Archives for category: Metaphors
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Distracted and Mildly Annoyed

May 26, 2016 //
2

This morning I woke with a headache. It’s okay, it’s not a bad one, just a garden variety probably-slept-too-long-with-my-neck-in-that-position headache. I feel fortunate that I didn’t wake with significant pain, otherwise, nor a kink in my neck – a particularly uncomfortable pain, when it is my turn to endure that experience.

My coffee is good this morning, but I’m struggling to bother with drinking it. I feel emotionally comfortable, though less so as the morning develops around this other strangely specific bit of discontent lurking in the background. It is mystifying and unsourced, and I am disliking the feeling that ‘there is more to know’ and I’d like to read about it. I think my first mistake was allowing myself anywhere near the news. lol I’d like to ‘settle in and read the paper’, honestly, but it is a feeling that hearkens to another time in my life, when the paper was actually reliably paper, probably inconveniently large for anyone else wishing to sit at the table with their coffee (or breakfast) and when being the person thusly engaged (in reading the paper) was also a sign of household status; everyone else made room for that person to do that thing, as if reading the paper were a critical function, respected and accommodated.

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My father read the news at breakfast. My mother read the news privately. Implicit biases are more subtle than can be effectively discussed in sound bites, or memes. This observation is not apropos to this post.

I think my discontent comes from the experience of reading what amounts to ‘news’ this morning. I bounce from one news source to another, some domestic, some foreign, some right-wing, some left-wing, some ostensibly neutral (which lately I find only means that they have not made clear what their agenda may be). I even check a few favored trade journals and niche periodicals (usually science, medicine, and areas of artistic interest). I would enjoy spending the morning reading short informative factual articles on clear topics, thoroughly researched, well-cited, and relevant to my experience of life and the world. It’s not going to happen today. What the fuck is up with all the hate? With all the finger-pointing and blaming? With all the artificial outrage and vile mud-slinging? I’m not a fan of news-via-meme. I also really really like it when terms are clearly defined to ensure the best possible shared understanding. Unfortunately for me, factual, emotionally neutral, ad-free news reporting doesn’t keep readers coming back to generate more revenue.  Most of what is put forth as news lately seems to be [mostly unsupported] opinion and reactionary rhetoric, and ‘sponsored content’. It’s a big uninformative emotionally provocative downer. Clearly – I am emotionally provoked, right now. It’s our own fault as consumers; we take the bait. The click-bait, I mean. Yeah. Me, too. I gotta stop doing that – it’s not informative, and it takes a toll on my consciousness in an unhealthy way. I’d be better off re-watching South Park season 19, episodes 8, 9, & 10 before clicking on another headline, anywhere, ever. I’d ‘lol’, but I’m quite serious.

I rarely read the news these days. I actively avoid it. Unfortunately, my best effort there still results in reading many more pages of utter garbage, without meaning or value, than is healthy for me. Impulse control issues affect me in this area of life, too. Click-bait is most particularly designed to overcome our impulse control… and I’m a little short on that already. The internet is vast – and just filled with shiny sparkly nonsense intended to get my attention for purposes not my own. It takes practice to avoid it all. There are plenty of opportunities to practice.

What to do about my fractured unruly consciousness this morning and my cold coffee, is now the question… I sip my coffee (honestly, if I’ll drink it hot, and I’ll drink it iced, is there some reason to resist drinking it at room temperature?) and look out the window at the flat gray sky. Was I grumpy when I woke up? I sure am now. I am irked even about that.

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There is value in literally stopping to smell the roses.

I sit for a moment, listening to birdsong, breathing deep calm breaths, and feeling myself relax. I take a mental step back from the internet, and consider the morning without all that. The dark green of the pine just beyond the window, and the brighter greens of the grasses of the lawn, then the meadow beyond, stand out from the flat neutral gray of the morning sky. Cyclists, runners, and walkers pass by, some distance from the window, beyond the playground at the edge of the park, too far away to see facial expressions or hear conversation. The stop/start rhythmic tapping of fingers on the keys seems loud in the stillness of morning; one observation at a time, one sentence then another, I rebuild the morning of better parts. It’s a good start to a better day. My coffee is cold, sure, but still tasty. I think ahead to a fresh cup of coffee after a hot shower, and consider taking a few more minutes for me on the cushion by the patio door; meditation is the thing that comes through for me most reliably to calm a busy mind, to soothe restlessness. “Easy” doesn’t describe it well, as a practice. Meditation is not costly. Meditation does not require special gear, elaborate equipment, or specific specialized coaching; given the interest, and the willingness to do the verbs, I’m pretty sure anyone could build an effective meditation practice on their own, with some bit of reading on the topic, and some… practice. Yeah. It’s about practicing, whether you want to play the piano, or calm your monkey mind. Skills take practice.

It's not always an uphill climb... there are definitely steps to take.

It’s not always an uphill climb… there are definitely steps to take.

Strange start to the day. Certainly a few uncomfortable moments don’t determine the day. I smile to myself, remembering my lunch plans a bit later, and later still my date with my traveling partner. Yeah… I’m okay right now… and this is totally enough. 🙂

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Categories Anxiety, Brain Injury, Fiction, Free Will, Healthy Living, Logic & Reason, Metaphors, Mindfulness, more than a little bit of bitching, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, The Art of Being, War and News of War, Words

Storms Pass

May 14, 2016 //
0

It’s a true thing, is it not, that storms pass? That change is? That impermanence is a durable characteristic of this human experience? Well, in my own experience it sure seems to be the case that all those things are true. This morning, I woke to an entirely different experience than yesterday morning – to be fair, it is an entirely different day.

My black mood yesterday morning didn’t even last to lunch time. My refusal to take it personally, catastrophize it, spend all day root-causing the emotions, or to give up on myself (and the day), paid off. The turning point was twofold; my traveling partner reminded me that having yielded to the need to take more robust steps to manage my pain (an Rx pain reliever) for a couple of days and then… not, most likely resulted in having to slog through ‘the down’. Withdrawal symptoms, however mild, however transitory, totally suck – and I reliably fail to remember right away that I am at risk, particularly complicated by my limited executive function in the area of emotional regulation. The other turning point was a matter of human connection and intellectual distraction in the form of a new neighbor interested in my art work. Inviting him in to take a look at my work, talk it over, (and discuss a possible commission as it turned out) put my issues of the morning to rest, and left me feeling excited to be alive…and something else that I couldn’t quite place, but felt very good.

As the morning developed that ‘something else’ developed too, and as I was chatting with my traveling partner, it developed further still… a certain pleasant tension in the background of my emotional experience, an eagerness… something lost felt found… I wanted very much to paint. I paced a bit more, and fussed over the idea. I found myself having this peculiar inner dialogue about ‘not painting from this place’, and feeling as if I had ‘always painted from the positive’… but… as I considered it this was recognizably not the case. I looked at other work. Other times in my life. I have quite a lot right here to look at… I clearly paint mood pieces from any number of deep dark vile places, and quite a lot of my work bears the stamp of emotions other than joy, contentment, happiness, love, desire, eagerness… It’s true. I have paintings with titles like “Portrait of the Artist’s Tears”, “Anxiety” and “Broken”… definitely not ‘painted from the positive’… so what is this line of bullshit, and where is it coming from?

"Anxiety" 10" x 14" - and she feels much bigger than that, generally.

“Anxiety” 10″ x 14″ – and she feels much bigger than that, generally.

I decided that was less important than being who I am, authentic, inspired, and grounded in all the things that are real about my experience – regardless of positive or negative. Painters paint. The studio is ready. What more do I need?

I let my traveling partner know I would likely be difficult to reach for the weekend; we coordinated plans for later. I updated my calendar with considerable excitement, “Artist @ Work”. I spent the remainder of the day in the studio.

As yet untitled, 16" x 16" acrylic on canvas w/glow.

As yet untitled, 16″ x 16″ acrylic on canvas w/glow, one of three new pieces painted yesterday.

I woke up this morning in a very different place as a human being, feeling content, feeling comfortable in my own skin, feeling confident that ‘things work out’ and that ‘things are okay’, and looking out on the gray morning sky with a certain something… a hard to describe piece of my experience of self clicked into place quite comfortably without force in this new space, in way it hadn’t quite done at #27, or the shared living arrangement prior to that. I had welcomed myself home.

I initially woke up early, around 2 am, thinking it was 5 am… and without my glasses, in the dim light, the clock certainly seemed to say it was 5 am… a good time to get up, although… Saturday. I could sleep in… I went back to bed, thinking I’d doze for another hour at best, and on checking the clock again and understanding the early hour at that point, crashed out content to just sleep and confident I would. It was a nice feeling, and I woke feeling rested and quite pleasantly human some hours later… properly at 5 am. 🙂 I took my coffee with me to a seat at the patio door, on my meditation cushion, and watched the dawn develop under gray skies, listening to birdsong, and watching the red-wing blackbirds come and go, their cheery bold ‘chirp!’ letting everyone know it is breakfast time. I sipped my coffee awhile. Meditated awhile longer. Moved on to yoga afterward. I’ll finish this up shortly with a rather futile swipe at spell checking it; I’ll catch what I missed later today, I’m sure. Then? A walk in the morning air before returning to have a bite of breakfast and consider yesterday’s new work, and what I might do in the studio today. This feels so good!

A soft rain begins to fall. I smile. My traveling partner pings me a good morning from his place. The day begins. It’s enough – it’s more than enough. Today is a good day to be here, to be content with what is, and to enjoy this moment. Yeah. Definitely enough. 🙂

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Categories Anxiety, Art, art and the artist, Brain Injury, Free Will, Love, Metaphors, Mindfulness, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, Spring, The Art of Being, Words

Listening

May 12, 2016 //
0

I was sitting on the patio with a coffee in the cool of evening. The sun sets on the other side of the building, and the patio is shaded and comfortable even after a warm day. A neighborhood child at play wandered near and steps closer to see the roses after asking her Mom if that would be okay. She glances my way, I smile. It’s enough – and rather suddenly, instead of the quiet evening, birdsong, and breezes, I am confronted with the whimsical chatter of a child, eager, enthused with life, and curious about… everything. “What are you doing?” she asks, looking up from smelling each and every different rose in bloom. “I’m listening.” I reply. “To me?” she asks quizzicially. “To the evening.” I smile, she smiles back, and for a moment, she is quiet too; listening to the evening. “I hear birds.” she observes somewhat impatiently, and seemingly eager to move on to more active things. “Why are you listening?” she demands politely. “I’m not very good at it,” I admit, “and I need a lot more practice at giving other people – and even the creatures of the world – a chance to say something.” She sighs, and gives me a look of sympathy and understanding. “My Mom says I don’t listen, too.” I laugh, her Mom chuckles, too. “Well, ” I suggest gently, “you can practice. The birds don’t mind if you are not very good at it, at first.” She skips away, chattering with her Mom about birds, birdsong, roses, and listening. I am left with the stillness of evening, birdsong, and breezes – and a smile.

A recent evening visit from a different neighbor.

An evening visit from a different neighbor.

I do practice listening. It’s one of the more challenging things I work on. Stand a human being in front of me, and often – even in the utter absence of desire to do so, or something to say – I start talking. Sometimes I even manage to crowd my own consciousness with too much talk – I know it is frustrating for people who would like to be heard. It builds a problematic cycle over time, where I talk too endlessly and am eventually ‘tuned out’ or silenced and subsequently don’t ‘feel heard’, myself. It’s not a good way to treat love, or friendship, and it’s less than ideal for any other sort of positive interaction I hope to have. So. I practice listening. Really listening. The sort of deep listening in which I am specifically and only attending to what I am hearing, without queuing up other thoughts, replies, rebuttals, counter-proposals, action plans, or questions. Just listening. Hearing. I make the effort to refrain from verbally replying or responding, aside from acknowledgement when appropriate, and give the moment time to finish saying what is being said – whether it is an evening of birdsong, or a moment of real conversation with an actual other human being. I don’t always manage it. Sometimes I interrupt. I keep practicing. Everyone wants to be heard, and there are few things more precious than feeling that we have been. I continue to practice, because I’d very much like to be known for being someone who ‘really listens’. 🙂

It’s no longer evening. I woke this morning, too early, and returned to sleep quite easily – then ‘overslept’ my usual time by nearly two hours, waking feeling deeply rested and content to start the day. I’m pleased that the apartment is comfortably cool. I am untroubled by how dreadful my coffee is, and continue to sip it contentedly, thinking about cups of coffee in life that have been notably worse – and sometimes still ‘good enough’ in spite of that. There aren’t many things in life that seem to work that way… maybe just two, for me: sex and coffee; even when they aren’t awesome, they both manage to be [for me] generally quite acceptably satisfying…although I am more likely to finish a dreadful cup of coffee than a sex act that might qualify as ‘dreadful’, so… perhaps not so similar as all that? lol I find myself distracted by the comparison, and the implications, which hint at the chaos and damage. It’s just an emotional shadow passing over the delightful landscape of the day, and it passes quickly. I don’t find that I am scurrying to run from what could be revealed about the woman in the mirror, instead the observation is noted, to be considered gently another time. I’m okay right now.

Today is a good day to listen.

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Categories Brain Injury, Free Will, Healthy Living, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Perspective, Relationships, The Art of Being, The Big 5, Words

Some Mornings Less So

May 8, 2016 //
0

Most mornings proceed pretty gently for me these days, and even on the worst of them I get by pretty well, and treat myself decently, and with considerable compassion. This morning was less than usually gentle, and although I’ve done what I can, I am less than ideally kind to myself – I am frustrated by my limitations and feeling irked. It’s not the best addition to my morning coffee, which somehow tastes bitter in spite of using the same coffee I find so richly satisfying most other mornings – and in spite of my general lack of ability to detect bitter flavors in the first place. It is one more defining detail of the start of my day.

I woke from a sound sleep, head as stuffy as the room also felt, throat dry, head pounding, and the clock factually admonishing me that it was already 5:30 am, well into the ‘I may as well get up’ time of morning [for me]. I definitely did not want to get up, and I felt groggy and out of sorts. I got up to pee, and opened the patio door to the morning breeze, hoping to cool the apartment down without fully waking up, and noticing my pain well beyond the usual as I did so. (That makes it sound far more efficient than my hapless dizzy clumsy careening around the room actually was.) I took my morning medication, drank a glass of water, and returned to bed, hoping to sleep in spite of the pain. That doesn’t always work out for me, particularly after sunrise, but on this gray overcast moody looking morning, and after considerable tossing and turning trying to find some combination of pillows and posture that would allow it, I slept.

I woke later to a cool room filled with fresh morning air, headache gone, and easily able to breathe. I feel rested. I still hurt. I am in more pain than usual, possibly just the ordinary change in my arthritis pain that comes with a change in the weather. Yesterday, sunny, warm, and clear… today, gray, overcast, cool, and threatening rain – it’s very much the sort of change that comes with more than usual pain, and I feel less cross with myself recognizing that. (At 5:30 am it was less obvious that it would be a cloudy day.) My coffee is still pretty dreadful… and I give some moments of thought to whether it makes more sense to pour it out and make another cup, or just drink it and have a better second cup later? I get up to go pour it out and start over… then remember I am currently getting by on limited income. Shit. I sit down, taking a more practical, frugal approach, and sip my coffee as it is… glaring down into the dark brew now and then, wondering what the hell went wrong with my process this morning to get this result?

Still… pain and a bad cup of coffee isn’t the whole of my day, or of my experience – it’s not even the whole of my morning. I’m barely awake yet, and the day stretches ahead well beyond my ‘now’, unformed, unlived, and largely unimagined. There will be verbs involved, and choices. 🙂 I sip my coffee and wonder whether or not ‘taking care of me’ today is more about yielding to the pain I am in and compromising my loose plans for greater comfort… or refusing to let my pain call the shots, and undertaking the things I am inclined to do, more slowly perhaps and less comfortably, and just understand that the pain is what it is, and it’s part of my experience more often than I’d like… It’s a hard call this morning. If it actually hurt less to just go back to bed and stay there… I probably would. It doesn’t, so that’s not even an option. lol

That’s a funny thing about the vast menu of choices life presents me with, that I don’t consider as frankly as I might, as often as would be helpful… there are some things I want very much to be choices of mine, that are not in fact on my own actual [still vast] menu of choices to consider – when I am honest with myself. I can’t really choose not to be in pain with my arthritis in any realistic way. I can’t choose to be younger. I can’t choose to change the past. I can’t choose to begin somewhere over there, when I am standing right here. I can’t choose for any of the many details of reality to be other than they are – although I can choose to ignore them, or pretend them differently, the consequences of my actions remain tied to the real reality, and the true truth. Reality does not care what lies we tell ourselves. Our truths have very little to do with what we say in words.

So… this morning… pain. I still want to go to the farmers’ market this morning. When I go, some later, I will still have to be mindful that my resources have changed a lot, and being frugal has value – this is a poor time to be careless or wasteful with resources. I will need to slow down a bit, and manage my pain – or my pain will take the driver’s seat and manage my mood. Choices. Always choices. It’s worthwhile to take a few minutes over my coffee to consider what my choices really are – and where they lead me.

I decide on a hearty breakfast at home, accepting as a given that shopping when I am hungry may drive unintended spending. Before breakfast, a walk and yoga. A second cup of coffee. A hot shower. I notice in this one moment, right here, now, I am not actually in pain… I don’t question that, and I do pause everything else (writing, coffee, gazing at the bird feeder beyond the window…) and take some time to be aware that I am not hurting, to savor it, to linger over the sensations of feeling good; doing so is a practice that shifts my implicit memory away from ‘being in pain all the time’ to being aware that I am not always in pain, and improving my day-to-day perspective and sense of my experience. Moment by moment I build my day… the difficult start? Just one moment of many to come, and I let it go. 🙂

Neither a single ocean wave nor one small bird defines a day at the beach.

Neither a single ocean wave nor one small bird defines a day at the beach.

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Categories Free Will, Healthy Living, Metaphors, Mindfulness, more than a little bit of bitching, pain, Perspective, The Art of Being, Words

The Forest and The Trees

May 7, 2016 //
0

I enjoyed an entire day of gentle stillness yesterday, no agenda beyond enjoying some chill time, no stress, no bother, no real ‘workload’. Much of the day was spent in meditation, seated on my cushion, or relaxing on the patio, watching the birds come and go, and listening to the sounds of the park in spring. No stress. Literally no stress. It is a remarkable feeling, and I’m glad I had the weekend away with my traveling partner to remind me what that feels like, so I would be prepared for it solo! There were some moments yesterday when my primate nature restlessly fussed in the background seeking some kind of escape from the peace of it; the chill time I had inflicted on myself requires as much discipline as any other effort. I resisted the call of social media, of favorite brain candy, of distractions by the dozens, and took the time I needed to really relax. There were still verbs involved. lol

I learned something over the minutes and hours of a wholly meditative day, yesterday; I need more time spent this way. I took a moment in the evening to reserve a favorite camp site in a favorite nearby(ish) state park with plenty of forest and good hiking trails – many that I’ve not yet hiked – for an upcoming weekend. Time out in the trees is very much the thing I need, without the constant temptations of distractions intruding in precious moments of stillness – mostly. All that remains is to coordinate the transportation details, get my gear together, and do a thorough gear check; it’s been more than a year since I last camped. Wow – so long? No wonder I am needing this time to refresh and recharge!

Number 23 is waiting for me...

Number 23 is waiting for me…

Life sometimes seems to get going so fast…the rushed hurried pace of planned events tangled up with the unexpected can become overwhelming without warning if I am not mindful of the potential. I’ve learned to limit how much I plan into any given day, even when I travel on vacation. I’m not the sort who makes detailed plans with a lengthy list of scenic landmarks to check off (Yep, seen it! Next!!), or noteworthy high-points identified by friends and associates that I feel compelled to similarly enjoy – that’s not my way. I do plenty of research on a destination (even this trip to the trees, in a park I am familiar with), and fill my thoughts with information about the opportunities, history, and scenic wonders – then I ‘wing it’. Once I’ve got a hotel reservation (or camping spot) the rest is surprisingly spontaneous, considering my fondness for planning. I don’t prefer ‘tour group style’ travel; I like to go and live.  Do I miss out on seeing that one fantastic whatever? Sometimes. Sometimes not. I rarely come home exhausted, irritated, or feeling vaguely let down, either, which is generally the outcome [for me] of traveling via landmark checklist. Your results may vary. 🙂

Another lovely spring-summer day ahead, a loose agenda (not quite a plan), and a smile on my face – it’s a good beginning, and a lovely morning to begin again.

Why yes, thank you, I shall.

Why yes, thank you, I shall.

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Categories Brain Injury, Free Will, health, Healthy Living, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, solo hiking, Spring, Summer, The Art of Being, Words
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