I have this recurring dream, it turns up now and then, neither a nightmare nor pleasant, nor even hinting at illumination. It’s just a dream, but it haunts me and has since the very first time I heard the adhan in the desert.
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
For some time, (weeks? months? years.) I’ve dreamt that I am walking barefooted across hot desert sand. It is dawn. I walk between rows of ancient stone columns. I hear the call to prayer, at first faintly, becoming louder, as I walk. I feel a breeze against my body. Walking takes effort. I walk towards the sound. I feel tears dripping down my face. I keep walking, east, towards the rising sun. As I crest a hill or dune or reach the edge of something, the light of day spills over into a valley spreading out below me. There are bodies everywhere. There is blood, so much blood. I stand there feeling betrayed and forsaken, hearing the adhan wailing across the desert, bereft. Mournful. The call to prayer goes on, reaching across the desert, across the world… but no one comes. I weep, and see that my hands are covered in blood.
I generally wake at that point, drenched in sweat, hands slick with it, eyes stinging with tears. It’s been years now. I was in the desert when I first had this dream. I woke from it, actually hearing the adhan in the distance. It seemed to call to me, personally.
… How is that not a nightmare, you may wonder. I promise you my nightmares are worse. This dream feels more poignant and deeply sorrowful than frightening…
Last night I woke during the night, from my dream of hearing the adhan as I walk through the desert. No tears, just a deep and abiding sorrow and the weight of collective guilt. I exhaled slowly, letting it go, before returning to sleep. This morning I woke to the soft sound of my Traveling Partner’s voice, a far more comfortable way to wake up. I dressed and began my day, but in my memory that call to prayer lingers, along with the guilt.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. The sun begins to rise on a new day, pearly pink with hints of orange, pale and pretty. A new day. I walk as the sun rises. The trail is firm beneath my feet. The breeze smells of mown grass and summer flowers. The only sound I hear is my tinnitus. I’m here, now. No bombs, drones, or flyovers, here. Sadly, that isn’t true everywhere.
It happens. It’s an ordinary Monday. I got enough sleep. I woke on time, when my lights came on. I got on with readying myself for a new day, and headed out, stopping only to water the lawn. So… what’s with the crushing fucking anxiety this morning?
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
I breathe, exhale, and relax. I arrived at the trailhead without any difficulty – and I hadn’t expected any sort of difficulty. Everything seems pretty routine and ordinary this morning.
… and isn’t it? So ordinary and routine, and yet I am vexed by my anxiety…
Anxiety is a liar. Anxiety is an emotional and physical experience backed by a powerful cocktail of hormonal signals and internal chemistry. Learning to let it be what it is (and nothing more) is a huge step towards learning not to struggle with it. Whether or not a given moment of anxiety has any basis in reality (a real cause that makes some rational sense) is a wholly separate concern from the experience of the anxiety, and would need to be dealt with separately in any case. I sigh to myself. Fuck anxiety.
“Anxiety” 2011
I breathe, exhale, and relax – again. I keep repeating the exercise until I feel the knot in the pit of my stomach loosen, feel my jaw unclench, and begin to find the simple act of breathing actually simple once more.
Anxiety as a disorder (or element of a disorder) is not reliably attached to a real world experience or trigger. It may surface in response to something as mundane as a random thought or a brief moment of uncertainty. Trauma changes our brain, and one byproduct may be anxiety as a disorder. Why did I wake up anxious this morning? Unknown. Nothing obvious. Maybe genuinely nothing at all, or perhaps the remnant of a dream already forgotten? The important thing is to recognize that it most likely isn’t about anything, and to not bother with troubleshooting for a “root cause”. Having an anxiety disorder is the cause of disordered anxiety. So, I let that go. No point in chasing a cause.
I let my steady steps carry me down the trail as I focus on my breathing and the sights and scents of my immediate surroundings. It’s a pretty morning. The forecast says it will be quite a hot day. (I’m glad I watered!) I walk along with my thoughts, staying focused on this moment, here. The sun rises, casting a golden glow over the oaks. I get to my halfway point and stop to write a bit.
Can I lift myself out of my anxiety? Maybe. I can at least avoid making it worse by refusing to let it pull me further in, and refusing to allow it to spiral out of control, by recognizing it, acknowledging it, and keeping it firmly confined to a narrowly defined experience that I understand. It will pass. No point at all in feeding it.
Funny thing, my Traveling Partner noticed my anxiety beginning to flare up in the background before I did. Two days ago, he began observing it, calling it out, suggesting I do something more to care for myself… I didn’t feel it, and said as much. Well… I fucking feel it this morning. 😆 G’damn. Also… how annoying is that? I sigh again, feeling the weight of my emotions in my exhalation.
I stare at a lock of my long-ish brunette-ish hair in the morning sunlight. It is shot through with gray. I rarely give thought to it. My internal sense of self is much the same as it has always been… I think. Maybe not. I definitely don’t have a feeling of “being old”, yet, but I do feel my years now and then. Not so much this morning, and the gray hair surprises me a little. It is real though, more real than my anxiety.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. An ordinary day in all regards, aside from the anxiety, which I feel ready to ignore, although I know ignoring the sense of it doesn’t change the tightness in my chest, or the sensation of being out of breath, or the feeling of my pounding heart. I just have to give my chemistry time to adjust to something more commonplace, and calmer. In the meantime, I’ve got this walk to finish, and an entire day ahead of me. I guess I’ll begin again. What else?
I woke early, with my alarm. I dressed quickly and quietly, and watered the lawn before heading for the trail. I arrived just at daybreak – ostensibly when this park opens – and as I drove into the park to the trailhead, I passed one, then another parked car. Imagine my surprise (and, frankly, my irritation) to see random cars parked willy-nilly on the narrow access road. These were no early morning hikers, either, these were over night visitors or people parked out of view, sleeping in their cars.
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
I sigh crossly, grateful I don’t speed down this road in the twilight of dawn. I easily could have hit one of them, parked well into the road (there being no parking at all along the access road and no pullouts).
I get to the trailhead parking. Another overnighter parked in just the stupidest fashion in a spot very much outside the actual parking and blocking the path down to a lovely river view. I swear to myself, thoroughly vexed by this bullshit. I start down the path, stepping around the truck quietly, and find myself startled by the guard dog chained beneath the truck, who lunges at me barking furiously. Well fuck that shit. I turn back even more annoyed, but not wishing to risk a dog bite.
…G’damn, fuck rude people abusing park spaces with their entitled bullshit…
I turn down a different path as I wonder “who even does this shit?!”, but I don’t really want to know – I just want my peaceful morning walk. Disappointing start. I inhale the fragrant summer air as I walk down the path into the meadow. It had been dense clover, blooming with sweet smelling purple flowers only a couple weeks ago. It has been mown since then. The tidy arrangement of rows makes me wonder what sort of farm equipment was used for the purpose. The view isn’t as lovely as when the meadow is lush and blooming. An altogether disappointing start to the day.
I get to my halfway point on this loop trail. The rock I generally sit on has a fat pile of dog shit dropped right next to it. Gross. “Fucking hell, people, clean up after your g’damned dogs”, I mutter crossly as I walk on. I have the recollection of a convenient rock or log somewhere along here… Now my walk becomes a vigilant search for somewhere to sit, instead of a peaceful, mindful, meditative progression of steps on a path.
…I feel my awareness of my own disappointment begin to evolve into seething irritation, almost anger, that sits at the edge of becoming a feeling of entitlement…
I sigh and stop. I just stop on the trail and stand for a moment, listening to the birds chirping, peeping, and singing. I lean against a large-ish maple of some kind, resting my feet. My back aches already, today. My tinnitus whines loudly in my ears, and I focus on the birds singing to assure myself that the tinnitus isn’t “real” and hasn’t actually deafened me. I breathe, exhale, and relax.
… It’s a beautiful moment, in a lovely spot along a wooded trail, on a cloudy summer morning. It’s worth redirecting my attention to here, now…
I let my irritation and disappointment dissipate. I watch robins foraging in the leaf litter at the edge of the trail. It’s a beautiful quiet morning. I hear Spring Valley Creek trickling past nearby, unseen beyond the thicket of shrubs and berry vines. Young chipmunks chase each other through the trees. The leaves of the trees shake and rustle in the breeze. The clouds hint at rain that may not come and I find myself wondering why I am in so much pain this morning? I have no enthusiasm for the work I committed to helping my beloved Traveling Partner with, today, but maybe I’ll feel more like it later. I don’t dwell on it, or on my pain.
I walk on down the path, and find myself in a pleasant glade near a bend in the path. There is an old picnic table tucked back away from the trail, in a regrettable state of disrepair, but adequate as a place to sit that isn’t on the ground (harder to get back up at 63 than it would have been at 30). I sit awhile. I write. I meditate. I wait on a moment that hasn’t yet arrived. I breathe, exhale, and relax. It’s so easy to take shit personally that isn’t personal at all. Reality isn’t going to bother with correcting our mistakes for us, it will simply punish us when we’re incorrect. I sigh to myself and remind myself to do something about my pain when I get back to the car.
I don’t bother with the news today. Why would I? Ads. AI slop. Sponsored content. Cookies. Paywalls. Slanted opinions instead of clean emotionally neutral factual reporting, or honest authentic and explicitly stated personal biases revealed openly. All of it on repeat, and supplemented by copies of copies of copies shared across media groups and individuals. Completely pointless, and all of it seriously joy destroying crap targeted at getting all of us to pay someone for something. Bleh. No thanks. I sigh, feeling a little impatient even having the thought, and pull my attention back to “now”.
“View of the Willamette River” “7 x “9.5”, soft pastel on Pastelmat
It’s not reliably easy to find, make, or preserve our peace or our joy. There are verbs involved, and a willingness to persist. I’ve been finding it helpful to spend more time in my studio, painting. I smile to myself; the view I missed this morning is the view I painted from memory last night. I find some little bit of comfort, joy, and peace in that idea.
I take a deep breath of the cool summer air, smelling the scent of recently mown clover mingling with the scent of wildflowers. A bird of prey somewhere nearby screams about whatever is on their mind. The chipmunks all vanish. This moment may not be “perfect” (what ever is?), but it is mine, and it is enough. I think about the day ahead and wonder if my partner is also in more than usual pain this morning?
… Sometimes the best I can do is to keep walking, putting one foot after the other, until I get somewhere. Each day offers a new beginning, and each moment is a new chance at peace and joy. What will I do with it (besides “my best”)? The clock is ticking – today I feel it more. The clouds overhead are definitely threatening rain now – I guess it’s a good time to begin again.
I have a splitting headache and my sleep was interrupted. I’m tired and cross, and feeling very much that I’d like to be left alone. I’m grateful for these few moments of solitude in the morning.
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
I’m sitting at the edge of this trail wondering. I take a welcome sip of the coffee I carried down the trail with me. The morning feels chilly. It’s probably me, not the weather. The coffee is warm in my mouth and down my throat. I’m grateful for the moment of self-consideration that directed my groggy decision making this morning. Coffee sooner was a good choice this morning.
Tears fill my eyes and threaten to spill over. I brush them away angrily. “I don’t have time for this weak ass shit this morning,” I snarl to myself softly, “and fuck this headache, too.” My tinnitus is loud in my ears. I didn’t get enough restful sleep (haven’t for days) and my thought processes are slowed way down. My pain is poorly managed. I’m feeling very human and very fragile. My eyes sting from tears that finally begin to fall. Too much? Not enough? I feel broken and out of alignment. Out of step. Faltering on a path that has seemed certain and clear on other days.
… Moments pass…
I’m finding little reassurance in aphorisms and platitudes this morning. This morning I am uncomfortable with uncertainty and impermanence, and I feel myself clinging. Wanting certainty so much. Yeah… good luck with that shit. I take a deep breath in, and as I exhale I find myself weeping. Just fucking crying by the side of this trail, sitting in the summer sunshine on some random Thursday morning. Wondering.
…Is the sky still blue…?
I begin again. Breathe, exhale, relax. I shift gears. Meditation. Failure. Breathe. Repeat. The morning is not off to an ideal beginning. I’m struggling with my demons, and although for the moment I’ve got some sort of tearful stalemate, I still feel pretty shitty. My pain meds begin to kick in. So does the coffee. Eventually, I’ll “mask up” – put my work face on – and begin the work day. I don’t know, maybe the utterly disappointing ordinariness of it all will anchor me to here, now, and I’ll feel less hopeless.
… The clock is ticking…
The sunshine in the oak trees is beautiful. The air smells sweet. Songbirds sing merry songs. The tidy vineyard rows are a playground for so many little birds. I watch them flitting about, and try to identify as many as I recognize, but don’t put much effort into it. I am distracted and preoccupied. I keep letting this shit go. I breathe, exhale, and relax… and find myself back in the mire again and again.
I sigh out loud, frustrated with myself and the shitty start to the day. (And also? Fuck this headache.) I watch the dawn become day. Sooner or later, I’ve got to begin again… only I don’t know where this path leads, and I lack enthusiasm for walking it.
It’s not quite 04:00. I’ve been awake since my Traveling Partner woke me around 02:10, unable to sleep, struggling to breathe. I don’t have any help to offer, and everything I say seems likely to start an argument. I dress and leave the house.
I sigh to myself, grateful to have a good therapist.
There’s really nothing to do but keep walking. Stumble, fall, begin again. Incremental change over time adds up. I can count on that. Impermanence? That’s real, too. Change is. We are each having our own experience, too. What feels like a reasonable question to one, may feel very different to another. Practicing non-attachment feels hard, sometimes. Walls and mirrors, and humans being human.
… The real motherfucker is that I only have the power to change myself or my own choices, regardless whether useful or necessary changes could be made by another person – that’s on them and entirely out of my hands…
I get all up into my head in the wee hours, thinking about values, character, boundaries, acceptable behavior, relationships, choices… We walk the path we choose. We become what we practice – whatever we practice. I sigh to myself in the darkness. Almost an hour yet until daybreak. Maybe I can nap for little while? Later is soon enough for beginnings and choices.
… Until then, I’ve got this path to walk and a bunch of thinking to do.
Evening Light 