, seated uncomfortably on this rock. It’s not the fault of the rock; I often sit here and it’s fine. This morning I ache, mostly strangely sore muscles. Not all that strange when I remember I’ve been making a point to do more, and have added strength training reliably to my exercise regimen. Slipping without falling on the muddy trail yesterday probably also used my muscles differently. I feel the most sore in muscles that I relied upon for my balance in those moments.

I yawn and watch the sky lighten. Daybreak(ish). I’m ready for a new day, and also a little reluctant to “deal with all that”. Typical human bullshit. 😆 I’d rather be at home, in my Traveling Partner’s embrace, living a life of ease and leisure. Turns out the world doesn’t give away such lives as freebies very often, and I didn’t take the steps necessary to get to that place, when I was younger. It would have taken very different circumstances, too, most likely. I’m not bitching – I’ll walk the path I’ve chosen (we all do), and hope to choose more wisely in all kinds of things than I did when I was much younger. We don’t know what we don’t know, and mortal lives are surprisingly short. I sigh to myself. I’m grateful in spite of challenges; it could be much worse. I’m fairly fortunate.

I’m waxing a bit philosophical perhaps. Life is pretty good, for most values of “good”, and I’m content more often than I’m not. That’s a big deal. I stretch and yawn, and get more comfortable for meditation. Then I stretch more, again, and write awhile. It’s quiet and so far the morning is lovely and peaceful here. I think ahead to coffee. That’ll be nice, too.

My hands are stiff and the morning chill seeps into my bones. I remember feeling warmed from within, in my 20s and 30s, as if my heart was a tiny white hot sun burning inside me. I rarely wore a coat and mostly didn’t feel a need to. I often walked a brisk two miles to grab lunch at my apartment, instead of on base, and my walking pace then was such that a two mile walk (each way) still left ample time for lunch. Funny to feel (and be) so much slower now.

The sky is still mostly dark. Somehow it’s already time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being, women, Words

Well, Hey, How About GFY

September 13, 2026 //
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My morning began the usual way, with waking up. It seemed fine. My headache is pretty bad, my arthritis less so. I get going and get gone, and head to the trail along the river. Seems like a good morning for it.

[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]

I had the trail to myself when I got started. That’s a nice treat, for me. The morning was off to a lovely start. (Do you hear that sound? A metaphorical shoe dropping…)

I set off in the darkness, headlamp on. Cloudy morning, and the darkness is thick, the air is still. I walk, alert and present, watching for hazards within the bobbing circle of light ahead of me. The trail is muddy and slick. I skid sideways a couple times, losing my footing in some bit of mud. I slow down. Take my time. Even late in the summer, the Willamette River is very cold. If I did fall in, it’s quite likely I would drown. I keep my steps cautious, grateful for my cane.

My Traveling Partner pings me a good morning greeting. The “good” part of that doesn’t last much longer, which sucks. There’s not much point breaking it down any further. Humans being human. (And that other shoe drops.) A missed opportunity to communicate yesterday becomes a problem today. I sigh to myself. What a shitty development. Feels as if this beautiful morning was wrecked over coffee beans, which strikes me as really peculiar, since we didn’t run out, and there was a new bag of good quality coffee beans available.  My recollection is that we hadn’t yet used up the last batch. Doesn’t matter.

In any case, this morning the magic eightball says… “Go fuck yourself.”

… Fucking hell, being human is complicated…

What matters is that my Traveling Partner started his morning with frustration and annoyance, and I lack the personal discipline to ignore the notification when he pings me while I’m occupied with other activities, and as a result, my morning peace is also wrecked (or at least interrupted), and my safety is at risk because I try to walk and text at the same time. Human. Fairly stupid, to be sure, but also very human.

So… This morning all is not well in paradise. I hurt too much to deal with anyone else’s crap this morning, even my beloved, so I’ll have to find something to do that puts plenty of distance between me and everyone else. Maybe that sounds “antisocial”, I look at it as self-care on a difficult day.

Right about now 100% of everyone who isn’t the woman I see in my mirror can fuck right off. It isn’t personal, I just don’t have enough in reserve to take care of anyone else, presently. I’ve got shit of my own to do, a great mountain of which I’ve allowed to pile up unattended over the two years of intensive care my partner needed then. He reminds me regularly these days to put more energy into my self-care, and that he’s doing much better. I know he’s right – about both those things. 

I sigh to myself, sitting in a quiet glade along the trail, alone (and enjoying that). There are chipmunks playing in the berry thicket. Robins are scratching in the muddy soil looking for a convenient breakfast snack. The air smells like autumn, and the leaves are beginning to turn. The clock ticks on. The season is changing. The sunlight of a new day catches the treetops. Whatever else I may do today, I’m definitely going to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, anger, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, gratitude, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being, The Big 5, women, Words

What a Wonderful World This Would Be

September 12, 2026 //
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It is the dawn of a new day. Yesterday’s mistakes and stepped on boundaries are in the past. This is a completely new and different moment. I walk down the dark marsh trail, following the circle of light provided by my headlamp.

[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]

I get to a pleasing stopping point. A favorite fallen log at the edge of a grassy hillside dotted with oak trees makes a decent seat. I wait, watching the eastern horizon for first light on this cloudy morning. I sit with my thoughts, reflecting on a theory my Traveling Partner shared with me recently, about a recurring theme in my artwork, “the nightmare city”. It is my rendering of a dream, a nightmare, that I have had on a recurring basis for many years. I maybe don’t remember not having this nightmare (more often than occasionally).

“The Nightmare City” 8″ x 10″ acrylic on canvas w/glow

The dream itself is simple enough. I am in a city. It seems peculiarly “hollowed out”, as if the buildings are all fake, just facades standing in neat rows. There is a background glow, but it’s hard to tell if it is lights left on, or fire, or warfare. I am walking briskly towards some point in the distance, then running breathlessly but wanting very much to stop. I usually wake before I reach that distant point, heart pounding, breathless, and frightened. Sometimes I’m in it, trapped, hurtling towards some point, when a loud blast of noise hits me with physical force, and there is a sort of popping noise and a flash of light, and so much pain. I wake, grateful to have found my way from the nightmare city, again.

The Nightmare City, some other night, different lighting.

I’ve painted the nightmare city several times. Sketched it. Painted in acrylic, with a ton of glow. Painted in watercolor, ephemeral and surreal. Painted in pastels, a city in flames and as a forlorn abandoned place that can’t harm me now. My nightmares draw me back into that strange city again and again, as if there is something unspoken that wants a voice…

Another version, “Urban Warfare”, rendered in pastels, in 2024, when old trauma and new wars collide in my dreams.

My Traveling Partner only shared his theory when I insisted I’d really like to know his thoughts. He shared his impression that it may be a remnant of “the last thing I saw” before (more specifically as) I injured my head. I don’t recall my injury with any clarity, at all. Hints of partial recollections of fragments of vague memories that generally my consciousness mind has difficulty approaching. A sense of…flight? A gasp, like a final deep breath before plunging into darkness? A distant point of perspective that rushes towards me without properly changing as the distance draws near. An explosion of light? Nothing useful. The official version, when anyone would discuss it with me at all, much later in life, was that I fell down some stairs, maybe (and now can we please talk about something else?).

“Daylight Comes to the Nightmare City”, in pastels, 2026.

My Traveling Partner finally admitted, he sees something characteristic and distinct about my nightmare city paintings; to him they can also potentially be seen as a staircase, or bannister finial, from the perspective of hurtling towards it head first. “Once I realized, I can’t unsee it,” he said. Since he shared that with me, I see it too. I touch the small triangular “divet” I feel on my forehead, and trace the cracks I feel under the skin that radiate out from there, to my hairline, and down into my right eye socket.

… And I wonder…

… Trauma is weird. I still see the city, the road leading away, and feel a strangely nauseous feeling when I contemplate walking down that peculiarly dark street as it seems to narrow towards a point. In my dreams, I never quite reach whatever waits at the other end of the road…

For no obvious reason, I hear a Sam Cooke song in my head as I sit with my thoughts,  “… What a wonderful world this would be…”. I sit in the stillness of a summer morning betwixt meadow and marsh, waiting for the sun. Waiting to understand something just out of reach of any clear memories. There’s rarely much anger left over this broken brain – there are more important things to be angry about, these days. I’m okay with who I am, most of the time. I’m grateful for my Traveling Partner, for his kindness not rushing to put ideas in my head out of compassion and love, and for sharing his thoughts willingly and gently when pressed. Considering I really don’t remember my injury, having hints and insights helps me process the unknown, and even the potentially unknowable.

… I’m okay with the uncertainty; I am loved. I can begin again, as often as I need to, in order to heal and grow, and walk on.  I look down the path fearlessly. I am awake, and safe, and life is pretty good. I smile, thinking soft happy thoughts about my partner, my best friend. I get to my feet, grateful, humming some tune that is stuck in my my head…

… What a wonderful world it would be…

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Categories Allegories, anger, Anxiety, art and the artist, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, gratitude, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Sleepless Nights, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being, War and News of War, women, Words

Something Like That, But Different

September 11, 2026 //
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Weird morning… but, not really, I guess. That is part of the sensation of strangeness; the morning has been so utterly ordinary it feels rather strange.

[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]

I reached the halfway point of my walk in good time. My thoughts are my own.

Very bright (excessively) outdoor lights on a nearby farm building have all been turned on, and they irritate me a bit, but I imagine the farm workers prefer not having to work in the dark. I was grateful when the path turned and put those lights behind me. Walking towards them, they were blinding me a bit. Walking with these very bright lights at my back, the trail ahead is well lit, and my headlamp is not necessary.

Here at this spot along the trail, I can still see those lights, but they are neither helpful nor blinding, only specks of light in the greater darkness. I think about that awhile. A useful metaphor.

I yawn and stretch. How am I this stiff and sore?! I feel like I was in a fight, or endured hours of intense exercise – and I have had no such experiences recently. I definitely could have slept longer. I sit with that thought for a slow moment, doing nothing else. I’m looking forward to a few days of painting on the coast, and watching the tides come and go, over the Equinox… and sleeping in. I’m definitely looking forward to sleeping in.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I meditate. I reflect on this and that. More breathing (best to keep that going, yeah? 😆).

This is one of those quiet, easy to take for granted, sort of mornings on which everything seems…fine. Pleasant. Quite enjoyable all around, save for the subtle nagging sensation that it won’t last. I chuckle to myself at the very idea that it could be any other way. That’s the tempting lie; imagining that life might ever be other than it is, (which is generally fraught with trauma and turmoil, and challenging circumstances) for anything more than a moment. I smile feeling a little like I know some notable secret that unlocks the mystery of life (I don’t). “Go with it,” isn’t much of a secret. Neither is “be kind to yourself,” nor is “enjoy the moment you’re in”. These are potentially mere platitudes with limited utility. It matters greatly how (and whether) I put them to some kind of use.

…Verbs…

It was nice to get into the studio for a little while yesterday, after work. Productive time for and about me – and considering how good that felt, I should clearly be doing it more often. Hell, I even ended the day with enough left in me to cook a proper meal! (I make an excellent and thoroughly delicious stir-fry.)

…I forgot to grab my lunch as I left the house…

I barely notice daybreak when it comes, sitting here with my thoughts. I sigh and get to my feet. Like a child pulling the covers up over me to be warmer, finding too late that my feet have become cold, I consider beginning work early to end the work day earlier. I laugh at myself. I’m familiar with how that tends to work out in practice; working longer for no good reason, and with little value. I commit to relaxing with my thoughts a few more minutes.

…Then I begin again. I’ve got a whole new day for being and becoming, and practicing practices. I hope I choose wisely.

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Categories Allegories, art and the artist, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being, Words
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