I haven't been blogging much lately--my days off have been filled with not much more than resting up for the next day at work, and I had a medical misadventure that had me out of commission, so to speak for a few more days. Happily, though, I am feeling much less depressed now that the days are lengthening and my other medical issue, a severe bout of asthma has also resolved.
But my rather sedentary, isolated home life of the last couple of months has allowed me time for a great deal of reflection. Not surprisingly, the inspiration for some of my reflection came from one of my patients. I had been taking care of a man for a couple of days, and we'd had a little time to talk about more than just how he was feeling and his medical progress. One day, he said to me out of the blue, "You're a loner, like me, aren't you?"
It really took me by surprise. First of all, I didn't think of him as a loner. He was extremely outgoing, and often even the nurses who weren't taking care of him at the time, but who had taken care of him in the past, would stop in and say hello. But also, it made me think about whether or not I really am a "loner," and what that might mean if I am. I had another friend who set me up on a date with a guy last year, and she described him to me as being "a loner, like you."
Now, at the time, I was working for Indian Health Service, and many of the people I got to know who were of primarily Native American descent were extremely family and community-oriented. It was not unusual for the staff members to get together regularly, and extended families often stayed close. My family is basically scattered from the Eastern Seaboard all the way across the Midwest, and I do not regularly see many of them. I am also an only child, a phenomenon that seems to some people (especially those like the friend mentioned above, who has something like 14 siblings) to be the equation of being from another planet. And since I am finishing a Master's degree, my social engagements are not exactly plentiful. I am looking forward to next fall when I will be done and don't have to say, "No, I cannot join you, I have homework/a test/a project, etc."
But looking back on my life, I can see where the designation of "loner" comes from. As an only child, I didn't have brothers and sisters to socialize with, although I was lucky to grow up in a neighborhood with many children my age so I had plenty of friends. But still, I remember going to kindergarten and feeling a bit overwhelmed with all of the people there. I also couldn't understand why some of the other kids cried when their parents dropped them off. Actually, I was rather impatient with them. Didn't they know Mom (in those days it was usually Mom) was coming back to pick them up? What was all of the fuss about?
Unfortunately, as a child, and even as an adolescent, I was one of those kids who was periodically bullied by others. The attacks, as well as the people involved, changed through the years, and some were made by people who had initially been my "friends." I think these experiences drove me to have an inherent distrust of people for quite some time in my life. One of the really damaging things about having "friends" who turn on you is that it becomes hard to trust someone who claims to be a friend.
But I don't want to make this about self-pity regarding my childhood. I have grown far from that place, and I have a life that I enjoy, and many friends. But I think that the combination of being an only child and being very withdrawn when I was growing up has made me less dependent on others for my happiness, and more comfortable with "alone self" (if that makes any sense) than someone who had different experiences growing up. I vividly remember an argument that I had with my now ex-husband in which I snapped at him, "I don't need you!" He said something like, "Well, that's obvious; that's part of the problem." One of the fundamental problems in our relationship was that he wanted to be the center of my universe, and I am not cut out to be that kind of person.
But maybe there is something to this "loner" persona I seem to have. Maybe my life experiences have made me more emotionally independent than the average person, and maybe that comes off as being somewhat separated from others. I don't know, and I am finding it to be difficult to put this concept into words.
I also went to Summer Camp for many years as a child (even worked there one summer), and the experience instilled in me a love for the outdoors, especially the Northern outdoors. I was so passionate about outdoor living and camping that I dreamed about growing up and "living off the land," like Grizzly Adams, if anyone remembers that old 70's show.
Although I never did make it out West to stake out my homestead, I still love the outdoors and go camping whenever I have a chance. There is just something about lying outside, looking up at the stars, and being able to see the entire Milky Way in all of its glory. But I also love to share that experience with others.
Well, it's time to get ready for work. I hope this post makes some bit of sense!
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
Thursday, February 22, 2007
At least it isn't Frodo
Okay, this is getting a bit weird. I was talking to one of my patients over the weekend, and he said he thought I looked like Wynona Ryder. This was even more odd to me than looking like Jodie Foster or Frodo, but I just smiled and told him that I hadn't robbed any clothing stores lately. I told him about the other patient thinking I looked like Jodie Foster, and he saw a resemblance, too.
So when I had some time, I told one of my friends on the unit about my supposed resemblance to these two women, and she agreed that I resembled both of them! When I went home, there was a Jodie Foster movie on so I watched part of it (Anna and the King). I decided that we may have the same sort of face shape. But I still don't get Wynona Ryder. Other than the fact that we're both white, I really can't see a resemblance.
But at least I haven't had anyone telling me I look like a hobbit.
So when I had some time, I told one of my friends on the unit about my supposed resemblance to these two women, and she agreed that I resembled both of them! When I went home, there was a Jodie Foster movie on so I watched part of it (Anna and the King). I decided that we may have the same sort of face shape. But I still don't get Wynona Ryder. Other than the fact that we're both white, I really can't see a resemblance.
But at least I haven't had anyone telling me I look like a hobbit.
Sunday, February 18, 2007
Love Poems Generator
The poetry site that I frequent had this link, and I thought it might be fun to include it here. A little late for Valentine's day, but I had a good laugh out of it:
http://links2love.com/poem_generator.htm
For some reason, I can't use the "insert link" function here, so if you are interested in visiting the site, you'll need to cut and paste. Sorry about that! Anyway, the only caveat is that the site has an annoying number of "popups," but it is still great fun.
Here is what I came up with:
Your skin glows like the pummelo, blossoms languid as the orchid in the purest hope of spring.
My heart follows your clarinet voice and leaps like a coyote at the whisper of your name.
The evening floats in on a great screech owl wing.
I am comforted by your thong panties that I carry into the twilight of rockbeams and hold next to my hand.
I am filled with hope that I may dry your tears of honey.
As my thigh falls from my stockings , it reminds me of your kitchen table .
In the quiet, I listen for the last scream of the day.
My heated toes leaps to my sweater. I wait in the moonlight for your secret chair so that we may arch as one, toes to toes, in search of the magnificient red and mystical lips of love.
http://links2love.com/poem_generator.htm
For some reason, I can't use the "insert link" function here, so if you are interested in visiting the site, you'll need to cut and paste. Sorry about that! Anyway, the only caveat is that the site has an annoying number of "popups," but it is still great fun.
Here is what I came up with:
Your skin glows like the pummelo, blossoms languid as the orchid in the purest hope of spring.
My heart follows your clarinet voice and leaps like a coyote at the whisper of your name.
The evening floats in on a great screech owl wing.
I am comforted by your thong panties that I carry into the twilight of rockbeams and hold next to my hand.
I am filled with hope that I may dry your tears of honey.
As my thigh falls from my stockings , it reminds me of your kitchen table .
In the quiet, I listen for the last scream of the day.
My heated toes leaps to my sweater. I wait in the moonlight for your secret chair so that we may arch as one, toes to toes, in search of the magnificient red and mystical lips of love.
Saturday, February 17, 2007
Silly shows: A Nursing Rant
Disclaimer: Even though I base my stories on my experiences as a nurse, any resemblance of my nursing stories to real individuals is purely coincidental.
Well, Agatestone asked me (probably with good reason), what my fascination with The A-Team was. So I decided that it was about time to write more extensively about my profession. No, I'm not a soldier of fortune. Nor am I a fugitive (I haven't done anything to raise the government's ire...lately. Heh). Anyway, I am (as some of you reading this already know), a registered nurse. What people may not know about me is that about 100 years ago, I was a film student. I think I saw just about every art film, and "great" film, that there was to be seen during that time. I saw "Citizen Kane" so many times for different classes that the mere mention of it usually has me running from the room. I won't take you down the long and arduous path that led me to nursing school, that is irrelevant to this post.
Anyway, for awhile, I was quite a bit of a film snob: I usually refused to see any film that wasn't supposed to be "great" in some way. I can't say much about televsion back in those days, I didn't have one until about my last year in school. I still remember the time when my housemates and I pooled our scarce funds to get cable and we all watched "MTV" for the first time. For the most part, we found the commercials to be more fascinating than the videos. But I digress...
I noticed, around my third year of nursing school, that I spent what little spare time I had watching silly television shows, and if a film was nominated for an Academy Award, I generally wanted to skip it. Last weekend, my reason for this switch in my taste really came home to me.
I had a new patient who had been transferred to the ICU from another floor. I had maybe one blissful hour that day in which I could do my normal nursing stuff like assessments and medication administration, and then this transferred patient "crashed:" became extremely unstable medically. I spent most of the rest of my shift in that one patient's room with a team of doctors, trying to keep the patient alive (we succeeded, by the way).
On top of the efforts spent keeping this patient alive, I was continually frustrated by the fact that there were things that we needed such as "stat" medications and crucial equipment that were missing from our unit. Sometimes I felt like I was taking care of the patient; at other times, I felt like I was on a surreal scavenger hunt. I ended up working overtime that day, and I had basically worked for 14 hours with no food, and not even time to get a drink of water. But the nurse who had the patient after I did made sure she spent time pointing out everything that I had done wrong that day (none of which were life-threatening or crucial for the patient at the time).
So this is probably a good time to introduce anyone who is still reading this to a not-very-well-kept secret in nursing: Nurses eat their young. It's such a widespread phenomenon that it's basically a cliche in the business. I am obviously not a new nurse, but I am new to the specialty of ICU nursing, so I am, unfortunately, subjected to this sort of "hazing" process.
There have been other times in my career that other nurses have intentionally tried to get me into trouble, and assorted other nastiness, and sometimes I have faced basic open hostility from other nurses. It never fails to amaze me how we can be in a healing profession, and treat each other so horribly. Of course, not all nurses are like this. I have many colleagues who are more than willing to help out and work as a team. But the number of times I have spent dealing with the kind of behavior that I have described above makes me feel like sometimes I can't trust anyone that I am working with. And that is sad, because every one of us in the profession face the sort of life-and-death situations that I have been talking about, and every one of us has been new, either in nursing, or in a certain specialty.
So if you have managed to hang in with me here this far, you will probably already have guessed why I like to watch shows like The A-Team: they have nothing to do with the reality of nursing, dying patients, nasty co-workers, etc. Although I do enjoy good films and television shows, I have sort of a collection of "therapy" films and shows that take me as far from the world of my profession as possible. Other favorites are "Night Court" and "MacGuyver" reruns when I can find them, "The Mummy" and "The Mummy Returns," "Twister," "Leaving Normal," and "Men in Black." It's great to sit down and either laugh my butt off or be transported to a place that has absolutely nothing to do with reality, and doesn't require more decision-making power from me than which button to push on the remote.
So what did I do after that terribly long day with the unstable patient? I watched "Overboard" with Goldie Hawn and Kurt Russell for about the millionth time. Laughed my butt off, too.
Well, Agatestone asked me (probably with good reason), what my fascination with The A-Team was. So I decided that it was about time to write more extensively about my profession. No, I'm not a soldier of fortune. Nor am I a fugitive (I haven't done anything to raise the government's ire...lately. Heh). Anyway, I am (as some of you reading this already know), a registered nurse. What people may not know about me is that about 100 years ago, I was a film student. I think I saw just about every art film, and "great" film, that there was to be seen during that time. I saw "Citizen Kane" so many times for different classes that the mere mention of it usually has me running from the room. I won't take you down the long and arduous path that led me to nursing school, that is irrelevant to this post.
Anyway, for awhile, I was quite a bit of a film snob: I usually refused to see any film that wasn't supposed to be "great" in some way. I can't say much about televsion back in those days, I didn't have one until about my last year in school. I still remember the time when my housemates and I pooled our scarce funds to get cable and we all watched "MTV" for the first time. For the most part, we found the commercials to be more fascinating than the videos. But I digress...
I noticed, around my third year of nursing school, that I spent what little spare time I had watching silly television shows, and if a film was nominated for an Academy Award, I generally wanted to skip it. Last weekend, my reason for this switch in my taste really came home to me.
I had a new patient who had been transferred to the ICU from another floor. I had maybe one blissful hour that day in which I could do my normal nursing stuff like assessments and medication administration, and then this transferred patient "crashed:" became extremely unstable medically. I spent most of the rest of my shift in that one patient's room with a team of doctors, trying to keep the patient alive (we succeeded, by the way).
On top of the efforts spent keeping this patient alive, I was continually frustrated by the fact that there were things that we needed such as "stat" medications and crucial equipment that were missing from our unit. Sometimes I felt like I was taking care of the patient; at other times, I felt like I was on a surreal scavenger hunt. I ended up working overtime that day, and I had basically worked for 14 hours with no food, and not even time to get a drink of water. But the nurse who had the patient after I did made sure she spent time pointing out everything that I had done wrong that day (none of which were life-threatening or crucial for the patient at the time).
So this is probably a good time to introduce anyone who is still reading this to a not-very-well-kept secret in nursing: Nurses eat their young. It's such a widespread phenomenon that it's basically a cliche in the business. I am obviously not a new nurse, but I am new to the specialty of ICU nursing, so I am, unfortunately, subjected to this sort of "hazing" process.
There have been other times in my career that other nurses have intentionally tried to get me into trouble, and assorted other nastiness, and sometimes I have faced basic open hostility from other nurses. It never fails to amaze me how we can be in a healing profession, and treat each other so horribly. Of course, not all nurses are like this. I have many colleagues who are more than willing to help out and work as a team. But the number of times I have spent dealing with the kind of behavior that I have described above makes me feel like sometimes I can't trust anyone that I am working with. And that is sad, because every one of us in the profession face the sort of life-and-death situations that I have been talking about, and every one of us has been new, either in nursing, or in a certain specialty.
So if you have managed to hang in with me here this far, you will probably already have guessed why I like to watch shows like The A-Team: they have nothing to do with the reality of nursing, dying patients, nasty co-workers, etc. Although I do enjoy good films and television shows, I have sort of a collection of "therapy" films and shows that take me as far from the world of my profession as possible. Other favorites are "Night Court" and "MacGuyver" reruns when I can find them, "The Mummy" and "The Mummy Returns," "Twister," "Leaving Normal," and "Men in Black." It's great to sit down and either laugh my butt off or be transported to a place that has absolutely nothing to do with reality, and doesn't require more decision-making power from me than which button to push on the remote.
So what did I do after that terribly long day with the unstable patient? I watched "Overboard" with Goldie Hawn and Kurt Russell for about the millionth time. Laughed my butt off, too.
Myths of Depression
Okay, so I have been a bit "quiet" the last few days, or whatever the blog version of "quiet" is. Here it is: I suffer from depression. Actually, "suffer" isn't really the correct word. Some days, "depression" is just a word that I write on a medical history form. On other days, it's this horrible feeling that takes over my life and sends me crawling into bed with the covers over my head.
I have tried to explain to people what this feels like, and I have not been able to adequately put words to the feeling, so here is the closest that I can come to describing it: For those of you who have read/seen Lord of the Rings, think "Frodo on Mt. Doom." For those of you for whom this reference is meaningless, think about running a marathon, or working at an intensely-physically-exhausting job for about 12 hours. Now imagine how you might feel after that. Got it? Okay, now imagine feeling like that all of the time, no matter what you do or how much rest you have had. Now try to live your life accompanied by this feeling (and I am not even going into the emotional symptoms here).
But I am not posting this because I want anyone to feel sorry for me, or to worry about me. Far from it: I have dealt with this disorder for more than 20 years now, and I have built up both medical and social supports for when it gets really bad. I like to tell people about it because despite all of the information that is out there about depression, many people still have a warped view of it, what it is, and how it needs to be treated.
I once had an information sheet that had "50 worst things to say to people who are depressed." I have since found a net site that has both worst and best things to say to someone who is depressed: http://thewellspring.com/Journal/JWT/worstbestdepressed.html
Although my close friends are very understanding, I have still endured some of the more ridiculous and uninformed reactions that are listed at this site. One of the most irritating things that happened to me was when a well-meaning college roommate gave me this religious magazine that had an article in it about how depression is a sign that you have sinned against God. Sheesh. I am already deeply depressed, and someone gives me this thing on how I have somehow offended the Almighty. That'll cheer me right up.
Anyway, some other reactions that I have received have been: "You just need to push yourself harder" (this was from a physician when I first started experiencing the symptoms and had no idea what was going on), "you need vitamins," and "take an aspirin and go to bed" (from family members) and various versions of "stop dwelling on it and you'll feel better."
But the truth is that depression can be a life-threatening condition. I lost a friend to it in 2004, and believe me, I can still hear the voice of another friend delivering the news, I can see the office where I was working at the time, and I can still feel the gut-punched shock that lasted for weeks. It's been three years, and I still have trouble talking about it, and there are still things that I associate with my friend that can trigger my grieving as if it happened yesterday. As time goes on, they are fewer and farther apart, but losing a friend to suicide has probably been the most heartbreaking event in my life, and the healing process has been long and painful for me.
The political activist in me really wants to spread the word on this. Unfortunately, even though we may have all kinds of advertising on what depression is, and which pill you can take for it, there are still many misconceptions in the general public as well as the medical profession about what depression is, and what it is not. Once, when I was taking a physical for a job at a hospital, the phyisican came and spoke to me about being depressed and whether or not it would affect my job. I explained the usual: I have had it for many years, I work closely with a psychiatrist and a therapist, etc. etc. The guy still wanted me to get a note from my psychiatrist assuring the hospital that it was okay for me to work there. The ironic thing about this is that my medical history also listed a back injury from a car accident a couple of years ago, and the doctor didn't even ask about that. Luckily, the injury was not serious and was well-healed, but for all the doctor cared to find out, I could have limped into the occupational health office and been on lifting restrictions. Anyone who is even remotely familiar with the nursing profession knows how important it is to remain in at least decent physical shape.
Of course, it was also ironic that I needed a note from my doctor to assure the hospital that I wasn't too crazy to work in a busy metropolitan ER.
I have tried to explain to people what this feels like, and I have not been able to adequately put words to the feeling, so here is the closest that I can come to describing it: For those of you who have read/seen Lord of the Rings, think "Frodo on Mt. Doom." For those of you for whom this reference is meaningless, think about running a marathon, or working at an intensely-physically-exhausting job for about 12 hours. Now imagine how you might feel after that. Got it? Okay, now imagine feeling like that all of the time, no matter what you do or how much rest you have had. Now try to live your life accompanied by this feeling (and I am not even going into the emotional symptoms here).
But I am not posting this because I want anyone to feel sorry for me, or to worry about me. Far from it: I have dealt with this disorder for more than 20 years now, and I have built up both medical and social supports for when it gets really bad. I like to tell people about it because despite all of the information that is out there about depression, many people still have a warped view of it, what it is, and how it needs to be treated.
I once had an information sheet that had "50 worst things to say to people who are depressed." I have since found a net site that has both worst and best things to say to someone who is depressed: http://thewellspring.com/Journal/JWT/worstbestdepressed.html
Although my close friends are very understanding, I have still endured some of the more ridiculous and uninformed reactions that are listed at this site. One of the most irritating things that happened to me was when a well-meaning college roommate gave me this religious magazine that had an article in it about how depression is a sign that you have sinned against God. Sheesh. I am already deeply depressed, and someone gives me this thing on how I have somehow offended the Almighty. That'll cheer me right up.
Anyway, some other reactions that I have received have been: "You just need to push yourself harder" (this was from a physician when I first started experiencing the symptoms and had no idea what was going on), "you need vitamins," and "take an aspirin and go to bed" (from family members) and various versions of "stop dwelling on it and you'll feel better."
But the truth is that depression can be a life-threatening condition. I lost a friend to it in 2004, and believe me, I can still hear the voice of another friend delivering the news, I can see the office where I was working at the time, and I can still feel the gut-punched shock that lasted for weeks. It's been three years, and I still have trouble talking about it, and there are still things that I associate with my friend that can trigger my grieving as if it happened yesterday. As time goes on, they are fewer and farther apart, but losing a friend to suicide has probably been the most heartbreaking event in my life, and the healing process has been long and painful for me.
The political activist in me really wants to spread the word on this. Unfortunately, even though we may have all kinds of advertising on what depression is, and which pill you can take for it, there are still many misconceptions in the general public as well as the medical profession about what depression is, and what it is not. Once, when I was taking a physical for a job at a hospital, the phyisican came and spoke to me about being depressed and whether or not it would affect my job. I explained the usual: I have had it for many years, I work closely with a psychiatrist and a therapist, etc. etc. The guy still wanted me to get a note from my psychiatrist assuring the hospital that it was okay for me to work there. The ironic thing about this is that my medical history also listed a back injury from a car accident a couple of years ago, and the doctor didn't even ask about that. Luckily, the injury was not serious and was well-healed, but for all the doctor cared to find out, I could have limped into the occupational health office and been on lifting restrictions. Anyone who is even remotely familiar with the nursing profession knows how important it is to remain in at least decent physical shape.
Of course, it was also ironic that I needed a note from my doctor to assure the hospital that I wasn't too crazy to work in a busy metropolitan ER.
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
I haven't been doing much lately--I had to cancel plans to go to a concert because of a health issue--but I have certainly had quite a series of odd dreams. I have had everything from missing-defibrillator dreams to a dream in which I was visited by a friend of mine (who is dead), and we sat in her living room as water poured in and acted like a surf at our feet. Then there was the dream in which I moved to Colorado, and my mother and little brother (I don't have a little brother, btw) decided to move in with me. Dad wasn't in that dream. Sorry Dad!
But my most jarring dream was one in which I participated in an exorcism. I mean that I was the person who brought the evil spirit out of the person who was possessed.
This was exceedingly odd and disturbing to me, as I find the concept of "Satan" and "ultimate evil" to be very frightning. I am not necessarily afraid of evil or what evil (or evil spirits) can do to me. It's more like the concept of evil, or doing great harm, is frightening to me. For example, when the World Trade Center was attacked in 2001, I didn't feel fear for myself. I felt fear at the idea that there could be so much hate in a person (in this case persons) that they would commit such a monstrous crime against innocent people. It took me months to feel "normal" again, partly because it was necessary to redefine "normal" in my life.
In the last couple of years in my life, I have had to face some very tough times. For instance, the friend who I referred to earlier died by her own hand. I have had other losses as well, and several health challenges. More significantly, I have experienced the apathetic, unethical, and even harmful behavior of others in various situations in my life. Suddenly evil is more than a concept, or a word in a news story.
In addition to that, I have begun to explore my own anger and aggression. I began to take self defense classes, and am currently enrolled in a Karate class. This has enabled me to have more confidence in facing those around me who are acting badly, so to speak. It isn't that I will become aggressive at the first sign of an insult. But my classes, and my own exploration of anger (or as one of my spiritual teachers puts it: spiritual rage) have freed me to feel more confident to face the darker aspects of life on this planet without so much fear.
There is also a correlation between facing the not-so-nice parts of myself and not being afraid to see those aspects of other people. We all have the potential to be either Gandhi or Hitler. Some of us lean to one or another side of that spectrum; most of us fall in the middle somewhere. But to me, in this world in which there is so much war and hate, it is important to face evil without fear, and acknowledge it, whether it be a potential in my own consiousness, or a reality faced in someone else.
My spiritual teacher had this to say about spiritual rage and anger: Anger is the emotion that you get, for instance, when you accidentally pound your thumb with a hammer. Spiritual rage is more like a call to action: it occurs when you see injustice or evil, and you vow to put an end to it.
So maybe that is the meaning of my dream. If I am able to face evil, or darkness, or whatever you want to call it, both within and without, I am much more empowered to find a way to stop it, or (as an exorcism implies to me) to heal the effects of it.
I am hoping this makes some sense. I have a hard time putting these concepts into words.
But my most jarring dream was one in which I participated in an exorcism. I mean that I was the person who brought the evil spirit out of the person who was possessed.
This was exceedingly odd and disturbing to me, as I find the concept of "Satan" and "ultimate evil" to be very frightning. I am not necessarily afraid of evil or what evil (or evil spirits) can do to me. It's more like the concept of evil, or doing great harm, is frightening to me. For example, when the World Trade Center was attacked in 2001, I didn't feel fear for myself. I felt fear at the idea that there could be so much hate in a person (in this case persons) that they would commit such a monstrous crime against innocent people. It took me months to feel "normal" again, partly because it was necessary to redefine "normal" in my life.
In the last couple of years in my life, I have had to face some very tough times. For instance, the friend who I referred to earlier died by her own hand. I have had other losses as well, and several health challenges. More significantly, I have experienced the apathetic, unethical, and even harmful behavior of others in various situations in my life. Suddenly evil is more than a concept, or a word in a news story.
In addition to that, I have begun to explore my own anger and aggression. I began to take self defense classes, and am currently enrolled in a Karate class. This has enabled me to have more confidence in facing those around me who are acting badly, so to speak. It isn't that I will become aggressive at the first sign of an insult. But my classes, and my own exploration of anger (or as one of my spiritual teachers puts it: spiritual rage) have freed me to feel more confident to face the darker aspects of life on this planet without so much fear.
There is also a correlation between facing the not-so-nice parts of myself and not being afraid to see those aspects of other people. We all have the potential to be either Gandhi or Hitler. Some of us lean to one or another side of that spectrum; most of us fall in the middle somewhere. But to me, in this world in which there is so much war and hate, it is important to face evil without fear, and acknowledge it, whether it be a potential in my own consiousness, or a reality faced in someone else.
My spiritual teacher had this to say about spiritual rage and anger: Anger is the emotion that you get, for instance, when you accidentally pound your thumb with a hammer. Spiritual rage is more like a call to action: it occurs when you see injustice or evil, and you vow to put an end to it.
So maybe that is the meaning of my dream. If I am able to face evil, or darkness, or whatever you want to call it, both within and without, I am much more empowered to find a way to stop it, or (as an exorcism implies to me) to heal the effects of it.
I am hoping this makes some sense. I have a hard time putting these concepts into words.
Saturday, February 10, 2007
The advantages of living alone
Well, it's almost 1:00 pm, and I am sitting at my computer wearing the following: a flannel nightshirt with a "candy heart" pattern on it (those little hearts with sayings that you can buy around Valentine's Day), some light cotton PJ bottoms that I picked up at a "Walgreens" for about five bucks, red slippers, and a thick black robe over the whole thing. My hair is sticking up and somewhat reminiscent of Einstein's. I am sipping coffee and trying to decide whether I will have breakfast or lunch.
I started to think about how nice it is to live alone sometimes. It isn't that I don't want a man in my life, but moments like today's, devoid of anything but relaxation and whatever I want to do, are precious. I have mentioned before that I am trying to slow down my "Type A" personality. As I sit here, I still have my list of things to do and the voice that says "what if someone comes to your door, you'd better get dressed," going through my mind. But I have managed to relegate them to the status of background noise for now.
My splendid outfit did backfire one day, though. I was working midnights, and had only just awakened and staggered out to my living room. The UPS man happened to be coming up the walk with my coffee delivery. Still in my hazy state, I opened the door for him and then realized what I was wearing and what I must look like. I just said, "I'm sorry, I work midnights and I just got up." The trouble was, the guy was drop-dead gorgeous. I have some gorgeous man coming right to my front door and I greet him in my weird, unmatched PJ's with Einstein hair. Oh well. Hopefully he wasn't my soul-mate. :)
I started to think about how nice it is to live alone sometimes. It isn't that I don't want a man in my life, but moments like today's, devoid of anything but relaxation and whatever I want to do, are precious. I have mentioned before that I am trying to slow down my "Type A" personality. As I sit here, I still have my list of things to do and the voice that says "what if someone comes to your door, you'd better get dressed," going through my mind. But I have managed to relegate them to the status of background noise for now.
My splendid outfit did backfire one day, though. I was working midnights, and had only just awakened and staggered out to my living room. The UPS man happened to be coming up the walk with my coffee delivery. Still in my hazy state, I opened the door for him and then realized what I was wearing and what I must look like. I just said, "I'm sorry, I work midnights and I just got up." The trouble was, the guy was drop-dead gorgeous. I have some gorgeous man coming right to my front door and I greet him in my weird, unmatched PJ's with Einstein hair. Oh well. Hopefully he wasn't my soul-mate. :)
Friday, February 2, 2007
Imbolc
Well, for those of you who are familiar with Celtic beliefs, today, February 2nd, is known as "Imbolc." There are many stories that describe the cycles (seasons) that the Earth goes through. In this particular tradition, Imbolc is the time when the Earth begins to awaken from her sleep. The Goddess has gone from child, to maiden to mother, to crone, (symbolizing the cycles of the Earth) and begins the cycle again at Imbolc as the child. Brigid is the Celtic Goddess of Imbolc, and she represents the "child" aspect of Goddess, or of the Earth.
Brigid is also considered the deity of poetry, smithcraft, and the hearth. According to John Matthews in "Drinking from the Sacred Well: Personal Voyages of Discovery with the Celtic Saints," there was a "real" Brigid who lived in Ireland, and was known, among other things, for forming one of the first "double" monastaries in Kildare. Men and women had separate quarters, but they came together in common worship. Brigid lived approx. 452-524 A.D., during a time when men dominated education and religion. So she was truly a groundbreaker during her time. Matthews states that Brigid's "compassionate nature, her openness to other kinds of belief, and above all, the burning passion of her spirituality make her one of the most important characters of the Celtic world...Her story is about offering the entire harvest of a life lived to the full, of a love expressed for every part of creation" (p.57).
So anyway, some of my ancestors may have been Celtic, and since I am a writer and sometimes consider myself a poet, I thought it would be nice to sit down and creatively write today. The trouble is, my mind is a complete blank.
Maybe it's one of those midwinter blues things or something. Let's see, I'm getting over a bad cold, I worked overtime on the weekend, I'm in a feud with my therapist and am presently not speaking to him, and there is absolutely NO chocolate in the house. I was invited to a movie next weekend, but I will be working (again--ugh), and I have had no interesting or even fruit-filled dreams.
Hmmmm....maybe it's the chocolate. I need chocolate before I can create. Is there a patron saint for chocolate???? Or I should probably say, "matron" saint for chocolate. If not, there should be, and she should probably manifest in the form of a woman with raging PMS, with a candy bar in one hand and a bag of potato chips in the other. Not that I would know anything about that.
Anyway, I had to leave to do some errands (like filling my car up before the temperature drops to zero), and I started feeling strange about this Imbolc thing. After all, I don't know much about ancient Celtic beliefs, but I was inspired by a description of Imbolc in my calendar that challenged the reader to "declare who you are...name and claim your spiritual path..." and further asks, "What are your spiritual goals for the coming year? What is stirring inside you that seeks to grow, and how will you nurture this growth?" (From We'Moon 2007 calendar, quoted from "Women's Rites, Women's Mysteries by Ruth Barrett, c 2004). For those of you who are editors and English majors, forgive the clumsy citation. I have no idea how to cite a quote from a calendar.
Anyway, back to Brigid and Imbolc...though I can certainly feel inspired to meditate on my spiritual goals and personal growth, I just can't connect that to a deity or belief system that I am not that familiar with. Maybe it's like borrowing a neighbor's tools without permission or something, or maybe it's some other form of breach of spiritual etiquette.
But I have really not been up for much spiritual work lately anyway. In the last three years, I have been on three Vision Quests, numerous sweatlodges, meditated, prayed, participated in other sacred ceremonies, and I am wondering if I am just tired. It isn't that I have lost my spiritual beliefs, it's just that I have applied myself to them with my usual "Type A," "hundred-mile an hour" fervor, and I have become tired of that aspect of my personality, in many ways. So my house isn't perfectly clean, I don't eat all "good for you," organic/health foods, and I like to spend the afternoon just lying on the couch with a good book, as opposed to "getting something done."
So maybe my spiritual goal for this year will be to lighten up and stop worrying so much about my karma, my aura, my effect on the planet, my mind/body/spirit connection, etc., and just slow down and enjoy life for awhile.
I'd say, "and with that, I am going out for a beer," but it's too dang cold out. I did, however, satisfy my craving for chocolate. And salt. And junk food.
Brigid is also considered the deity of poetry, smithcraft, and the hearth. According to John Matthews in "Drinking from the Sacred Well: Personal Voyages of Discovery with the Celtic Saints," there was a "real" Brigid who lived in Ireland, and was known, among other things, for forming one of the first "double" monastaries in Kildare. Men and women had separate quarters, but they came together in common worship. Brigid lived approx. 452-524 A.D., during a time when men dominated education and religion. So she was truly a groundbreaker during her time. Matthews states that Brigid's "compassionate nature, her openness to other kinds of belief, and above all, the burning passion of her spirituality make her one of the most important characters of the Celtic world...Her story is about offering the entire harvest of a life lived to the full, of a love expressed for every part of creation" (p.57).
So anyway, some of my ancestors may have been Celtic, and since I am a writer and sometimes consider myself a poet, I thought it would be nice to sit down and creatively write today. The trouble is, my mind is a complete blank.
Maybe it's one of those midwinter blues things or something. Let's see, I'm getting over a bad cold, I worked overtime on the weekend, I'm in a feud with my therapist and am presently not speaking to him, and there is absolutely NO chocolate in the house. I was invited to a movie next weekend, but I will be working (again--ugh), and I have had no interesting or even fruit-filled dreams.
Hmmmm....maybe it's the chocolate. I need chocolate before I can create. Is there a patron saint for chocolate???? Or I should probably say, "matron" saint for chocolate. If not, there should be, and she should probably manifest in the form of a woman with raging PMS, with a candy bar in one hand and a bag of potato chips in the other. Not that I would know anything about that.
Anyway, I had to leave to do some errands (like filling my car up before the temperature drops to zero), and I started feeling strange about this Imbolc thing. After all, I don't know much about ancient Celtic beliefs, but I was inspired by a description of Imbolc in my calendar that challenged the reader to "declare who you are...name and claim your spiritual path..." and further asks, "What are your spiritual goals for the coming year? What is stirring inside you that seeks to grow, and how will you nurture this growth?" (From We'Moon 2007 calendar, quoted from "Women's Rites, Women's Mysteries by Ruth Barrett, c 2004). For those of you who are editors and English majors, forgive the clumsy citation. I have no idea how to cite a quote from a calendar.
Anyway, back to Brigid and Imbolc...though I can certainly feel inspired to meditate on my spiritual goals and personal growth, I just can't connect that to a deity or belief system that I am not that familiar with. Maybe it's like borrowing a neighbor's tools without permission or something, or maybe it's some other form of breach of spiritual etiquette.
But I have really not been up for much spiritual work lately anyway. In the last three years, I have been on three Vision Quests, numerous sweatlodges, meditated, prayed, participated in other sacred ceremonies, and I am wondering if I am just tired. It isn't that I have lost my spiritual beliefs, it's just that I have applied myself to them with my usual "Type A," "hundred-mile an hour" fervor, and I have become tired of that aspect of my personality, in many ways. So my house isn't perfectly clean, I don't eat all "good for you," organic/health foods, and I like to spend the afternoon just lying on the couch with a good book, as opposed to "getting something done."
So maybe my spiritual goal for this year will be to lighten up and stop worrying so much about my karma, my aura, my effect on the planet, my mind/body/spirit connection, etc., and just slow down and enjoy life for awhile.
I'd say, "and with that, I am going out for a beer," but it's too dang cold out. I did, however, satisfy my craving for chocolate. And salt. And junk food.
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