The day was fine. It sweat-motivated people driving them indoors to escape the head pounding heat or out to the water’s edge under the trees. I walked along the park tonight with sun laying on the surface of the lake as if a brush of yellow had been pulled along the surface. People were haloed and some hair moving in the small breeze was backlit to a saturated colour. Shadows crept into the skin folds: the inside of a bent arm, the rolls of fat and skin across the belly. The light caught in the brim of hats.

The impressionist were drawn to tableaus like these of people specifically assuming a shape while the last surviving light grabs onto all the possible edges trying not to slip away. For a moment the setting sun is held in place until it lowers into mere smudges of color in the torn bits of clouds floating overhead. It is as if in that one moment the world takes a photograph of itself, a memory of the captured day.

Overhead a seagull with knife-like wings cuts the early moon in half. It is cycling like the seasons shift, like life shifts from full to waning to non-presence. At times, a fingernail clipping of moon memory becomes pinned to the sky. And then the moon begins again to fill up its expectant shape.

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But tonight the moon was severed, in between its possibilities. The sun hung low not yet entirely set. The air was saturated with the 35-degree heat like a presence. Only a small wind offered relief. Everything supporting the theatre of life was set upon the grassy park. It was a scene in COVID time. An artificial, staged, constructed reality surrounding us.

The closing moment of the day is like all moments in our current lives. It is now and not yet. We live with messages of who has died and how many are in a science fiction coma with bodies invaded by machines. They hang between worlds not alive and not yet dead.

The young ignore the warnings. Some deny the looming presence and refuse to don a mask from their righteous indignation at not being seen. They float as a planet in the centre of their own constructed universe.

Tonight, the seagull flew low over my head and chopped the moon in two. I walked along the waterfront separate, distant like a spirit being but not dead. My shadow was in front of me.

Journal for July 20th:

As I sit under a tree and watch two swallows flit from branch to branch it occurs to me, I have no ideas how birds have sex. How do eggs suddenly appear in a nest? If I go to youtube to voyeuristically watch birds mating should I then clear my browser history in case of my untimely death? My reputation for puritanical behaviour must remain unbesmirched.

I have so many questions about existence, perception, parallel lives, self-talk, illusion and physics. The idea of ideas, the concepts of concepts are like mirrors reflecting infinitely upon one another. They are intellectual echos in my hollowed out mind. There is so much I don’t know. I call out in my ignorance and wait for my own voice to bounce back.

Inquiries come to me unbidden: what are the 12 dimensions and is it time to change my toilet seat?

Later,  I invite a woman walking past my house with her dog to unlatch the gate and come in to smell the 6-foot tall lilies in my central raised like a grave garden. I stop working in order to watch her face. I watch the sweetness melt her. Her shoulders release and fall down into place. She is transported, her face is transported and I, in turn, am transported by witnessing her pleasure.

The mail carrier comes to my door the same day. I quickly put on my mask out of courtesy for her, grab a freshly cut sachet of lavender. Out the door again, I say, “When you feel anger or anxious or are frightened of people, this is your negative emotion eraser. It will clear the energy that people send to you or you are creating that can make you feel down.” She steps forward and takes the net bag, holds it to her face and closes her eyes. Smiling now, she says, “I needed this.”
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Journal July 27th.

I was in the yard when the mail carrier arrived, She had the lavender tied to her bag strap… directly under her face. She told me, “I wear it every day. I smell it all the time. I take it off and put it on my desk when I work there. It makes me happy.”

I am puzzled by so many things, but when my inner voice tells me to do something to help another person, I always listen. I always deliver the action I am asked to take. Some things are simple and dead clear.

As the days elapse on the wide floating space of COVID spreading out as far as the mind’s eye can see, there are clear moments of beauty.

“Our more immediate personal recognition of the all-originating love and beauty will thus flow out as peace of mind, health of body, discretion in the management of our affairs, and power in the carrying out of our undertakings; and as we advance to a wider conception of our concept of the spirit of love and beauty in its infinite possibilities, so our intuition will fine a wider scope and our field of activity will expand along with it- in a word we shall discover that our individuality is growing and that we are becoming more truly ourselves than we ever were before.” p110 Troward

William Blake discusses the process of going from a state of innocence then experiencing betrayal, loss, grief. This is where most adults stand. It is the burned out land of shadow structures.

The dark removes the confidence of ground
edging us with sharpness
we are blind to balance
stumbling darkly,
we know only that we are out of place.

This valley of despair results in a deep alienation from other people and even more hurtfully from ourselves. An imminent psychologist who spent over 40 years running psychiatric hospitals said that there was only one source for all the manifestations of pain which he observed. Self loathing. Self loathing is the result of lack of compassion. It is this state of experience that is applauded by society.

Cynicism is an armour forged on the fire of fear.

Cynicism is Forged in Fear

We are taught to defend ourselves. We are rewarded for being suspicious for finding arguments for finding faults and weakness. We wear the badge of “sophisticated intelligence” proudly. The statement “I don’t believe that,” is automatic when one is in the shadow land of experience.

Alienated from self. Standing sentinel in the fortress of isolation hardens a soul. We are told that this is what experience must inevitably teach us.

But mystics such as Blake know and understand that there is a world beyond experience. There is a place that resides beyond the fortress walls. And this new dimension is of a richer innocence. It is an opening up that often comes to people in deep, blinding grief when it feels as if another breath will break the heart, the chest, the throat open. It is a death beyond death because of the confused sense of numbness and chaos at once.

It is after the lightening strike that individuals find themselves sitting on a step next to flowers and being so exhausted they cannot remember to separate themselves. And so in that moment, they open. The flower becomes the most ecstatic, explosively beautiful single living thing they have ever seen. Because they see it.

And they are delivered to a new place. With the numbing of mind, of cynicism, the destruction of all defenses, the individual is left with only here. Here and this beauty. Here and this miracle of color and life. It is to be as an infant. It is to be as a child who is deeply relating to both an outside living thing and to themselves.

One way to stop the endless comparisons and judgments in our minds is through grief. Another is through creativity.
When we open we are like a choir. When we open we are like members in an orchestra. When we open we are like actors in the same play or dancers in a choreography. Each goes down deeply into the experience of separate self. Each listens closely to his or her own voice. Each learns the range, tone, warmth, passing of air that is coming from their singular body. And in the fullness of the individual, in the power and release of the single individual all voices, all instruments, all bodies form a unity that is an aesthetic statement of innocence. It is brave, unafraid of individual expression, uninterested in territory or boundaries or walls. It is the greatest freedom that an individual ever experiences as many all separately functioning together form intensity of expression.
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It is in the state of innocence that a person can truly connect to self. With no history of the past mistakes, bad decisions, egregious losses the person is free to be enthusiastic. A person who feels whole and protected in the world, like a child should, is now capable of exploring. Who am I? What can I do? What can I learn? How can I love? These questions are formed from a place of trust. It is easier to take care of a body that is loved. It is easier to be excited about the sound of one’s own voice if one is loved. It is easier to recognize skillful daily living and applaud it. To see oneself as a magnificent flower blooming through grief, through cynicism, through dark nights is to connect to the wonder of God in each of us. It is like a child moving its hand in the slanted light coming in a window. Wow. Look at that! Aren’t I clever?

And like all nourished flowers, it becomes more radiantly what it is meant to be. Like all children who are deeply loved, he or she becomes more exactly what the pattern of their spirit was meant to be.

How do we escape a state of experience, of isolation, of turning away from others and eventually turning away from ourselves? It is through realizing that each of us is a gift. Each of us holds the ability to express fully what it is to be alive. We can then move forward in a way that is not hampered by defences, moats, walls, imprisoned by our own army of reactive thoughts. We can be as children running full tilt into the next experience because we are fully in love with ourselves, with the spirit within and with one another. We are free to grow big.

Grand daughter on the lawn

Wild one
lip synch coincidence dance
drama queen
flying hair
alight in sun’s stroking the air
fenced crib lines cannot hold.
And she moves over rock and hole ground
bare toes wide turning long strands of music
into spun gold
making her seven year old free now.
All Now.
Heart pulse, music pulse being
beyond constraints wrapping unwrapping
her form, music’s form to accelerate beyond
this edge of what is named
to merge.
Original primitive soul
getting her freak on.

First I have to say (because I am forthright if nothing else) that when we no longer hide, we are now in a position to heal. A door opens. We no longer try so hard to not feel, to not hurt, to not show our human weaknesses. We speak, or take action, or redirect our thoughts from a deep place of knowing who we are, or who we are attempting to become.

Trusting others is the way we build our confidence in ourselves. When others are allowed to see us as who we are and meet us in that open place, we see that we have a shared vulnerability and humanity. The struggles are not unique or signs of failure. Every soul born in a body has to face the same challenges.

It helps us to move from an adolescent place of posturing and the fearful wearing of a mask into a greater connection with our own personal power.

The feeling that we will die if others don’t accept us is normal. I believe it comes from our ancestral memory. Being shunned meant no one would allow you “in”. Being alone in the forest, without food, shelter and clothing meant you were condemned. There were predators in that unprotected place. The teen years are when these feelings are most intense.

Throughout my life, the people I trusted the least were people who are wearing a mask. It is probably why I failed to trust myself for so many years.

So how does an individual become real?

Somewhere in the mess of habits and emotions that we call the self, is the “sweet spot”. It isn’t about revictimizing ourselves (although we have been trained to do that brilliantly). It isn’t about self-loathing that leads us to punish ourselves because we are not good enough. It isn’t about killing off the core soul self to prevent others from rejecting us.

That is why I grew to be 178 pounds when I was alone in a tiny apartment one summer in university. Because I feared and was at war with my body, I put on weight. Because I put on weight, I only felt in control when I was eating. I had no distraction from the searing imprint of abandonment in my childhood other than punishing myself. By unconsciously deforming my physical presentation, I was showing I was in control.

And, finally, it isn’t by resigning to pain, to dysfunction, to the operating system of past habits that a person can end the struggle between the static and the dynamic self.

(That is my gold medal stuck place. I will tell myself I did well enough. This new resting place of reset is as good as it can get. Just settle in. I am not on the podium but at least I didn’t trip on my own feet and fall on my face.)

Finally, we are merely mortal. We can only take ONE thing and focus on that. It is up to each of us to figure out what keystone habit will change our entire construction of reality.

For me, I was driven into a corner to face myself by debilitating Rheumatoid Arthritis. I was deforming, unable to sleep, in constant pain. My war with my body could no longer be ignored.

When the specialist told me I would be in a wheelchair, I cried the entire hour-long car ride back to my house. And then I got angry.

I got angry at myself for not paying attention. I got angry at the medical system for not understanding more about mental pain and physical pain. And I sat and began to research for eight hours without taking a break every medical journal, world wide study, and methodology I could find.

Three doctors said I could never live without pain.

My attitude was, “Fuck you.”

I did research. I ordered DHEA on line myself. I followed the Norweigan study’s procedure and fasted for 12 days with only water. I went to a hormone doctor and got my hormones balanced. I became serious about meditation practice and watching my mind. I began to honour the entirety of myself. I paid attention to my masked rage, my limitations, my childishness, my yearnings, my gifts. I went on a path of soul retrieval whereby I accept all of my complexities. I was only human.

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We live in a society that had a good-until-date on our bodies. My yearly testing indicates that I “read” as 20 years younger than I did seven years ago. My body is dynamic. It shifted as my relationship with it shifted.

Traditionally the system gives up on us…. oh you are 50, or 60, or 70. Of course, you are hurting, growing increasingly weaker and the best you can hope for is to slow down your own disintegration.

It is simply not true. My reaction was, “Fuck you.”

I started reading about DNA about telomeres about stem cell experiments. I began to look at Ted Talks and YouTube videos of senior body builders.

It used to be believed that Tuberculosis could not be cured, that Polio would deform, that longevity was 50, then 60, then 70.

Everything changes.

I am a dynamic set of habits and thoughts. Society is a construct of ideas. Science no longer is a thick leather-bound bible of facts.

Finally, who we are is a field of energy, a collection of beliefs, a structure of habits. The place of magic is to be open and curious. Who am I? Who am I now?

And to get to this place of possibility, we first must not be encased in a sarcophagus of identity.

In addition, people around us create who we are. Thirty-five years of longitudinal studies prove that If others in our “social amoeba” are eating poorly, we will eat poorly. If they aren’t proactive and are in a “survivor’s mode” so will we be in a state of constant struggle.

We fall for old habits when the new habits are not hard-wired. We fit in with the social reflections around us.

Take for instance the habitual problem of losing my keys. I spent 30 years not knowing where I last put my keys. And then one day I stood in the doorway furious with myself. It was only then I set an intention. I got a key rack and taught myself to put my keys away.

The study of neurological pathways shows that 66 days of repeating a behaviour until it is hard-wired is a step to a new life.

This person that we stand within is NOT the best we can be. It is a leftover of past thoughts and habits. It is a leftover of the mother’s story and the grandmother’s story back for seven generations.

So somewhere between resignation, victimhood, inward-directed anger is the ability to calmly and carefully rebuild ourselves.

But in order to do that, we have to research the most effective manner to go about it. We don’t decide to rebuild our bathroom without watching youtube videos or hiring a plumber. It is not crowbar work. Self needs finessing.

When we give ourselves as we are too much credit and ourselves as we are becoming too little, we deny ourselves the opportunity to live a more peaceful, a healthier and more satisfying life. And it all starts with desire.

Sign up for change. Find articles and study them. Figure out who you want to be and do everything you can to lovingly guide yourself there. The self is a dynamic construct.

▲

What exactly is a fear investment policy? From where I sit, I see it building strength daily. On social media I am watching conspiracy theories sprout like the seeds I push into potting soil, water carefully and place in the sunshine window.

The most important factor that uniites all of these paranoid systems of belief is one central statement.

Four people who have no similarity in their understanding of current events all post, “They want us to be afraid. We can’t be afraid.”

After a lifetime of study of PSTD, I absolutely validate what these weavers of alternative realities are holding up. If you are already in a state of panic, if you are already wounded and torn apart, you literally cannot handle any further sense of insecurity. And so you stand in the semi-dark with a weapon of reaction and shoot anything that moves. You blow it to smithereens before it can hurt you.

It is called trigger happy. Veterans of war, battered wives, men whose fathers broke their bones… all of those who had endured “too much” are now shooting at anything that moves.

One stage of grief is denial. The difficulty with denial is that it does not lead to an amelioration of the central problem. I once broke a bone in my hand with a hammer and did not go in for an x-ray for several days. My childhood taught me to simply stuff away pain and cut off the feeling.

And so, currently, we see so many people that simply don’t understand that they are stronger than they know. We are witnessing people who have no mindfulness practice. The irony is that undealt with pain makes us run to the story of victimhood. Unprocessed assaults on our own sovereignty make us easy to control. High levels of anxiety and fear shut down the prefrontal lobe. The adult part of the brain is now on mute.

And we will be like children. We will say, “It is too much for me. It is a lie. I hate it when I feel fear. I fear feeling more fear.”

The paralysis that results from over the threshold pain makes us perfect victims. We freeze in front of the attacking tiger. We refuse to stare the truth in the eyes with the confidence that we can solve problems.

And so the pandemic is bringing out the childlike reaction in many people.
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“Authority figures, like my parents before them, want to hurt me. Authority figures will lie to me, manipulate me, try to control me.”

The final reaction is the ultimate victim: “You are not the boss of me.” This is what a young child will yell out.

What is so very true is that we are capable of dealing with challenging times. London endured the bombings. Some individuals endured the Nazi Prison camps. We read Goalcast posting about people who were born severely handicapped whose lives are satisfying and joyous.

But when we are in the throes of terror, we cannot centre. We cannot breathe deeply, feel the solidity and safety of our own bodies. We cannot trust our own minds, or our own ability to sit calmly and study a difficulty without blowing its head off.

The pandemic which is sweeping the world is giving us a chance to grow up, to grow beyond our hyper-emotional cry, “You can’t make me be afraid.” Because… that makes no sense at all.

Fear does not cure fear. Calm, patient waiting for facts helps us trust the universe. Knowing that we do not need to know right this very minute, leads us away from a toddler like grip on an answer from the surrogate daddy or mommy.

Some times the strongest we can be is to simply do the next thing that might save others’ lives. Sometimes the wisest we can be is to understand we are not wise yet. But saying, “I refuse to look at the problem,” will not create a solution.

Fear is the biggest problem because it shuts down the mature brain. Ground yourself and be curious. Knowing what is going on will not kill you. People did not stand under the bombers in London and say it was a hoax.

Think about that for a minute.