Post Traumatic Fog Syndrome

Luxuriating in one's stable state of mind is a curious way of finding out that "stable" is practically impossible.  What kind of balance is achieved?

It's easy to wax and wane away one's days believing that past hurts have disappeared.  Faint scars may still be visible but we don't want to believe that scar tissue underneath can still cause problems.  Yet when pressure is applied, pain reappears and so it is with the trickiness of our mind fog.

Most days, the brightness of the path before me pushes away the fog.  I don't allow pessimism to steal days from my journey...most days.  And then a tiny niggle of pain works it way through a crack in my joy, seeping quietly into my dreams.  No rest for the weary, nor answer to why one feels adrift...just a quiet thief reminding me that scar tissue can hurt.

I suppose that I no longer believe in lifelong balance, happiness, fog free existence.  It's a strange fairy tale to give up as we're told so often by "experts" that we can prepare ourselves for pain...past, present, future pain.  My only preparation is recognition now.  I can at least suck in and ready myself for the punch of pain when it arrives.  A small gift.  Preparation.  Sight.  Acceptance.  Resolution. And then patience for it to pass.

Perhaps that stable state of mind is just what we need for the next round of fog to come upon us.  It is easy to fall prey to its tempting calm...peaceful stability.  Turning over during our rest, our souls pressing down on the scar tissue awakens us, pains us, reminds us that we are simply waiting to make our way through another fog.

A Hacker Remembered

Today's "hackers" can stake claim to this new moniker but I grew up observing my grandfather perfect the art of hacking.  Many among his generation might also argue that they too are the original hackers.  Survivors of The Great Depression, war time rationing, etc. set about up-cycling and inventing new uses for the ordinary, transforming how we viewed everyday objects.  Consumerism took a back seat to necessary reinvention and society as a whole profited from this outlook.

Post war times brought many back to the sales counter and my grandfather partook in the new gadgets as well.  He was the first to set up a television in the backwoods of his small community and he was an active ham radio participant.  I remember my grandmother railing at him for setting up huge antennas but it didn't stop him...he simply disguised them better or made sure the landscaping was up to her standards.

Many mornings I would see him walking alongside the road picking up litter that marred his property.  He didn't throw it all away; he kept a collection of vintage liquor bottles in one of his sheds as well as hub caps.  Long before there were "man caves," he built various sheds to hold his found treasures.  Waiting for the next great financial calamity was part of his generation's psyche...they truly felt the hunger and despair.  My generation has seen nothing like this and I can only hope that I nor my children ever will.

Often times, I tell people that I grew up in the area that was ground center for the "War on Poverty/Hunger" yet I did not go hungry nor want for necessities.  The lessons my grandparents learned were to save, to survive, to hack enough to keep clothes, food, and shelter in abundance for their families.  Even now, I tease my children that I'm headed back to the hills for an apocalypse.  It is ground zero for survival and I take pleasure in my own small hack jobs.

Young hackers who spend time on YouTube learning and teaching others, keep up the good work!  Past generations are counting on you to pay it forward, to survive, to persevere and hack on.

For Grandpa Clint, Happy Hacker's/Father's Day!  You live on in each project I pursue.

Shaken, not Stirred

Ah, the complexity of a martini or a life.

Ingredients, adornments and the mix-up...shaken or stirred.

Life's transitions can rise slowly, cresting river-like and afterwards,

A mess.

To be shaken seems harsher but then,

There is no surprise at the damage.  It is expected.

How then to choose, to proceed when mixing a martini or life?

What final taste will we experience?  Bitter?  Smooth?

A choice...

To gulp or to sip

And to melt away in its grip....

The Destination

I don't think there is a way to effectively share my new found definition of "destination" to my children.  At their stage of early adulthood, all paths are clouded with hormones and expectations.  Would it be that I could go back to myself at that stage, I would advise my erratic self to seek wisdom from those outside my immediate circle...away from parents. friends, lovers and toward experienced thinkers and doers.

My confidence was not developed enough to find those individuals.  I'm hopeful that my two ducklings aren't stunted with that malady.  Did I do enough to inspire them to be adventurous?  To trust their gut and mute the cautious naysayers...including myself at times?  Hopefully.

As a young person feeling trapped in Appalachia, I coveted the experiences of others who traveled and experienced new cultures.  I thought that the only way to share that was to leave behind my heritage.  Funny enough, when I moved from Kentucky 25 years ago, I felt only despair.  My love for novelty did not outweigh my need for HOME.  That first move taught me quickly that the only way to enjoy the world was to stay tethered to my upbringing.  Live and learn....

I take my Appalachian sensibilities with me everywhere.  All that I see and do, all who I meet and absorb are translated through my early life experiences...adventures that I was participating in without knowing they were rare and precious.  Now I know.  Now I appreciate.  Still I am part of my beloved Kentucky and still I am part of my beloved hills.

And so I do not have a set place to get to in life.  Instead, it is a feeling of peace, safety and a need for exploration that guides me.  The moves I had to participate in to keep my family together toughened my heart and challenged my soul.  All of the bonding and severing that takes place when one moves consistently changes a mindset.  I accept now that my life will be very fluid.  What I hold on to is the knowledge that houses are just a place for me to hang my hat...home is my heart filled with love for my family near and far and friends scattered about the country.

I take joy in present time, present experiences and I don't count on being anywhere for long.  I love and hate the moves simultaneously.  I covet and despise the unknown.  I am content in feeling my wings and roots.

The journey, NOT the destination is enough for me now.

Sisters of Pain

The old saying that "worrying about tomorrow takes the pleasure from today" perturbs me.  Truth stings.  One would think that my skin would be thick enough at this age to bounce away pain yet it isn't...it absorbs the impact well but I find that the cuts are still deep enough to leave scars.

Is it possible to inoculate oneself from past pain?  Can believing in the modicum that "time heals all wounds" keep one forward thinking and still able to grasp life's pleasures?

Perhaps time heals all wounds because eventually, we run out of time.  Our finite supply is haunting as it can be extinguished quickly without reason.  The wound then disappears because the body and soul no longer exist.

For those of us lucky enough to escape the perils of modern day living, we pay for our good fortune by living a purposeful life...or we're told we must live that way to honor those who've passed.  Guilt-shaming runs rampant in today's social media, from self-help gurus and from our own conscience.  We're the ones who have the gift of life, therefore, our duty is to make the most of it.

Saying goodbye to those we have loved, living or not, is extremely difficult.  It takes time and rushing serves no good.  I found this song captures what so many of us deal with...saying goodbye and willing to follow someone "down" in our pain yet in the end, carrying on with the hope of healing without worry and guilt.

I'll Follow You Down

Worry and Guilt

Worry and Guilt
The pairful prayerful sisters
Of Pain share it

Share the shame

Today's not tomorrow
Reminds us the same
is constant...is blame

Share the shame

Worry and Guilt
The saddening happening children
Of Pain know it

Know it's a game

Life's puzzle pieces
Fitting askance
Solving no problems

Know it's a game

Worry and Guilt
Playing again
With life's treasured promise

Breaking with pain

Dear Lover

Dear Lover

You don't complete me...
You enhance me.

You don't make my dreams come true...
You encourage me to have them.

I'm often at odds with myself...
And you're enchanted with my oddities.

When fear overtakes me...
It's comfort that you offer rather than rescue.

Dear Lover

When courage overtakes me...
It's celebration that you offer rather than envy.

I'm often at peace with myself now...
And you're happy with my peacefulness.

You don't make my heart beat faster...
You give it a reason to thump deeper.

You don't absorb me...
You let me wash over you.

Dear Lover
Dear
Love
No err

Take Your Time: Life Speaks

I'm sure that the word patience appears in my writing countless times.  It must.  My mantra falls back to it each time I feel restless with life.  And that happens daily.

Restlessness isn't new to me nor is patience.  They're oddly compatible.  I like to get things done yet defining things is becoming more difficult.  Clarity is the treasure I seek.  How laughable!  And so I get aggravated with the rhythm of life and its disregard for my urgency.  

Take Your Time

I've given you this treasure, Life says. 

Wrapped with the comics, I observe.

Time is funny.

It passes too quickly, no...too slowly.

It passes.

All day l-o-n-g.

You don't like my gift? Life asks.

I can't understand it, I sigh.

So many want this treasure.

I feel guilty because I have it.

No one begrudges you this time, Life remarks.

I have so much of it now...I'm lost in it.

Do you remember when it was rare?  

I do.

You wished for more and all of it yours.

And you have given it to me.

A treasure  you have dipped in guilt?

A pleasure I don't deserve?

Take Your Time

Where?  Why?  How?

On your journey.  Because you earned it.  Carry it in your heart.

Time is heavy.

Only if you wrap it in guilt.  Unwrap your gift.

Thank you.