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Bad Dreams, But…

September 29, 2026 //
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Okay so, yeah, I’m having a lot of bad dreams lately. Even when they aren’t “nightmares”, they’re often deeply unpleasant.

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

I woke this morning, grateful for the bright light of my silent alarm; better than the dream I was having. Hell, I’m not surprised by the bad dreams – have you seen the state of the world? The shameless exploitative corporate greed? The thoroughly corrupt government? The war in Ukraine? The genocides? Oh yeah, more than one of those going on, it isn’t limited to Palestine. How can human beings be so incredibly vile?

I’m struggling to maintain perspective, I admit it. I feel disappointed (in humanity, generally) and I feel betrayed on an unreasonable personal level. I was stationed in Germany when the Berlin Wall came down. It was such a proud moment for humanity and I felt such hope for the world. I sigh quietly as I walk the dark trail with my dark thoughts.

I get to my halfway point and stop. I just stand there in the dark awhile, after turning off my headlamp, letting my eyes adjust, watching the stars. After a handful of uncounted minutes gazing into the eternal darkness of the vast night sky, I sit down and cry awhile. I don’t fight the tears. No shame. No guilt. Only emotions I can’t quite process without allowing for the grief. Grieving is powerful stuff and difficult to control or limit or reason with, and now and then I am flooded with tears over what we have all lost – all those lives, all the wasted potential, all the hurting and the sorrow.

…We could do better…

I was once a soldier in an army. I have been to war. I have looked directly into the eyes of my enemy and found that he was every bit as human as I am myself. No one walks away unchanged. We live with the consequences of our actions,  that’s just real. I sigh to myself. I’m grateful to have gotten out alive. I’m grateful to see another sunrise. I’m grateful to have my Traveling Partner’s warm, loving embrace when the weight of the world threatens to pull me down into the depths of madness and grief (and even when he’s dealing with his own shit, he is there for me).

Being human is hard. Being the best human being the resources and experience available permit a person to be is harder still, and it for sure feels like a lot of people aren’t even trying.

I’m grateful for this solitary time to just get shit right in my head before a new day begins. Most days this is the only solitude I have. The rest of my day is interacting with people at work, and out in the world, some days so continuously that by the time I get home to my beloved I have nothing left to give. That seems thoroughly unfair, to the two of us. I embrace the little bit of “me time” life permits me to have and try not to bitch about it not feeling like enough. …At least I don’t also have children.

My beloved pings me. We converse a bit. The clock ticks on. My head aches ferociously and slow tears fall for a moment and stop. At 14 I once felt very similarly, I think, sort of lost, and frustrated-angry-sad. I dealt with it by packing a small bag with everything I thought I would need (it wasn’t), and I walked away. (It would be weeks before I turned up and ultimately went back, but that’s a story for another time.) I hadn’t yet learned that we cannot escape who we are so easily. I’d hug her if I could and assure her it gets better…then wonder if I should also tell her it’s going to get so much worse, first?

I breathe, exhale, and relax. The world is a pretty chaotic and sometimes grotesquely frightening place, but right here? Right now? This moment? It’s fine. A woman on a hiking trail looking at the stars. It is peaceful and beautiful. I make room to enjoy this moment as it is. A lifetime is built on moments; it important to savor the pleasant ones, whatever the circumstances.

The mild almost warm morning wraps me gently. The first hints of daybreak begin to develop. I watch the sky quietly. I think about these mortal lives and the place we hold in the cosmos. We are so tiny, so fragile and finite – how is it these moments feel so important? I sit with my thoughts until it is time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, Anxiety, Brain Injury, breathe, Despair, Free Will, gratitude, grief, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Sleepless Nights, solo hiking, The Art of Being, War and News of War, women, Words

Keeping It Real

September 28, 2026 //
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Just saying, I have bad days, too…

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

… Some days I don’t sleep well and I really feel it. Sometimes chronic pain is more than I feel like I can manage. Sometimes love isn’t a merry playground. Sometimes I burn dinner, or stub my toe, or get my stupid hair brush tangled in my damned hair before I’m quite awake in the morning.

… Some days it just feels like a lot to deal with, this whole “being human” thing, and it’s definitely not “fair“. Some days it just fucking sucks from end to end for no obvious reason…or at least it feels that way in the moment.

I put my head down on my desk, where I’m co-working, and I just start crying. It’s nothing particular, I’m just feeling the weight of the world and circumstances, and very much wishing my resilience wasn’t born of endless effort and constant practice.

It’ll pass, I know that. It’s only a moment. A very human moment to be sure, but it’s still only a moment. I sniffle back the last few tears and use my last tissue to dry my eyes and blow my nose. I still have hours of work ahead of me, and it’s time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, anger, Anxiety, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, Frustration, grief, meditation, Metaphors, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, The Art of Being, War and News of War, Words

Yesterdays

September 25, 2026 //
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One very useful thing about yesterday is that it is reliably in the past. We can let that go, when we’re ready to.

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

I look down the path, back the way I came. The trees along the path, a strip that runs along a creek bank, are tossing about wildly. My choice of “halfway point” seems potentially regrettable, given the violent winds. I look down the path in the other direction, and contemplate the rainy hours in the forecast, ahead. I’m not wearing, nor did I bring, my rain poncho – another potentially poor choice. I sigh to myself, wondering what will come of it.

There’s a weather alert this morning; high winds. Yep. I see that with my limited human eyesight. The wind is definitely blowing quite ferociously. The trees near me are swaying. From somewhere nearby I hear the kind of cracking noises that suggest one or more of these trees may be felled by the wind. The sound makes me uneasy.  This seems reasonable.

… I somehow manage to doze off briefly, sitting here, upright, wind-buffeted, phone in hand. I wake with a start when my head begins to pull me forward as I nod off. Am I tired? I’m not certain of that, but my sleep has been interrupted and of poor quality for a few nights now. The lack of deep restful sleep since I returned home from the coast is already wearing me down. I’ll feel better after some coffee, I reassure myself. The wind keeps blowing, without comment.

“Seeing Red”, 2026

I sit awhile listening to the trees creaking and groaning as they sway in the wind. The work day yesterday was …fine. Predictably busy. The evening after work was mostly a whirlwind of errands, followed by a serious failure to connect with my beloved Traveling Partner in a meaningful way. The evening fell apart in a cascade of misunderstood remarks, hurt feelings, and not feeling heard. I went to bed early with minimal attention to self-care. At that point I just wanted to be alone with my pain and irritation, feeling peculiarly invisible, and having nothing leftover to deal with any of that.

Detail from “Emotion and Reason” 2012

…At some point my beloved stepped quietly to the side of the bed in the darkness, and touched me softly. He tenderly stroked my cheek with a favorite soft plush toy, a tiny kitten, and placed it near me.

Sometimes this can feel a very lonely journey; we are not alone. ❤ Detail of “Communion” 24″ x 36″ acrylic on canvas w/ceramic, 2011

Later, when he woke me because it sounded like maybe I wasn’t breathing comfortably, the little stuffed kitten was still in my hand. He said something about my fist being clenched around the hose of my CPAP mask. I mumbled something and got up to pee without ever really waking up, and taking an allergy pill as I went back to bed. It wasn’t surprising that I might have been struggling with breathing easily (and it wasn’t allergies); my clenched fist had covered all the little holes that help with exhalation. I do wonder a bit what I might have been dreaming about.

This morning I feel okay. Yesterday is in the past. I linger on the memory of my Traveling Partner’s tenderness.

The rain begins to fall. I wrap my fleece tightly around me, zipped up, and pull the hood over my hair. It’s no rain poncho, though.

…I get to my feet and head back to the car, quickly, taking a shortcut through the vineyard, by way of the agricultural road, to the parking lot…

I am not quite soaked when I reach the car, and I’m grateful for the towel in my gear bin, and my other hoodie, clean and dry. I towel my hair dry in the car, and change into the dry hoodie.  I’m glad it’s Friday. I’m glad I was prepared for the rain, in spite of being too stupid this morning to wear (or bring along) my rain poncho. I’ve managed to avoid most discomfort. My jeans are wet, but not so much that I’m in misery, and they should dry pretty quickly. I blot them with dry sections of towel, rather ineffectively, and without concern. I listen to the wind and rain, feeling the car rock, as I warm up. I’m okay for nearly all values of okay. It’s enough.

Weather changes. Storms blow in, and blow over. Very little in life is permanent – or personal. The world can be a callous and indifferent place. We have these few precious mortal moments, and each other. I listen to the rain awhile longer, reflecting on life and love, and feeling grateful that nightmares fade so quickly..

Every moment of growth is as a rainbow in a stormy sky; a promise of better things.

…A few more quiet minutes listening to the rain, then I’ll begin again…

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Categories Allegories, anger, Anxiety, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, gratitude, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, The Art of Being, The Big 5, War and News of War, Words

Ripples, Reflections, and Waves

September 23, 2026 //
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My homecoming was lovely, although I arrived in what turned out to be the middle of my Traveling Partner’s work day. I did my best to stay out of that, and to respect his work day.

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

I’m still thinking over experiences and lessons learned from my coastal getaway. Sometimes the processing takes more time than the lived experience. The thoughts come in waves, glimmering with the reflected light of many little fragments and impressions, the way the afternoon sunshine sparkles on the rippled surface of the sea.

It’s a metaphor.

There’s time for all that. I yawn as the sunrise begins to develop color. I drink in the autumn air on the edge of the marsh. A little chime goes off on my phone, reminding me to take morning meds. I stupidly attempt this simple feat without water, and choke on a tiny dry tablet that wants to stick dangerously near my airway. I cough several times, hard, and get relief, but now there’s a spot in my throat that just feels wrong, somehow. Annoying.

Like a moment on fire.

As I sit watching the sky, it lights up in hues of pink, magenta, lavender, and raspberry. So beautiful! No picture would really do this justice, and if I painted it just as it is, I feel certain it would be criticized for lack of realism. It’s quite fantastic and splendid, and I feel fortunate to see it. Wow.

I breathe, exhale, and relax, and think about the day ahead. He has appointments. I have an errand to run. Later, we’ll catch up with each other at home. He proposes we do something together. I agree that sounds nice. No idea what that will mean when we get there… but I’m looking forward to it. It’s easy to forget that today is a work day. I’m glad I took it off, instead of immediately diving back into work!

I sit with my thoughts and this beautiful sunrise. Soon enough it will be time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, art and the artist, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, joy, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, The Art of Being, The Big 5, War and News of War, women, Words

We Made This

September 17, 2026 //
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This world we live in – we created it. Together, all of us. It’s a strange thought, isn’t it? Every choice, every action, every mistake, every great new idea; it is through us that we make our world. Choose wisely, eh?

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

This morning I read that Peter Max had died. Monday it was. There’s a little less color in this world with his passing, but realistically, the colors he juxtaposed on canvas (or on envelopes), were not enough to render the world as beautiful as he saw it. I wipe away a single tear with a sad smile and think of Van Gogh for no particular reason.

…I offer them both a silent salute, raising my water bottle to the starry night sky, before I head down the trail…

I rub my hands together a bit for warmth as I reach my halfway point and take a seat for a moment or two. I think of Monet’s failing eyesight, and feel the pain in my thumbs. He kept painting. No doubt I will too, for as long as I’m able.

I sigh to myself feeling the threads connecting my work to theirs. These are more pleasant thoughts, generally, than contemplating the mess humanity has made of the world. Artists and makers know, perhaps more than most people, we are creating this world we live in, all of us, together. So, what are we choosing to make? Is this really what we want? Can’t we do better, relatively easily? I think about that awhile, watching Orion slowly rise in the eastern sky. He’ll vanish from view when daybreak comes.

What exactly are you doing to make the world a better place? I mean the easy stuff, close to home, like treating your partner and family well, and being helpful to a friend, a neighbor, a stranger of another ethnicity. I mean the somewhat harder stuff, too, like speaking truth to power, like standing firm on explicitly calling genocide “genocide”, even if doing so seems to be at odds with national pride or political interests. I mean the obvious stuff, like picking up trash, and keeping things tidy, too. It all counts. It adds up. We could do more, and better.

I think about the weekend ahead. My beloved Traveling Partner programmed the marine traffic radio frequencies into my radio, so I can try listening to the shipping traffic while I’m on the coast. I grin to myself, feeling very loved.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I meditate on gratitude and wonder. I reflect on painting inspiration as yet unfulfilled. I reflect on love and prematurely experience a pang of wistful loss and absence – I will miss my Traveling Partner (I always do). He is my beloved, my muse – why not just paint at home? Why not bring him along? It’s honestly this; I need some solitary time to thrive, and more than that, my passion for my partner is both deeply inspiring, and also an incredible distraction. 😆 When he is near, I will reliably choose his company over most other things, however needful, urgent, or pleasant, those things might be. (It’s admittedly not ideally emotionally healthy, and I am frankly unconcerned.) Since I need to paint and write to be emotionally and mentally well, this sets up a bit of a self-care conflict, internally, so vacations and getaways with my partner are quite a separate thing. This has worked for us. Your results may vary.

I breathe in the autumn scented air. I watch a brightly lit farm machine moving back and forth among the vineyard rows, a way off. Earlier a heavily loaded, slow, quite long freight truck pulled through, on the narrow agricultural access road that cuts through the vineyard. It’s bright colorful lights made a merry display as it bounced slowly along. There’s a hint of sweetness in the air… grapes? Am I imagining the scent?

It’s a lovely beginning to a new day. I slept well. I hope my beloved did too. I think about dinner later – leftover enchiladas. It’s not fancy but the company and conversation will be excellent. My partner is working on a new (work) project. I hope he has a fantastic day working on it. I’m eager for him to tell me more, over dinner.

We live in the world we’ve made. Let’s make it a good one, for everyone. We can begin again. We can do better.

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Categories Allegories, art and the artist, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being, The Big 5, thoughts on AI, War and News of War, women, Words
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