Detoxing

I'm riding the waves of nausea as I watch the toddlers bouncing with their inflatables in the shallow end of the pool. The nausea is as much about detoxing from a med gone wrong as about the situations I find myself embroiled in. There are other uncomfortable side effects from coming off a med. This one, I gave not one, but two chances to work. The most debilitating is the inertia that stretches my nervous system to extremes. Just the thought of motion feels tense and restrictive. This may be the equivalent of sea sickness without the vomit. I've never been seasick having always embellished the roll of water. But I need to purge this poison out of me as soon as possible. I drink copious amounts of the Chinese Oolong tea. Justin brought back from Taiwan. They are intoxicating with their healing properties. Water is consumed in large quantities.

Don't you just love the names they assign to pharmaceuticals? This particular drug, Abilify, did not enable my abilities at all, they damn near short circuited them. It left me dull, lifeless, severely fatigued and exhausted all the time. Finally, after months of complaining about this, I researched the medication with the help of my pharmacist and PC. You have to dig deep to understand the doctor's version of adverse or dangerous side effects. But there I was. No appetite. No focus. Impaired cognition. Fatigue. Flat. Dehydrated. Exhaustion. Inertia. In other words, no fun and getting weaker by the day. Decision time: Out with the Abilify. My doctor and I have mutual trust built over a long period of time. I knew I had to step down from this med or else risk a depressive episode, like the time I went cold turkey off of it. Big mistake and I paid for it. That was last summer. Here I am again. Recuperating.

What no one can tell me is how long the detox process will last. It could take weeks or months. This last go around has been confronting, as I see my independence has finally met its limits. It is no longer possible for me to take care of myself as well as I have been doing. This realization, the progressive, possible loss of independence has sent me, my psychologist and doctor into research mode. What type of support services may I be entitled to receive and how do I access them? This is the question of the month. Stay tuned.

As for toxic situations and people, I try my best to avoid them, because they just inflame my anxiety and anger. I find my joy in the simple things and with caring, loving and progressive individuals who really care. In the meantime, I ride the waves of nausea and gingerly go about my business.

Censorship: Toxic Waste

There are forces at work to silence me and shut down this blog. They are somehow threatened by a voice that exposes the stigma, marginalization and disrespect those with a mental disabilities endure from society and family alike. Since I'm not a mean, angry and bitter person filling the airwaves with vitriol, I surmise that what I write about, from my heart and soul, makes some feel very uncomfortable. Fearful. Angry. Bitter. Exposed. Powerless.

Believing goodwill and peace would be a byproduct, I allowed these forces to censor or "privatize" my thoughts and feelings. I was clearly mistaken. I forgot that censorship is all about manipulation. Manipulating the mind, heart and soul. Manipulating the truth. Painting a false picture to preserve what? For whom? For what purpose? Who benefits? Who cares?

How certain situations and behaviors affect me, the wisdom I've acquired, and the spiritual principles I apply to survive, is what this blog is all about. The truth may hurt but there is no denying when you're in its presence.

Have you noticed the decline in the number or quality of my blogs? This is a direct result of my permitting others to dictate what I can and can not speak or write about. It has polluted my source like the oil spewing forth and spreading like an invasive cancer in the Gulf. This was the intention. To muzzle me. To squelch my spirit. To make me conform. To obliterate my insights.

This agreement on my part, has only served to make me isolated and incapacitated and silent. My reward? Vilification. Nullification. Estrangement. Further mind control. It's a vicious cycle. The byproducts of censorship are always deception and toxic.

censor 

–noun

1.an official who examines books, plays, news reports, motion pictures, radio and television programs, letters, cablegrams, etc., for the purpose of suppressing parts deemed objectionable on moral, political, military, or other grounds. Do blogs count?

2.any person who supervises the manners or morality of others. Think they can 'supervise' adults, too?

3.an adverse critic; faultfinder. Ah, the bitterness.

4.(in the ancient Roman republic) either of two officials who kept the register or census of the citizens, awarded public contracts, and supervised manners and morals. What a job description! Corruption?

5.(in early Freudian dream theory) the force that represses ideas, impulses, and feelings, and prevents them from entering consciousness in their original, undisguised forms. My favorite!

–verb (used with object)

6.to examine and act upon as a censor. Who are you to judge?

7.to delete (a word or passage of text) in one's capacity as a censor. Spinning the story.

8.to ban: A Synonym

This has been a process recognizing that censorship by the privileged has impeded my craft of writing, squelched my spirit and impinged on the mission I am here to achieve. However, the realization of these manipulative effects has freed my spirit from imprisonment. I want to feel the love. Wherever it comes from, whomever brings it along to share. When love is absent or withdrawn. C'est la vie!

The Oil Devastation of the Gulf of America

You Break It, You Own It

As many of you readers, know, I find my best news analysis comes from the Daily Show with Jon Stewart,  followed by the Colbert Report. Perhaps the best comic line about the oil devastation came from Stephen Colbert last week. He suggested, we should no longer refer to it as the Gulf of Mexico, but call it the Gulf of America. We broke it. We own it.

At least one of the 11 TransAmerica employees killed in the explosion used his leave off the rig, to put his affairs in order to protect his family. He knew disaster was looming. The British Petroleum executives and leadership were demanding to hurry the drilling process along with a new, unproven technology. One mile deep! Think about that! Recklessness and greed busy at work. They continue to mislead and lie to the public about the volume of oil originally and continuously spewing into the Gulf.

Follow the money everyone. BP Shares Drop The financial guys in New York and London are salivating about raking in the dough from this catastrophe. Most of England's pension plans are invested in BP stock. Make no mistake about it, even if  they can successfully "plug up the hole" drilled into Mother Earth, enormous sums of money are going to change hands. However, it's the people along the southern US coast and the creatures of the seas who are being devastated. Oil Shows Up Near Alabama Beach Resort.


In the meantime, this story has moved from page 1 of the Boston Globe to page 7. What's wrong with this picture? Like the Haiti earthquake, this story too, apparently has a short media life. It is said, the general public has a short attention span. Is that true for you?

What every one seems to forget is that Mother Earth is a living, breathing organism who permits the human race to live upon Her. She will destroy us humans before we have any chance of destroying Her. Time is ticking, ticking away. Mother Earth is bleeding out while we helplessly watch. Are your affairs in order?

Faith

Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen. Hebrews 11:1

I've been staring at a blank screen and wondering what I can add to the concept of faith given the magnitude of world current events.  If you are not overwhelmed by the insanity of the world then you may as well be unconscious. The human race versus Mother Earth. Now who do you think is more powerful or deserving of respect?

I turn to Dictionary.com for their definitions of faith.

faith

–noun

1.confidence or trust in a person or thing:

2.belief that is not based on proof: 

3.belief in god or in the doctrines or teachings of religion: 

4.belief in anything, as a code of ethics, standards of merit, etc.: 

5.a system of religious belief: the Christian faith; the Jewish faith.

6.the obligation of loyalty or fidelity to a person, promise, engagement, etc.

7.the observance of this obligation; fidelity to one's promise, oath, allegiance, etc.: 

8.Christian Theology. the trust in God and in His promises as made through Christ and the Scriptures by which humans are justified or saved. 

 

Two years ago, I applied to the Harvard Divinity School's theology graduate program. It was an undertaking that moved me out of my comfort zone in a way that changed my life. Some may have thought I was having a delusion of grandeur and from their point of view, perhaps I was, but in the process I stepped out of the shadows to reveal myself as divinely inspired. Ultimately, I was not accepted in the class of 2010, but my thirst for a graduate degree and a desire to explore theology was satiated for the time being. Shortly, thereafter, the Dean and I crossed paths. He was genuinely surprised that I had not made the cut, for he recognized the spirit within me, and I believe, he understood I would have made quite an impression on a younger student body. He asked me if my new vocation had been revealed to me. I told him no. This did not phase him in the least. Later, I would come to understand that my vocation, teacher, began early and has remained unchanged ever since.

While I assembled the application, letters of references and a lifetime worth of "credentials", I could see the totality of my previous accomplishments and challenges overcome with a simple, humble faith.  Have faith.  Every one of us needs more of it right now. Faith, itself, is a gift. Let's be grateful for today.

A Vermont State of Mind

The Lord watch between me and thee while we are absent one from another.

A maxim passed from one generation to another lands perfectly in his hands. It grabs my attention as I visually consume this glorious home. It is the home of a 21st century, country gentleman with lots of glass vistas, room and enough of decks to catch the sun as it moves across the sky. That he has found his beloved in Nan, makes his home an expansive expression of the joys of mature love and refined and refreshing taste. The entire ambiance recharges my spirit. There is nothing quite as enjoyable than to be with two people in love, giving praise and affection to one another. Two more days, bathed in this glow would have been perfect. But ever mindful not to wear out my welcome, I'll look forward to September in Vermont.

Vignettes of Vermont

Carol's seasonal home on the border with Canada is the perfect respite from the demands and cares of the world. She has set up her large, lake-side cottage set to accommodate as many family members and guests as possible. Couches, beds, recliners are arranged to take advantage of the views of the lake. The kitchen is large enough for two to work comfortably, but all the real roasting and cooking is done on grills and a special roasting spit outside. Here Rick and all involved, roast a pork loin on Saturday evening and a turkey on Sunday. The juiciness of both and the plenitude of food fills every need of each guest. We take our sun in a row of padded chairs along with our beverages of choice after arriving Saturday afternoon. There are plenty of choices! The companionship is familiar with Nan's clan which makes conversations flow easily, but we are also content to be quiet and peaceful, letting the sound of the lapping waves ease our souls. What is it about a lake in the mountains that can set a spirit free?

Carol has vision. Her vacation home is a work in progress filled with memories and mementos and gifts from different sources. There are no worries here. This is the place to escape any thoughts that consume us in more urban and suburban environments.  Out of an undeveloped lot she acquired, her team in life helped her cut walking paths that leads to a secluded cove. A perfect place for solitude or a quiet talk. A sizable Japanese wooden arbor marks the entrance. Peace to all who enter. The grass is freshly mowed. A garden of perennials will emerge over time giving this natural space more color. Calm spread through me as Nan, and then Carol, took me on a guided tour. A bench is perfectly placed to see the cove. 

The native American name for this lake is long and unpronounceable for me, so lets just call it Menag for short. It connects Quebec to Vermont. Less than 10 years ago, a simple state drivers license could get youa cross the border to the Canadian resort town on the north side of this very large finger lake. Now, there are signs of US homeland security everywhere. I saw at least three different manned border crossings. The bright yellow buildings with barricades, cameras and mirrors jolts me. Even the back roads have security apparatus or gates. For hundreds of years commerce flowed easily between these remote sections of Vermont and Quebec. Now a passport is mandatory. A sorrowful reflection of our times.

What marks this lake is its silence. No competing motor boats, jet-skis, or sailboats crowding this lake. It must be one of the last remaining outposts of a pure lake-side retreat. This makes having a boat essential for fishing or recreation. Sunday, though sunny in many places south of us, was a bit overcast. Nate noticed white-caps as the winds picked up. Kevin asks if we would like to go out for a drive. YES, leaps out of my mouth. He smiles and promises we will do so, and true to his word, after we digested the rich turkey, he tells us it's time for a crusise of the lake. 

Oh, my heart and mind and spirit had rediscovered her love of speed, water and wind rushing around me and through me. I smile from the moment Kevin's boat leaves the dock and more so as it picks up speed. A sudden sprinkle of rain could not dampen the smile on my face or the unfettered freedom of my soul. I beam recalling this is when I experience pure joy. On the water, whether sailing or motoring with the wind flowing through my hair is a natural high for me. Here I'm simply happy. I look over at Nan wrapped up in a hooded sweatshirt with sunglasses with a smile upon her face, too, and she looks like Jackie O out for a spin. Kevin throttles the boat as we cruise within yards of the Canadian border catching some of the McMansions and homes with boathouses along the western shore. This is a very, very small town. Locals know everybody including the regular visitors. There is no one on the lake on this late afternoon. We have this gigantic lake that links Canada and the US all to ourselves. It's just such an awesome experience. Thank you, Kevin and Nate. Captain and Skipper. Thank you, Carol, for your hospitality, generosity of spirit and making me feel welcome to your home.

Back to Newfane, the small village outside of Brattleboro. The oversize octagon table sits 10 comfortably at Ned's home. His space is designed for an over flowing crowd. Ned tends the grill laden with steaks and chicken. Nan, accustomed to smaller spaces, bustles about the kitchen with counter space galore. There is more than enough room to can the anticipated garden now being planted with blueberries, blackberries, raspberries, tomatoes, peppers, squash and the like. She makes her own Marinara and applesauce. It will be a productive harvest as they discuss the planting and placement of the garden underway. The danger of frost passes around Memorial Day. The growing season is short in Vermont but the land is rich and fertile. With a pile of gardening books, Nan educates us, those like me, who shop in grocery stores and seasonal farm stands for fresh, organic food. Here, she has the know-how to plant and prepare enough of vegetables and fruits to last a year or more. I envy her industriousness.

Back to the table nested in a turret-like structure. There are the familiar faces of Katherine and Fran, so we pick up where we last left off. Now, thankfully, men have entered our companionship. Luke is a white Rastafarian with a somber, serious tone. Once upon a time, he was a popular musician in Boston. With his pony-tailed hair and sharp intellect, he entertains us with stories about our shared love of Jamaica where he has a home waiting for him. Sitting in a rocking chair, he is a rugged woodsman whose profile is akin to Abraham Lincoln. That's what makes Vermont unique, the number of individuals with previous successes and accomplishments finding refuge or retirement in the natural beauty and spirit of Vermont.

Vermont is a state of mind made even more special with the loving companionship of old and new friends.