At this time of year I experience hauntings. I liken it to seeing something out of the corner of my eye, a flitting heel of an entity memory that I can bring into clear focus with some effort.

I have to stop and grab at it and pull it into my field of mental vision.

On a T.V. show, I see a flower dress and the memory of my mother sewing a similar dress for me and for my doll returns for the first time since my childhood.

While washing my hands I think of a friend with Rapunzel hair who makes Christmas tree ornaments and remember her saying she did not want to date. But she did have sex occasionally with a man who liked her.

As I clean out the sink, I think of the day she said he was helping her put up the tree and she was suddenly hit by the realization that she loved him.

I wipe down the counters and wonder how that relationship feels from the inside now after so many years together.

Lately, the whispering memories around me have enclosed me in a dark place. I am flat. I go through motions like a quickly sketched animation figure not fully detailed out as yet. I haven’t know what day it is, nor did I care.

My numbing out to Netflix ends most of my days until I slap the computer shut and fall asleep curled around it, my nightly companion.

Last night, I watched you tube videos from spiritual teachers emphasizing that we each create our singular reality. Next we find a consortium of individuals we draw to us who like witches in the same coven chant around the kettle illusion. We throw in our own sentences, our facts, our memories, what we believe are proofs and we circle together imbuing the cosmology contained in the iron pot with its power over our minds, our bodies, our certainties. The spell we cast is on ourselves.

Last night, I fell asleep within the speakers’ words that we manifest exactly what and who we are.

The concept that I am the cause of my depression does nothing to lift my head. Anyone who has the condition knows that the words provide yet another cudgel to beat oneself about the head. Not only are we walking in the valley of despair but it is entirely our own fault.

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A person with depression is thus like Scrooge. The curse comes from the past and also is happening in the present. In addition, there seems to be no future other than the one that individual is projection outward.

With depression there is a wrestling with guilt and a crying out that if I could do something, I would. So the blame becomes burdensome. There comes to be shame for not being strong enough to like some beefy super hero just burst out of the encapsuling cage.

I listened to the teachers and I snapped shut the computer and fell asleep next to my distraction, entertainment, life partner.

And like the Christmas Carol Dickensian tale, I was visited. I felt something, someone, some thoughts lingering around me. I slept for nine hours straight and woke up with an abiding sense that I had been infused with new stories.

I knew that I would write ten blogs in ten days. I knew that I would do my fifth edit on my book, Walking the Streets of Blood, about my experience of the Paris Attacks.

Anyone who is familiar with the cycles of depression knows that the victories are subtle. The amount of time, the severity of the dark thoughts, the ability to take action despite a bitter taste in the mouth can be assessed to understand that it is getting better.

freedom

My meditation practice, I liken to self surgery. As I sit, I can gently remove the narrative habit and bring myself home to breath. I can check myself for electrical, neurological storm sites. I can touch the inside of the shape of my body and find areas where anger or grief is hiding.

And last night, as I slept, the words of great teachers were working in my subconscious reminding me that my energy is strong, my heart is compassionate, I am here on purpose to teach. I am here to lift others up because I have had the experiences of the winding road of fear, abuse, victim hood, and repetition of error. The wounding and the failures are the journey. When I opened my eyes, I was wrapped in calm.

I went to the window and saw the sun climbing the hills to shine light everywhere. And I begin again.